Shadow of a Girl

by Shannon Greenland

  “Why do you need it?”

  Safety. But I don’t say that and instead try to lighten the mood. “Wanderlust. It inspires me.”

  He cocks his head and studies me, and I get the distinct impression he sees so much more than I want him to. I try to keep my lighthearted expression, but the more his dark eyes knowingly probe into mine, the more uncomfortable I become.

  I break eye contact first, reaching for my messenger bag.

  “I’m suddenly feeling very inspired.” He opens his lyrics pad back up. “Think I’ll write.”

  “Okay,” I say and watch as he scribbles a few lines.

  I think of all the times I’ve been around him now and the times I’ve see him around other people. He seems different around me. More real, I suppose. More thoughtful. I wonder if he even realizes the facade he wears. I think it’s probably such a part of the rock star side of him, and he’s done it for so long that he doesn’t realize it’s just a role he plays.

  Looks like we’re more alike than I thought.

  I continue to watch as he marks through a line and starts another, and we fall into a comfortable silence. I study his pen scratching across the pages, and with each hypnotic scrape, I find myself zoning out and my eyes drifting shut…

  “Go on up,” Gideon says, eerily calm.

  Without a nod, I do as expected and head straight up to my room. I don’t bother closing my door. I don’t bother hiding. It doesn’t matter. He’ll find me. He’ll always find me.

  I hear his feet softly padding up the stairs. He never stomps, and sometimes I find myself wishing he would. Maybe then I would be more prepared.

  Yet I stand, not breathing, staring at my open bedroom door, waiting, waiting, always hoping he’ll change his mind.

  His footsteps reach the top step, and he turns toward my room. Seconds later he’s there, hovering in my open door, a tree switch gripped in his hand. I stare at the switch and all that goes through my mind is, thank God it’s not the cane.

  “You know this hurts me more than you, right?”

  I nod, and without him telling me, I lie face down on my bed. My fingers curl into the yellow and green comforter, and the first whack across my back comes quicker than expected.

  “Come out in the name of Jesus.” He whacks himself. “I rebuke the temptation.” He whacks me. “I command you to be clean.” A whack to himself. “I commit thee unto the Lord.” A whack to me. “I tell you evil spirt to go!”

  On it goes, one for me and one for him. Sometimes there’s not always one for him though, sometimes it’s all for me.

  I endure the cleansing, gritting my teeth, my fingers digging into the silk fabric of my comforter. I only hope fasting doesn’t come next. The last time he forced fasting, it was five days before I ate, and I swore stomach acid had eaten through my insides.

  Another whack, and I will my mind to drift back to the last time he allowed Bluma to visit, to when we shared a popsicle and made a tent in my room out of my flowered sheets.

  Finally Gideon’s ire subsides, and he stands hovering above me, heaving deep breaths. Then I feel water sprinkling across my back, and I know it’s almost over as he begins speaking in tongues…

  Adrenaline shoots through me, and I wake with a whole body jerk. I scoot up in my chair and look around, trying to orient myself.

  “Hey,” West whispers.

  I glance at Anne and then Simon to see them both sleeping.

  Silently, I curse and hope to God I didn’t talk. Anne told me once I do. I push myself farther up, embarrassed, awkward, and just wanting to get away. But I’m on a bus, trapped, with nowhere to go. Sweat pops to my skin, and I force myself to breathe, but it doesn’t seem like there’s any air in here.

  West reaches for me. “Eve?”

  I shake my head, and with fumbling fingers I get my earbuds out and put them in. I turn sideways in my chair, not wanting to look at West, or Anne, or anybody, and stare out the window for the rest of the trip.

  But mostly I concentrate on breathing and on keeping my eyes open so I don’t fall back to sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  He knows you dyed your hair red. Change your look ASAP.

  This is the message Bluma sends me in route to Detroit, and the first thing to go through my mind is, of course Gideon knows. I should’ve already thought of that. His people found my hair in the garbage, and I put the dye box in there, too. Bluma and I were so careful and now this one mistake could bring all of this to an end. What was I thinking leaving all of that there?

  Either way, changing my look is the first thing I do when I get into Detroit. I find the nearest salon and have them cut the rest of my hair pixie short and dye it dark blue. I also purchase black framed glasses with a light blue tint to compliment my hair.

  And now several hours later I walk into the hotel lobby and straight up to Anne.

  “Holy shit!” Her mouth drops open. “I love it!”

  Her reaction warms me, and I start to wonder what West will think right as he steps off the elevator, catches sight of me across the lobby, and with a huge grin, makes his way toward me.

  “Eve, that totally rocks. That is so awesome!”

  “Really?”

  He nods. “Absolutely.”

  It might be silly, but their accolades bolster me. I do like the new me.

  The next few days roll by and I get no more messages from Bluma. My life settles into this routine of set up, show, break down, and travel to new city. Every travel day Anne and I end up on the Mack Daddy bus, and on show days, West somehow maneuvers himself to be near me. But the mornings…the mornings are my favorite when West and I just run.

  My friendship with him definitely seems to border on something more. He’s still flirting, I don’t think he knows how not to flirt, but it’s more low key, and it simmers an ongoing liquid warmth in me that both confuses me and makes me feel…womanly.

  “When are you going to cave and go out with the dude?” Anne asks me during our lunch break on a Friday afternoon.

  “We’re just friends.”

  “Mmmhmm. You keep telling yourself that.”

  But we really are, and I like it. All of it.

  “I told him to be tender with you.” She bats her lashes. “That you were one of the good ones.”

  My mouth drops open in shock. “You did not!”

  “You are one of the good ones. He’s probably used to waving his finger and getting what he wants. He’s never met anybody like you. You keep making him work for it.”

  “I’m not trying to make him work for it,” I tell her.

  “I know, and that’s what’s so great about it.” Anne grabs our hot dog wrappers and tosses them into the trash. She sits back down beside me on the stage and nods to my guitar propped in my lap. “Ready?” she asks.

  “Your pick,” I tell her. We do this a lot. Pick a silly song to sing.

  She pulls out her harmonica, thinks for a second, and then starts Lollipop. With a smile, I pick the notes on my guitar, and she begins singing extremely loudly and even more off-key. God, I adore her.

  When she’s done, she nods her head, and I turn to see West. He’s being trailed by two female reporters. One is snapping pictures and the other one is asking him questions. Both are a little too up in his personal space. But he doesn’t appear bothered. If the camera and reporters get any closer, I’ll make an excuse and leave. A picture of me popping up is not what I need, even if I’m just in the background.

  I tug my ball cap farther down and watch as the petite one leans in, giggling like a hyena. West is funny. But he’s not that funny. I narrow my eyes.

  Anne gives me a nudge. “Jealous?”

  “No. There’s nothing to be jealous about. West and I are just friends.”

  “Well, ‘just friends’ don’t give the look you just gave.”

  West says good-bye to the reporters and crosses the grass coming toward us. He gives us a little wave. “I saw you guys from back there. You were hav
ing a little too much fun for lunch break. What song were you singing?”

  “Lollipop,” Anne tells him and does a quick rip on her harmonica.

  West jumps up on to the stage beside me and scoots over until his thigh is touching mine. One small week ago I would’ve scooted away, but not now. I really like that I’m becoming normal. That I’m becoming comfortable.

  “You two need to take your act on the road,” he says.

  “She’s the talent,” I tell him. “All off key and everything.”

  “Hey!” Anne fakes offense, and we all laugh.

  “We’ll be in New York tomorrow. You two excited?”

  “Definitely!” Anne immediately answers. “Madison Square? I can’t wait!”

  Excitedly, I nod, too, and I think about sitting in that coffee shop back in Toronto looking at the map of New York. I wonder if West ever thinks about that.

  I see him glance down at the tiny Bugs Bunny in the center of my green shirt, then he looks up into my eyes, back to my shirt, and again to my eyes. “Wow, you had some green eyes before, but that shirt is making your eyes almost ridiculous right now.”

  “The color makes them pop,” Anne chimes in.

  But I barely hear her as I stare into West’s warm dark eyes and get a little lost. Something shifts then, an awareness between us, and heat creeps into my cheeks. I tell myself to break the contact, to look away, but I don’t. And though I also don’t look down, all my attention goes straight to our touching thighs. I’m sure it’s my imagination, but they seem to catch fire.

  His eyes drop then, just for second, and he looks right at my lips. I wonder if they look okay. I wiped them after my hot dog. They should look okay.

  Anne clears her throat, and it snaps me back to attention and realizing that West and I had gravitated closer to the other. He leans away then and turns to look at all the sound equipment scattered around. No one says anything for a few seconds, and I try to get a grip on what just happened.

  “I’ve always wondered what it’s like to mix a show,” he muses.

  “And I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be up on stage,” Anne counters.

  West’s eyes light up. “It’s the most incredible feeling. To know whatever you do, the audience will experience it. It’s all right at your fingertips, and a slight move one way or the other could make or break a song. Oh, and when the EQ’s just right, when the acoustics in a place are perfect, it’s like an orgasm or something.”

  “Orgasm?” Anne switches her amused attention to me. “That’s an interesting description.”

  My face catches on fire, and I duck my head.

  Anne and West continue talking and I zero in on the word “orgasm”. What does one feel like, I wonder. Warm? Numb? Vibrations? Does it go through the whole body or just—

  “Eve?”

  My head snaps up. “Yeah?”

  “Do you want one?” Anne prompts.

  I feel the blood drain from my face, and I don’t immediately answer. Surely she’s not asking me if I want an orgasm. West chuckles then, like he knows exactly where my thoughts are.

  “We’ve got about fifteen minutes left to have lunch.” Anne jumps down off the stage. “I’m going to run and get a Coke. Do you want one?”

  “Oh…” I nod. “Sure.”

  A chilly breeze blows by the outdoor theater, carrying the scent of funnel cake, and my skin pricks to goose bumps. I turn back to West to find him quietly studying me. Sometimes he does that. Just silently contemplates me and I wonder what he’s thinking.

  “You cold?” he asks, already unzipping his hoodie.

  “A little,” I admit, eyeing his movements.

  He slides his arms free and drapes the hoodie over my shoulders before hopping off the stage and strolling off. I watch him for a second, surrounded by the warmth and scent of him, wanting more than anything to just snuggle into it. No one’s ever done that before, asked or cared if I was cold or given me the clothes off their body to wear.

  “West?” I call.

  He looks over his shoulder.

  “Why are you here? Sound check’s not for another two hours and reporters usually interview you guys at the hotel.”

  West’s lips curve up, making something inside me swell. “I knew you’d be here.” Then he turns, and he strolls off.

  Chapter Fourteen

  With a snarl, Gideon grabs the bar of soap and forces my lips apart. “Open up. We need our filthy mouths washed.”

  The memory comes back to me as I stare down at the bar of Ivory soap sitting on the side of the sink. Ivory—the same brand Gideon always used—and just looking at it makes my mouth salivate with the bitterness of blood and soap.

  Behind me Anne mumbles something and rolls over in her bed.

  It’s six in the morning, and we don’t have to go to work today. Off days mean Anne will sleep until noon. But I plan on a morning run in Central Park and the sightseeing I’ve always wanted to do in New York.

  And so I tuck my long sleeve T-shirt into my running shorts, tie my Nikes, and quietly head out. West and I always meet in the lobby of whatever hotel we find ourselves, and there he is leaning up against the front counter watching TV and waiting on me. I use the few seconds he doesn’t know I’m looking to check out his sleep-messy hair, his grey and white track pants, and black Under Armor T-shirt. Still watching the TV, he bends over to scratch his knee, and Daffy Duck boxers peek out of his waist band. I smile, he wasn’t kidding, huh?

  Fox News is on with two reporters sitting opposite each other on couches. In the top right corner a picture of Gideon pops up, smiling, looking very approachable and charming. It’s like all the air gets sucked out of the lobby, and suddenly I can’t breathe. The volume is turned low, and I can’t hear what the reporters are saying but along the bottom scrolls:

  GIDEON KOPELING TO LAUNCH WORLD TOUR

  What?

  West turns then and catches sight of me. “Hey.”

  I force a smile, sure that if he looked close enough, he’d see how fake it is. “Hey.” I just want my past to disappear, but every time I turn, there it is again being shoved in my face.

  He takes off toward the exit door. “Let’s get to it.”

  My eyes track back over the TV as I slowly follow behind West to see they’ve moved on to another story. But…a world tour? Gideon was talking about it, sure, but with me being gone, I didn’t think he’d go through with it.

  It’s like I’m not even missing.

  I haven’t talked to Bluma, so I don’t know specifics, but I do have a Google Alert on my phone, and I know Gideon has made no official announcement that I’m gone. That’s smart, actually. Keeping it private. If he made things official, the police would legally have to get involved. No, Gideon knows exactly what he’s doing letting his private team find me. And he knows exactly what he’s doing with this world-tour announcement. Yes, something is off, and though I can’t see it right now, my gut tells me this has everything to do with me because there is no way he would just let me go.

  “Eve?” West says, and I blink out of my thoughts to see we’re standing in Central Park.

  Central Park. I am going to miss everything if I don’t stop thinking about Gideon and tune into the world around me.

  West laughs. “Where’d you go?”

  I give a little laugh, too. “Nowhere. Sorry.” I motion to our surroundings. “Overwhelmed, I guess. I mean, look at this. It’s like the city disappeared.”

  “I know. I love it here.” The sky thunders then, and West glances up at the darkness. “Let’s see how far we can get before it pours.” He takes off in a slow, warm-up jog, and together we build our pace.

  A few wet drops hit my face and arms, and I look up at the gray and gloomy clouds.

  “Come on.” West takes off in a fast run. “Gazebo up ahead. We can wait it out under there.”

  Sprinkles become splatters and seconds later rain pours down. West sprints and I race after him, my shoes slipping on the w
et grass, and with a splash, I land in a puddle. Lightning cracks then, jerking me to attention, and in a quick flash I see someone standing across the lawn in the line of the trees. But as quickly as I see him, he is gone.

  I’ll kill you if you ever run from me.

  Gideon’s venomous words ricochet through my head as another streak lights up the sky and rain streams down my hat and over my shoulders to soak through my T-shirt. I stare hard into the woods, my gaze snapping from tree to tree in a searching panic.

  “Eve!” West yells from the gazebo. “Get up here!”

  I ignore him and focus hard on the tree line, my heart banging so hard it feels as if it’s about to split my ribs. Did I really see a person?

  “EVE!”

  Jerking away, I race up the slope toward West.

  “You okay?” he asks as I duck into the shelter. “What did you see?”

  “Nothing,” I say, wiping the rain from my face.

  “Another minute and you would’ve been a piece of sizzled bacon,” he jokes.

  I conjured that person’s image. That has to be it. There’s no way one of Gideon’s men has found me. If they had, they would’ve already taken me. They wouldn’t be just following me, just watching me.

  West steps into my line of sight, and I bring my eyes to his. His brow furrows as he studies my face, and I don’t want his questions, so I look away.

  “What’s made you so sad?” he quietly asks.

  Sad. He used that word before, and I don’t know how to respond. I don’t even know where to start, or what to say. All I know is that I don’t want to be sad, I don’t want to lug around the heaviness of the past. I really don’t. I want to be adjusted and happy, all the time, and one day I will. One day.

  He reaches a hand toward me, and gently he runs his thumb over my cheekbone. Quiet seconds pass, filled only by the sound of the rain, his breathing, and my nervous heart. He inches closer and his other hand goes to my hip, making the air punch from my lungs as I realize one more inch and our bodies will be completely together. I tune into his searing hand there on my hip, and I watch as his dark eyes become even darker, consuming.