by J. M. Paul
I wondered how long it would be until she was called into duty to continue to defend what had happened here along with so many other ruthless acts of violence and terrorism that occurred in our country and around the world. Will she wind up paying the ultimate price for our freedom, freedom that most everyone takes for granted? It was harrowing to think about.
I sent up a prayer for her and her loved ones. I hoped they would never have to suffer death like the families of the engraved names encircling this location.
There was no comparison, but I had endured my own acts of terror in the last five years. While the attacks were not the same, they had been life-threatening.
My battleground was a place I was supposed to call home. A location meant to bring safety and peace. After only weeks of living in that house after my family had been taken from me, it had quickly become the set of my nightmares. And I was the reoccurring movie star.
The acts committed on that set hadn’t taken my life, but they’d stripped something far more important from me. The most innocent and courageous parts of me had gone missing, and I believed I would never be able to recover them. To this day, I still wasn’t sure if I would forever remain a victim chained to my hell or if I would eventually become a survivor.
If this road trip had taught me anything thus far, it was that I needed to reclaim everything that had been stolen from me. I had to battle against the demons, to search for the light, and to find myself again. If I didn’t, I would become just like the tortured souls guarding this memorial—lost forever.
Since we had left New York, it felt as if we had been spending weeks in the van. In reality, it had only been a few days, but it had consisted of endless driving and gridlock traffic along with listening to what Milo considered to be music. The combination of it all had me ready to poke my eyes out with a stick.
On our way south, we had stopped in Washington, DC, to see every neoclassical monument, building, and museum along with the iconic White House. There was something to be said about experiencing the infamous city and photographing the memorials I had read about and studied all through school. History and government were my least favorite subjects—to the utter horror of my politically crazed parents—but I had a great deal of respect and appreciation for what past generations had fought to overcome and had instilled for the bettering of mankind’s future.
I was just thankful I hadn’t had to partake in it all.
The vast size of the Arlington National Cemetery had been overwhelming, but it was the most memorable. It was a beautiful place to visit, reflect, and pay respect to the brave men and women who had fought and paid the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom and country. My favorite part was the changing of the guard, which happened every half hour, and the emotions the action made surface were truly unexpected. The tribute to the nameless soldiers who never returned from battlefields was moving, inspirational, and worthy of accolades.
We had only been on the road trip for almost two weeks, but my portfolio had doubled in size. I hadn’t had a lot of time to touch up the raw images in Photoshop, but the quality of work I had produced wouldn’t require me to put forth much effort. I was beyond ecstatic about my photos, and I imagined they would solidify a spot in any master’s program and possibly help me land a job when I graduated.
“You’re producing great work,” a voice whispered over my shoulder.
I jumped clear to the ceiling of the van—or at least, it felt as if I had.
We had arrived in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, in the wee hours of the morning. Instead of wasting our meager budget on a couple of hotel rooms for a few hours, we’d decided to crash in the van until morning. When daybreak hit, we planned to check in at our reserved campsite in the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, set up our tents, shower, and then venture out into the wilderness.
The light snoring echoing through the small space had made me believe I was the only person awake, so the interruption had caught me off guard.
And you’re an edgy person, I reminded myself. But it’s for a good reason.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Bax sat up in his seat.
Milo had been on driving duty when we arrived in town, and Carly was in the front passenger seat. Bax and I had claimed the back seats as ours.
I gently closed my laptop.
Muted light outside the van windows indicated that dawn was fast approaching. The imminent daybreak allowed the outline of the mountains to become visible, causing excitement to stir in my chest.
This location was one of my top choices when we’d made a list of places to include on our trip. While visiting, I was eager to hike in the woods and become one with nature. Nature was known to restore the soul, and mine was in dire need of mending.
These mountains were also one of my mom’s favorite places on earth. She and my dad had been well traveled, having been to almost every country in the world before they’d had me and my sister, Justice. Once we had entered their lives, they had slowed down but eventually had initiated the ritual of family vacations to somewhere new twice a year. The Smoky Mountains had been the next destination on our list, but we never got the chance to go.
“You didn’t sleep long,” I murmured so that I wouldn’t wake Milo and Carly.
“Neither did you,” Bax countered.
No, I hadn’t. But I never slept much. The demons always came for the weak at night, and I had learned to be prepared at all times of the day.
“I guess I’m anxious to get out there,” I lied as I gestured toward the surrounding area.
Bax nodded, stretched his arms over his head, and pressed his palms against the ceiling of the van. The space was cramped for his tall frame.
“What time is it?” He yawned.
I glanced at my phone. “A little after five.”
“Ugh. So, we got what? A little over two and a half hours of sleep?” Bax scratched his cheek and then yawned again, causing me to do the same in response.
“Shut up, assholes. I’m tryin’ to sleep,” Milo slurred from the front seat.
Bax peered out the window and then at me. “I need coffee. Want to walk to Dunkin’ Donuts with me?” He pointed to the lit building not far from the hotel parking lot we had stopped in last night.
“Sure.” I moved the laptop off my legs and grabbed my wallet from inside the backpack at my feet.
“Thank God,” Milo mumbled.
Bax and I quietly laughed as we climbed out of the vehicle.
We walked in silence, him gazing at the stars and me rubbing my arms to fight the early morning chill. He held the building’s door open for me, and we both entered and stepped up to an empty counter.
“What would you like?” he asked as he perused the menu. “They have Pepsi products…”
A small twinge squeezed my heart. He knew I didn’t like coffee, so he was making sure there was something I could drink.
“Can I help you?” An older woman walked out of the back room, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Yes. We’d like a Pepsi, a large black coffee, and two Everything bagels toasted with cream cheese, please,” Bax told the woman after we had discussed what we wanted.
“The sodas are in the fridge.” Donut Lady pointed down the counter.
I grabbed my drink while Bax paid, and our order was prepared. When we received our food and Bax’s coffee, we sat at a small table by the window, looking out at the street.
“How much do I owe you?” I unwrapped my bagel, and my mouth salivated at the warm smell of garlic and onion.
“Don’t worry about it. Take it as a thank-you for joining me.” He blew on his coffee before he took a tentative sip.
We ate and drank in companionable silence, watching the city and mountains come to life with the rising sun.
“Tell me something about yourself, Liberty Daniels.” Bax crumpled his wrapper and pushed it to the side of the table when he finished eating.
“What do you want to know?” I swallowed my last bite.
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“Tell me about your family. Where did you grow up? Are your parents still married? Are you an only child, or do you have siblings?” He ran a hand through his tousled hair.
He wanted to know about my family. What am I supposed to tell him? That I don’t have one anymore? That they had been taken from me way too soon by a selfish act?
What would he think of me if I told him the truth?
I wasn’t ready to go there, so I disclosed the bare minimum of details he wanted to know.
“I grew up in Milford, Michigan. My parents never divorced. My sister’s name is Justice,” I answered carefully.
“Justice?” Bax smirked.
“Mmhmm,” I hummed. I sipped my soda.
“Liberty and Justice?”
“Yes, as in, for all.” I let out a small chuckle. “My parents were hippies. They were into love, spirituality, free will, and politics. My sister and I—our names—took the brunt of their passion.”
“They sound awesome. I’d love to meet them.” He shifted forward in his chair, leaning his elbows on the table.
“They were pretty awesome.” A dismal smile curved my lips.
Turning my concentration to the world waking outside the window, I reminisced over the great times they’d created for me and Justice.
My favorite family tradition was our Friday night dance parties in our living room. We used to blast our chosen songs of the moment, dance like no one was watching, order pizza for dinner, pig out on junk food, and have movie marathons. It was the best, and I would give everything for just one more Friday night with them.
“Were?” Bax caught the word I shouldn’t have let slip out.
“Were.” It came out in a whisper. “My family was killed five years ago.”
Slowly yet deliberately, Bax snaked his arm across the table. This time, I was prepared for his touch when his hand rested over mine and squeezed. His caress was becoming slightly familiar, calming, and unexpectedly acceptable. I hadn’t welcomed any kind of physical contact from anyone since my loved ones were alive.
My heart started to race, and my breathing increased, but instead of those physical responses sprouting from anxiety, they stemmed from longing. I liked Bax touching me, and I found it shocking that I craved more.
When Bax started to pull away, I turned my palm over and entwined my fingers with his. The contact was foreign and encompassing.
Finding courage, I finally elevated my gaze to Bax and found him studying me. For a while, we watched each other without speaking, taking comfort in the sunrise outside the windows of Dunkin’ Donuts and in each other’s company.
The side of Bax’s mouth lifted, showing his dimple, and he started to softly rub patterns along my skin with his thumb. It made my stomach dip and flutter, something I hadn’t felt since Jarrod.
“I’m so sorry, Libby,” Bax said soothingly. “How were they killed?”
My family was something I didn’t talk about. Ever. With anyone. But the understanding and gentle tone of Bax’s voice had me second-guessing my resolve to never speak of them. There were many times I had told myself, if I didn’t discuss it, the situation wouldn’t feel real. But, no matter how much I lied to myself, keeping quiet only hurt me and disrespected my family’s legacy. They had been wonderful people, and they deserved to be shared.
Memories could only breathe life when released into the world for others to enjoy. When suppressed, they would become like secrets, and nothing had the potential to make people as lonely as their secrets.
I’m so lonely.
“My family and my boyfriend, Jarrod, paid the ultimate price for my selfishness.” Sadness clouded my voice.
A lone tear streaked down my cheek, and Bax reached across the table and wiped it away with his free hand.
“Don’t say that. From what I know of you, you’re not selfish.” He wrapped the hand that had captured my tear around our conjoined hands on the table.
He was so warm and soft and strong at the same time. It was disconcerting.
“You’re wrong,” I whispered. “They’re dead because of me.”
With that statement sinking like an anchor between us, I pushed back from the table, breaking our physical and emotional contact. I had craved the connection, but my depravity caused it to hurt too much, and I couldn’t handle the consequences.
Something about Bax made me blindly trust him, but instincts could play a clever game of trickery. Once upon a time, I thought I could trust someone else, and I had been burned in the worst possible way. I wasn’t up for participating in another bout of deceit. I was weak and broken, and I didn’t have the strength to survive another loss.
“Libby…” Bax started to stand.
Realizing my mistake in revealing too much, I rushed toward the door to escape my stupidity. My dad had always warned me that boys could make girls do stupid things. The last hour of exchange between me and Bax was a point in his case.
“I’ll see you back at the van.” I pushed through the door to gulp in the fresh air of freedom.
My air supply’s being cut off. It probably has something to do with the callous hands that are firmly wrapped around my throat, squeezing.
He’s found me.
As is my body’s instinct, I thrash, fighting against the lack of air, even when I know it will be easier to succumb to the darkness. At least, in darkness, there’s calmness and numbing.
This is it. He’s going to kill me this time.
“You thought you could get away from me, you stupid bitch?” He seethes through his teeth.
I choke, grabbing at his wrists, struggling to inhale air. He’s too strong, and I’m too weak. My head’s pounding, my lungs are on fire, and stars are floating behind my eyelids.
Please let death be quick.
“You’re mine. I own you. Don’t ever forget that.” He leans down to my ear. “No matter how far you run, I’ll always find you, Libs.”
I sat straight up in bed, gasping for air. I clawed at my neck, digging to remove the hands that were wrapped around it but came up empty.
My eyes blinked open, frantically searching the confines of the small tent. Carly was curled in her sleeping bag, oblivious to my distress, as she quietly snored.
It was just a nightmare.
But it felt so real.
Flinging the sleeping bag from my body, I shivered in the crisp air as I stood and pulled on a sweatshirt. As quietly as possible, I unzipped the entrance and then zipped it shut when I stepped out.
I stilled when I spun and noticed a figure sitting just outside the flickering light of the campfire, holding an object.
My heart was racing in my chest, my breath came in quick and shallow gasps, my muscles tensed, and my hands instantly started to sweat.
Maybe it wasn’t a dream. Maybe he’s really here…
Before my fight-or-flight instinct kicked into overdrive, I heard, “Are you okay?”
Bax.
My shoulders relaxed, and my jaw loosened as I made my way to a seat and slunk into it.
“Libby?” Bax asked a few moments later. Scooting his chair closer to the fire so that I could see his face in the warm glow, he studied me.
Breathing deeply, I tried to shake off the remnants of my nightmare.
“I’m just trying to hold on,” I ground out, my throat dry from unease.
The river beside our campsite burbled, an owl hooted in the distance, and what I hoped was a raccoon or some other harmless small animal burrowed in the bushes behind our two tents. The boys slept in one, and Carly and I slept in the other.
“H.O.P.E.,” Bax spelled out.
Then, he strummed what I now noticed was a guitar on his lap. I had seen the case in the van throughout the trip, but I had yet to hear him play.
“What?” I massaged my neck, unable to shake the weariness surrounding me.
“H.O.P.E. It’s an acronym for Hold On, Pain Ends.”
I let his words seep in and settle in my stomach. Hold On, Pain Ends.
For some reason, instant relief and the edginess I still held on to since I’d woken up depleted. I wasn’t sure if the release was brought on by Bax’s words, his presence, the calming atmosphere of the mountains, or the luring river and the rhythm he lazily stroked. Maybe it was the combination of all of them. Whatever it was, I would take it.
“I like it. I’ll keep holding on until my pain ends.” I rested my head against the back of the chair and gazed up at the stars through the trees.
Bax continued to pluck at his guitar until he started playing a song I recognized. “Let It Be Me” by Ray LaMontagne echoed out into the night.
Bax’s melodic baritone voice sang about losing everything and feeling like you couldn’t go on, what it was like to be lonely and need someone, and how he wanted me to let him in. Or, at least, that was what I thought he was trying to tell me with his song choice.
His singing broke through the night and slowly nestled in my bones. I found I was humming the lyrics with him in perfect harmony. I was astonished to hear my voice because I hadn’t sang since my family was taken away from me. Tears sprang into my eyes, but I continued to enjoy this rare moment of serenity in a place made for healing with a man who could quite likely steal my heart if I wasn’t careful.
When the song ended, Bax sat still before he rose and walked over to me. With his hazel eyes on mine, he carefully caressed my cheek. To my surprise, I nuzzled into his touch.
I’m quickly becoming attached to him, and it’s something I need to break because most men can’t be trusted.
“Will you hold on until the pain ends, Libby? And, when it does, will you let it be me who finally breaks through your barrier?” he whispered. “Will you let me in?”
I blinked up at him in the flickering light, shocked by the exchange of intimacy between us and how it didn’t make my skin recoil. Instead, it felt natural.
Before I had the chance to answer, he pried my fingers open, placed a penny in the palm of my hand, and then turned and walked toward his tent.