A smaller bright star twinkles in the distance. My mind tells me to look away, but my heart screams, “Mom.”
She was dead inside, yet there was still something inside of her that shined bright. I could see it in her rage – her luster displayed only during bouts of fury. She didn’t know how else to shine, but I saw it… I saw that gleam in her eyes when I somehow angered her. She rarely hit me. She left that to Liam… a sort of copout. I guess it was a means to trample down the guilt.
She never cared how disgusting or alone I felt when Liam came into my room and used me. It seemed like she hid away in the bath every time. I could hear the pipes running in the walls beforehand like clockwork. I’ve heard Liam tell her to take her bath. She never denied him. Instead, she’d lug a bottle of wine in there with her, and there she’d stay until her fingers and toes were pruny. I recall one night, when she came into my room afterwards. She ran her fingers along my cheek, and my heart thundered beneath my ribs as I begged her silently to put a stop to my demented relationship with Liam. But again, she failed me. She didn’t say a word, or offer condolences. There was no remorse. No apology for having a hand in molding what I would inevitably become.
Liam… I expected him to hurt me. First, he cut me down when I was a child, then he took advantage of me as a teenager. But mom… she was supposed to be a lioness – fearlessly devoted to her cub, but alas, she lacked the maternal bone necessary to raise a strong, independent daughter. Instead, she taught me her ways. If she did it on purpose, I’m afraid I’ll never know. I would often wonder if she was self-loathing, like me. She didn’t seem to be. She inhaled compliments and exhaled confidence. She was told constantly that she was a beauty. Mom wasn’t like me. She was the plastic, perfect, caring housewife. Before that? She was a whore looking for a meal ticket – exactly what I was bound to become, except I was her husband’s whore... his young mistress.
I remember being a child and wishing that I could change every single detail, down to my skin, muscles, and bones. I was born a runt, fragile and depleted. I was a failure in her eyes, and I would’ve given anything to amount to whatever it was that she deemed acceptable. Eventually I succumbed to the realization that I would never be.
“You’re quiet over there,” Rowan murmurs beside me followed by a yawn.
“Want me to drive for a bit?”
He shrugs. “We have about 40 more minutes ‘til the motel. I think I’ll be alright.”
I nod, my eyes fixating on the window once more. “Where are we going?”
“Colorado,” he responds. “Canon City.”
I nod, settling back into the seat before closing my eyes and drifting off to sleep.
The warmth wraps around me, and my eyelids are heavy as I peer through them.
Snow capped mountains tower in the distance above the dusty, winding roads. Taking a look around, I realize we're at a gas station. the smell of gasoline is strong with hints of fresh brewed coffee wafting in the air.
“We're in Colorado,” Rowan says, appearing in the driver's side window with two coffees. “Drink up. I found a couple of spots that we can hit on the way to Canon City.”
“Thanks,” I respond groggily as I retrieve my coffee.
He gets in before revving the engine and turning on the stereo. My head begins nodding along with a song I know well.
“The Black Keys,” he says, tapping a finger on the steering wheel as he turns onto the road. “They've got a great feel.”
I agree, smiling as I sing along to “Psychotic Girl.”
“You've got a good voice. We should collaborate on something one day.”
My eyes dart to his momentarily before I look away again. “Sure,” I shrug, the smile pulling at my lips.
“So, I figured since we're going to be in Colorado, we could appreciate the sights.”
“Yeah?” I say, my curiosity at its peak as I try and hide my excitement.
“Camping? White Water National Park? Pikes Peak?”
I giggle, involuntarily, but it feels good. “I like camping.” Though, that's a lie. I wouldn't know, because I've never been.
“Camping it is,” he says. His kind eyes make me feel so many things. Uneasy, frightened, intrigued... I've never seen eyes quite like his. I feel happy, and whether its merely his presence, or the fact that I've escaped, if only momentarily... I haven't felt this way in such a long time. It feels good, to not only be in the right place, but with the right person, at the right time – that makes all the difference.
Sitting across from him, I wonder what's going on behind those eyes of his. Is he as destroyed as me? If so, he hides it well, and my insecurities begin whispering to me. All of the 'you aren't good enoughs' and 'he'd never have anything to do with yous' dissipate as his eyes dart to mine. They quiet the voice that's beat me down for most of my life.
I feel free.
Once we make our way to the tent, I smile when I see how he set it up. Two sleeping bags with a couple of respectful inches between them.
As we lie on our backs beside each other, I stare up through the clear ceiling of the tent – at the stars that hang, so far away.
“We borrow so many problems in this life,” he says, his eyes never leaving the expanse above us. “Think about all of the problems we create for ourselves.”
“I think that's inevitable,” I respond. “Everything happens for a reason.”
“Sure, but what about our control?”
I turn towards him, my curiosity piqued. “We can't control when somebody hurts us.”
“Sure, but you have control over whether they continue to hurt you.”
“What are we talking about?” I whisper, my defenses up.
Rolling over, he faces me and sighs. Reaching behind him, he pulls out a little black book.
That-little-black-fucking-book.
“You aren't shit to me!” He screamed. His lips were inches from my face as he spit his venom, burning and blistering my heart.
Slap.
Slap.
My cheeks burned as he dug his fingers into the flesh of my arms once more. He was drunk. The most drunk I've ever seen him in my life... and he was scary. Scarier than any monster I've seen on a big screen.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”
Sorry didn't mean shit. Slap, kick, slap.
He crawled over me, his chest heaving against mine as the scent of whiskey poured from his lips. “You're MINE! Do you fucking understand me? You're fucking some skinny, sick boy? What in the fuck? What in the actual FUCK are you trying to do to me?”
“Liam,” She said quietly. I didn't hear the door open over the commotion. “The neighbors came by. They wanted to make sure that everything is okay. Honey, come to bed.”
He stayed, his face hovering above mine as his weight crushed me.
“Liam!” She snapped, and he laughed while I continued to cry.
“Pathetic.” He sneered, eventually making it to his feet before stumbling down the hall.
Mom didn't leave. Instead, she stared down at me disapprovingly as she shook her head. Slowly, she walked towards my bed before reaching under the mattress.
She had my book in her hand. My truth – and she dangled it in front of me mockingly.
“Here,” she said sweetly. “Write it down in your little black fucking book.” Tossing the book at me, she turned to leave, but before she left, she was sure to offer one last blow.
“He’s right. You are pathetic.”
“Where'd you get that?” I ask, tears filling my eyes. I'm not angry, like I'd normally be. If he read all of that, and he's still here, that says something.
“I'm sorry that happened to you,” he says, and his eyes say it, too. A stranger feeling sadness and remorse for a girl that was forgotten. My mind swirls with the possibilities that linger between us. He sees my heart, and I see his. He is light, and I am darkness. Where the world is black and white, we're gray, meeting where the line begins to blur.
My soul has traveled almos
t thirty years throughout this life without any replenishing. It's been dragged behind ill intentions, and silenced by mental abuse. It hasn't met another, in the intimate way, that seemed to care enough to handle it gently. Not until now.
As our bodies move together, I transcend to a different place. A place that I never knew existed. Otherwise, I would've searched for it long ago. This is more about souls than bodies – more about the present than the past – more about love than control. This isn't what I'm used to, but fuck – it's like breathing again after holding my breath for minutes underwater.
I feel in love when we travel up Pike's Peak, 14,000 feet up. I feel happy when he splashes me in the face with water from the river we set up our camp by. I feel complete when he takes me to the famous Woodpecker Hill, and we watch the sun set behind the mountains. I've known this lover for a lifetime, it seems.
His forehead kisses give me comfort and his hand-holds give me consistency.
“You're going to have to try harder than that!”
I squeal as I kick and slap at him, but his ninja hands always make it to my neck, my most ticklish spot.
“Okay!” I beg. “Okay! Stop!”
He does, and the smile remains on my face as I stare up at him. “Where'd you come from?”
He smirks.
“Heaven,” he responds, and I playfully punch his arm. My guards are still up – my walls so tall, even a talented rock climber couldn't climb them. But Rowan... he said fuck it and took a sledge hammer to them, instead.
“I think this is our last night here. My family actually has a cabin up here.”
I laugh. “Wait... so you've had a cabin in Colorado, yet we've been sleeping in a tent for three nights?”
“Correct.”
Placing a hand on his cheek, I stare into his eyes, appreciating the flecks of amber. “I like you,” I whisper, and he smiles.
“That's not how you say love.”
I pull away, and my body stiffens when he tries to hold me close. “Stop.”
“Let me go,” I whisper, struggling against his embrace, mom's voice screaming louder than ever.
You're pathetic!
You're too weak to let him in!
He's too good and you're too rotten!
He stops struggling and releases me. Scrambling toward the tent's opening, I stumble into the moonlight. My fingers tangle in my hair as I plead with the stars to pluck me up and take me somewhere else.
Love, love, love… that four letter word is a word that I've never known.
“I'm not them, Em.” He says from behind me, but it's too late. This encounter... this relationship was a candle in the wind. It was fleeting, and I'm surprised for once I didn't feel it slipping between my fingers. He can't hold my hand through my destruction. Nobody can.
“Take me home.”
“Seriously? Em, c'mon. I do love you. It's too soon, I guess, but I do. What other word is there for this?”
“Disaster,” I snap, whipping around to face him. “I'm not the one. I'm... I'm fucked up. Too fucked up for you.”
“Are you kidding me? What do you even know about me? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. You know why? Because you're too focused on your own bullshit to care about anyone else, and you blame that on your own self-loathing bullshit! You're so fixated on someone who would push you off of a mountain to save himself. You're really going to let him dictate your happiness?”
He takes a step toward me, tears sitting in his eyes as he waits for me to say something, but I have nothing to say.
He's right.
He sighs, a sad smile forming on his face as he runs his fingers through his messy hair.
“Fine,” he says. He sounds and looks defeated as he slumps his shoulders and turns toward the tent. I want to stop him... to tell him that I love him too, that I don't mean it, that I'm fucking broken and there isn't any fixing it. But I don't. Instead, I watch as he packs up the camping supplies and tent with tears in my eyes as my heart thunders desperately beneath my ribs.
I want this.
I want you.
I love you.
Looking up, I lock eyes with Sampson, who's watching our every move from a nearby tree. None of this seems real. It's like a dream; a fog that I've been living in for a week.
“Do you really want to heal?” He says from behind me, and my eyes stay on the crow as I nod, noting that my surroundings are fading away. It's just me, Rowan, and the bird.
“They never sit down together for dinner.” I murmur as I stand beside Rowan, the crow mounted on his shoulder. The walk through my childhood neighborhood was quiet, and all along, I knew why we were coming here.
Retribution. Vengeance. Closure.
“Those two people in there... they're familiar. But, you have to understand, what happened to you wasn't okay, and it wasn't normal.”
I nod. “So, what now?”
“What needs to happen?”
Slowly, my eyes fixate on my mother as she swirls the wine in the crystal glass, her eyes foggy, and her shoulders slumped. He sits across from her on his phone, the look on his face indistinguishable. Slightly, he turns, and I realize he's scrolling through one of my social media accounts.
The sound of paper flapping in the wind distracts me. I see the papers fluttering across the street I once knew so well. I catch one under my foot, and I see my face staring back at me. A picture he took.
“Mentally unstable.”
“Needs supervision.”
I scoff, a sad smile pulling at my lips. Letting go of a love I had to fight tooth and nail for, never to get it in return. Picking up the paper, I crumple it in my hands before turning and facing Rowan. “I'm ready.”
Chapter 12
Resentment is like a leech. It sticks, and will give back nothing in return. There is no bartering with animosity. Fury is fierce – hate, much stronger than love – and it will eat you up.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl. She wanted nothing but to be loved, and love in return. She never found what she was looking for, and instead, lived a life full of sadness and misfortune. That is, until one day, the little girl grew up to be a pissed off woman. She didn't need a knight, she needed a sword.
I never asked for what happened to me. I've asked God, and he never replied. Sometimes, I think that heartache is inevitable. It took all of this hurt to find my strength. And, though I'm still weak, I know that this is it. This is probably the strongest I'll ever be.
My arm feels heavy as my knuckles linger over the red door. My palms sweat while my knees tremble.
“This is it. What are you waiting for?”
I look over my shoulder, and I realize that while his voice was present, he's nowhere to be seen. Maybe I've been alone all along. Maybe I've finally lost my mind and gave into the void that's been calling me for years.
I was lost, and Rowan was the compass. The crow still lingers, though. I can see its glowing eyes from the lamp -post.
It doesn't take long after I knock before the door creaks open, and a frown spreads across my mother's face. Rolling her eyes, she pushes the door open the rest of the way before turning and leaving me standing on the doorstep.
I glance towards the crow once more before closing the door and being surrounded by the unwelcoming silence that plagues this house. It's never been a home, though it seems to be with photos lining the walls, comfortable rugs placed throughout, and throw blankets placed strategically on the L-shaped sectional.
No, this house has never been a home. It's seems pretty, but it's like a tomb. Every time I step inside this place, I feel claustrophobic, which is why I haven't been back here in years.
Their beautiful lawn, and their beautiful house, and their beautiful things – they hide the ugliness that lives here, just likes their faces hide the monsters that they are. Our demons live in the walls and behind locked doors. Mom made it clear to never let it be known. Our atrocities were ours. They were shared, between the three of us.
“Emmy, bab
y girl, where have you been?” Liam says as my eyes stay locked on the pictures in front of me. To anyone else that ever stepped into this facade and saw them, I had a great childhood. If they only knew what lived behind that show of teeth.
He grips my shoulder, and my fingers tighten around the metal vase in front of me. I'm not sure what it's made of, but its heavy. Heavy enough to get the job done.
“Baby?” He whispers, his hot breath blanketing my shoulder. It makes me shiver from disgust.
The crack against his skull reverberates off the walls, and the sound of his large body hitting the hard floor makes my stomach lurch. I'm not done. I can't be.
I'm like a robot, my movements controlled by rage as I hit him in the head several more times. Like a magnet, I feel the pull of her eyes. It doesn't take long for mine to find them. She sways side to side in her drunken stupor, her face formed into a frown as she tries to piece together the scene in front of her.
I don't let her speak. She's at the point of drunkenness where whatever she says wouldn't make sense anyway. I walk over to her, my eyes narrowed as I clutch the vase.
“Emily,” she slurs, her bloodshot eyes finding mine. “What’s going on?”
I smile, my grasp tightening around the metal. “Goodnight, mom.”
It takes them several minutes after I tied them up to come to. First mom, who attempts to scream through the duct tape, then Liam. It takes him longer. My guess is its because of the number of blows he received.
Kneeling in front of mom, my head cocks to the side as her wide eyes shimmer with anguish. “What's wrong?” I whisper, running a finger along her smooth cheek. “Did you think you'd get away with what you did? With what you allowed?”
The Horror of our Love: A Twisted Tales Anthology Page 32