I can’t do that to my baby.
No. Fucking. Way.
The vehicle sways on the bumpy road, lulling me to sleep.
We stop later this afternoon to eat something and visit the toilet. Gunner fuels the truck and flashes me his signature cocky grin.
“Fuck off,” I growl and curl into the passenger seat.
He starts the engine. “You want two separate cabins on the ship or one?”
“Two.”
“What if you feel horny again? I heard pregnant women are very horny”
“I will have to find myself a handsome guy to entertain me, I guess.”
His arm shoots towards me as he grips my chin, his eyes boring through me. “I will kill whoever dares look at you, Sol. I’m warning you.”
He releases my chin and my glance shifts to his. I’m looking into a killer’s eyes. I know he’s not joking.
“You’re sick,” I say.
His lips curl into a half-smile. “Sleep. We’ll have one room on the ship.”
Gunner
She doesn’t talk to me or look at me. I’m more transparent to her than the air she’s breathing in. Back to square one.
I wish I could open her skull and learn all her concerns and thoughts. I wish I could erase the memories of Shay’s accident away from her mind. I wish I could force her to love me as much as I love her.
I don’t know what else to do, what else to say, so I just drive and don’t say anything.
We reach the port and step onto the transatlantic ship that will take us home.
The weather is perfect—the sun shines brightly as the ocean waves glitter like the surface of a mirror.
Sol’s staying in the cabin while I’m mainly on the upper deck, inhaling the tranquillity oozed by the expanse of water. We’re eating together and sleeping in one bed, but there is a wall between us, thicker with every day that passes. A wall of ice. A wall of gloomy silence. A wall of suffering.
She’s not staring at other guys though. There’s a lot of guys her age on the ship—handsome guys, rich guys, hardworking guys, but she’s obeying the rules. Good. I don’t want any trouble on the ship.
A week and a half later, I get out of the truck in front of Sol’s house. Sive and Axel greet us so I leave her with them and go to my house. Dad hugs me for ten minutes and Mom greets me with a pale smile.
I don’t visit Sol for a month.
I fucking promise myself that I won’t visit her at all, but after a month passes, I run to her house like I have some fucking angel wings attached to my back. I run to her house to just look at her.
I find her in the garden. She’s sitting on her heels, palms on her stomach. Her eyes are fixed on the cross.
Ash clouds gather in the sky as the wind blows, lifting her hair and ruffling her flowery dress and scarf. Every molecule of the air rings silently the warning of the upcoming storm. Two streaks of light slice through the bright greyness of the sky, illuminating the fields that are stretched along the horizon, and silence falls upon the world like God has decided to notice Sol and me at last.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Sol says, her face turning to me.
She looks like a marble sculpture from a medieval church, so close to me, so very far from me, unavailable like some fucking higher being, beautiful in a cold way like some fucking snow queen.
“You’re fucking wrong,” I say. “I am here because I should be here.”
She scrambles to her feet and passes me like I’m a monument she’s seen a number of times. I follow her as she walks out of the garden through the back gate and rushes towards the hill inhabited by low vegetation.
“Sol, are you crazy? Where are you going?”
“Far from you, you fucking dick.”
“You’re so fucking unfair.”
“Fuck you.” She picks up the pace and climbs the hill as I catch up with her and grab her hand.
“You want a walk?” I say. “Fine. Walking is good for you. But you can’t wander on your own.”
I lace my fingers with hers and let her guide me wherever her tormented soul is heading to.
“Talk to me,” I say.
Silence answers me.
She’s doesn’t want to talk? Fine. I can be with her in silence. It’s enough for me.
Maybe it has to be like this.
Maybe you can’t build peace on someone’s death. Maybe you can’t build peace on your crimes.
Maybe you can only yank off tiny pieces of happiness illuminating your life for a split second then going off and leaving you damaged even more.
We move along a path meandering among the ribbons of fields then we enter the woods that stretch along the coastline.
Now, I know where she’s heading to.
There is an abandoned wooden house Shay and I discovered as soon as we moved in here. We used to get drunk and smoke weed there. We used to be naughty there until Uncle Axel sniffed weed from me one day. He said three words ‘don’t you dare’ and I knew I wouldn’t touch weed until I was an adult. Shay kissed Sol for the first time ever in this house.
Shay fucked Sol for the first time ever in this house.
My heart hurts. It hurts so much I want to kill. Shay didn’t tell me any details. He just said ‘We did it’. When I asked how it’d been, he said ‘Man…’. I didn’t ask him more questions. The gleam of his eyes and the love for Sol written on his face told me everything. I wanted to kill him and I wanted to be happy for him. I got really drunk on that evening. I threw up the whole night and my dad sat with me by the toilet, patting my back and guffawing at me.
As the house rises in front of my eyes, Sol slows down and puts her palm on her stomach, her breath heavy. Her cheeks are pink like those of a porcelain doll.
The broken glass in two windows at both sides of the roofed front door brings a sense of gloom to my head. It’s broken like my heart.
“This is our place,” Sol says with anger. “Shay and mine.”
“Shay and mine too.”
“No.”
“Can’t you see that? He belongs to me and to you. And I fucking want to keep him in my heart, but I want to live as well. To breathe, Sol. To love. To be happy.”
“No.”
“You’re so fucking stubborn.”
She drops onto the rotten bench by the house and puts her hands on her lap. Her eyes wander off to somewhere in the distance. I watch her unearthly face, drinking in every tiny detail of her beauty.
I want to kiss her, feel her, and be inside her.
She raises her eyes to mine and winces, as a delicate murmur makes me freeze.
“Fuck,” I say as my eyes travel to the pond forming around her feet. “Is this what I’m thinking about?”
“I think it is,” she shrieks.
“Fuck, don’t move.”
I shove my hand into the back pocket of my jeans and take my phone out, calling 999.
“There is no reception here,” Sol says as her forehead wrinkles and her face turns red.
A fat drop of rain splashes against my forehead as Sol lifts herself and puts her hand on her lower back.
I shove the phone back into the pocket, leap to her and scoop her up in my arms. “It will be alright, baby.”
“Oh really? Do you know anything about labour?”
“I read something. In case.”
“So tell me what to do.”
“Breathe, baby, just breathe, okay?”
“Very fucking funny. You saw it in the movies, you dick.”
“Trust me.”
I carry her inside the house where two dirty blankets are spread on the floor in the living area. I lay her gently and gather her dress up, exposing her stomach.
“This is going to be funny,” Sol says then gasps like there is no oxygen around her. “Fuck. It hurts.”
I pull her panties down and remove them. “You have an imprint in your brain.”
“An imprint of what?”
“Of how to give birth to babies.”<
br />
“Gunner,” she growls. “I’ll fucking—“
“I know what to do.”
Theoretically. I saw my dad’s mice being born a few times and I read a medical article on labour. In case.
Sol spreads her folded legs and leans against her elbows. The rain taps against the roof as the wind howls through the gaps in the walls.
Soon, her cheeks turn dark red and sweat beads her forehead.
My face burns too.
Adrenaline circles in my veins.
Hours feel like seconds and I feel her pain like it’s mine.
But, she’s so is brave. She doesn’t scream or swear. She gasps and tries to do her job as well as she can manage.
I massage her back, hold her in my embrace and kiss her head. My every attempt to soothe her with words is met with her furious growl. But that’s okay, I guess.
The storm rolls over the house and ends abruptly. The evening sun’s rays filter into the house and illuminate the holes and cracks in the wooden floor.
The baby is coming out.
I know what to do. I shake off my cut and t-shirt, clamp the umbilical cord with a piece of string and cut it with my knife disinfected by my lighter.
“You’re a tough bitch, Sol.”
She growls in response.
Then I pull this tiny red thing to my chest. It’s a boy. His tiny chest oscillates against mine like I’m holding a startled hummingbird as his tiny heart beats three times faster than mine.
He feels so mine. I know he’s Shay’s, but he’s so mine too.
I throw my cut over him and shelter him in my arms. His mouth pecks my chest.
“Not here, little guy,” I say. “That pretty chick behind you owns the buffet.”
“Asher,” Sol murmurs and chuckles. “His name is Asher.” She leans against her elbows. “He likes you.” She shakes her head and beams at Asher and me.
I know I should give him to Sol so she can feed him, but I struggle to release him. Me and him—it’s like a fucking prefect rightness. Like a fucking prefect oneness.
The door of the house creaks open and the wide stream of light pours inside, cut off by two figures walking in, my dad and my mom.
“Mom,” I rasp as tears blind me. “Look at him. He is so beautiful.”
My dad sniffles. My mom smiles brightly and I know she’s resurrected at last.
Chapter 7
Gunner
My mom is alive again, but Sol is dead. The doctors call her condition postpartum depression, but, to me, she looks like she’s dead. A walking corpse that’s breathing and nibbling food. A ghost floating between time and space.
It seemed to be okay until Asher was five weeks old. Those five weeks were crazy—I slept on the couch in Sol’s house; I cleaned, cooked, and bathed Asher. Mom did the rest. Sol was just feeding Asher all the time, day and night. He woke up hungry almost every fifteen minutes. I didn’t notice Sol’s poor mental condition. Nobody did. We were just drunk with Asher’s presence in our family.
But one day, Sol stops talking, refuses to get up and starts crying all the time. She becomes so unwell she is admitted to hospital.
I look after Asher and hope she gets better soon.
He is my whole world. My little treasure.
My mom comes every morning to look after him when I’m at work, but after 5.30 pm I’m all for him. Sive and Axel kidnap him three times a week, which is really pissing me off, because he loves sleeping on my chest and loves listening to my stories about the Shadow Wolves, but they’re his grandparents, so I have to allow them to see him.
I buy a small house ten miles away from the garage. Asher’s cot stands by my bed. When he wakes up at night, I just need to reach out for him and give him the bottle of formula.
I’m not allowed to visit Sol at the hospital for three months, then I put smart clothes on and go to see her on a sunny autumnal afternoon.
As I enter the hospital garden, I see her sitting on a bench, sheltered by a low tree, the red bricked walls of the building rising around her like those surrounding a fucking prison courtyard.
“How are you, baby?” I ask, kneeling in front of her on the concrete path.
I curse myself in my mind for choosing the black trousers I have on. They’re unbelievably uncomfortable and itchy.
A ghost of a young woman passes me and sits on the bench at the farther end of the garden, about twenty steps away from us. The girl lights a cigarette and she shoots me a pale glance, so I nod at her and gaze back at Sol.
I notice dark circles under her eyes and a deep wrinkle on her forehead. Her skin has a greyish tinge like she’s been held captive in a dark cell for a year, but I know it’s because of the lack of sleep.
“They said I could be discharged in a few weeks,” she says.
“That’s great.” I stroke her outer thigh. “You’re great, baby.”
Everything is ready for her—me, Asher, our little house, our happy future.
I hold her hand, bring it to my lips and kiss her knuckles. She flashes me a translucent smile.
“You need anything, Sol? Just tell me, darling.”
“No.”
“Maybe some books?”
“I have four books. Still haven’t read them.”
“More cookies? Apples? Strawberries?”
“No, thanks.”
I nod and take a deep breath, wondering what else I should say to her so as not to upset her. “Asher is growing, Sol. He is so funny, you know. We both miss you.”
Tears flow from her eyes and it breaks my heart. Fuck. Wrong again. Am I stupid or what?
“You have to go,” she says.
“I’ll visit tomorrow, okay?”
She nods, averts her face and stares at the wall as I rise to my feet and kiss her forehead.
“Have some rest, baby,” I say and freeze, really surprised by my stupidity.
She’s at hospital. She’s in bed almost all the time. I should have advised her that she took part in some workshops or something.
“Maybe I could bring a movie and we could watch it together?” I ask.
“Maybe,” she hums. “See you.”
“See you.” I stroke her head and walk off.
Sol
I watch his back as he disappears into the hospital building and the glass door slides shut behind him.
“A boyfriend?” a breathy female voice asks.
I turn my face to the girl sitting on the bench by the flower urn and trash can.
“No,” I say.
“It looked like you were together.” She rises to her feet and moves towards me, dropping onto the bench beside me. “Christa.” She extends her arm to shake hands.
I don’t want to talk to anyone, but she’s waving her hand in front of my face so I have no choice but introduce myself to her.
“Sol,” I say, dryness coating my voice.
We shake hands and I avert my eyes to get rid of her.
Christa nudges the side of my chest with her elbow and offers me a cigarette.
I hesitate before pulling one out. I don’t smoke. I tried a few times when I was younger—five cigarettes and one joint. I was so sick after the weed that even the memory of the smell of it could make me feel nauseous. And I’m kind of scared of lung cancer. Athena always moans about cancer prevention.
Christa lights my cigarette; I inhale the smoke and the choking density of it pervades my lungs. I cough, as my eyes turn glassy.
Christa chuckles. “You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”
“No, not really.”
“Your boyfriend is really hot. So caring. So sweet.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Right.” She exhales a grey cloud of smoke. “But you have a kid together?”
“None of your business.”
“You’re blind, you know.”
I crush my cigarette under my foot. “And you shouldn’t eavesdrop on others.”
She rises to her feet and stands in front of m
e. “They’re kicking me out in about one hour, so I just wanted to say it was nice to meet you.”
I flinch in shame. I’m so dumb, so desensitised. The doctors suggested antidepressants, but I refused, choosing my own misty dimension instead.
My eyes flick over Christa’s wrists and I notice scars from cuts. My heart stops beating. Our glances meet and I drown into the green ocean of hers.
“Christa, listen,” I say. “I’m sorry.” I take a tiny notepad and a pencil out of the pocket of my hoody and scribble my phone number. I hand it to her. “Call me if you needed help or something.”
“You need help,” she says with a half-smile playing on her asymmetric lips, but she grabs the piece of paper from my hand and shoves it into the back pocket of her jeans. She sweeps her long red hair away from her face. “Let the doctors help you. I’ve seen you in the garden a few times. You’ve been here for a long time. Let others help you.”
“I will think about it.”
“Think, think, little girl. That kid of yours and that boyfriend of yours are waiting for you.”
She waves her hand and walks off. My jaw drops. Then heavy greyness falls upon me and suffocates me.
Gunner
Sol deteriorates and she spends two more months at the hospital, but then she starts to recover. I visit her every day, practicing our conversation before entering the hospital building so I won’t upset her and make her deteriorate again.
Three weeks later, when I visit her on a sunny afternoon, she looks much better and that brings hope to my tormented heart. She has good news for me. I go back to my house excited and nervous.
This morning, I’m in my kitchen, all for Asher. It’s my day off.
Asher pushes the bowl with soup and it bangs against the tiled floor.
“You will clean it,” I say. “I’m not joking, Ash.”
He raises his hand armed with a plastic spoon and flashes me a grin, exposing his first tooth.
Mom walks in and puts two bags with grocery shopping on the kitchen table. She kisses my cheek and tears off a piece of kitchen towel.
“I can do that, Mom.”
“Off you go. Now, it’s my turn.” Her eyes gleam; her movements are energetic and springy as she deals with the soup splashed all over the floor.
I lean towards Asher and kiss the top of his head. “Be a good boy, Ash.”
Gunner (Devil's Tears MC Book 1) Page 7