Darkest Before Dawn

by Stevie J. Cole

  And I want it.

  I want her.

  “Please, no…” She whimpers. “Stop…” Her arm flies up into the air, her legs jerking. “Stop!” Just as I reach over to wake her, she gasps and bolts up in the bed.

  I sit up and grab onto her, and she yanks away, panting like she’s just finished a marathon. Her gaze darts around the room before it lands on me. She holds her chest with her hand, exhaling as she closes her eyes and rests her head on my chest.

  I tenderly take her face in my palms and tilt her head back, swiping away the tears beneath her eyes. “Only a dream…”

  “But it wasn’t.” She chokes back a sob and I kiss her forehead.

  I want to save her, protect her, and I can’t help but scoff at the irony of it all because, unbeknownst to her, I’ve ruined her in a way she’ll never come back from. But until that moment where she understands what I have done, I can have her.

  “You are safe with me,” I whisper into her hair as her fingers dig into my arms. I grab the remote from the nightstand and turn the television off, but she immediately takes the remote from my hand.

  “Don’t do that,” she says, desperately pressing buttons to turn the TV back on. “Don’t turn it off. I don’t like the silence when I sleep. The noise drowns the other things out.”

  “What happened to you?” I ask.

  She swallows and fidgets. “When I was little…” She inhales then exhales as she shakes her head. “I was just a kid and he…he…”

  I know what has happened to her because I just felt it. Some things don’t have to be said.

  “I can’t,” she whispers. She clings to me, burying her face in my shoulder, and I sweep my hands through her hair. “I just, I hated him for it. I don’t know why I never said anything, you know? I just, just couldn’t because it was wrong but I thought it was my fault because why would someone do that to you? Why would someone you trusted do that and say those things and hurt you if you didn’t deserve it? What was so wrong with me that he had to do those things? It just—and then all the things I saw growing up. All I wanted was to be like everyone else and I never could, I never could…” Her words are lost on sobs.

  “But if you were like everyone else, you couldn’t appreciate the beauty in the darkness, the miracle of light. As terrible as they may feel, the things you see as flaws”—I pull her close to my chest—“those are the things that make you beautiful. It makes you able to understand those people no one else does. And we all need someone who can show us we shouldn’t be afraid of our demons.” Her arms fall from my back, her body goes limp, and all I can do is hold her.

  Ava is an angel whose wings were severed and ripped off before she was cast to the earth. And as heartbreaking as it is, those are the most precious kind, for fallen angels are the only creatures who know what both heaven and hell are like.

  We’ve met with the dark side of humanity, the raw, gritty, terrible faces most people only see in nightmares. She and I—we both know the truth: the concept of love is the grandest façade man has ever dreamed up.

  And that is why she is broken.

  It is why I am broken.

  He kisses over my back and nuzzles his face against my shoulder. “I will never let you be hurt like that again.”

  “I know.”

  And I do know that. As long as he is with me, I will always be safe. He lies back, bringing me down with him. His large arm wraps around me and all that fear dissipates like it never even existed. I breathe him in and trail my finger over the ridges of his stomach. “Do you believe in fate?” I ask.

  His chest rises on a deep inhale. “Sometimes.”

  “Fate isn’t a sometimes thing, Max.”

  “I have to believe it is.” He laughs. “Because I refuse to believe some things were meant to be.”

  I debate on what I am about to say, nearly talking myself out of it from the fear of how crazy I will sound. But some things, no matter how foolish they may sound, will drive you insane if you don’t say them. “I believe meeting you was fate.”

  I feel his grip on my body twitch. “Don’t say that,” he says with an edge to his voice, and for some reason, it breaks my heart a little.

  “Max…”

  “Nothing about you meeting me was fate, Ava. It was wrong.” He inhales and his hand sweeps up my back, my neck, into my hair. “Maybe my meeting you,” he whispers before he kisses my forehead, “but not you meeting me.”

  My chest tightens and I bite my lip. I fight it, but at this point I no longer care. I wanted him to agree. Smile. Kiss me. Hold me close. But he acts like the idea of us is a tragedy. “This was fate, no matter how horrible this chance encounter was—it was fate.”

  The constant stroke of his hand through my hair stopped seconds ago, his body going tense. The compassionate man that was holding me, telling me the flawed pieces of me are beautiful, he’s gone, hidden behind a wall he’s quickly putting together. Brick by brick. Because we’ve gone too far, we’ve let things feel too real, and when you feel things—you’re bound to get hurt.

  “You don’t even know me, Ava,” he says, a bite to his voice. “Not one thing. Not even my last name.” And that truth stings, but only for a moment.

  “I know I love you and that is all I have to know, because no matter what your name is, no matter anything else…I love you.”

  He shifts in the bed, his hands gripping my cheeks as he drags my face to his. His lips press over mine in a hard kiss, his tongue dipping into my mouth. I melt. I swoon. I want this. God, do I want this no matter how fucked up it is because love—well, love knows no boundaries. Love doesn’t care how it came to fruition, it only cares that it exists, and this—Max—he is love.

  Things which are perfect don’t need to be mended. There is no room in something without flaw for anything to fit within it, no need for another brushstroke, another rewrite. Perfection wants not…but damaged people, we want for so much, for things only people like us can understand. And we are both ruined—in different ways—but once something is broken, does it really matter how it was destroyed?

  And just like that, he rips himself away from me. A low groan rumbles from his chest and his eyes are locked with mine. I can see his mind working, see him warring with himself over how wrong this is. Another groan and his gaze falls to the bed, his hand rubbing over his face.

  “Max,” I whisper. “This is fate.” And I feel so desperate to make him understand that because I believe it, and I fear he only knows it. Just like someone may know there is a God, but they don’t believe it so they wander aimlessly, hopelessly passing through life looking for something they feel they must prove to believe… Max cannot pass through my life. He has to believe this. I didn’t go through hell to lose my saving grace, even if everyone else will only ever see his horns and not his wings.

  “I love you.” Leaning in, I lift his face to kiss his lips and he gently kisses me back. His hand cups my jaw before wandering into my hair and gripping the back of my head. And in this kiss, I know everything I need to know. They say actions speak louder than words, and my God is that true because this kiss is everything love should be: tender and passionate and desperate and fearful.

  If we were ever caught Max would go to jail, because I don’t know that I could ever argue his case. But love…that is never wrong, so what do we do? What do you do when the person you were made to love is given to you under all the wrong pretenses?

  You lie next to them and enjoy every single moment you have because nothing is certain. Not one damn thing.

  It only takes a few calls and one day to obtain fake IDs for the both of us. I set the documents to the side and continue packing our luggage. I haven’t decided where will go, but it needs to be far away from here, that’s for fucking sure.

  Ava walks out from the bathroom, her hair still wet from the shower. She stops in front of the mirror and runs her fingers through her now chin-length, auburn hair. “I can’t get used to this,” she says, staring at her reflec
tion. “It doesn’t look like me.”

  “It’s not supposed to.” I laugh as I walk up behind her, grabbing onto her shoulders before I lean down to kiss her pale cheek. “But you’d be beautiful no matter what color hair you had.” I flick her hair before walking back to the bed and sifting through the fake documents. When I open the passport, I read over the alias she chose: Guinevere Stephens.

  “What made you chose the name Guinevere,” I ask, smiling.

  “She was the queen of Camelot.” She turns away from the mirror and crawls onto the bed, lying on her stomach and propping her chin in her hands. “Some stories say she was abducted. Thought it fitting.” She smirks. “And Stephens, because, well, Stephen King.”

  “You and your books.”

  “They were an escape. The way I pushed all the shit out of my mind. That is the beauty of stories, they allow you to be whoever you want. You can submerse yourself in worlds and people and stories of love, you can feel the emotions and forget who you are. These stories saved me from losing my mind.”

  “Losing yourself in anything but reality, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  I close her passport and slip it into the front of my luggage. “Speaking of losing yourself…” I pause and she narrows her gaze on me.

  “What, Max?”

  Part of me doesn’t want to ask her, but I have to in order to clear my conscience. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home? I can.”

  Her eyes drift down to the comforter. She pulls at a loose thread and sighs. “No, I want to stay with you.”

  And I nod, my stomach twisting because I’m afraid she wouldn’t even realize it if she wanted to leave me.

  “So,” she whispers. “Where are we gonna go?”

  I shrug. “Anywhere you want to.”

  “Italy. To the foothills of Vesuvius.”

  I stare at her, smiling. “That’s specific.”

  “Pompei.” She arches a brow.

  “Ah, I see. You want to live at the foothills of tragedy.”

  Grinning, she gives me a quick kiss. “Of course I do, it’s where I found you.”

  And I want to take her. I want to fuck her, but I don’t. I’m not sure she’s ready having gone through what she did with Jeb, and this right here, it’s enough.

  She grabs her journal from the nightstand and flips to a page before setting it in front of me. I lie down next to her, wrapping my arm around her tiny waist before I rest my chin on her shoulder as I read over the words:

  Angel wings and serpent tongue

  The allure of evil to the young

  Pale shown skin and tranquil eyes

  Conceal the creature he is inside

  She sees a movement, swift and light

  A flash of teeth and a crooked smile

  Sulfurous laughter and he hisses her name

  A rush of stale air and the brush of his fang

  “Child, oh love, you shouldn’t fear my wanton hand

  Just accept this darkness, don’t fight my wicked plans.

  My scaly skin and precious lies, do they not tempt your velvet lips?

  Does the sharpness of my claws cause pain when I grasp your fragile hips?

  Let you learn you’re too soon to trust, too easy to deceive with these words that let me in

  The disguise of evil, oh child, oh love, you found your haven buried within my sin.”

  Her words are so cryptically dark and wounded, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued—fascinated, in love with this side of her. “And there is your darkness coming to the light, huh?” I ask, brushing a stray piece of hair from her face.

  “It’s all I know to write. The only way it won’t consume me is to get it out, and words—unspoken words—it’s the only way I can do it without it killing me.”

  I drag her face to mine and kiss her. The moment I pull away I can see it all over her face. She’s gone there. She has tripped and fallen into that deep abyss where all those memories live, constantly attempting to claw their way up the slippery walls. “Ava?” I say.

  “What makes someone do something like that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What makes someone want to hurt a child like that? How can someone do that to them? It’s sick and fucked up and I hate him. I hate him so much it nearly consumes me at times.”

  And I want to fucking kill this man, whoever he is for taking that innocence from her. If I can find him, I will, and I will fucking relish in it. I’ll bathe in his motherfucking blood. Taking her by the shoulders, I pull her to me and hold her. “Tell me his name. Please, tell me his name.”

  “It was my uncle…” There’s a long pause. I can see her fighting with it. “His name was Johnny,” she whispers into my neck, and my entire body ripples in shock.

  Time seems to slow, possibly fucking halt as my mind reverses back to the moment I beat that man’s skull in with a hammer. Blood, it’s all I can see in my head and everything in the universe has just clicked into place. Fate. She is my fate and I am hers and I can never fucking deny that as long as I live now.

  “He’s dead. Someone murdered him,” she says. “And you know what? When I found out he was dead, I balled for hours. I cried like a baby because someone I didn’t even know saved me when I couldn’t save myself and then, when I was able to stop the tears, I smiled. I thanked God because that meant I was safe.”

  I swallow. My heart slams against my ribs like a caged beast trying to break loose from its jail. “Johnny Donovan?” The hatred oozes from my tone.

  She nods. Do I tell her? Do I tell her how bound to one another we truly are? “I believe in fate now,” I say. “I believe we are fated together.”

  She pushes away from me, her gaze curiously narrowing. “Why?”

  “That man raped my sister and I killed him. When I was sixteen, I fucking murdered him.”

  Her face grows pale, her lip trembling. It seems like an hour passes before her mouth moves to form words, but even then, not one sound comes out. This is a hard thing for her to digest, I’m sure. The man she believes she loves just confessed to murdering her rapist uncle, one who ruined her…but how should she feel?

  “So even before you knew me, you saved me.” And her lips press over mine, tears trickling down her face as she grabs onto me in a hold that would be enough to rip the fucking devil from his throne and have him begging at her knees. “You’ve always saved me.”

  I have found within her something unmatched by anything else. Our demons are the same, and even though I know deep down inside that this is not fair to her, I am selfish. Very selfish, and how bad can it be for a person to live a lie they don’t even know exists?

  I can’t sleep. I toss and turn, eaten up by remorse. Once we leave tomorrow, there is no turning back. And is what I’m doing truly best for her? Fuck myself. Is it best for her?

  My mind drifts to Lila, to her lifeless eyes fixed on the ceiling of that mansion. Finally, I understand those men, even though I wish I didn’t. While Ava lies sleeping in my arms, completely vulnerable, completely mine, I realize that this feeling—well, I think very few people ever experience this.

  It is human nature to be strong, to put on a front. People want to be something they aren’t. They try to impress, to outdo, to protect their hearts and pride. The women that left that house—they were without those things. They were bare. They were open and freed of expectations. In a sense, completely pure, even though they were the most impure of the impure. Having had all of the societal bullshit taken away, they were made to love.

  And above all else, love is pure…it is without judgment and open, and those traits are rare. So rare because of how entitled we have become, how almighty and prideful. Those women, they were built to know nothing but love and that is worth more than money can buy, sadly. I see that now because that very thing is resting on my chest.

  I am no better. I am no stronger because I want to take this. I want to run with it and never let it go. I’d take this lie in a
fucking heartbeat, but the thing is, she loves me because she knows no better, she loves me because I have manipulated her—I love her because I was meant to. And what a fucked up reality is this? To know the woman you should love, loves you based on broken will.

  And so I decide I will save her. I will save her even though I wish I was too selfish to do it.

  We left around six in the evening to avoid the work traffic and use darkness to help hide us. It’s nearly eleven now, and she hasn’t noticed we’re going the wrong direction, or if she has, she hasn’t mentioned it to me. But she has been awfully quiet.

  “How long will the flight be?” she asks.

  “Ten hours.” I feel like shit for lying.

  I turn off the highway onto an old county road and notice her sit up in the seat. “Max?”

  “Huh?”

  “This isn’t…” She inhales. “This is…”

  I grab onto her knee and squeeze, pressing the gas a little harder. A deer hops out from the brush on the side of the road, freezing in the middle of the lane. I slam on my brakes and lay over the horn. The deer finally frees itself from its daze and skirts off to the field. “Damn deer,” I huff.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” I can hear her throat tightening and it fucking kills me.

  “Because, I am not a bad person.”

  “No, if you do this to me, you are.” There’s an edge of hysteria to her voice. “Do you hear me? If you take me back, you are a horrible person.”

  I take the hairpin turn too hard and the tires skid over the shoulder, dirt flying up in the air.

  “Max!” She grabs onto my arm, jerking my hand away from the wheel and the car goes flying through thick brush, the limbs scratching the sides of the truck.

  “Ava!” I sling her arm away and take control of the wheel. “Stop it.”

  “I’ll tell everyone what you did. You’ll go to jail—”

  “And at least if I do, it is with a clear conscience.”

  I cut the headlights and pull over to the shoulder, gripping the steering wheel so tight I fear it may actually break. I don’t know that I can look at her. “Go,” I say.