by Gemma Weir
“Now, if you’re a good little idiot, I’ll find you a nice husband who’ll be happy with a dimwit for a wife. But if I ever hear any of this college nonsense again I won’t be so particular over who I let marry you. Maybe that’s what you need, someone to beat some sense into you?”
He leans in closer, so he can whisper into my ear. I force myself not to cower even as revulsion eats away at my flesh. I want to push him away, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s got to me.
“That’s what I had to do. I had to take a belt to your stupid mother over and over again until she learned how to be quiet and pretty.”
I force my body to stay rigid, but on the inside, I’m shaking from head to toe from a mixture of rage and fear. His coarse laugh and smug smile taunt me as he steps back. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands and force myself not to speak. Squeezing my fists tightly, I feel the skin break, the pain a balm for the emotion pulsing through me. My hands burn, the familiar feeling is the only reason I don’t reach for the closest thing I can use as a weapon and attack him with it.
His eyes roam over me and obviously finding me wanting he walks away; his disgusting smile is the last thing I see before he turns his back to me. I wait until he leaves the room and the door to his office clicks shut, then I grab a cushion from the sofa, hold it against my face and scream into it.
Tears fall down my cheeks, but I’m not upset, I’m angry. No, I’m furious.
Turning on the spot, I stare at the front door. The verbal attack I’ve just endured will be nothing to what I’ll get if I sneak out, but I can’t stay in his house for another moment. I check over my shoulder, just in case he’s sneaking up behind me, but the room’s still empty. Rushing for the door I throw it open and step outside, carefully pulling it closed behind me.
Fresh air surrounds me, and I pull in a deep cleansing breath. Thoughts of returning to the house makes my shoulders tense. I back away in jerky steps and then I’m running, away from my home and toward the freedom of our tiny town of Archer’s Creek.
Head down, I run down the sidewalk, desperate to get as far away from our house and my father as possible. My heart pounds in my chest and realizing running is conspicuous, I slow down to a walk, but still move as fast as I can. I barely take notice of my surroundings and let my feet guide me along the familiar streets. I don’t know where I’m running too. It doesn’t matter. Anywhere is better than at home, with that monster. I hurry around a corner just off Main Street and run straight into someone.
I bounce off a hard chest and land on my butt on the sidewalk. Disoriented, I sit on the floor with my hair falling over my eyes and hiding my face. Gentle fingers part my hair, tucking the strands behind my ears. I lift my eyes and my breath catches. It’s him.
“Hello, Angel,” Daisy says.
Her eyes are just as I remember them, a deep copper color that should be full of life, but hers are dull and listless. As we stare at each other, I watch her pupils dilate, a spark of something glinting enticingly. Reaching out, I take hold of her hand and lift her to her feet. Once she’s standing, I keep hold of her, enjoying her small, warm palm, resting in mine. Her eyes are wide, her expression shocked, and she drops her gaze to where our hands are joined before silently looking back up at me.
I didn’t notice how small she was the first time we met; her head barely reaches my shoulder. Her hand tenses and she starts to pull her fingers from mine, but I don’t want her to run away, so I tighten my grip. She flinches. I drop my eyes to her hand and slowly slide my fingers underneath hers until her palm rests on top of mine. Dried blood coats four small cuts on her soft skin. “What happened, Angel? Did you cut yourself?” I ask, concern lacing my voice.
Her copper gaze moves to look at her palms. Seeing the cuts and blood she tilts her head to the side in wonderment. I prompt her again, “What happened?” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and worries the skin as if she’s unsure how to speak.
“I don’t know.” Her voice is quiet, but strong, almost melodic.
“You’re bleeding, Angel. How didn’t you notice?”
She shrugs and looks down again, turning both of her hands over. The other palm has matching cuts and her skin is stained red with blood.
Carefully, I reach out and wrap my fingers around her wrists. She stiffens beneath my touch and I feel her shake. I bend my knees and lower myself until we’re level, eye to eye. “You need to clean these cuts, Angel.” I say, keeping my voice quiet and unthreatening.
This girl is throwing warning signs left, right and center. She’s the mayor’s fucking daughter, she’s dressed like she’s from the fifties, and she’s fucking scared silent. Why the fuck I’m not dusting her off and sending her on her way I honestly don’t know.
Her eyes are full of complete desolation and I can’t seem to look away. She’s tiny and fragile, and young—so fucking young my jailbait alarm should be screaming in my head. But I don’t even care if I never get to lay a single hand on her, I just can’t leave her.
We stand frozen in the middle of the street and just stare at each other. She doesn’t speak, and I don’t release her. We’re both lost in a silent standoff, but at least for me this isn’t war, it’s the ultimate peace. Just touching her soothes me, the feeling of distance I get from my normal life has dissolved and heat pulses through me from the spot where my skin touches hers.
“You should probably let me go,” she says, smiling quickly before it fades, and nonchalance replaces it.
I nod in agreement, but my grip doesn’t falter. “I probably should. But I don’t want to,” I say frankly.
When she smiles this time, her whole face comes to life. I watch as every feature becomes animated: her nose twitches and her eyebrows lift. Her smile changes her entire being. She stands straighter and for a second, I watch her blossom, a glimpse at the happiness that should glow constantly from her.
“You have a beautiful smile, Angel.” I say.
I see the moment she starts to retreat back inside herself, and panic-stricken I search my brain for something, anything, to do to prolong her happiness. Fear fills me, fear of seeing the desolately stricken sadness that I’m sure will engulf her eyes once the glow fades.
I drop her wrist and slide my hand around her waist, pulling her into my chest. With my other hand I reach out and tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. Running my finger tip along her jaw I lift her chin and gently lead her to my waiting lips.
Captured against his chest, he kisses me.
His lips coax mine in a gentle caress, urging me to respond but not demanding. He never forces my compliance and when my eyelids flutter closed, I melt into him.
He’s a complete stranger, but in the space of a mere moment he’s forced me out the blackness and given me light. Fireworks explode behind my eyes and I sink deeper into his embrace, my lips begging for more. His tongue strokes against my lower lip, asking for admission and I eagerly allow him entrance.
He plunges his tongue into my mouth and tingles start in my fingers, gradually moving along my skin, until I feel alive for the first time in years. Lifting my arms, I wrap them around his shoulders and tangle my tongue with his, pushing closer into his hard chest.
Far too quickly I feel him start to pull away. The kiss slows, finally ending when he leans back, separating his lips from mine. Dropping my arms to my sides, I still, unsure if I should turn and run, or stay and hope he’ll kiss me again.
His hands lift to cup my cheeks, and I force my eyes to focus on him. “Angel, what the hell are you doing to me?” He asks. His lips dip again, barely brushing over mine before he pulls back. “Come on, let’s go get those hands cleaned up.”
Confused, I reach for his arm. “Why did you kiss me?”
Stepping close to me, he touches my lips with his thumb and when he speaks, his voice is rough. “I don’t know. You’ve been all I can see when I close my eyes since that day at the wedding. I’ve never kissed an angel before.”
/> His strong fingers wrap around my wrist and I let him lead me down the street for a few steps before I pause. My shoulders slump as reality rushes back. “I can’t go with you.”
Daisy stops and turns to face me. “Why?”
“My father. He hates you guys. He’d kill me if he found out I was talking to you.”
Daisy flashes me a confident smile. “Who’s gonna tell him, Angel?”
I want to go with him, but it’s too much of a risk. If my father found out, it could ruin everything I’ve worked so hard for. My escape, my chance to get away from my father’s prison and take my mama with me could be shattered to pieces. I can’t risk it.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I pull my wrist from his fingers and walk away.
As I watch her walk away, I question if I should chase after her. Is this all a game? Does she want me to chase her? She seems guileless but surely nobody’s that innocent?
Staring at her back, I take in her outfit. Another ugly dress, plain and shapeless. But despite her clothes, her sadness, and her innate ability to seem constantly terrified, she exudes a sensuality I’ve never seen in a woman before. It’s natural; there’s no primping or artificial sexiness. Angel’s just graceful and poised, quietly sexy, so that you can’t help but notice her, even when she’s hiding.
My feet move without my consent and I follow behind her, quickly striding until I’m walking at her side. I throw my arm over her shoulders and she squeals and turns to look at me. She stumbles over her own feet and I tighten my grip to stop her from falling. “Careful,” I say.
Her arms shoot out as she tries to regain her balance and I hold her close, until she tries to shrug out from under my arm. “Daisy, you need to let me go. You don’t understand what will happen if my father finds out we’ve been talking,” she says, her eyes wide and imploring.
Everything about her body language tells me to pull her closer and keep her in the shelter of my arms. But instead I lift my arm from her shoulders, clenching my hands into fists as they hang at my sides.
She turns her head toward me and her eyes try to convey something, but all I see in their depths is conflict. Her head lowers, blonde hair falling across her face as she walks and seconds later she’s completely shielded from me.
“Angel.” Unable to leave her and unwilling to allow her to withdraw within herself, I pull in a deep breath and try to think of somewhere we could go that would be inconspicuous and away from her father’s prying eyes.
Walking beside her, I reach out and tuck her hair behind one tiny ear, stopping myself from pulling her into my arms again. “What if we could go somewhere that no one could see us? Where the mayor would have no idea that we were together.”
She pauses and slowly turns to face me. “Daisy, I’m not going to sleep with you.”
Her cheeks tinge pink and I puff out a quick laugh, lifting my hands in front of me. “Whoa, have I ever mentioned fucking you?”
Embarrassment makes her cheeks turn bright red, and her gaze lowers again. I stop her chin with my finger and lift her head back up. I bend my knees until we’re eye-to-eye. “Angel, I just want to spend some time with you, get to know you. That’s all, no expectations. Okay?”
I see the conflict in her eyes. “Why?” She asks.
With that single word she pleads for me to explain, like she’s got no idea why I’d want to spend time with her. I touch her lips lightly with mine, hardly a kiss but even that minute touch calms me. “Because you make me feel something,” I say honestly.
Her brow wrinkles. “I don’t understand,” she whispers.
Desperate to feel her close, I pull her into my chest again. Her heart races and mine beats faster in response. I lift her chin up so I can see her eyes and then I speak. “I know you don’t understand it, Angel, but I’ve been numb and distant my entire life. Being around you makes me feel alive. You’re a tunnel of light in a lifetime of darkness.”
My mouth drops open. I make him feel alive. I feel like he stole those words straight out of my thoughts and I’m so shocked that I struggle to speak. I want to tell him that he makes me feel that way too, but my tongue feels heavy in my mouth. So instead I reach for his hand and entwine my fingers with his.
“Meet me at the playground behind the elementary school in fifteen minutes.” Daisy says.
I nod. I don’t even try to argue with him. He flashes me a glorious smile and drops my hand, then he turns and walks away. I watch him go until he turns a corner and disappears from view.
Stood alone in the street, I glance around me, searching for anyone who could tell my father what just happened. Life continues, but no one seems to pay me any attention. Why would they? Most people have no idea I even exist. My heart pounds and I pull in a shaky breath, smiling, while my skin tingles and every nerve ending pulses with both terror and excitement.
Meeting him is silly and reckless. I should turn around and go home before my father realizes I’ve gone. But being around Daisy is the first time in years that I don’t feel stupid, or useless. It’s the first time in forever I forgot my mama is a doormat and my sister is dead, and I want more of that. For whatever reason, Daisy treats me like I’m someone worth spending time with. Is it wrong to crave that?
His lips on mine woke something inside of me. It wasn’t my first kiss, but when he looked at me I felt like he was seeing straight past the image I show to the rest of the world. He wasn’t seeing the fearful shell of a person that I feel like most days, he was seeing the real me. The one I keep hidden—the brave, worthy person I know I am deep inside.
Full of confidence, I pull back my shoulders and start to walk. I weave a path through side streets and alleys until I reach the elementary school. It’s lunchtime and hordes of children are playing, running and laughing. Envy overwhelms me, and the feeling burns in my chest. I’m almost an adult and yet I’m jealous of the freedom afforded to children less than half my age. My life has always been one of expectation and obligation and sometimes I almost envy Nicole. At least before her death she got a glimpse at life; she laughed and smiled and fell in love. She might only have gotten a few short months, but better a moment of happiness than a lifetime of misery.
With my head down, I cross the street and walk past the school. I reach the playground and quickly look around scanning the area, but it’s empty. The park is old and shabby, usurped by a new one in the center of town, which opened a year or so ago. The swing-set and jungle gym sit unused and abandoned waiting to be torn down.
He’s not here.
Disappointment hits my stomach and wandering over to the single remaining swing I sit on the wooden slats, my hands grasping the cold chain between my fingers. Scraping my shoes along the gravel beneath my feet, I slowly walk my feet backwards a couple of steps. When I lift my feet off the ground the swing sways forward slowly. Hot sun beams down on me as I sit in the empty playground and I tip my head back letting the warmth of the sun coat my skin.
Walking backwards again, this time until my legs are straight, I push up onto my toes and jump up, so the swing rushes forward. Cool air flows past me and I hold my legs out in front of me, leaning back until the swing peaks and I pull my legs beneath me and fly backwards, the momentum propelling me effortlessly through the air.
I don’t remember the last time I sat on a swing, but the push and pull becomes second nature and I fly higher and higher. Closing my eyes, I tip my head back and indulge in the freedom of the wind in my hair and the joy of merely swinging back and forth.
I throw my legs in front of me and the swing flies so high that my stomach seems to drop from my body as I cascade backwards. Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, I tip my face to the sky and enjoy the sensation of weightlessness.
The swing starts to slow, and I sway gently to an almost stop and gradually open my eyes. Sitting on top of a picnic table, in front of the swing-set is Daisy. His watchful eyes are focused solely on me as he waits patiently with his elbows rested on his knees.
I’d almo
st convinced myself that getting involved with the mayor’s daughter was a really stupid idea and then I stepped into the park and saw her flying through the air on a swing. Her sack dress had ridden up revealing shapely legs. Her skin was pale and porcelain like, her head tipped back, and her hair flowed behind her with the swing’s motion. She looked so fucking free.
I’m so drawn to her that before I even know what I’m doing, I’m sitting on a bench just watching. I’m not even touching her but being this close to Angel makes me feel like I’ve done a couple of lines of coke. Who am I kidding? This girl makes me feel more alive than all the drugs I’ve ever tried.
Her swinging gradually slows, and she opens her eyes and sees me.
“Hi, Angel.”
She visibly swallows and nervously smiles at me. “Hi,” she whispers.
I stand from the bench and reach for her. Wrapping my hands around her hips, I lift her from the swing and place her on her feet in front of me. Reaching for her hands, I turn them over, so I can see the cuts. The blood has dried around the small wounds, but I can still see the remains of red blood beneath her fingernails. She must have done this to herself.
Pulling a sealed alcohol wipe from my pocket, I clean the cuts. With the blood cleaned away I can see three perfect nail marks on each palm. I take the tube of antiseptic ointment from my other pocket and gently rub the cream into each cut. Angel stands, silently watching me look after her. Her expression is unreadable, and I lean down and drop a kiss to each of her palms before I straighten and tuck her hair behind her ears.
“Why do you keep doing that?” She asks.
“Doing what?”
Her fingers bunch in her skirt and she agitatedly twists the fabric. When her eyes drop to the floor, I lift her chin, forcing her gaze up to mine. “Doing what, Angel?” I say again.
“Y- you keep, err… You keep moving my hair,” she finally stutters out.