by A. M. Irvin
What did she do with the apple core? Why did she keep it?
I planned to find out. Slowly. Carefully. In secretive ways.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays she only had one class. It began at eleven in the morning and lasted for two hours. But she would stay on campus after lunch, spending the afternoon playing her guitar beneath the willow tree until around four when it began to grow dark.
People would stop and listen to her pluck the strings. They’d talk to her and she would talk to them. Comfortable smiles. Unhurried chats. Everyone received an acknowledgment. Everyone wanted to talk to her. I felt a twist of jealousy. Strong and severe.
Maren Digby was a likable woman. People watched her. Just as I watched her. Both women and men followed her with hungry eyes. Wanting something from her, even if it was only a discarded greeting.
She was beautiful. She was talented. She was so many, many things. With a wistful smile and sparkling eyes. With thin fingers that danced over guitar strings. With a voice that sang clear and true.
And she talked to everyone. She offered pieces of herself out to anyone who wanted them.
But she saved her best smiles for me.
I knew that she gave me the important pieces.
I was convinced of it.
And I guarded them jealously.
“Of course,” I said, moving over to make room for Maren on the bench. She sat beside me and laid her guitar case on the ground.
She looked over my shoulder at the words I had scribbled on the page. Would she realize they were about her?
Star kissed
Dreams untold.
She sings the stories
that unlock my soul.
“That’s beautiful. We should put it to music,” she said, her hair brushing the exposed skin of my shoulder. I was wearing a shirt like hers. A grey stretchy sweater hanging loosely around my neck. I liked dressing in clothes that reminded me of Maren. It made me feel closer to her.
I turned my face so that my nose was less than an inch from her hair. She smelled like coffee and something sweet. Cotton candy, perhaps? Good enough to eat.
“If you want to,” I replied shyly, looking up at her through my lashes.
Maren gave me a look that penetrated deep. She was a woman who saw too much. She reminded me of Bradley in that way.
“You hide a lot, don’t you, Nora?” She chewed on her bottom lip, and I wanted to tell her to stop. I didn’t want her to mangle the pretty, pretty skin.
But I didn’t say anything. Words escaped me. I’d rather sit there with her and not talk at all. She had a calming way about her. Like slipping into a warm bath.
Maren rested her arm along the back of the bench, just behind me. I leaned into her slightly so that we were touching. It was nice. More than nice.
“What’s with you and the berserker guy? I’m worried he’s going to show up and rip me a new one,” she said, and I giggled at her description of Bradley. Mostly because it was appropriate.
Maren chuckled too, and I liked having this moment that was just ours.
I shrugged. “He’s my friend.” Simple but honest.
Maren frowned. “Are you sure that’s all that it is?” she asked, and my heart tripped over itself. Did she seem bothered? Was she jealous?
What a deliciously joyous thought.
I nodded, my hair falling in my face and I quickly pushed it back. I wasn’t hiding. Not this time.
“Just friends,” I said softly.
Maren was still chewing on her bottom lip. I watched her mouth in fascination.
“He doesn’t hurt you, does he?” Her blunt question didn’t shock me. I knew what she must think. I knew that was the impression Bradley gave. She wasn’t the first person to question our relationship.
I liked how worried she was for me. I was used to Bradley’s concern. But Maren’s felt . . . different. Special.
“He doesn’t hurt me,” I assured her. Feeling bold, I put my hand on her thigh. Just above the knee.
Oh god, I was touching her.
It was blissful. It was just right.
For only a second . . .
Maren tensed slightly and her smile became strained. Inside I mourned.
She dropped her arm from the back of the bench and got to her feet. Quickly. Too quickly. My hand fell away and I was cold. From the inside out.
I lowered my head, refusing to look at her.
I had ruined everything. My eagerness to be close had made her run.
Then I felt her hand on my shoulder and she squeezed. I looked up and she grinned. It lit up her face and I felt better.
“I have to go. Can we meet here tomorrow? Maybe I could read your stuff. If that’s okay,” she said and I nodded. Of course it was okay.
And then she was gone.
It felt like new beginnings. It felt like what life was supposed to be.
“New friend?”
Any warmth I had felt from Maren’s presence was doused in white-hot hatred.
“What are you doing here?” I spat out. I was shocked at how easily I unleashed my fury. Normally I wouldn’t dare. Rosie knew that.
She seemed surprised as well. Her eyes widened slightly, but then her mouth twisted into a cruel smile.
“That’s really none of your business,” she retorted. She watched Maren walk across the grass. I didn’t like the thoughtful expression on my former foster sister’s face. It made me nervous.
“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Her question was leading. She was trying to trap me.
I wouldn’t let her.
“What would Lesley say about your new . . . friend?” Rosie chuckled, enjoying my discomfort.
I hated when she said Mother’s name. I loathed that she was permitted to say it at all.
I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to antagonize her. I didn’t want to give her a reason to attack me. Though I knew with Rosie, she didn’t need an excuse.
She leaned in close and I pulled away slightly. I couldn’t help it.
“What would Bradley say?”
“Don’t talk about him!” I seethed. I couldn’t help it. Bradley was off limits. She knew that.
“Oh, he’s cute,” Rosie cooed, staring at my silent friend as he walked down the street, hands in his pockets, looking angry and defiant.
He looked up, seeing me. I was always on his radar.
“Why’s he looking at you?” she demanded, sounding annoyed.
“He’s my friend,” I answered. Rosie had only been with us for a week, and I was still trying to be nice to her. To be her sister.
Rosie snorted. “Why would he be friends with you?”
She sauntered towards him, shaking undeveloped hips. I followed behind her meekly. Rosie was pretty. Bradley would notice that and then he would love her too. Just like Mother.
“Hey cutie. My name’s Rosie Gilbert,” she said. I frowned. That wasn’t her last name. That was my last name.
Bradley didn’t look at her. He looked at me. His green eyes dark with questions.
“Her name is Rosie Allen,” I corrected.
Bradley raised an eyebrow and finally turned his attention to my foster sister. She flushed.
“Well, I’m living with the Gilberts now, they said I could use their last name—”
“I don’t care,” Bradley cut her off. I covered my mouth in shock. Rosie reared back as though he had slapped her. “You’re a liar. That’s all I need to know about you,” he continued before turning back to me.
“You don’t have to be so rude,” Rosie sputtered.
“As long as you’re nice to Nora, I won’t have a problem with you,” Bradley informed her, voice hard.
“I’ll see you later,” he directed at me. I nodded.
Then he was gone. Rosie turned to me, her face thunderous.
“He’ll love me too. I promise,” she declared. I wished I could smile. Because her delusions made me want to dance.
“I’ve never understood your relationship. You say
he’s your friend, but he comes into your room at night—”
“How do you know about that?” I demanded.
“What’s her name?” Rosie asked, ignoring my question, inclining her head in the direction Maren had gone.
I didn’t want to tell her. I didn’t want Rosie to have anything that belonged to me. But I found myself giving it to her anyway.
“Maren Digby,” I said begrudgingly.
“Maren. Maren Digby. Pretty name for a pretty girl, don’t you think?” Rosie taunted, her blue eyes flashing.
I wouldn’t answer her. I refused to rise to her bait.
“You and I both know he won’t like Maren sniffing around. He wants you all to himself,” Rosie continued, her gleeful grin cruel and calculating.
“It’s not like that,” I protested, knowing my argument was useless. She’d believe what she wanted to believe. Just like everyone else.
She played with the ring on her finger, and I found myself staring at it. It was easier than looking at her.
“You never know when to run, Nora. That’s your problem.”
I startled at her words.
Rosie got to her feet. “Just don’t go giving that sad, pathetic heart away too easily. It might end up being the worst thing you ever do.”
Was she threatening me? I couldn’t tell.
With Rosie it was hard to know.
She was gone before I could ask her.
Day 6
The Present
And so being young and dipped in folly
I raged.
I despaired.
I fell apart.
I got back up.
I was defeated.
I was strong.
I went around in circles becoming a dozen different versions of myself in the span of minutes. My emotions were wild and out of control.
I hallucinated things that couldn’t be there. Conversations I knew I hadn’t had. Memories that were false and meant to torture me.
My mind was becoming my worst enemy.
Worse than my still unknown captor who continued to tease and soothe me with words I felt I should remember.
Bind you.
Deny you.
Wrapped up in chains . . .
The water was long gone. The smell and the incredible heat in the tiny, dark room left me weak and ill. I tried to control the urge to dry heave, but sometimes it was useless and all I could do was lie on my side and shudder as I expelled the acid in my stomach.
I was in constant, agonizing pain. Between the hunger and the nausea, I could barely stand up.
But then I thought about who could have brought me here, and the anger gave me a strength I hadn’t known I possessed. I would slam my fists against the glass of the window trying to break it. I’d hit it until my knuckles were raw and bleeding. But it never cracked.
Then I would despair again. Thoughts of death became prevalent, and I planned a hundred ways I could take my life. It was in those dark moments that it felt like my only means of escape.
I chewed at my wrists, wanting to hit a vein. Blood coated my lips and tongue. But I could never go through with it. I’d stop when my mouth filled with copper, and I’d gag and dry heave again. Then I would panic at the sight of red dripping from the mangled cuts.
I tore strips of cloth from my T-shirt and wrapped my wrists, applying pressure. I loudly berated myself for my stupidity. When the depression faded, I found something so much better.
Resolve.
I was determined to find out who took me. Who had locked me away?
“Maybe your mother was right to lock you away.”
I felt sick again.
Bradley’s words bounced around in my head.
“I’ll always protect you. I promised you years ago that I’d look out for you. And I will. No matter what. Even if you hate me for it.”
Why was I remembering that? Why couldn’t I stop thinking about Bradley’s angry, green eyes?
Flat, expressionless. They were past seeing anything at all . . .
“Stop it!” I groaned. My brain was working in overdrive. Things weren’t making sense. Reality and fantasy were smashing together with the force of a freight train.
“Stop, Nora! You don’t understand!”
“Think, Nora. Think about that night. What happened?” I murmured under my breath, trying to focus myself. I pressed my fingers to my wrist, staunching the flow of blood. That had been a moronic thing to do. I couldn’t let myself get that low again.
I had to think.
I had to remember!
I could see the tree lined sidewalk. I was in a hurry. My steps were quick and I all but ran. I hadn’t told Maren I was coming. She wasn’t expecting me. I wanted to show her my new tattoo, exactly like the one on her arm.
I hoped she liked it.
She had told me I looked beautiful earlier. I could still hear her laugh as she pushed the hair out of my face.
I loved it when she touched me.
She did it purposefully. Full of intention. There was nothing random or nonchalant about Maren Digby’s caresses.
I had never thought I could love anyone, but I knew that I had been a naïve fool.
Mother would be appalled. Revolted. She would find my affectionate regard for the lovely girl who played music to my words as yet another example of my sinful soul. I could almost feel the kiss of Reverend Miller’s cane on my back.
I should be frightened. I had lived so much of my life in fear. Beaten down. Repressed.
But with Maren, life could be so much more . . .
And that was it. I couldn’t remember anything else. Did I ever make it to Maren’s? Was she looking for me too?
No.
My subconscious screamed the word.
I felt the truth of it deep inside.
Maren wasn’t looking for me. She would be glad that I was gone.
But why?
I had been excited to see her. I had been so sure of her. Of us.
What happened?
Bradley’s green eyes.
Maren’s mouth open in a scream.
Flashes of skin.
Lips pressed together.
Sighs of pleasure as limbs intertwined.
My heartbeat quickened, sweat cooled on hot flesh.
Mother’s disapproving face.
Rosie’s hateful laugh that filled every tormented piece of me.
You don’t deserve any of them, Nora. You’ll always be alone.
I gripped my head in my hands and tried to calm my racing thoughts. They jumped all over the place.
Okay. I had gone to see Maren. I had planned to tell her . . . what?
“I love you!” I cried and cried and cried. Tears fell down my cheeks, soaking my shirt.
I twisted the ring, Rosie’s ring, on my thumb.
I would never have the things I wanted.
Ever!
I ripped the ring from my finger and threw it as hard as I could.
It bounced off Maren’s arm and clattered to the ground. It rolled until it disappeared under the mountain of discarded clothes left forgotten on the floor.
My head felt as though it had split open. The headache came on quick. I groaned and dropped back to my knees, rocking back and forth as I rubbed my temples.
So much pain. So much agony.
Inside and out.
I needed to get out!
The bite of the familiar ring brought me back to the present. I couldn’t afford to forget the important things.
Finding a way out.
Discovering the person responsible for my imprisonment.
Those were the things that mattered. Not ghosts and illusions.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound grew louder and louder. But it didn’t seem connected to anything tangible. I didn’t have my cell phone. I wasn’t wearing a watch. I couldn’t identify any other source for the noise.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Floating on the air it assaulted my eardrums. I
wanted to scream but my throat was too dry. The effort too much.
Memories came and went too fast to hold on to.
“Dad, can I help wipe down the leather?” I asked, picking up a cloth.
Dad’s smile seemed more distracted than usual. I wasn’t sure he heard my question at all. He had been quiet. Very quiet.
I didn’t think that he wanted me in his workshop at all. But I had begged and pleaded to come, and he had finally given in.
Rosie had wanted to come too, but Dad told her not this time. It had been a small victory. She was angry when we left. I could feel her rage on my back as we walked to the car.
It felt good.
Dad didn’t answer me so I started wiping the leather. I loved being in his workshop. It was the only place I felt some sense of peace. I could tie my hair back and feel air on my face.
Dad never looked at me the way Mother did.
He really never looked at me at all.
But being invisible with him didn’t hurt as much.
“Do you smell that?” I asked a while later. Dad had been working silently, and I had been keeping myself busy with tidying up.
Dad didn’t answer.
I continued straightening the tools into nice, neat lines.
“How’s this, Dad? Does it look okay?” I asked, feeling proud. I hoped that he appreciated the time I took to make his workspace clean.
Dad frowned, irritation on his face. “Don’t talk to me when I’m working, Nora,” he snapped. “I knew it was a bad idea to let you come when I had so much to do.”
His anger stung. His rejection was unexpected. I swallowed my tears and disappointment and sat down in the corner, not touching anything else. Waiting . . .
Then I saw them. The blue eyes.
She was there even when she shouldn’t be. I glared into the shadows. She was always there to see me at my lowest.
I sensed her sadistic glee.
Or was it mine?
Then I smelled it.
Stronger this time.
The smoke.
I heard it again.
The thump against the wall.
“I knew you were there,” I whispered. It was all I could do.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Who are you?”
Thump.
“Can you help me?
Silence.
Nothing.
I stumbled towards the wall and pressed myself against it. Listening. Waiting.