Due to the fiery wreckage that ended David and Jackson’s lives, empty urns are used and there isn’t a need for a burial. Violet and I awkwardly pace ourselves toward Martha and her family. We’re greeted amiably, but resentment is thick and almost scary. Blame and a hint of distaste appear in several of David’s family’s glares. Once we’ve greeted and paid our respect, Violet and I initiate our journey toward her car.
“I can’t believe you came here,” an unfamiliar female voice screams from behind me.
“Just get in the car,” Violet orders. I do as she states, and from the safety of Violet’s passenger window, I witness as Liliana charges and then screams as she bangs at Violet’s window.
We creep out of the funeral home’s parking lot, and are extra mindful not to injure the howling teen that continues to assault Violet’s car. The moment we roll off of the funeral home’s parking lot, I turn to see Liliana weep into her hands.
February 13th, 2014 is the first day that I don’t shed a tear for David. The past few weeks were endless nights of crying myself to sleep. Grief and loss weren’t my only felt emotions, but shame and guilt consumed every inch of me. I couldn’t eat and barely slept. To make matters worse, every day I cried over David was a day Kate’s demon strength grew stronger and more persistent in making my life miserable.
Then one night, I followed Violet’s recommendation and consumed one too many sleep aids. As I waited for the medication to take effect, I reflected on my last dream. My mind drifted as the sleep aid seeped into my system. In a slow, mellow motion, I drifted into a deep slumber.
A calm, warm source of water surrounds me, and a soft current points me into a straight direction. Nothing bothers me, and for once, I’m at peace. Warm ocean sand rubs against my backside when I eventually wash up onto a prickly shore. A conch shell stabs my back, so I grab it and toss it aside. Shades of pink shimmer from the shell as the sunlight glistens against it.
“It’s quite the sight,” David states as he settles down next to me. He’s dressed in cream-colored linen shorts and no shirt. His skin has a sun-kissed glow, and his ebony-colored hair is matted by ocean water and sand. He wiggles his legs into the damp sand, then places his fingers under my chin to lift my eyes to meet his.
David’s brilliant-blue eyes pierce at my heart. And once again, the shame and guilt return. Tears brim at the corners of my eyes, and an ache throbs at my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I whimper as I pull my chin away from his hand. In a swift movement, David loops his arm around my back and tucks me under his arm. Sand slushes as I adjust myself under his arm before I glance up to connect with his gaze. In the distance, small speckles of glitter shine from the ocean’s surface. Then a pod of dolphins summersault and splash near the shore.
“Don’t blame yourself.” His peace offering allows me to relax into his side. He continues with his belief that a part of him always knew that Kate would cause his death. “My grandmother always said that demons appear when death is near.” Silence follows David’s statement.
“Is that why I can see her?” I question in a feeble tone.
David releases a deep exhale, then grips at my shoulder. “Let’s not talk about her. I may never see you again,” he reveals with uncertainty.
In a flash, he’s on his feet and helping me off of the sand. My purple sundress sticks to me. We walk for miles, hand-in-hand. Neither one of us speaks, until he reveals, “I want you to be happy, Scarlet. Even if it means that you end up with that hipster jackass from the airport.”
A tiny smirk forms on his full, pink lips, and just like that, each one of our shared memories whirlwind into my mind. A sharp jab digs deep into my heart, and I’m forced to stop in my tracks.
“Why was it so difficult for us? Why couldn’t we just be happy together?” My words are greeted by David’s strong embrace. His natural musk and the ocean sand tickle at my nostrils. I hold on tight, not wanting to let go—ever. David’s form begins to fade, and the last thing he says is, “Live your life, gorgeous.”
February 14th, 2014 flashes on my cellular phone as I push buttons in a frantic attempt to get the damn thing to shut-up. Outside my bedroom is a life I’m not ready to face. I toss and turn on my bed with hopes that I can fall asleep again.
A gentle knock on my bedroom door causes me to stiffen and reduce my breathing. My door creaks open and the smell of French toast, bacon, and fresh coffee rouse me into a sitting position.
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Q exclaims with pure enthusiasm.
“Uhh…thanks,” I utter in a much too curt manner. I brush my hair back and rub at my eyes.
“I know we’re not ro-man-tic, but I just… I’ve caught feelings for you.” The room’s too dim to see Q’s facial expression. But his voice? His voice portrays his uncertainty. His stance reveals that he’s uncomfortable as he grips the heavy, food tray that holds a single red orchid.
He stares at me while his lips fidget before he nips at his bottom lip. His visible vulnerability entices me. In a rush, I hop out of my bed and then draw open the curtains. When I turn, I see Q inch closer toward my bed.
“Could you place the tray down on my bed, please?” I request as I slip under my thick duvet. Q does as I ask, then turns to leave.
“You’re not going to keep me company?” I question as I crawl toward the food tray.
“Hmm. Well, you requested I set the tray down—like I’m the damn help or something,” he retorts as he puckers his lips to one side. And there’s the sarcastic, yet hunky hipster from the airplane. Hunk, yes—Q is a hunk that made me Valentine’s day breakfast. He’s wearing loose, red, draw-string pajama pants. And from his lick-worthy package, it’s evident that he’s not wearing underwear. Shirtless, he’s freakin’ shirtless. He’s too accustomed to being shirtless around me.
Q lacks the muscular tone that David once had, but his face… That face has become a weakness and much needed distraction to the loss of David. As usual, Q has that annoying knitted cap that’s always fixed on his head. His chest isn’t cold, but his head is? Men.
“Come, sit with me and keep me company while I eat, please?” I bat my eyes at him and fail to give him a pouty stare. Q’s laughter kindles a dormant side of my heart. He idles toward my bed until he sits at the edge, but then I motion for him and pat the spot next to me.
It occurs to me that my lack of bra may be why Q is being so awkward. After all, Victoria’s Secret flannel night sets reveal enough as it is. My sad heart has revived my appetite, and I’ve gained some of my weight back—it’s only ten pounds, but it’s something.
He snuggles under my duvet and grazes my leg with his. “So, I feel like I barely know you, and yet, you’ve made me Valentine’s Day breakfast and have confessed that you’ve ‘caught feelings for me.’ How about you tell me all about Q while I devour this lovely meal that you’ve made me?” I ask before I pick up a slice of crispy bacon. I take a nibble as I take in the layout before me: Loads of perfectly crisp bacon, a bountiful display of French toast with maple syrup and whipped cream, and two cups of coffee.
“There’s much more food than I could ever finish,” I offer in more of a question than a statement.
Q reveals that he thought we’d share our friendship breakfast. In an impolite manner, a pent-up laugh escapes my lips.
“You know, I’m pretty sure that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you laugh.” He glides his thumb across my lips and then licks the excess whipped cream from his thumb.
“What are you doing?” I snap at him as I use my duvet to cover myself.
“I just… Honestly, I don’t know,” he stutters before he begins his extensive revelation about how awkward I make him feel and act. He shares that his parents passed away while he was in fifth grade and that since his brother and sister were of age, the state allowed him to be reared by his siblings.
“My parents only increased my outcast status,” he whispers. Then pauses for an uncomfortable amount of time. So, I push what’s left
of breakfast in his direction. “You should eat more, you can afford to,” he states in a smug tone.
“Ha. You’re one to talk,” I respond as I roll my eyes at him.
“He killed her,” he shares in an eerie and strange tone.
For an instant, my heart stops and the hairs on my neck stand on end. I release a mental prayer that this isn’t a delusion or Kate dream. I ask in a feeble tone, “Who?”
“My father killed my mother,” he huffs as he takes a bite of French toast.
He shares that his father was an Arlington, Texas preacher that was loved by their community. But, Q’s father, Manuel Rodrigues, wasn’t mentally healthy. Q becomes silent before he whispers, “He kept yelling that a demon was in my mother and that’s why she was a cheater.” He turns his attention toward the window as he clears his throat.
“My mom yelled for me to hide, so I did,” he whispers. “After two gunshots, the screams finally just stopped. And eventually, I fell asleep while hiding in my bedroom closet,” Q says as he turns to face me. His eyes are damp, and a weak, timid smile forms on his lips. I reach to hold his hand and then offer my condolences.
He continues to share how difficult his adolescences was and how growing up as the kid with the murder suicide parents became an identity Q learned to detest. “I just kept to myself,” he whispers before he finishes the last bite of French toast. “The summer before college, I decided everything would change,” he says in a much more positive tone. Q mentions that he became involved with his brother’s weight-lifting class, and bulked up to the point that he was unrecognizable. His sister bought him a new wardrobe, so when he started college at UTA, he coined a new persona.
“I was no longer the kid with the dead parents because I developed a false identity,” he confessed in a relieved tone. Q discloses that his college years were filled with text books and random party hook-ups.
“Within months, I became the nice guy that would walk girls home, and sometimes I’d get laid—sometimes I didn’t.” He shrugs then sips his coffee. “My list of conquests built my false confidence, but with you… I’ve never had an actual relationship. I’ll be thirty tomorrow and all I’ve ever had are years of one-night stands.” His Adam’s apple rises and then falls. His honey-colored eyes lock me into a prolonged gaze. He leans in to kiss me, but just as our lips meet, Kate slams Q against the bed frame. Her flame-pupils flicker at me.
“What the fuck was that?” Q growls at me.
“I…uhh.” I’m unsure what to say.
“Who the fuck are you?” Q questions as he glares at Kate. She’s in her leather, “fuck-me-hard,” get-up, and I’m in such shock that Q can see her that I become mute while anticipation builds. Now what? Now what’s she going to do?
“I’m a demon of girlfriends’ past,” Kate growls. Her serpent-like tail whips from side to side. “How easily you’ve forgotten David, whore,” she snaps at me before she backhands my cheek.
“Please, just leave me alone,” I whimper as she wraps her fingers around my neck. My back presses hard against the bed frame. Pain penetrates my skin while she forces me up the wall, her fingers still gripping hard at my neck.
“Scarlet,” Q bellows, before Kate slaps him into the opposite wall.
“Stay. Down. Dog,” she orders.
A loud thunderous crash jolts our attention toward the bedroom door. There, all dressed in a pearl-colored fabric, stands my angelic mother—Clara.
“You will no longer haunt her,” she orders. The force of Clara’s voice peels at Kate’s skin.
“You are to be banished back to your hell, demon!” my mother yells. And at that moment, four figures begin to form next to Clara. Benjamin and Elizabeth are on Clara’s right side, and David and an unfamiliar male that shares my face are on Clara’s left side. My guardian angels.
“I will do whatever the fuck I want,” Kate hisses as she lets me go and swings her demonic form toward my guardians. She attempts to charge them, but my five guardian angels join into an unfamiliar person. This massive, pearl-white angel flaps its wings as its eyes begin to blaze an electric shade of violet.
Kate screams in agony as her skin begins to sizzle while smoke rises from her body. Just as it seems that she might burst into flames, Kate takes a leap and vanishes into the wall. With gratitude, I dash toward my guardians. No words are exchanged, only gratitude through prolonged hugs. Who I assume to be my father, James Rodrick, gives me the longest hug of all. Finally, I feel a jolt as my guardian angels leave me. Q mumbles an inaudible sentence, so I rush to him and help him up.
“What happened? How did I end up down here?” he questions as he rubs his head. I reach to where he’s rubbing and notice a significant lump.
“What was all that noise?” Violet and Roman demand as they rush into my room.
“Sheesh, Scarlet, you didn’t have to be so rough with him,” Roman jokes as he takes in the scene before him.
“Are you all right?” Violet eyes search my face for a response.
“Yeah, yeah. All is well,” I lie before I tell the tallest tale of all. In pure hesitation, I fib and say that Q was telling some exaggerated version of a college memory.
“He was being extremely descriptive,” I add for pure effect.
I grit through my teeth and mumble how Q tripped over his feet as he stepped off of the bed. “Then, he flew into the wall and knocked himself out,” I lie and stare at my audience.
Q rubs his head as he looks from Roman and then to me. His eyebrows furrow, and for a moment I believe he remembers the truth.
“That must have been what happened,” he agrees before he shrugs with indifference.
Violet and Roman linger to ohh and aww at the charming orchid that paired with my breakfast. Later, Violet announces that she and Roman would be leaving for the evening and that they’d return tomorrow morning. Q teases Roman and then Roman shoves Q onto my bed.
“That’s about the only action you’ll be getting, brah,” Roman taunts Q before he takes Violet by the hand and leads her out.
Once Roman and Violet leave, Q whispers, “Why didn’t you tell them the truth? About the demon?” His wide-eyed stare is dense with concern.
“So you do remember?” I reply with shame as I remove the food tray from my bed.
“Yeah. I kind of know a demon when I see one,” he retorts in a snide voice. I give him a squinty-eyed glare before I proceed to make my bed.
“What if she comes back?” he questions while he searches the room.
In a recap, I tell Q how my beloved biological and adoptive parents, along with David, joined as one mega guardian angel. I also include how they kicked Kate’s ass.
Q’s eyes bulge before he surrenders to his weak knees. He plops down on my recently-made bed.
“But how? This… This. Is. Crazy,” he mumbles.
“Please, don’t use that word around me,” I ask in an offended manner. A prolonged sigh releases from me before I take a seat next to him. His eyes are still wide as he gawks at me.
Time lapses, and I finally reveal my extended stay at DLC. I tell Q about my patient/doctor relationship with Dr. Blantz, and I briefly mention Olive and my almost exorcism. Last, with an ache in my heart, I reveal David’s infidelity.
A moment of respect passes for David and his father. I find this to be the perfect opportunity to share my childhood adoption and how I once was an academic star and how together my life was before David.
“Is that why you couldn’t take him back?” he questions as he pulls me into a hug. I avoid disengaging and just enjoy his embrace.
“Yes,” I reply and wait for what I know is next.
“So, then, you never had psychosis? You were truly possessed?” he queries from above me as he places his chin on my shoulder.
In more hours than I can count, I share with Q every detail of my possession by Kate. I confess how much I loved David. Eventually, my adoptive family becomes a focal point of our conversation. I make sure to mention every single topi
c I believe would turn Q away from me. But he doesn’t. He holds me tighter while I’m curled up and revealing all of my past.
Once I complete my life story, I shift my body to face him. His warm, honey-colored eyes greet me with adoration. His subtle smile turns into a grin, and all I can do is stare at him.
“What?” I question when his grin becomes too goofy.
“It’s just… It’s kind of nice to meet someone that has much more baggage, or should I say demons, in their closet.” His lips are gentle on my cheek. I move in to hold him tighter and plead for something peaceful, with him or anyone. Just peace and tranquility, please, Lord.
For weeks, Q courted me. He never rushed or did he expect much from me. During the day he would submit his modeling photos to perspective clients or go to possible advertising gigs. He actually lucked out and received a call for a gig in Miami. It was the first weekend in March, and I had no other plans, so I tagged along.
There was no denying it—Q was an excellent underwear model. The photographer enjoyed Q’s work so much that she referred him to a Naples agency. Once he finished his shoot, we collected his gear then searched for a way out of the photo studio. Q and I shared more than a laugh as we find another dead end.
“I didn’t realize this place was this massive,” I say as I turn to face him. His eyes show his delight to the fact that—for the first time in days—he has me all to himself. Since Valentine’s Day, Q and I have had one failed date after another.
As we drew near to a planned date, something would always come up. Roman would need help with his sports team or Violet would need my opinion on her new venture. Out of the blue, she decided to purchase a downtown Naples rare book store.
That’s why when Q asked if I could keep him company, I agreed to tag along. He informed that with his sexual past he wanted things to be different with me.
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