The Dark of You

by Shade, S. M.

“I guess I am. I want to talk to you about something first.”

  The tone of my voice raises a cautious expression on his face. Not a great start. “There’s so much I don’t know about you. After all this time together, I want to know you. Not just your body and how you make me feel. Before I become a part of this, I need you to tell me who you are. More than your name and how you feel about me. You know my past, what’s made me who I am, and I want the same from you. This time tomorrow we’ll both be murderers. What do you have to lose?”

  When he doesn’t respond right away, I scoot close to him, pressing my side to his and take his rough hand in mine. “There’s nothing you can’t tell me. Nothing that’ll scare me away, Reeve. I love you.”

  There, the words are out. For better or worse, he knows how I feel and what I need from him. The next move is his. The nervous anticipation in those few seconds of silence before he turns to face me is worse than what I feel for our plans tonight.

  I’m snared in his feverish gaze, caught in green eyes illuminated by fading rays of sunlight. His hands slide over either side of my jaw to cup my face. He brings his lips to mine and removes my doubts in a matter of seconds. Tears rise in my eyes because his kiss says so much I needed to hear. Every shift of his lips on mine, every stroke of his tongue exploring my mouth with reverence screams that he feels it too. This isn’t one sided.

  I run my fingers over the stubble on his cheek, kissing him back like I may never have another chance. If I held a shred of doubt over whether I was in love, it’s gone now. He’s everything. Everything.

  His hands remain on my cheeks when the kiss ends, and he touches his forehead to mine. “I love you, Darcy.”

  How those words fill me up, closing so many wounds. For the first time, I let myself dream of a future with someone. It’s not the typical suburban, white picket fence dream. No, ours may be splashed with blood and hidden in shadows, but it’s there.

  Who knows how long we would’ve stayed like that, sitting on my porch, absorbed in one another if my alarm hadn’t started to blare from my phone.

  I reach to silence it. “Sorry, it’s just to tell me the food needs to come out of the oven.”

  He chuckles. “Go get it before we burn the house down.”

  It’s difficult to pull myself away from him, and by the time I reach the door, I can’t resist a look back. He’s watching me. Always watching me. There’s something profound in his expression, but I can’t put a finger on what it reflects. Love? Fear? Sadness? Or am I only taken at the beauty of his rough face caught in the quality of the last of the evening light?

  It doesn’t matter. He’s mine.

  My nerves over our plans tonight have settled, and I hum as I pull the food from the oven, then set the table. Most of the time, we eat in front of the TV, but I’d like to sit across from him for a nice dinner tonight. Something civilized before we act like the animals we are.

  The feeling that floods through me isn’t recognizable at first, maybe because I’ve never felt it before. Freedom. That’s what he’s given me. Freedom to be myself and not tamp down any parts of me that would be unsavory or frightening. For years I’ve tried to hide from the ugly truth of humanity, writing it into fiction to make it more palatable, but shutting yourself away doesn’t work. There’s always the knowledge of it, the heavy awareness of the world breathing hard outside the windows. Cruel, indifferent, and random.

  I’m not afraid of it anymore. I’m not afraid of me anymore.

  Reeve hasn’t joined me by the time everything’s ready. When I poke my head out of the front door, he’s no longer sitting on the step. I didn’t hear him come inside, but the man can move like a damn cat. “Hey, dinner’s ready!” I call out, ducking back indoors.

  No answer. A quick look around the house reveals he isn’t anywhere inside. The night approaches fast, stealing more light by the second as I step outside. He must’ve gone to the shed for something.

  No light comes from the shed when I round the corner so I continue around to the back of the house to see if he’s on the patio. It’s empty. Where the hell did he go?

  “Reeve!” My shout filters through the forest, bringing no reply. After another trip around the outside of the house to convince myself he isn’t out there, I do a second search inside with no luck.

  He showed up on foot, and my car’s here. He can’t have gone far. Did he realize we needed something else for our plan? This is why he needs a phone. That’s another subject I’m going to broach with him when he tells me about himself tonight. It’s odd for anyone not to have a phone, but I can understand why he wouldn’t want or need one. I’m not attached to mine either, but at times like this, I’d like to be able to get in touch with him instead of wondering what he’s doing or when he’s coming back. Surely, it won’t be long.

  I sit on the front step to wait for him. As minutes roll into an hour and then another, the thoughts I’ve been trying to keep out start finding their way through. What if I scared him away by saying I love you? That’s ridiculous though, he said it back, and the way he kissed me, he meant it. We’re going to end the secrets between us. He’s going to answer my questions about him.

  Isn’t he?

  My mind rewinds our conversation. He didn’t actually agree to that, did he? I told him what I want and that I love him. He said he loves me. Nothing more. What if insisting that he tell me more scared him away? His words from the beginning of our strange relationship come back to me. “You have to decide if this is enough.”

  At some point, I decided it isn’t. Another hour passes while I argue with myself, desperately trying to hold onto hope.

  He wouldn’t leave just because he doesn’t want to answer those questions. He’s told me no before.

  You kept pushing and assumed he changed his mind. You crossed the line he drew. He’s done.

  No, he just told me that he loves me. Twice with that amazing kiss. My anxiety is blowing this out of proportion. He’ll be back.

  That kiss wasn’t an admission of love. It was goodbye.

  No, I refuse to believe that!

  Anger rushes through me when I get to my feet. I’m being fucking ridiculous. He’ll be back. We have a job to do tonight, and I need to be ready. The front screen door falls shut behind me, and I stalk into the kitchen to clear the table of the cold food we never touched.

  It doesn’t matter. We’re supposed to be leaving soon to head toward that asshole’s house and save two little girls from a terrible life.

  Another hour passes while I distract myself by cleaning up and changing into dark clothes. The supplies we need for tonight wait in a bag in the shed. A sudden thought strikes me. What if he decided to do it on his own? To keep me from getting involved and possibly caught. Maybe that’s where he is right now. My heart climbs into my throat while my feet pound across the grass to the shed. If the bag’s missing, he’s doing this to protect me.

  There’s no worse emotion than hope. Nothing else raises you high enough for the fall to be so devastating.

  The bag sits where we left it. A sob leaps out of me a second before denial shoves its way in again. He could’ve still went on his own. It’s not like there’s anything in there that he can’t get somewhere else. Zip ties, tape, a taser. There’s no knife because he always carries one, just like I do.

  He could still be there.

  I have to know. I have to go.

  The moon hides behind thick clouds, providing the perfect darkness for what I’m doing. Everything was planned out beforehand, down to where to park so we wouldn’t be seen putting him into my trunk. I know right where to go. There are no other vehicles anywhere around when I park, get out of the car, and cut through the woods to come out at the end of the dead end street just past his house.

  Pale light shows through the windows, flashing occasionally. Probably from the TV. My breathing sounds loud. I try to get it under control as I slowly walk around to the back of the house. This is much more terrifying alone. The girls’
room is the first one I peek into, and they’re asleep on the pallet on the floor.

  A patch of dead grass crunches underfoot, and I freeze, sure it was loud enough to be heard. Each step around the house is careful and planned after that. The kitchen stands dark and empty. Another bedroom with a sagging bed is lit only by a hallway light, but it appears to be normal, no blood or signs Reeve has been here. The living room is my last stop. It’s the scariest because if their father is home and awake, he’s likely there. What will I do if he sees me?

  When I peek around the edge of the window, he’s visible, lying in a recliner in front of the TV, a bottle of whiskey on the table beside him. He’s passed out.

  Reeve hasn’t been here.

  I’m not sure what to do next. He could still show up to carry out our plan. It’s not like we had a specific time to do it. Just overnight. The thought of going back home to wait and wonder about him is awful. I’d rather be here, at least for now.

  The spot where Reeve and I watched together from the woods isn’t hard to locate. Part of me held onto hope I’d find him there. Putting my back against a large tree, I stretch my legs out and wait. Unlike before, I’m not watching for the man inside. I’m watching for the man I love.

  I don’t understand what’s going on. Why would he take off? He was as eager to do this as I was. It doesn’t make sense. The worry that my demand to know more about him drove him away is a persistent bug in my head, no matter how many times I swat it away.

  My phone buzzes in my jacket pocket. It’s been days since I’ve checked it, and I’m surprised it still has a charge, especially when I see ten missed calls. A few from my agent, but most are Thea. Her name is lighting up my phone again now. It’s not the best timing, but I don’t want her to surprise me by showing up again.

  “Hey,” I answer, keeping my eye on the yard.

  “Hey!” she screeches. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks other than a couple of “okay” texts! Then I see online that Midnight Terror is going to be a movie! Is it true? You got a movie deal and you didn’t tell me?”

  Damn. It’s not supposed to be announced for a couple of weeks, but I guess the news was leaked. It’s not like I can tell her I’ve been so wrapped up planning a murder with my stalker that I’ve forgotten about everything and everyone else. “Yeah, it’s true, but it wasn’t supposed to be public knowledge yet.”

  “Well, I’m not the public. I’m your friend.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been writing, and I guess I got caught up in it. I didn’t realize it’d been so long.”

  She huffs. “Well, I’m glad you’re writing again.”

  “Yeah, it just came back. But I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch.”

  “Well, I want to know all about it, but I also have something to talk to you about. Do you remember I told you Paul and Dax’s band was doing well? They want to cut a record and there’s this studio—”

  It’s so hard to focus on what she’s saying. Too much is roaring around my head while I stare at the empty yard. Something tickles my ankle, and I swat at it. “I’m sorry to cut you off, but this isn’t a good time. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Seriously?” she snaps. “Don’t bother, Darcy. Fuck.”

  The line goes quiet. She hung up. It’s hard to blame her. For years we talked every day, told each other everything, and now she has to chase me to hear from me at all. Once this is over, I’ll do my best to make it up to her.

  The wind picks up, and it’s a lot chillier without Reeve beside me like last time. With my jacket pulled tight around me, I lean my head back and stare at the yard. No matter how much I try to will a shadowy stalker to appear and head my way, he doesn’t.

  There’s only me and the darkness.

  My eyes grow heavy, and eventually, I lose my fight to keep them open. I’m jarred from a thin sleep by a metallic bang. A split second of panic seizes me before I remember where I am. Dawn threatens, outlining the lower part of the sky in pale purple. I stay frozen where I am against the tree while I scan the yard for whatever made the noise, still hoping to see Reeve.

  Instead, I watch as the truck parked beside the house starts up, and the man who should be dead backs out into the road. It’s morning. He’s going to work. Berating myself for falling asleep, I creep back to the road, then start running once I get to the woods. My car waits where I left it. With no idea what else to do, I drive home.

  The house has never felt so empty. My chest feels the same. Reeve left. Everything is wrong. My laptop calls to me, the only friend I seem to have left. Once I sit in front of it, the words pour out, and everything else fades away again.

  Living inside the story, there’s no confusion or pain. In this place, I’m not heartbroken. Surrounded by words, I’m not alone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  PAST

  Life in the group home isn’t as bad as it was in the past ones. Maybe because this home only houses teens in their last year before aging out of the system. They’re more focused on getting us ready to leave than anything else. There’s no strict schedule because everyone here is on a different path. Some are in their last year of high school, some are studying for, or have obtained their GED. A few attend trade classes or have a job.

  There are rules, but they’re pretty general. No drinking or drugs. No fighting, stealing, or being rude to the staff. The girls and boys can hang out during the day, but aren’t allowed in each other’s dorms. Curfew is eleven p.m. unless you have a job that schedules you past that.

  In the last eight months, I’ve done as much as possible to get on my feet so I won’t end up back on the street again. Despite my lack of recent schooling, I had no problem getting my GED. I’m saving money and I attend a creative writing class at the local community college two days a week after my job, which I’m about to be late for if I don’t haul ass.

  “Are you ready?” Thea asks, sticking her head through our bedroom door.

  “Yeah, let’s go.” Thea works in a makeup store in the same mall where I work. We both have the day shift, and on the days that our schedules match up, we ride the bus together. We couldn’t be more opposite and unlikely friends.

  When I arrived, any friends were unlikely for me. It didn’t take long for me to be known as the girl who never talks and never joins in. I kept to myself and was fine with the way the others pretended I didn’t exist, but Thea wasn’t having it. Her bubbly happiness drove me crazy at first, but it also fascinated me. How could someone living in the same type of situation as me be so damn cheerful? She’s been stuck in the system since she was eight, when her mother decided drugs were more important than feeding her.

  One day about two months after I arrived, Thea plopped down next to me in the dining room. “Hey, moody bitch,” she said, not unkindly.

  My glare didn’t toss the smile from her face. “What do you want?”

  “Just letting you know we’re friends now. I’ve decided. Let’s go get some ice cream. The shop is right across from the fire station, and the firemen always wash the trucks on Friday afternoon.”

  I was still trying to process what she was asking when she waved her hand in front of my face. “Hello, shirtless, wet fire fighters. Let’s go.” I’m sure she was surprised when I agreed to go with her. It was the beginning of my first real friendship.

  Now, we spend most of our free time together and plan to share an apartment once we’re out of the home. Only a couple more months.

  The bus is crowded when we climb on, but we manage to find a seat. “Do you have class tonight?” she asks.

  “At eight. What are you doing tonight?”

  A smile leaps across her face. “Meeting Howie again, I hope. I haven’t talked to him yet today.”

  Howie’s a freshman in college who works at the electronics store right next to her job. She’s just started seeing him and confessed that she slept with him for the first time yesterday. She’s head over heels and giddy every time she talks about him.

&nbs
p; “How’s your arm feeling?”

  Thea pulls up her sleeve and rubs the tiny scar which matches the one on my arm. “It’s not sore today. Is yours?”

  “Nope, all healed up.”

  It took me a couple of conversations with Thea to convince her to get on birth control because she was nervous about the whole process. Finally, I volunteered to get it with her, and we made an appointment at Planned Parenthood. An hour after we walked in, we emerged with five years worth of peace of mind implanted in each of our arms.

  The mall is bustling when we get there. I’m so grateful I don’t have a job working directly with customers like Thea does. “Meet you for lunch at the food court,” she calls, heading upstairs to put makeup on strangers. With her commission, she makes more money than I do. Her personality sells as much product as she does. People generally love her.

  My job in loss prevention suits me. Not because I have some calling to law enforcement, but because it lets me sit in a room by myself and watch cameras all day. When I see someone stealing, I alert security, and they go after them. It’s amusing to watch them chase them down sometimes. It can also be entertaining to watch the people, their interactions with each other, even though there’s no sound. In my head, I often put words into their mouths.

  It’s also perfect because I get the chance to write. I’ve written a whole novel, along with a handful of short stories. One of my short stories made it into a magazine a few months ago. It earned me three hundred dollars and the privilege of saying I now have published work.

  The morning is largely uneventful. A group of teenagers try to make a game out of lifting CD’s from the music store, then run like hell when I send security. Two of the four get away, but their friends are caught.

  When lunchtime arrives, I head upstairs to meet with Thea. One look at her face and I know something’s wrong. She looks like she’s about to burst into tears. “What happened?” I ask, leading her to a table in the corner that’s semi private.

  “I’m such a fucking idiot, Darce. He didn’t even like me. I never should’ve…” Her words are cut off with a sob, and she covers her face.