The end of the season marks the end of everything I’ve come to care about in my time here. It was just a little over three months, but I feel the change in myself, the change in my makeup. I’m so far from the curious girl I was when I arrived.
My reality is changing as rapidly as the foliage surrounding me in varying shades of brown, crimson red, and marigold. And in my state, I can’t appreciate the beauty, only the message.
Summer isn’t endless.
It’s all over.
I started community college this week and threw myself into my studies. My shifts at the plant are more grueling now that Sean quit—and he’d done so the minute after he left me in that office.
Just once I’ve given in to my curiosity and walked through the expanse of grass of Roman’s back yard and into the wooded clearing—only to be met by utter silence. The picnic benches are gone, and the landscape’s starting to rapidly grow over. It’s as if it never happened. Aside from the new vegetation and the rustling of the trees, the space is void of life.
My tan has faded, and I know I’ve lost weight, my figure becoming gaunt as my heart shrivels, surviving only on memories from the months prior—months where granting smiles didn’t feel like a chore.
It’s my dreams that can sometimes bring relief. Dreams of long walks in a hazy cloud, of heated looks, of thunderstorms, and captive kisses. It’s waking from them that leaves me raw, aching, grieving.
Melinda’s been a surprising support, spending endless shifts updating me on all things Triple Falls, carefully avoiding conversation about those who I long to hear from the most.
Not that she would know.
Sean said he would make things right, but the pretense was one day.
One day.
A term so vague, so loose for interpretation that each day feels like a sentence.
The more days that pass, the more I realize it wasn’t a promise or a guarantee, but more of a hope.
All of this heartbreak is because of two ghosts doing their job in haunting me. I’ve honored Sean’s request. I never drive by the garage, never try to text either of them. It’s pointless. They’ve made their decision and declared their loyalty. Our time together wasn’t significant enough. I wasn’t significant enough to cause a ripple in their agenda.
At least that’s how their silence makes me feel.
Christy keeps me sane with long FaceTime talks of the future. Of our plans and the idea that in a year, we’ll resume them. It brings some comfort. This was only supposed to be a stopping point. As it turned out, it proved to be a leaping point, but right now, I have nowhere safe to land.
The longer they remain silent, the more my heart breaks.
I drift in and out of my days doing what I can, but every step, every tick of the clock weighs me down like a boulder in tidal waters. Every morning I shake off my dreams, determined to guard my heart, as if they haven’t already ripped it apart. But the more leaves that fall, the more the pieces gather collectively rattling in my chest.
I’d been a fool to think I knew heartbreak before, and maybe I have, but never have I felt I lost a piece of myself to it, until now.
I’m a drifter in my own life, living only for memories, for my dreams, reveling in the endless hurt, the ache of missing them, teetering on the edge of forgetting myself all over again. I came back determined to kick bad habits but hadn’t expected to forgive them. I hadn’t expected time to play the factor, to be the reason to let them go.
One day.
Today, I forced myself out of bed and mindlessly dressed, determined to try and spend a few hours outside of my head. Arriving downtown, I’m barely able to secure a parking spot before joining hordes of Triple Falls locals and tourists as they exit their cars with anticipatory smiles. Melinda has been talking about the apple festival nonstop, and when I round the corner and scour the square, I almost laugh.
It’s a poor man’s street fair at best. A small-town shindig made up of street vendors passing out tastes of local eateries and artists set up in tents with their works on display. It’s a far cry from any large-scale city gathering, but upon entering, I decide it has its own charm. And of course, there are apples, locally grown and harvested. A quick glance at the logo on a tableside banner of the orchard Sean and I rendezvoused at for our midnight picnic levels me. The further I venture in, the more I regret coming, the walk back to the car becoming more tempting by the second. Memories of being worshiped between rows of angry trees surface, suffocating me, reminding me that I’m not the same girl I was when I arrived, and maybe I never will be. Instead of a quick retreat, I amble on the sidewalk along the rows of shops adjacent to the festival tents. I’m stopped short when a door opens as a group of guys walk out of a tattoo parlor. It’s when I hear, “I know you,” that I look up and into the eyes of a familiar face.
It takes me a few seconds to recall where I’ve seen it.
“RB, right?” He’s taller than me by half a foot and towers over me with amused, warm, honey-colored eyes.
“Right,” he says. “And you’re Dom’s girl.”
“I…” I fumble, trying to think of an answer when my gaze zeroes in on the unbandaged ink sneaking up past his neckline—feather tips.
My eyes bulge as RB’s smile goes wide, his eyes cooling considerably as his lips twist in condescension. He pulls at the soft white bandage, revealing fresh black wings gracing his arm, “Guess it’s a good thing we don’t all think like you.”
Stunned, I try to come up with appropriate words, my demeanor brimming with mortification. He saw my fear that night, my hesitance, but mostly he saw me draw assumptions.
“Chin up, girl, don’t cry about it.”
I could give him a ton of excuses. I could mention that my fear stemmed from being in unfamiliar territory, from the unexpected appearance of a gun in Dom’s lap, from their clipped exchange and the insinuation in their conversation, but none of it is good enough. I assumed the worst about both Dominic and RB. And I couldn’t have been more wrong. “I’m sorry.”
A grin is his reply as he flexes his bird with pride. “I guess it makes a difference when you know I’m standing beside you. Respect to your boy, he saw it in me when we were kids.”
Speechless, I try not to hang my head, and instead give him my eyes, hoping he can see the truth, that I am ashamed, that he’s right. Once again, I’ve been schooled in a way that makes me uncomfortable, but I’ve learned it’s the only way to grow. Sean taught me a lot over the last few months, but mostly he showed me the beauty of humility, and that’s all I feel as I look up at him.
One of his friends speaks up behind him, his arm covered in the same bandaging. “RB, we need to hit it, got shit to do.”
Two new ravens.
And I envy them because where they’re going, I’m not allowed to follow.
I step up to the man addressing RB and hold out my hand. “Hi, I’m Cecelia.”
He glances at my hand, amused before he takes it. “Terrance.”
“Nice to meet you. Congrats.”
He smirks, but there’s no mistaking the pride in his eyes. “Thanks. You’re Dom’s girl?”
“Yes. Well, I was. I’m not sure anymore.”
I look over to RB, my eyes imploring his, knowing wherever he is headed, he’s going to lay eyes on the two men I’m desperate to see.
“I’m in no position to ask a favor, b-but when you…see them, when you see…Dominic,” I shake my head, knowing the message will never be delivered as I intend it. I haven’t spoken to him since I discovered the truth about the death of his parents and my father’s role in covering it up. “Never mind.”
RB tilts his head, brows drawn, his light brown eyes scanning me. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“All right then, see you around?” he prompts, his question filled with insinuation before we share a small, conspiratorial smile.
“Hope so. One day,” I say, hoping with all my heart that one day comes. That I can once again r
oam amongst the brotherhood freely, a privilege I’d taken for granted.
They walk away as I swallow the lump of remorse in my throat. And once again, the point hits home. As much as I think I know, I know nothing. Chest aching, mind reeling, I sidestep a stroller only to have cider spilled on me. A man two toddlers deep with no mother in sight apologizes while I brush the droplets off my arm.
“No worries,” I assure, stepping off the curb onto Main Street. Herds of townspeople glide along the endless rows of vendor tents. Most all of them are wearing smiles, blissfully unaware that there is a war going on. That beyond some of their trees and state parks, there is a group of men fighting on their behalf so that the local economy can thrive, so the poachers don’t get the best of them.
The longer I dwell on the last few months, the more my eyes open to what’s been done and what’s being done about it. A part of me wishes I could close them, erase what I now know, but doing that will erase my ghosts, and I’m still very much in love with them, now more than ever.
Even while my resentment grows for their absence and silence.
For everything they do, there is a reason. I can hate them for my unanswered questions, for making me doubt them, or I can trust what they revealed to me, what they begged me to believe, their admissions, and in them, before they vanished.
On sun-filled days I long for Sean, for his smile, his arms, his cock, and the laughter we shared. His warm, salty, nicotine-tinged kisses. The flick of his tongue on my skin. The slow winks he gave me acknowledging he knew what I was thinking. On stormy days, I long for my cloud to cover me, for the kisses that left me wanton, the hard thrashing of a tongue so wicked and smooth, for a half-smile that lights me up inside. For runny eggs and black coffee.
These men took me under their wing, taught by example, stirred my sexuality awake, and made themselves unforgettable. How am I supposed to move on from this?
For the life of me now, I can’t go back to sleep.
Tears slip from my eyes as I start to unravel on the bustling streets while I force myself to try and adapt to the reality I’ve been tossed back into. Sniffling like an idiot, I navigate through the growing crowd in front of the town hall, where a band plays on an elevated stage blocking the entrance. A dozen or so couples, who look like they’ve been practicing all year, showcase their footwork, moving in sync as they dance in the street. I study the couple closest to me as they dance in tandem and smile at the other as if they’re sharing a secret. And as I observe their wordless connection, all I feel is envy because I had that with both of them.
I had that.
And my secrets I’m forever obligated to keep. I’ll never be able to share them. But I’ll keep them because no one could truly understand their gravity or grasp their truth fully. The story itself would sound like some unrealistic, twisty, sexually provocative fairy-tale with a bad ending or worse, no ending at all.
When I got here, I wanted to suspend my strict morals and loosen my chastity, to thrive amongst some chaos.
I got my wish.
I should be grateful.
But I’m not, so I mourn.
And I can’t do it here.
One foot in front of the other, I push through the crowd to get away, away from all of the smiles, and the laughing and the content people who have no idea of the battle I’m fighting not to scream at them to wake the fuck up.
Which would make me just another quack. The irony not lost on me. But if they only knew how much these men are risking daily, maybe they’d listen. Perhaps they’d band with them, join their cause.
Or maybe they’re the intelligent ones, aware of the tyranny but have purposely chosen to ignore it. It wasn’t long ago I was blissfully unaware.
The battle of good and evil isn’t news. In fact, it’s broadcast in plain sight every day. But at this point, even the news is unreliable, often projected in a way that requires deciphering fact from agenda-related fiction. But we choose to acknowledge what we want, and these people seem to have chosen wisely. Maybe my answer isn’t to get away, but become one of them, to blend in and play ignorant to all that’s wrong in this fucked-up world so I can breathe a little easier, so one day, I can mindlessly smile again. But as time passes, it’s becoming more and more apparent that that’s wishful thinking, because I can’t go back.
The men in my life pried my eyes open, made me aware of the war they’ve declared. And I know now if I were faced with the choice, I would scream my decision-all in. Forever in.
On the edge of the crowd near an alley between buildings, my attention gets diverted to the band whose lead singer greets us, some ear-piercing feedback coming out of the mic before he apologizes. “And now that we have your attention,” he chuckles as the sound clears before he cues the drummer, “let’s start this off right.” As the music starts to play and the ring of guitar and bass kicks in, I blot my face and nose into the arm of my thin sweater.
I’m an emotional mess in the fucking street at the apple festival.
I can’t do this. Not yet.
The lead starts to belt out some upbeat lyrics and I absorb them out of habit as he sings of being lost, falling on hard times, and encourages us to keep on smiling. I can’t help my ironic laugh as another warm tear slides down my face, and I wipe it away with my sleeve.
Yeah, I’m out.
One day.
Turning in the direction I parked, I’m captured by a hand on my hip. I dart my gaze behind me just as the scent of cedar and nicotine surrounds me. A shocked exhale bursts out of me, and I use it to my advantage and take a huge inhale, melting into his chest just as warm breath hits my ear. “Good one.”
His hand slides down to grip the wrist dangling at my side, and in the next second, I’m turned and standing chest to chest with Sean.
“Hey, Pup.”
Fresh tears fill my eyes as I gape at him, his sparkling eyes dimming when he reads my expression.
“What are you—”
Before I can get my question out, he snakes his arm around my waist and clasps his free hand with mine before leading us to the edge of the crowd.
“What in the hell are you doing?” I whisper shout. He wedges his knee between mine and dips low, one bounce, two. I stand limp in his arms as he squeezes our clasped hands.
“Come on, Pup,” he pleas as we start to gather attention. He rocks us in perfect time, dipping and swaying, urging me to do the same. “Come on, baby,” he prompts, his smile starting to fade when I remain immobile, “give me a sign of life.”
Butterflies swarm as he beckons me, impossible to ignore while rocking back on his heels with a sexy tilt in his hips. In the next step, I give in, letting the music fuel me as I dip with him and begin swiveling my hips. He winks at me in encouragement before he does a swift turn, gripping my hand behind his back and executing the move with ease. A few onlookers next to us call out with words of encouragement and cheers as a blush creeps up my neck. But this is Sean, his superpower, and he’s mastered it. So, I do the only thing I can. I give in to him.
And then we’re dancing, while he sings to me. His perfect physique sways along to the pace-setting bass, just as a harmonica chimes in. We rock along the crowded street, our footing effortless as we collectively twist apart before falling easily back together. We dance like we’ve been doing it for years, not a couple of months. Clear pride gleams in his emerald eyes when he sees me lighting up from within. Mid-song, the music suddenly stops as do the dancers surrounding us, and hands fly up as they collectively scream the lyrics, a pause hanging in the air a split second before everyone explodes back into motion.
I’ve never heard the song before—but I know I’ll never forget it—the lyrics far too ironic. They speak to me on the innermost level. And I take it for the gift it is. It’s here on Main Street that we steal time and fall back into the other, and just…dance. Together, we own our stolen moment and ignore the fucked-up world around us, our circumstances, and the odds stacked up against us. And for those shor
t minutes of Indian summer, I breathe a little easier, and the ache lessens.
Nothing matters but me and my golden sun and the love I feel for him. I shake my head ironically as he struts us around, defiant, daring anyone to try and mess with our moment. It’s then I know we won’t let them, or anyone else ruin what we have. When the song ends, the crowd around us erupts in cheers as he leans in and takes my face in his hands. He bends briefly, a breath away before he claims my lips in a kiss so sincere that the ache I just evaded, gives way to agony.
Instinctively I know, today isn’t one day.
“I gotta go,” he murmurs in my ear, his hands pushing away the hair at my shoulder as his eyes beg for understanding.
“No, please—”
“I have to. I’m sorry.” I shake my head and drop my gaze as waiting tears start to fall. He tips my chin and searches my eyes, devastation in his own. “Please, Pup, eat,” he swipes his thumb across my chin, “dance, sing, smile.”
“Please don’t go.” Expression somber, he presses a gentle kiss to my lips, a sob erupting from me, breaking it all too soon. “Sean, wait—”
It’s when he releases me, that I palm my face, an agonized cry erupting from me as his warmth disappears.
Choking, I shake my head in my hands, unable to stand the clear rip tearing straight through my chest. My tears soak my palms as the crowd rallies around me, and I feel every step he takes away from me.
I can’t let go. I can’t do this.
Pulling my hands away, I look for any sign of the direction he went as I begin to push through the growing crowd, unwilling to let him leave me, unwilling to let that dance be our last because it will never be enough. My heart seizes when I lose sight of him. I turn in a circle searching in every direction, getting swallowed by a mob as they rush the stage. Struggling through swarms of bodies, I start to panic. “Sean!” I scream, looking in every direction before I catch a flash of spikey blond hair and give chase.
Exodus Page 2