“I know how much that cost you,” Chapel whispers on my neck, holding me as I lean against the closed door. His large body is covering my own as he bends down to comfort me. “He is losing you and he knows it. He only knows how to keep them in check with fear and pain. You don’t fear him anymore, leaving him only one weapon left. He will turn you and Lawless against one another if you let him. He can’t let Lawless go. You need to be preparing for that.” He places a soft kiss on the top of my head before turning from me.
“Dolph is kinda cute,” Aimes offers, as her own eyes are showing the pain, I am feeling over Chapel’s truths.
Seeing her sharing my same fears and heartache allows my first tear to fall. We hug one another with the freedom being a girl allows us, supporting each other in this new chapter of our lives. Our pages are now plot-less with no direction or clues as to where they will lead us. We have both done what is normally a death sentence. We have crossed J.D., calling his actions into question and he has made it known our little group is in his sights. We now live in the dangerous crosshair of his attention.
“We still have to go out there to get our bags,” I mutter into her shoulder.
“I’ll get them.” Chapel stands from his cot where he has been watching the two of us. “Just stay in here until I come back. He won’t do anything with the others still around. Marxx won’t let him, but I wouldn’t push it.”
He kisses the top of Aimes’ head as he exits, trying to calm the fears coursing through her like a river. The door closes behind us with the soft reality of being alone.
“Do you think it will get that bad?” Aimes asks the air around us, more than she is asking me.
“No. I don’t. He would never admit to being out done by a girl and any actions he takes would do just that.” I hug her, lending her my strength. “We will just keep on with these word games. He will try to hit us where it hurts. He will use the guys against us if we show him any weakness to it. Our best plan is to just avoid him until he comes around and he will once his male ego is appeased.”
“…and what is it going to take to appease him?” Her fear forces her to ask the one question she fears the answer from the most.
“Me. It’s my pain he wants. My weaknesses. You have to let him have it. Don’t jump in. Don’t run interference. He and I need to play this out,” I tell her.
“…and Lawless? What are we going to do about him? How can he do this?” Her voice rises with her pain and confusion over his actions.
The man we have given our hearts and trust to is turning so cruelly away from us. It leaves us both raw from it for different reasons. I have no answers to comfort her, as I am as lost in this river’s current as is, she. I am no longer trying to swim against its strength. I just want to keep my head above the water.
Chapel finds us still exploring these thoughts with his return. Aimes’ tears gliding along her face causes him to pause in the grief of seeing her this way. He tries to give us some silent communication, but we fail to grasp it in time and Lawless walks in behind him holding our bags in his hands.
Seeing us both in the midst of our emotions, Lawless goes cold and we separate. He never slows from the sight before him but simply follows Chapel to where the bags have been placed, dropping the ones he is carrying with the others. He exits with the same blank face and aversion to us, causing Aimes to slam the door behind him with her frustrations.
“So much for not getting involved?” I ask her, waiting for the doorframe to settle from the vibrations.
“You said that was for J.D. This is a whole different ass.” She crosses her arms, further proving her feelings by saying, “The dick.”
I shrug, giving in to her judgment of the situation. Chapel tries to cover his laughter at her female outburst but ends up giving in to it. Hearing him laugh with such openness is contagious. Slowly we are each laughing, letting it release the emotions building inside us.
“I feel like I could sleep for days,” I say, with a yawn to further prove it.
I test the cot with the weight of my body, slowly sinking into the firmness. It doesn’t give much under me, but my body at finding rest does not complain. Aimes pulls the other two cots close to mine making a good size bed out of them. Chapel fidgets, watching us with the realization we may not have been completely bluffing with our invitations from earlier. It’s plain upon his face he is confused over if he should be excited or worried.
“Easy, big boy. We will keep our little claws to ourselves.” Aimes enjoys his discomfort, which makes him ripe for her playful teasing. “No rest for the wicked,” she says, tossing the sleeping bags to me to help spread out across our makeshift bed.
We arrange the bags, so each is contained in their own space but allowing us to reach out for comfort if we need it in the middle of the night. Of course, all of this Chapel watches from across the room, making as much space between us as possible. Perhaps he is rethinking the bluffs he also placed earlier. Is he still so eager to dare Lawless?
Aimes and I begin our normal nighttime routine of aimless chatter. Subjects float from what we would kill to have right now, to what we would have done if we had known the world was going to go to hell. Sometimes we even randomly compare whom we would have done had we known what was going to happen.
Her selections are always humorous and so out of our reach. Unless well-known actors think to themselves, Hey, I would like to date a barmaid from a small town before my face is eaten, I think she is out of luck. We do all of this while we change into our sweats and tee shirts for the night.
Aimes smirks at Chapel’s reaction to us undressing before him with a mixture of male curiosity, and shyness. I have never seen someone arch so much to remove their socks. The woman may have missed her true calling in life.
“Bathroom?” I ask, smacking her forehead telling her to stop it. “You are going to give him a stroke,” I mouth, wordlessly to her.
She teasingly whispers back to me, “Maybe I’ll help him with the stroking.”
I roll my eyes at her less than hidden innuendo.
“Sure. I could freshen up before Chap here keeps me warm all night,” Aimes returns my exasperated look with a smile. “Do you know where they are?”
“I imagine they will be the well-lit rooms adjacent to the hall,” I tell her.
“You’re so smart with them big words and that fancy book learnings’ of yours.”
“I can’t help it. You just make me look so dem’ edu’m’cated.” “Touch of rude. Dash of unnecessary,” she says with a false glare.
Our laughter carries us through the door. It covers how nervous we are to finally be stepping so close to J.D. We did not expect however for Chapel to come stand over us or for his glares to keep us safe as we pass their doorway. He gives their room a look of caution. Standing in the space between it, he dares them with his presence until we are far enough away to be safe from any stray remarks. Even then, he leaves our door open to further prove the weight of his dare for them to stir any trouble.
Chapel has finally found his light to guide him home. In this void he has been living in, he finally sees a spark of hope at being needed again. A man who has already lost one family is now claiming ownership of another. He is taking back his place in this world and he is starting with Aimes and I.
We have begun the healing process for his bleeding heart, proving to him love can still be felt in this new design of a world. He has seen the bond Aimes and I still share even with all the horror we have witnessed and endured. Through all the pain we have drank of, we still believe in each other and he wants that.
He wants to feel that warmth of human touch again. He needs to feel the bond of trust again deep in his core to ease his self-doubts and the many monsters who stalk him in the dark corners of his mind. The man they have dismissed as being weak now stands alone, leaning against our doorway with his version of their re- laxed stance. He is watching and aware of his surroundings as well as any of them have been in the past. He is not j
ust drawing another line. He is demanding it to be seen.
J.D. takes the bait. He comes to lean on their doorway, staring Chapel down across the divide placed between them. Steel-colored eyes are watching every movement, cataloging any weaknesses before him. J.D. hopes to break Chapel with his presence, as he has always been able to do before. He wants to make the taller man bend to his will again with the pure fear of him.
“Yo,” Chapel calls across to him, in a mimic of Aimes’ exact word only moments ago.
The word is so simple but says more than the one syllable ever could hold. Chapel is declaring on whose side he now sits and to further prove it, he reaches down into his shirt, pulling out a gold chain attached to a small golden cross. His “trinket of death” and the sign of his faith that keeps J.D. so on edge with the fact of it. Chapel smiles to J.D. as the chain falls into place next to his heart. Chapel has lost everything only to find everything again in our laughter and our tears. He is no longer afraid of J.D. or what this new life may hold. Chapel has come home. With disgust upon his face, J.D. turns, returning to the room he shares with the others, slamming the door behind him hard enough to give Aimes a run for her drama title. What naughty little boys we have.
Chapter 25
The first stirrings of confusion nudge me from a warm, deep sleep. The sun is too bright. The arm around me is too heavy.
The scent is too sharp. I feel my heart race with the confusion, until the events of last night catch up to my sleepy mind.
Aimes and I had returned to find Chapel filled with mirth over something he would not share with us. It made the once shy shadow of a man become playful with Aimes, returning her jests as fast as she could serve them. Their verbal tennis match filled the time we had left until our bodies grew lazy with sleep. We had fallen asleep to our laughter as we made hand puppets on the flat tiles of the ceiling above us. We were lost in the joys of our bonds when sleep found us.
The heavy arm slung across my waist must belong to Chapel as he sought innocent reassurances in the pitch darkness of the night. The male scent surrounding me is the strong soap lingering on his skin. I roll into his heat to stare at the man, who up until now, has been a stranger to me.
He rests on his back, softly snoring the way men do when reaching their deep stages of sleep. One arm is resting on me and his other is tucked under Aimes’ head as she sleeps on his chest. She has cuddled up close to his side, seeking her own reassurance in her sleep. His shoulder length hair mingles with her shades of blonde, weaving the many shades between them. I lie here watching them dream in their peaceful sleep when the door opens, invading our private moment.
Chapel startles instantly with the noise, pushing me down and pulling Aimes closer in an attempt to protect us from the danger his sleep-filled mind is imagining. Shelia is at the door looking in the room without trying to see what is before her with her averted eyes. She wears her embarrassment the way a woman wears a well-fitted gown. It covers every inch of her, making us aware of her for reasons that stir curiosity within us.
“Breakfast is in an hour. We only serve meals at set times to help keep track of our pantry and to conserve energy. I didn’t want you to miss it,” she explains, as she withdraws from the room, never meeting our curious eyes.
Sharing a look of confusion between us, the three of us watch her leave. Her awkwardness is easily forgotten though when our stomachs remind us of the meals we skipped yesterday as drama enfolded our family.
We choose our separate corners of the room to dress, as conversation is freckled with our laughter encouraged by the new ease found between us. Chapel waking up beside someone seems to have cured him of his nervous fidgeting.
The tall man now in our life is not a replacement for Lawless. I watch him with his back turned to us and I crave the amber coloring of another man. Chapel’s laughter does not stir me the way Lawless’ does. Nor does his smile, as warm as it is, comfort the depths of my soul the way another’s does.
Our comedy is one of shy testing, not full of hidden meanings only years of shared moments can bring. I am wondering if I have the strength to let another become so close to me. Can I trust again, to such a degree, or shall I always keep people at the surface where their loss cannot cut me so deep with haunted memories and damning dreams?
“Everything seems much more depressing before coffee,” Aimes whispers in my ear, putting an arm around my shoulders. She could feel the weight of my thoughts from where she was standing across the room.
“Then I need a lot of coffee.” I smile at her, my constant counselor and navigator through life.
“I can make that happen.” She smiles, placing her face close to mine with her bright smile and says, “Just promise me you’ll brush your teeth afterwards.”
She dodges my shove, skipping away with her laughter following her and Chapel out the door. He pauses, holding on to the doorframe. He is waiting for me to join them with a look of concern for leaving me behind.
“I’ll catch up,” I say, sitting to slip on my boots.
I smile to let him know I am fine, and I will be right behind them to ease his fears. His face wears a moment of doubt, but he is forced to leave me when Aimes’ constant chanting of his name in different pitches starts from further up the hall. I hate morning people.
When I exit our room, I find Lawless is waiting for me. He is leaning against the opposite wall with his head down. He lifts his head when he hears me, giving me a small flash of his smile. He can still make my heart skip with one look and my body betrays me, stirring with his presence despite the amount of anger I hold for him over yesterday.
“Morning,” I keep my voice neutral.
I meant for the word to be more forceful than the soft whisper that escaped me. My mind is chanting to keep walking, forcing one step in front of the other to make it past him. It screams at my eyes to not betray this façade of calm I am wearing as I go past.
“Wait,” he calls to me softly, but I don’t.
I continue down the hall to the bouncing pink streaks just a few saving steps away and the other man who kept us safe when Lawless chose his side last night. I walk to the two who stood beside me when J.D. sliced into me with his veiled threats and dark eyes. I walk to the two who had the courage to be with me in my weakness and not judge me for it. He does not call for me again and I don’t look back. I keep my head forward, listening to his steps following mine down the hall.
Breakfast is composed of a lot of nervous eye contact and pan- cakes, but not a lot of conversation. Out of habit, or unsure of where to go, our little dysfunctional family found one another at a table to one side of the school’s cafeteria. Sitting around us are small pockets of groups engaging in their morning routines surrounded by their normal morning faces. Our faces are drawn and blank. We watch those around us who are lost in their small worlds with private envy of their joy.
Shelia sits with Simon and a small girl at a far table in a family picture of bliss. Their love for one another is evident in their gentle touches and the shy smiles they share. His tenderness is only proving his flirting yesterday was all for show and pure irritation spurred by male ego. Dolph and another man sit with them, enjoying the chance to be included in such an atmosphere. Their smiles are genuine at the jests shared with their group. The little girl shows every person at the table attention. It only reaffirms their group’s closeness with her trust for them.
“Cute, huh?” Aimes asks. She has been watching the same table, but her mood sours quickly. “You know what is not cute?” I follow the motion of her head to see Leslie slinking her way to our table. The tension doubles with each pair of eyes that notice her. Most of the table has the decency to look away from where Lawless and I sit beside each other even with our strained relationship. Most being all but J.D., but he was never known for holding any level of decency. He watches, an amused smile upon his lips and Chapel’s words from last night come back to me.
The bitterness rising inside me wants to pout and lash
out like a toddler when Leslie’s arms encircle Lawless’ broad shoulders. Sharp barbs float over my tongue as her fingers seduce the muscles of his stomach under his grey cotton shirt. The soap opera has been set and everyone is waiting for my fall-out.
They have underestimated me. I learned this passive-aggressive game a long time ago from the best. A smile is the deadliest of poisons to those trying to upset you and that is what I feed to her. “Sorry to hear about Shaw. Simon was telling us how close you two were,” I offer, as if we are all the best of friends.
She pauses at the sound of my voice. She is unsure which way the wind is blowing, and I smile even wider.
“If you want, we can take you back there to bury her. I mean, if my best friend ever were to become zombie chow, I would totally do everything I could to make sure she was put to rest properly.” Aimes comments, chewing her breakfast nonchalantly, feigning serious concerns for Leslie’s well-being. “Wouldn’t you, Hells?” she asks me.
“I would. I just don’t know how I could ever live with myself if I didn’t,” I answer Aimes, with an over exaggerated sense of duty. “What about you, Lawly? If your best friend forever were to become suddenly, I don’t know, destroyed or left behind, would you do everything you could to make it right or just walk away forgetting about your loyalties and feelings for them?” Aimes asks. She cocks her head at him, making her eyes larger than normal with her sincere interest of the matter.
Rhett chokes on the bite he is chewing, trying to recover from her words. He looks to Lawless sitting across from him with the still confused Leslie draping herself across his shoulders. Rhett arches an eyebrow waiting for an answer. He is not going to help his friend in this matter. Like all men, Rhett laces his tennis shoes at the first hint of female drama. Perhaps this is the real reason for his dating habits and not the guise he hinted at yesterday. Wimp.
I am noticing Lawless for the first time since he has sat down. As her fingers trace circles across his chest and stomach, his body is ridged. His hands sit clenched on the table, despite her soft whisperings in his ear. I can see his lips pressed in a tight line of discomfort, not the male smile he was wearing yesterday with her flirting. He turns his head to look at Aimes and I and what I see in those eyes speaks more than any sharp reply he could form. Lawless is not playing the game. He is a pawn in it as much as we are.
Dawning (The Risen Series Book 1) Page 18