by Ivy Fox
I did not feel sorrow for my lot.
I did not feel fear for what had passed.
I did not accept my fate.
I woke up in such a furious rage that I feared if I opened my mouth, flames would consume this whole house and burn every inch to the ground. Each tear shed was not done by me, but by the imposter, my former self.
I am not her.
She is not me.
I am fire. I am volcano ash—hot lava that will burn the one I was before until she is no more.
I will never succumb to sadness, or fear, or even numbness again.
I live.
And now Life lives within me too.
I place both feet on the cold hardwood floor and am grateful for the bite of ice it brings to the soles of my feet. I need to cool my temper and gain some clarity from my wayward thoughts. It’s a small stroll to the bathroom in the hallway, but I’m happy I can do this now without any assistance at least. Each small step I take is just another one closer to regaining my independence. If I ever had it, that is.
Once inside the bathroom, I lock the door behind me and walk toward the sink to turn the faucet, letting the water pour down my open hands until I’m satisfied with its quantity. I splash the cool liquid on my face, cleaning any vestige of the unwanted tears. Once I feel my heart rate steady and my anger simmer, I turn the water off and grab the hand towel to my right to soak its remains off my face. I place the fluffy material on the sink and count to five before I look myself in the mirror.
It’s been seven days since I’ve learned the truth.
A full week of trying to understand just what that truth means to me.
Seven months from now, I’m to be someone’s mother.
Ironic how life likes to throw you a curveball after curveball.
I’m to bring an innocent life into the world with no notion of how I ever conceived it in the first place. I’m to give my baby a name when I’m so clueless of my own. My future and past so uncertain, and yet the life blossoming inside me the only certainty I have.
I stare at the reflection in the mirror and silently scream at it.
Who are you?
I touch my face, tracing my fingertip from the top of my forehead down my cheek to my chin. I turn left and then right, but not one inkling of memory comes back to me. I don’t remember this face or the person behind it. I know I’m just me.
My saviors—or maybe my captors as I’m still trying to ascertain—call me Hope. The name doesn’t feel wrong somehow, but the image in the mirror does. This beaten, broken frame doesn’t ring true to the ferocious beast that lives within me. Although my memories might be a jumbled mess, the way I feel is crystal clear. One word keeps repeating on a loop, over and over again.
Freedom.
Now all I have to figure out is if it’s telling me to seek it out or if I finally achieved it. When the word echoes inside my skull, I feel relief. When Aurora told me about the baby inside of me, I felt purpose. My thoughts and memories are still high in the air like puffy clouds that no matter how high I try to jump, they maintain too far from my reach. Yet, my feelings are so suffocatingly present that sometimes they overwhelm me to the point of taking my speech away. That’s exactly what happened when Aurora delivered the news. It left me speechless. But not out of fear, or sorrow. The immense feeling of relief and gratitude blew through me. As if this was the news I so desperately waited to hear while confined to my bed.
Had I known before?
This uncertainty is what kills me. I’m so sick and tired of this constant haze of question mark, after question mark, floating around my mind like a bad fucking joke. This is not how I want to start my life. If I am to be reborn, then I must let go of all my questions and doubts. The life in my womb needs a strong mother, not a parent living in self-doubt. I stare at my reflection one more time and see the life inside my brown eyes howling to break free.
She is no more.
I’m here now.
I run as silently as I can to the kitchen, trying not to wake the house, and open several drawers before I finally find what I’m looking for. I grab the sharp weapon and lock myself in the bathroom once again.
I might not know who I am yet, but I won’t stop until the image on the mirror reflects the person I feel lives within me now. I take the blade and start cutting away at the past, each long strand hitting the floor, bringing with it a sigh of relief. Each lock represents the questions left unanswered which no longer cage me. When the final cut is made, I feel lighter, as if my burdens are now lying on the cold tiled floor instead of my shoulders. I pull in a breath, and air has never tasted as sweet. I take one final look in the mirror and recognize, for the first time, my own smile.
I’m here now.
She is no more.
Chapter 14
Hope
“You look good. Short hair suits you,” Michael says as I walk into the room. I don’t miss the mischievous twinkle in his eye, as he strokes his wild blond beard, which is also in need of attention. I take the scissors I used last night out of one of the drawers and place them in front of him on the kitchen table.
“You should trim that. Pretty soon you’ll be all facial hair and no face,” I tell him, and turn my back to grab some coffee from the counter. I hear his gruff laugh at my teasing and bite my inner cheek to prevent the smile that wants to come out upon hearing the sound. Michael has one of those laughs that comes from the gut. It’s addictively charming, and I’m sure he uses it to his advantage.
“Been pretty busy lately looking after you, sweetheart. But I guess if you’ve found the time for a makeover, might as well take care of my own,” he singsongs behind me in his seat, sipping on his own coffee. I turn around with the mug in my hand, and he’s still staring at me like I’m the most spectacular thing he’s seen all day. My mind races to the little rendezvous we shared last week—the same one both he and Gabriel have been tight-lipped about.
“You want to do the honors?” he asks with a wolfish grin, and I immediately shake my head. No way am I getting close to him with a sharp object. I’m sure I’d cut him by mistake just because I got lost looking at those gorgeous midnight-blue eyes of his. Gabriel made it clear that our little incident was not to be repeated; therefore distance is my ally. Even if I’d love nothing more than to escape in Michael’s arms from all this unspent tension I feel hovering over my shoulders. To feel his mouth on my skin, waking up the fire within me with one cleverly placed kiss, would be a welcomed distraction, and his soft, feathery beard rasping against my thighs while his teeth nipped on my flesh would be a lovely way to start the morning. My cheeks inflame with the thought, and I turn my back on him again, walking over to the fridge to get some milk for my coffee, just to gain the small distance I need to get myself in check. I’ll have to be content with my morning pick-me-up of what’s inside my mug, and not the imaginary orgasm Michael can bring to perfection with his skilled forbidden kiss.
“No? Scared to get too close to me, Hope?” he mocks me as if reading my thoughts. He’s a clever one, I’ll give him that.
“Scared I’d cut you,” I tell him truthfully in a placid tone, but he lets out another laugh at the comment, which doesn’t help my feverish libido.
I try to focus on Aurora’s advice. She did say my hormones would be all over the place for the upcoming months, and not to give it too much weight. Even though at the time I thought she was referring to fits of rage or crying over the littlest things, now I’m starting to think that maybe she was hinting more to my insatiable sex drive instead—something I’ll need to curb and restrain, especially if I’m to continue living under the same roof as the Greek gods who have taken me in.
“Then I guess I’ll have to go into town and see a barber,” Michael adds, rising from his seat, interrupting my own troubled thoughts, and offering me an opening to what I originally wanted to discuss with him this morning. I had spent all night thinking of how to approach the topic, but it seems Michael has unintentionall
y given me the in I needed.
“Can I come with you?” I ask, putting my mug back on the counter, with a different kind of excitement running through my bloodstream now.
“Why? You need something?” His brow lifts inquisitively.
Damn the man is sexy when he’s looking at me like that.
“Yes. A job,” I reply, shaking off my lust-filled inner voice and grasping onto more urgent matters at hand.
“A job? Hope, you don’t need a job. Whatever you need, just tell us, and we’ll get it for you,” he adds, crossing his muscular arms over his chest, displeased with my decision. Even with a scowl on his face, he’s still sex on a stick.
Snap out of it, Hope.
“Well, what I need is a job. So are you going to get that for me?” I mock, showing him that I’m not one bit intimidated by his grimaced stance, as well as doing my best not to show how it’s turning me on even further. I’m sure that Michael’s disgruntled face would weaken in fear the knees of many, but not me. It doesn’t scare me a bit. Last night’s epiphany has given me the drive I need to kick start my life. And not Michael, or Cam, or even Gabriel himself can change my mind. I’m grateful for their care. I truly am. Not many would have been as diligent with a stranger in need as these three men have been with me. But my life is my own. As is this child growing inside of me. It’s time I take charge of it.
“Damn woman, did you forget you’re pregnant? Don’t think a job is a good idea,” he replies, frustrated.
It’s the first time he has acknowledged my pregnancy outright. Since Aurora arrived with the news, all three of them have been walking on eggshells, waiting for me to say something in its regard. I’m sure they thought my pregnancy would rattle me and undo the progress I had made. But they are mistaken. The child I’m carrying isn’t another unknown burden, but a welcomed gift of life. I’ve been given a second chance at living. That alone is a miracle. But my baby, this unborn infant growing each day inside me, he may be the reason why I was given this miracle in the first place. I will not let him down. Even an Archangel can’t break my resolve.
“Well, I didn’t ask for your opinion. I asked if I could go with you to town. I can always walk,” I deadpan, feeling stronger now in my resoluteness and less tempted by Michael’s golden aura. Michael looks at me, perplexed, and I hold my ground waiting for his next opposing remark, but then unexpectedly, he starts to laugh again. That same full body laughter that makes my skin break out in goosebumps with how delicious it sounds.
He has got to stop doing that.
“Such a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” he lets out, stroking his long, full beard again, making me jealous that I can’t rake my fingers through it, too, so unceremoniously.
“Apparently so,” I quip back stoically, feigning my own unfazed demeanor.
“Why the hell do you want a job?” he asks, leaning on the counter just inches away from me. His earthly male scent is trying to intoxicate me, intent to stop me from having a coherent thought. I grab my mug and move away toward the sink to get some distance. Again. He needs to take me seriously, and that won’t happen if I’m flustered by his proximity.
“Because this living arrangement is temporary. I might not remember my past, or who I am, but this baby sure as hell is reminding me that I still have a future to prepare for. Getting a job, so I can provide for myself and him, is what I need to do,” I answer sternly.
“Look at me, Michael. The only clothes I have are what Aurora was kind enough to lend me. I have nothing to my name, which by the way, I have no idea what it is to begin with. I have no money, no home, no identity. This kid needs me to get my shit together. I owe him that. I need to do right by him and me. The only way I see that happening is if I start living my life. A job is just the first step I need to take to make that happen.”
If his eyes weren’t so fixed on mine, I would have missed the bit of softness they contained with my little rant. He usually hides it so well, but he’s either too touched by my words to make an effort to camouflage it, or he’s no longer concerned I’ll see his vulnerability shine through them. Whatever the reason, I wish he’d stop. His tender look only makes my insides melt further, making it impossible to keep my hard exterior in play.
“No one is forcing you to do this, Hope. You can take all the time that you need to get back on your feet.” His tone is just as soft as the hue in his steel eyes.
“Well, this is me getting up, Michael,” I hush out, and now both of us have shown each other too much of the frailty we hide beneath our hard shells. But once I hear him let out a small sigh of defeat, I can’t help the small tug of a smile that rises on my lips, overjoyed that I wasn’t the one who was going to back down.
“Fine. Be ready in five.”
“I’m ready now,” I grin, feeling truly exhilarated with the possibility of going into town. For the past four weeks, I’ve seen very little of the place I’m to call home. Warren is a mystery to me as much as I’m probably a mystery to it. It’s time we are fully introduced, and I, for one, am more than ready.
Michael opens the door for me, and I breathe in the spring air, closing my eyes to take it all in. Although I haven’t stepped foot in the forest that hides the house from the outside world, I do find it comforting somehow. It probably shouldn’t be, since it was intended to be my last resting place, but the sense of those trees having witnessed the same strife and overcoming all of it makes me feel as if each hard trunk, willowy branch, and budding new leaf was my accomplice that night. All of us synced together to find this house, to find my salvation, and in turn saving my baby, too.
“You seem different today,” Michael remarks, interrupting my thoughts of gratitude.
“How so?”
“It’s nothing. Forget I said anything,” he states, walking toward an old beat-up truck.
“We’re not going on your bike?” I ask, watching Michael open the old truck’s door. I’m almost afraid it’s going to fall off its hinges.
“Didn’t think you’d be into that, in your condition and all,” he replies, running his hand behind the nape of his neck.
“Michael, I’m pregnant. That’s it. It’s not a synonym for illness or defect. There is no rule saying I can’t ride a bike,” I explain like he’s a five-year-old instead of the grown-ass Viking before me. He rolls his eyes and slams the truck door.
“You’re full of sass, today, huh? Fine, you want to go for a ride, let’s go for a ride, then. I hate being stuck in a box anyway.”
“So if you hate it, why the hell were you planning on driving me to town in it, anyway?”
“I was trying to be a gentleman, Hope. It’s not unheard of for a man to do something to please a woman, you know?” he balks, while making his way to the black-winged chopper.
“And you thought taking me in a beat-up old truck, which looks like it’s on its last leg, mind you, instead of a fast motor between my thighs would win you brownie points?” I state provokingly.
He laughs out again, and I bite my lower lip, preventing my own smile to shine through. I do love that laugh, but I love it even more when I’m the one bringing it forth.
“You are a mouthy devil, aren’t you, Hope? You can’t say shit like that and not expect some form of flirty comeback on my part, you know? Or is that your intention all along?”
I feel the air crackle between us as he stops just a few inches away from me. My smile is long gone, and in its place is probably a sultry look, reminiscing on our shower threesome. I put my hand on his chest to keep our distance the way it is—figuratively and emotionally.
Distance is my ally.
Sensing my shifting mood, Michael takes two steps back.
“You need to talk about what happened last week?” he finally asks. A question I have been dreading since it happened.
“No. Do you?” I deadpan, trying not to show any emotion, even though my belly is a full-fledged furnace.
“Not if you don’t,” Michael replies, but his tone begs to di
ffer. He wants dialogue, while all I want is to keep the memory as hidden away as possible, along with my other secrets.
“Well, I don’t. I needed to feel good, and you were there to make it happen. Don’t see the point in having a whole conversation about it.” I rationalize. I mean sex is sex, after all. Sure, we didn’t take it to that level, but still… No need to confuse a good orgasm with feelings. I needed an escape, a moment of tranquility and peace, and that’s exactly what Michael and Gabriel had given me that night. I have too much to dwell on as it is. I won’t overthink on something that made me feel good.
“As long as you’re good.”
“I am.” I bite my inner cheek and pass him in the direction of his chopper. He follows silently by my side, and the reminder of another tight-lipped man keeps me from letting the subject go as I had planned.
“Don’t think Gabriel likes me much either, because of it.” The words spill out of my mouth, as I study Michael’s reaction from the side of my eye.
“Don’t you fret about Gabe. He likes you just fine,” he says comfortingly, although I doubt his certainty.
Since that night, Gabriel has been even more closed-off than usual. I never found him to be a man of too many words, but still, his new aggravated silence, whenever I’m in a room with him, hurts me somewhat. I know it shouldn’t since I’ve known the man less than a month, but then again the feelings I have for Cam and Michael are just as illogical. As much as I try to refuse it, there is a bond shared between the four of us. I wave it off as a natural attachment of being brought back from the shattered mess I was in when they first found me. It’s not unheard of for patients to have strong feelings for their doctors when overcoming such diversities. Although, if that was true in my case, I should feel the same way about Aurora, and I don’t. I feel gratitude toward her, but it’s far from the feelings I have for these Archangels. Those feelings are confusing, just as confusing as the unknown past I can’t recollect.