Your Gravity
Part One
L.G. CASTILLO
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Your Gravity - Part Two
Also by L.G. CASTILLO
Copyright
Copyright © 2015 by L.G Castillo
Your Gravity - Part One
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Image and Cover Design: www.maeidesign.com
Editor: Kristie Stramaski with EKS Edits
Chapter One
2002
“Now that’s what I call a house, Nicole. I love it!”
I set my guitar case on the ground and stood beside my best friend, Greg Miller, gawking at what was supposed to be Aunt Bernadette’s house. The cross-country drive from New York to Texas must’ve fried his brain cells, or maybe it was the blinding neon colored walls.
The house was a rainbow of colors. One side was a bright green with a series of peace symbols painted around each of the windows. What looked like Christmas lights lined the roof and wrapped around every inch of the purple front porch. A mass of wild flowers covered the yard, and to the far right there was a vegetable garden.
“This can’t be it.” I glanced around, searching for a street address.
It was hard to imagine that the person who lived here could be related to my mother. I could hear her now, saying something like, “It’s not befitting of an Ashford to live in a place like this.”
“Oh, look at that. Window air conditioners,” Greg said. “Do you think your pampered classical ass can handle not having central air?”
“Of course I can.” I swallowed, staring at the two tiny metal boxes sticking out of the windows. I’d only been out of my nice air-conditioned car for two minutes and already my clothes were drenched in sweat. I’d heard it was hot in Texas, but I wasn’t expecting it to be this hot!
“And according to my parents, I don’t have an ounce of classical talent in my body,” I said.
The Ashford name was famous in the classical music circles. My parents were concert pianists who traveled the world. When people found out who my parents were, they often looked at me with envy and asked me questions about what it felt like to be their daughter. I’d give them the polite answers like, “It’s great,” or “They’re amazing parents.” They never knew that I roamed the rooms of our empty three-story home, wishing for someone to talk to. They didn’t know that when I crossed the stage at my high school graduation and looked out into the audience, the only familiar face was Greg’s, because my parents had left for Australia for a performance. Only Greg knew that I sat sobbing in my shiny new BMW Z3 fiddling with a first class round trip ticket to London . . . graduation gifts from my parents.
Greg knew because he was the only one there.
That was two years ago, and the thought of it still hurt. If only I hadn’t been such a big disappointment to them. I was average. No talent, well, unless you considered learning to play guitar on my own as a talent. If Aunt Bernadette hadn’t given me the guitar for my graduation present, I probably would’ve thought I had no musical skill whatsoever. Not that my parents would’ve approved. If it wasn’t classical, it wasn’t real music.
“As for my so-called pampered ass, I only have this car and,” I dug into my pocket, “thirty dollars and fifty-two cents to my name.”
I had to admit I was a little scared about my decision to attend college in Texas. After backpacking through Europe for two years, fully supported by my parents because they thought it was a great way for me to be exposed to “culture,” I’d made the decision to go my own way. They had freaked when I’d told them I was going to Texas State instead of Columbia University. It was the most reaction I’d gotten out of them in years. They even cancelled their Zurich performance and flown back to New York to try to stop me. But my mind was made up. I didn’t budge, even when they said they wouldn’t give me a dime of support. I was so proud of myself. I’d stood my ground, despite not having a clue how I was going to pay for college.
I eyed my life’s savings in my hand.
Yeah, I was screwed.
I’d picked Texas State because it was as far away from New York as I could get and Aunt Bernadette lived near campus. I hadn’t seen her in years, and the one picture of her that my mother allowed in the house was a family Christmas photo taken sometime in the early ’80s. Mom hated anything that reminded her of living in Texas. She’d left the moment she’d met my father and never looked back. Thankfully, Aunt Bernadette took pity and welcomed me to stay with her as long as I liked.
“I told you to let me help you out with the cash flow problem,” Greg said.
“No way. I’m doing this on my own.”
“Okay, Ms. Stubborn. Then let’s start unloading and settle in so we can find you a job. Though I’m not sure if the house is big enough for all our stuff.”
“Our stuff?” I scoffed, marched over to the back of the yellow moving van, and unlatched the rear door. It rolled up, revealing a wall of moving boxes with his name on each one of them.
“Don’t you mean your stuff?”
Innocent eyes blinked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Greg!”
“All right. All right. Excuse me for not wanting to dress like I just rolled out of bed.”
“Just because I don’t wear bowtie’s doesn’t mean I’m fashion backwards.”
“Ouch. Hitting below the belt, Ashford?” A subtle color of pink flooded his face. “I can’t believe you brought that up. We made vows, blood oaths, to never speak of my one and only fashion faux pas. It scarred me for life. Literally. See?”
He waggled his finger, the same finger I’d pricked with my father’s letter opener when we were in grade school.
Smiling, I remembered the first time I’d met him. I’d been in the third grade, and he’d been in first. I’d been on my way to my private violin lesson (or what I liked to call my half-hour of driving my music teacher batty by simulating the sound of cats in heat) when I saw a couple of kids picking on the cutest little boy. With his mass of light brown hair, big blue eyes, and a red bowtie, who wouldn’t think he was adorable – apparently not the two boys who were twice his size. That was probably the only time I was grateful my parents had made me take violin lessons. The case had come in handy when I’d used it to whack the bullies over the head. Needless to say, they’d never bothered Greg again. We’d been friends ever since.
Most people thought we were brother and sister. We both had the same hair color and slender build. Though I’d kill for his baby blues instead of my blue green eyes.
“Stop exaggerating. It was just a little poke,” I said.
“Okay, so I don’t have a scar, but I’m not exaggerating when I say that we look like a before and after fashion photo shoot.”
“Knock it off, meanie.” I laughed, shoving him playfully.
“Moi, mean? I seem to recall a certain someone tossing my Cher CDs out the window somewhere between Nashville and Memphis.”
&
nbsp; “Fourteen hours of Cher was enough. My ears were bleeding.”
He crossed his arms and pouted.
“Okay, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll take you to her concert.”
“Yeah, right. A concert in this tiny town? I think not.”
“It’s not that small. There’s a shopping mall, and I think I saw a dance club.”
“I saw tumbleweed, Nicole. Tumbleweed.”
Grinning, he winked. He always teased me when I was scared or nervous. It was his way of distracting me, and he always managed to make me laugh.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I’d never expected him to come with me to Texas. I was ready for a tearful good-bye and a huge cellphone bill, because it was impossible to let a day pass without talking to him. Then a couple of days before my scheduled moving date, he showed up at my front door with a moving van sitting in the driveway saying he was coming with me.
Two big things happened this summer. I’d finally let go of the fact that I would never please my parents, and Greg came out to his. Unlike my parents, who had dangled a lot of money for me to stay in New York to attend Columbia University, Greg’s parents gave him money to move as far away from them as possible. When he told them he wanted to go to Texas State with me, they’d even pulled some strings to get him accepted after the application deadline had passed.
“You’d probably be lost in the middle of Idaho by now. I love you but, girlfriend, you need to learn how to read a map.” He took out one of the boxes from the truck.
“I took one wrong turn.” I reached over to grab a box.
“Yeah, yeah. It was more like—”
“Nicole? Is that you? Oh my, it is you. You look so grown up.”
My jaw dropped at the woman heading toward us. Frizzy red hair hung down to her back. It was so wild, the multicolored head band seemed to strain from its effort to keep her hair from puffing out. Her tie-dye tank top and long flowing skirt matched the house with its swirls of purples, greens, and blues. Across her obviously braless chest, sat a necklace shaped in a peace sign.
“Hey, Aunt Bernadette,” I squeaked when she gave me a bear hug.
“Oh, I gave that name up years ago. I go by Rainbow Skye now. Your mother didn’t tell you? Never mind, don’t answer that. Call me Rainbow. Look at you.” She stood back, taking me in. “You’ve grown up so fast, and you’re so beautiful. And this must be Greg.”
Greg’s eyes widened when Rainbow threw her arms around him. “Nice to meet you, Ms—”
“Rainbow.” She pulled back and smiled. “No formalities around here. We’re all just people.”
“Uh, okay . . . Rainbow. I wanted to thank you for letting me stay for the semester until I could find a place of my own. I’m happy to pay rent.”
“I won’t hear of it.” She waved a hand shushing him. “Stay as long as you like. Whew, it’s going to be a scorcher today. Lucky for you, the air conditioners I ordered were just installed this morning.” She wiped a hand over her brow.
Greg’s elbow jabbed my ribs. With shocked eyes, he gestured toward Rainbow.
“Oh. My. God,” he mouthed.
I was going to kill him. So what if my aunt looked like she was living in the Age of Aquarius.
And then I saw it.
Armpit hair.
Rolling my eyes, I jabbed him back.
“Thanks, Aunt Berna . . . uh, Rainbow. You didn’t have to do that. We don’t want to be any trouble.”
“Don’t be silly. It takes a while to get used to the heat. I see you’re melting already.” She eyed my drenched T-shirt. “Come on into the house and have some iced tea.”
“Holy flashback batman!” Greg said the moment we stepped inside. “I’m definitely staying now. No way I’m going to find anything better than this.”
It was as if I’d walked through a time warp and landed in the ’70s. Seriously. It was like a rainbow had puked all over my aunt’s living room. The walls were painted the same shade of purple and greens as the outside. Yellow and orange shag rugs littered the floor. Instead of the traditional furniture, there were beanbag chairs and velvet pillows of all shapes and sizes. A small couch covered with a tie-dye bed sheet sat under a window.
“I love the décor.” Greg beamed. “Nicole, check out the fishnets.”
Stapled to the ceiling hung fishnets that framed a variety of artwork. Most were of rainbow-colored moons and flowers. My aunt really, really, really liked rainbows.
“Uh, yeah, very pretty,” I said, looking at the bright yellow peace sign that filled up one of the walls.
“I like lots of color. It makes everything cheerful,” she said. “You don’t think it’s too much, do you?”
“No,” Greg and I said in unison.
“Good.” She opened the door to a small room. “This is your room, Nicole. I painted it for you, but you can change it if you want.”
I hesitated not sure what kind of crazy to expect. Plastering a smile, I stepped into the room. No matter what it looked like, I was going to like it. I didn’t want to hurt Rainbow’s feelings after she’d been so generous.
The room looked normal compared to the rest of house with pale yellow colored walls. Sunlight filtered in through a large window. The ceiling fan hummed as the blades spun, creating a cool breeze and making the white curtains flutter. The room was about the size of my bathroom in New York, but I didn’t care. It had a bed, nightstand, desk, and a full-length mirror hanging on the closet door. It had everything I needed. Yet, I had the oddest feeling.
The back of my neck tingled, and my arms broke out into goose bumps.
“Is the room okay?” Rainbow asked.
There was something about the room that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I brushed my hand over the small nightstand. It was strange how familiar the room felt.
“Yeah, it’s great. Thank you so much.”
“Wonderful. Well, I’ll let you cool off while I show Greg his room down the hall.”
I sank onto the bed and laid back. As soon as my head touched the pillow, an image of a gorgeous guy flashed through my mind: shaggy bangs, Ray-Ban sunglasses, and a sexy smile.
I jolted up. Who the hell was that?
The vision was so real, like a memory. It couldn’t be. I didn’t know anyone who looked like that.
Shaking my head, I laid back again. It had to be from one of the late night movies Greg and I had watched. I was just tired, and my mind was playing tricks on me.
I closed my eyes and listened to the hum of the fan as I drifted to sleep, hoping that I’d made the right decision to go off on my own.
Chapter Two
The dream began like always: flashes of colored lights, the smell of popcorn and cotton candy in the air, and him. I didn’t know who he was, and I could never see his face, no matter how hard I tried. There was only the rumbling sound of his laugh, the feel of a muscular arm around my waist, and the feather-light kiss on my forehead. When I tried to look up to see his face, he and the crowds around us disappeared, leaving me alone in the shadows. And each time, a cold emptiness filled me. It was so painful that I’d wake up crying out, my cheeks and pillow wet with tears and a dull ache in my chest.
This time the dream was more intense, more real. His voice called out my name in desperation. I ran to the voice, somehow knowing he was in trouble and if I couldn’t reach him, he’d die. I propelled myself through the dark, but no matter how hard I pushed, I was stuck in the same spot. It was as if some unknown force held me back.
I stopped and bent over, pressing my hands against my knees, gasping for air. I couldn’t reach him. I wasn’t strong enough. Then I heard a little girl laughing and calling out my name in a high-pitched, singsong voice. There was a flash of freckles and strawberry blond pigtails followed by a scream.
Dread filled my entire being. Without a moment’s hesitation, I ran in her direction. I sobbed as I listened to his voice and the little girl’s calling for me, begging me to come back to them. I ran harder
, but I still couldn’t reach them.
Then there was a loud whoosh cutting off their cries. White noise filled my ears, growing louder by the second. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I waited in the dark, straining to hear their voices again.
Wind slammed against me, leaving me breathless. It was so hard, I could barely hold myself upright. Then I heard it—the sound of a freight train. Slowly, I turned. A bright light flashed and all around me was white. My legs gave out from under me and I screamed.
“Nicole, you’re dreaming again. Wake up, Nicole!”
I jolted up. Strong arms wrapped around me as I gasped.
“What happened? Where am I?”
“You’re in your bedroom at Rainbow’s house. We moved in yesterday, remember?”
My eyes focused and I gazed into Greg’s concerned face. I let out a slow breath.
I was at my aunt’s house in Texas. Today was the first day of college classes. A freight train didn’t flatten me. Now if only my heart would catch up with my brain before it crashed through my ribs and headed for the hills.
“You were having that dream again, weren’t you?”
Greg found out about my crazy dream when we went camping in his backyard years ago. I had woken up sobbing, and he’d comforted me.
Well, that’s not entirely accurate. I had punched him in the nose when he’d tried to wake me. We took turns crying and going through an entire roll of paper towels that night.
“Yeah. It’s been getting worse the last couple of months.”
“Stressed much?”
“You could say that. And the dreams are creeping into my day. I keep having these—what are you doing?”
He held up a finger and whipped out a notepad and pen from his back pocket.
“So how do you feel about that?” He leaned forward in a classic psychologist pose.
“You haven’t even gone to your first psychology class and you’re already diagnosing me?” I laughed.
Your Gravity: Part One Page 1