by Wendy Cole
I belonged alone.
“I think I should leave,” I said, my voice hollow. I needed to get away from here, from him, from this pain.
This was a disaster.
“The boy is an idiot, girl, but he…”
I turned to him. “It doesn’t matter. It is what it is. Thank you,” I said, more grateful to him than he could ever understand. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be. I can’t stay here.”
“Sleep on it.” He clutched my arm and squeezed. His eyes pleaded. “Maybe we can figure out something by tomorrow. If not, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
I caught sight of Bard heading towards us. A sobbing Amber was left on the ground behind him.
“Keep him away from me,” I said. “I’ll stay one night if you keep him away.”
Zeke heaved a sigh, his face morose, but he nodded and turned to intercept his nephew. The two men murmured back and forth, and Bard’s tone and body language bordered on desperate. The longer they spoke, the more aggressive he became.
That was until Zeke said something that made his mouth clamp shut. His gaze met mine across the distance, his eyes sharp. Then, with a clenched jaw, he pulled at his hair and stormed towards the tree line.
Zeke returned with a grim expression. “He’s gonna stay away for a while,” he said. “Stay. Don’t make rash decisions out of anger. We’ll figure something out.”
I nodded, but inside, I was falling apart. Everything hurt. It was worse than a beating, worse than Drake. It was so much more.
Zeke draped an arm over my shoulder and led me towards the front. “Let’s get some rest.”
Everyone else followed suit. They scattered apart. Most of them came inside with us. The atmosphere felt thick in the aftermath of what had happened, and Amber stayed alone, shunned and sobbing uncontrollably into her knees in the middle of the backyard.
I stared at her from the window. I watched her suffer without an ounce of sympathy.
I hoped karma fucking destroyed her.
I turned away and headed for the bedroom.
Unlike Amber, I didn’t cry.
Crying wouldn’t help anything. It never had.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Alcohol helped knock me out, but the next morning came too soon.
It wasn’t until the group sacrificed Lexy, forcing the poor girl to come and check that I wasn’t dead, that I finally got out of bed. For an hour, I made my way around the kitchen like a zombie, ignoring each sympathetic and wary look from those crunched inside the two main rooms.
Blankets and pillows were scattered everywhere, from the kitchen floor to the living room couch, making it apparent that the other bedroom was off limits to more than just Bard.
While they all offered hungover Jessie a wide berth, the minute I became somewhat lucid, Zeke cornered me.
I sat at the kitchen table, leaning over a cup of coffee as I contemplated my next move, when he took the seat beside me.
“An idea,” he said, resting his own mug in front of him. “I talked to Bard last night. He’s agreed to stay away and keep to the woods if you stay here where it’s safe.”
I opened my mouth to tell him it wouldn’t work, but the look I received from him made me close it.
“Don’t be stupid. It’s dangerous out there, and Bard’s right. This is the soundest plan to end it. After it’s done, when it’s safe again, he plans to stay here and let you have the motorhome to yourself.”
Any response I might have had lodged inside my throat. The way he’d said it...
It was over. Just like that, it was over before it had even truly begun.
It hurt. It hurt so fucking much.
I had nowhere to go; no prospects of a life outside of the blessing that was the shop. Could I be there, in that motorhome? Could I wake up in his bed and sit at that kitchen table without thinking about him every time?
I took a sip of my coffee, and the image of that blinding smile conjured into my mind’s eye. It wouldn’t matter where I went, I’d still think about him. Maybe, my heart was fighting to find an excuse not to leave. Maybe, my subconscious just wouldn’t accept this change of events. Maybe, I was an idiot that just couldn’t leave when it was so obvious that this was over, but I found myself nodding in agreement.
“Alright.”
Zeke smiled. “That’s real great, Jessie. We’ll get it all worked out.” He gripped my shoulder then stood. “I put the art supplies on your bed, and I think the girls want to spend some time with you, but they’re too afraid to approach.”
“Is she still here?” My voice came out hoarse, a combination of the hangover and my current mood.
Zeke paused. “I drove her home last night.”
I nodded. “I’m just gonna keep to myself today.”
He stood there for a long time, and I kept my gaze on the steam rising from my cup.
After what felt like an eternity, he said, “The boy’s a mess, girl. He’s drunk himself into a stupor.”
I held my hand up. “Don’t.”
He was a mess. He’d drunk himself into a stupor. At least, I knew he cared, but it didn’t change anything. Bard couldn’t see me. Bard saw the same shit the world did.
Zeke stood another moment, looking like he wanted to say more, but he eventually gave up and walked away.
My chest hurt.
I sat there for a while, trying not to think about him, trying not to worry about him, but it was proving impossible. This was going to be hard. I was right in the beginning. I should have stayed strong. I knew from the start I wouldn’t forget him so easily, and now it was too late. I’d never get over this.
The chair scrubbed as I pushed myself away from the table. I just needed to be alone, away from prying, sympathetic glances. I avoided all eye contact on the way then firmly closed myself inside. A sketch pad and a pack of pencils sat on top of the bedspread, and I gratefully picked them up.
Just like when I was a kid, the art did its job to soothe me. My mind quieted, and I didn’t put any thought into the drawing. I went back to that place; the one that eased my chest and calmed my nerves. It was the place where my true self lived, and nothing and nobody could touch me.
No club, no jail, no foster families, no intense men to break me.
No judgement.
Just me and my art.
I drew for hours as my pencil moved on its own accord. My mind zoned in with one solitary focus.
Until I stopped.
Those eyes. His eyes.
They stared back at me from the page like the first time I’d met him.
Searching, probing, calling to me.
I threw the book across the room and buried my face in my hands and dug my fingers into my hair. I gripped, willing away moisture more persistent than any other. It was so much harder this time. It was so much more.
“Why’d I let you in?” I choked out to the empty room. “Why?”
A soft tap came in response. It was right on the window behind me. I turned and peeked out.
Boe stood just outside with a soft smile on his face. Come out, he mouthed.
I shook my head no and turned away.
“Come out!” He tapped incessantly at the glass.
“Go away!” I yelled back. I stood and picked the sketch pad from the floor.
I’d just sat back down when he started.
“Show me the meaning of being lonely,” he bellowed out in the most god-awful singing voice I’d ever heard. “Is this the feeling I need to walk with? Tell me why! I can’t be there where you are!”
“Will you shut the fuck up?!” I turned and peeked back through the blinds then glared at him.
“Come out!”
“No!” I flopped back down and started a new sketch.
“I’m so lone-ly! I’m so lone-ly! I’m the loneliest... Boe... in the world.”
I gritted my teeth and slapped the pad onto the mattress. “What do you want?”
He grinned. “I want you to
come out.”
“I don’t want to come out.”
He paused. “Okay. I’ll just keep singing outside the window.”
I glared at him as he took a deep breath to begin again.
“If I come out,” I said, cutting him off before he could begin. “I’m coming to knock you out.”
His mouth closed, and his brow furrowed. “You don’t like the Backstreet Boys?”
I gave him a flat look.
“Right.” He tapped his chin. “You seem like a rock type of chick.”
More pondering. I practically watched the lightbulb appear above his head before he took a deep breath and belted out, “Lonely is the night,” in a much too high version of the song.
I was over this.
“I’m coming out.”
He smiled.
It took me less time than it should have to make it outside, and when Boe caught sight of my aggressive pace, his eyes widened.
“I was just trying to cheer you up.”
I rushed forward and knocked him on his ass.
He threw his arms over his face, curled in on himself, and laughed. “I swear, mistress. I will behave.”
I knew what he was trying to do, but I didn’t want it. It wouldn’t work. “Please,” my voice broke, “I want to be alone.”
Boe’s arms lowered, and his laughter died. He propped himself upright and studied me. “Being alone won’t help. Come, hang out with me. We can go out back. I’ll let you beat me.”
Bard’s accusations towards Boe rushed forward like warning bells, and despite how well I thought I knew him, the doubt was there all the same. “Why are you here, Boe?”
He stood up and dusted off his jeans. He had an expression that let me know he knew exactly why I’d asked. “He’s wrong.”
“About which part?”
He looked over at me. “This is different.”
“How?”
“It just is.”
“So, you don’t want to sleep with me?”
He didn’t respond for a long moment. “That’s hardly fair.”
Fair. “Fair is a myth lucky people believe so they don’t have to feel bad for the rest of us.” I stared him down. “What do you want?”
“I meant what I said. Turn me away all you want. Tell me you don’t want me. Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you sit alone in that room suffering. It’s different because we’re friends, Jessie. I care about you, whether you sleep with me or not.”
I didn’t have the energy to doubt him, especially when he said it all so genuinely. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”
“Will you sit with me?”
I stared at him for a long moment. “If you give me booze.”
His brow creased. “It’s noon.” He took a step closer and locked his eyes with mine. “Alright.” He nodded. “I’ll go get something and meet you by the steps.”
I did. I sat down on the worn wood and stared at the trees, wondering if a set of sharp eyes were looking back at me. Then, when Boe arrived, I drank―drank until I couldn’t stand; drank until the pain numbed and the stabbing pain in my chest simmered to a dull ache.
I drank until I couldn’t anymore then passed out in the front yard with the day, the night before, and every other aspect of my life as nothing more than a blur.
All that existed was the dewy grass upon my cheek and the faint memory of familiar arms lifting me up and carrying me back to bed.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
“I love you, Tequila.”
I shot upright and scanned the room, but it was empty.
It was always empty.
Drake no longer haunted my dreams. When I closed my eyes at night, it was a new man―sharp eyes and sweet words. But it was a ghost of the happiness I’d lost. It was never truly there.
For a week, Bard had remained true to his word. Everyone left, and I stayed, half expecting him to emerge when the last car disappeared down that narrow drive.
But he didn’t, and no matter how hard I tried, how much I forced myself to think rationally, I couldn’t find it in myself to be grateful.
Alone. For a week, I’d been completely alone.
I laid still and stared at the dust motes floating above my head. The point in getting up felt less and less obvious, and I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to spend another day convincing myself not to go after him. I didn’t want to remind myself of everything that had happened just to keep me steady. It was torture. It was another day of long quiet.
Alone.
I missed him, and I wanted to curse myself for it. I wanted to smack inner Jessie across her face. Just like with Drake, I couldn’t let it go.
Except Bard wasn’t Drake. Bard was so much more.
But they had one thing in common, and that was that I loved them even though I knew I shouldn’t.
A thump sounded from somewhere in the cabin, and I jumped up.
He came back.
I scrambled from the bed without thinking, but no sooner did my feet touch the old wooden floors, I froze.
I couldn’t want him to be back. I couldn’t see him. If I did, I’d…
I crept forward as carefully as I could to prevent the familiar creaks from accompanying my steps. My ears primed for sound.
Another thump.
He was here.
I hurried, trying to stay quiet, not wanting to see him but unable to pass up the chance.
The back door closed.
I ran.
By the time I reached the kitchen, it was empty.
And so was I.
I looked out the window, searched the yard, the tree line, but there was no one. He was gone like the ghost I’d come to know him as, doing what I’d asked him to do.
What I wanted.
It took an eternity before I willed myself to turn away from the murky piece of glass.
Alone.
Then I saw it on the table.
A flower. Big, white, and wild. My feet were glued to their spot as I stared at it and the little piece of paper tucked beneath.
He left a note.
Did I want to read it? Did I want to risk what was written there? What he’d written?
Fuck!
Unable to resist, I stormed over and picked the torn paper up with shaking hands.
There were five words scribbled in a sloppy hand. It was a man’s hand; uncontrolled and imprecise, so unlike everything else about him.
I’m sorry.
I miss you.
My chest hurt.
I loved him. Why did I have to fucking love him? Anger burned my eyes and tightened my chest. It was hatred at him, at myself.
I grabbed the flower, rushed to the backdoor, wrenched it open, and stormed down the back steps. My heart was in my throat, and my chest was too tight to breath. Adrenaline surged until my whole body shook.
“You don’t know me!” I screamed at the tree line, my voice raw and echoing all the pain I’d carried since that night. I clenched my fist, crumpled the paper and the flower then threw them both aimlessly towards the woods.
He didn’t know me.
Bard didn’t come out. He didn’t try to comfort me. He stayed inside his new dwelling, away from me, alone.
I forced my legs to carry me back inside even though all they really wanted to do was search for him, to find him, to beat him until my anger was satisfied, and to love him until my chest stopped hurting.
I loved him.
I missed him.
I hated this.
But I went inside because it was the only logical thing to do.
I needed to be strong. I needed to protect myself. I needed to forget. So I did what I did every morning and walked to the fridge to make a breakfast I had no interest in eating. I wasn’t hungry, but the task distracted me just like every other thing I did.
I pulled the door open and dropped to my knees.
He’d stocked it full to the brim with food he had no intention of sharing with me.
He never did, not
anymore.
On the top shelf, in plain sight, was a carton of eggs, a jug of orange juice, and another note.
I miss you taking my things.
My heart lurched.
On the shelf below sat a bag of candy with another note attached to the top of it.
You are worthy.
I sucked in a shuddering breath and almost lost it. A sob fought to break free like no other sob before it, and it was almost too much.
On the bottom shelf, nestled between the lunch meat and a bag of oranges, was a bottle of Tequila.
I fucked up.
I forgot the food and grabbed the bottle, not even bothering to stand before I opened it and tilted the liquid fire to my lips.
I wanted to forgive him.
I wanted to.
But I couldn’t.
Because nothing was different. Things hadn’t changed.
Bard didn’t know me.
I drank some more, just enough to numb the pain before changing into my training clothes.
The area out back felt empty without Bard to push me, without him to knock me down, without his praise for each new skill I learned.
But regardless, it was a task. It distracted me. Each punch to the bag helped to calm me. I pictured Amber. I visualized Drake. If he ever did finally find me, I’d be ready this time. I wasn’t the same person he’d known.
I was stronger.
I beat away at the faux opponent until my arms turned to jelly. I ran in place, did pushups and sit ups, pushing myself to get stronger, to be stronger.
Physically, I was ready.
Mentally, I was destroyed.
More than before. So much more.
But I continued. I didn’t stop to eat. I didn’t slow one task after another until blood trickled out of my nose.
When I finally called it a day and cleaned up, I went straight to bed and let sleep take me the minute my head touched the pillow.
I knew he’d be waiting.
***
A crash startled my eyelids upwards, and my heart jumped into my throat.
I sat up and willed myself to fully wake and listen. There was another clang followed by a stream of unintelligible curses.
I slowly got out of bed, rushed over to the door, and cracked it open the smallest of fractions.