by Shade, S. M.
What she has to say is about the last thing I expect to hear. “How would you feel about coming to live with me?”
“Live with you?”
She nods and sips her soda. “I was approved to foster years ago, but I usually only take emergency temporary placements now that I’ve gotten a bit older. I’ve spoken with your caseworker, and she has no problem placing you with me if you’re agreeable.”
For a long moment, I just blink at her in silence. “Are you asking me what I want?” Never in my entire life have my wants counted for anything. There are never choices, only directions to follow.
“Yes, Darcy. I think we could get along well, but you can choose to go to the group home if you prefer.”
My mind spins. “What about school? Aren’t I being expelled?”
“No, you’ll be suspended for three days. Luckily, I have a few vacation days. We can spend those days getting you settled in. What do you say?”
“I—why would you want me?” No one wants me.
Her lips press together, and she lays her hand over mine. “Why wouldn’t I? I was a lot like you when I was young. I grew up in the system too. Just like you, I was angry, lashing out, getting judged by people who had no capability to understand. Those stories you write, you have no idea how good they are, do you? You’re a talented writer.”
“They’re good at getting me into trouble and landing me in therapy,” I huff. “They’re too violent and disturbing.”
“They’re brilliant. And someday, when you’re grown and people don’t associate you with what happened to your family, everyone is going to realize it. Your life has been so unfair, I know. You can make it work for you, in more ways than one.”
“By becoming a writer?”
She nods. “How do you feel when you’re writing those stories? Or after you finish?”
It’s hard to explain. “I forget where I am and everything around me when I write. I feel better, lighter, afterward.”
“That’s what I thought.” She beams at me. “People with minds like yours.” She pauses and stares me in the eye. “Artists, writers, musicians. They feel things others don’t. They view the world differently. It’s a gift, but a hard earned one. They see through the clutter, recognize what’s trivial, hear the truth through the noise. They find the roots of life and show us how beautiful they are. And sometimes how ugly. You have that ability. You can learn to use it to help you cope and live a very rewarding life.”
For the first time, hope seeps in, and I don’t try to stop it. “How do I do that?”
“One thing I always want you to remember. Writing can be a shield or a weapon.”
We continue talking for nearly an hour.
Over the next two years, she shows me exactly what she means. The writing keeps me stable and lets me get out all the bad things. It allows me to sort through and understand my emotions. It keeps me sane. It saves me.
It saves me every day.
Chapter Seven
Reeve. It’s all I have, a first name. A week has passed since I’ve seen him or felt him watching me. Maybe now that he got what he came for, he’s done with me.
As ridiculous as it is, he hasn’t left my mind for more than a minute since that night. Not just because the sex was out of this world amazing but because there’s so much I don’t know. Who is he? Why would someone who looks like him resort to breaking in on women to get laid? He could command any woman into bed with a glance. Most of all, why’s he interested in me?
His answer that I need him makes no sense. And what was that other claim about? Wherever you are, I am. Bullshit. He’s not here now. A heavy feeling sits in my chest at the thought of returning to my empty house, but I’ve been walking for hours. Other than the last few minutes I’ve spent sitting under a bridge waiting on a storm to pass. Maybe that’s what has me down. The smell of the water dripping from the metal beams brought back memories I don’t need to reexamine.
Reluctantly, my feet carry me toward home. The sky has that odd filtered look that happens when a retreating storm collides with the last of the evening light. It makes the world appear yellowed and flat, not quite real. A neighborhood of false front houses, toy cars, and imposters.
The forest smells fresh from the rain, and I remind myself to open some windows to let it permeate the house. The itch to write swells inside me as I let myself in my front door. Lately, I’ve done my best to ignore it because I can’t bear the thought of sitting in front of that computer screen and feeling it fade away again.
The sight of my laptop sitting on the coffee table replaces the anxiety with anger. It’s like it’s taunting me. This is ridiculous. I’ve written almost every day since I was thirteen years old. My books consistently top the bestseller lists. I’m a writer. I write. And I’m going to get the fuck back to it tonight.
Energized and determined, I grab a cup of coffee, turn on some music, and sit down on the couch. This is it. I’m going to guzzle caffeine and spend the night writing like I’m meant to. With the rough outline of the last story I was working on beside me, I open a fresh document.
The first sentence of a book is paramount, but I often rewrite it later because that’s a lot of pressure to begin with. So, just write anything, Darcy. Anything to get started.
My fingers hover over the keyboard.
Thirty minutes later, they haven’t moved. Not one word. Not one letter. The cursor blinks as if it’s revving its engine, waiting to take off, but can do nothing but remain stagnant. The screen is unforgiving. White glaring back. Nothing staring at nothing.
Because what am I if I’m not a writer anymore?
A buzzing sound starts in my ears, and my face grows hot as every muscle in my abdomen seems to clench at once. Leaping to my feet, I launch the laptop across the room with a screech that could probably be heard down the street. It isn’t enough.
I shove the coffee table, knocking everything off of it, then start through the house. Fuck this. Fuck this life that’s never done anything but dangle things in front of me before taking them away again. Love, family, a reason to wake and eat and breathe. Fuck it all.
It’s over. Writing is what I had and now I don’t have anything.
There’s no point.
No point.
The words echo in my head as I burst through my back door and charge across the yard. The shed door gets flung open with a bang. I flip the light on so I can see it, sitting there waiting, promising a way out, an end.
The generator. It’s grown so big in my mind. Not sinister, but shiny and hopeful. Not one iota of me believes in an afterlife. No heaven or hell, no eternal consciousness. We wink out like a burned out star, dissolving back into the universe without any awareness.
The generator’s heavy, but in my anger, I have no problem yanking it away from the wall. The cap on the tank is stuck tight, and I have to find a pair of pliers to remove it, but it doesn’t take long. Something tugs at me in the back of my mind, a warning that I should just stop for a moment. Think and consider. I know better. This is what I need and hesitation will take it from me.
The smell of gasoline fills my nostrils when I pop the cap off of the plastic red jug. When I bend to pick it up, ready to pour it into the generator, I nearly drop it. A pair of black boots stand just a few feet away. My gaze follows them up to dark jeans, a white shirt on a familiar chest, then settles on green eyes. Angry eyes.
Despite his expression, Reeve’s voice is calm when he speaks. “What are you doing, Darcy?”
Silence is broken only by the wind whipping through the open shed door.
He came back. Maybe he never left. It doesn’t matter. His scent fills the small area. He smells like he’s been sitting by a campfire. Like burning wood. It’s always been my favorite smell but right now, I don’t want it. I don’t want him or anything to take me away now that I’ve found the will to get things over with.
“None of your goddamn business. Get out.”
“No.”
“Get the fuck out!” I scream, slamming my hands into his chest. He doesn’t budge, just stares at me.
His hand fists my hair, and he looks me in the eye. “No.”
“Fine!” My shout comes out in a sob. “Go ahead and fuck me! Get it over with and go!”
He loosens his grip and slides his hand to my nape, squeezing gently. “That’s not why I’m here.”
The anger fades into pain, as it always does. My body starts to feel weak and shaky. “Then why are you here?”
“You need me.”
With those words, he cups the back of my head and pulls it forward until my face is buried in his chest. Something inside me rattles loose. That was so close. The closest I’ve ever come to going through with it. My mind is too scrambled to know what I feel in this moment. Disappointment because I was ready to go, relief that he showed up when maybe there’s the tiniest chance that it would’ve been a mistake. Confusion over everything. Only one thing is clear. He’s not wrong this time. I need him, and he’s here.
Sobs rip from my body while he holds me. This stranger who has somehow gotten inside me in more ways than one. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” I cry. I’m not sure whether I mean struggling to live or attempting to die. “I can’t go on like this.”
“I know. Things are going to change now,” he says, and I step back to look at him.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. And you know it too. Come with me.”
His large hand swallows mine, and half expecting him to lead me into the woods, I follow him out of the shed without a backward glance at the generator. We walk through my back door and down the hallway to my bedroom where he shucks off his boots.
“Get into bed,” he orders.
Exhausted, I kick off my shoes and obey, lying on top of the covers. He climbs in beside me then pulls me to him, cradling me, and I lay my head on his chest. My body feels so heavy.
“Why?” he asks. Just that one word, but I know what he’s asking. It isn’t an easy thing to explain. Because I can’t write sounds ridiculous and it isn’t the whole truth. The entirety of it is too encompassing to describe and contains so many years of experiences I never want to think about again.
“Tell me why, Darcy,” he demands. His voice is firm but his hand strokes my back softly.
My eyes fight to stay open until I surrender, closing them and cuddling into him. “It’s been a long, ragged life. There’s not enough ahead of me and way too much behind. I’m tired of trying to fill the hours and bored of it all.”
* * *
Reeve wakes early the next morning, and I’m half asleep when he plants a kiss on my lips, then leaves the room. The events of the night before trickle back into my mind. If he hadn’t shown up, would I have gone through with it? Yes, without a doubt. I’d be lying dead in my shed right now. The thought is a sobering one if not as terrifying as it should be. I feel better today, cleaned out in some way, but the sight of my living room makes me shake my head.
My laptop rests against the wall, the screen shattered beyond any hope of repair. With a sigh, I clean it up, as well as everything I knocked over throwing a tantrum like a damn toddler. With the feeling of just going through the motions, I eat breakfast, then pack some water and snacks in my bag. This house isn’t where I want to be today.
After locking my door, I turn and nearly jump out of my skin. Reeve waits at the bottom of the steps. This man standing in the sun is just the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Unruly dark hair falls into his face and he shoves it back in an unconscious movement it’s clear he makes dozens of times per day. It’s hard to believe those perfect lips have been on my body. And those hands, large and rough with long fingers…”
“Darcy.”
My head snaps up, and I’m met with a wolfish smile. “Stop looking at me like that or I’m going to fuck you right here.”
Don’t threaten me with a good time. The thought makes my lips twitch, and a smile blooms on his face. If I thought his usual hard and impassive expression was difficult to resist, it’s nothing compared to this. Whew. That smile could rip a woman’s panties off from across a room. “Something you want to say?” he dares me.
“No. What are you doing here?”
“Going with you.”
“To walk?”
“Wherever you’re going.”
Okay then. He falls into step beside me, and we head down the driveway toward the road. He’s dressed how he usually is, in a t-shirt and jeans, but not the same that he wore last night. While a million questions live on my tongue, I start with asking, “Where do you live?”
“Nearby.”
That couldn’t be more vague. “In town?”
“No.”
“Do you work in town? What do you do for a living?”
He glances down at me as we make our way down the street, but doesn’t answer.
“Seriously? Can I get a last name? An address? Your favorite color? Anything?” I snap, frustrated.
“Black,” he replies, amusement in his voice.
“What?”
“My favorite color’s black.”
“Of course it is. Is that all you’re going to tell me?” My feet grind to a halt on the gravel shoulder, and I cross my arms.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know anything about you!”
He steps up close and stares down at me. “Yes, you do. You know how my hands feel on your skin, how my tongue can make you whimper and beg. You know the places my cock reaches inside you and how it feels when you come on it. You know I’m never far away when you need me.” Each word he speaks brings him a step closer to me until my back is against a tree, pinned by his heated body. “I’ll tell you one thing you don’t know, Darcy. You’ve always been mine.”
My chest rises and falls rapidly as his words register. Crazy, he’s crazy. I’m probably not one to judge since I grab his shirt and kiss those lips that never stop calling out to me. He groans, sliding his tongue into my mouth. He kisses me until I’m dizzy and desperate for air, then regards me while we catch our breath. His hands cup my face, and I’m caught in his intense gaze. “I can’t answer your questions. It’s just how it is. You’ll have to decide.” He drops another brief kiss on my lips. “If this is enough.”
With that, he turns and continues down the road. Without a second of hesitation, I follow.
A comfortable silence falls between us. It feels odd but satisfying to have someone with me, walking the same paths I travel so often. When we get to the railroad tracks, he turns away from the direction of town. It’s fine by me. I’d rather be alone with him, without curious eyes wondering who the rough, gorgeous man is with the woman who walks the streets daily.
The day has become sunny and warm. Fat bumblebees drone lazily through the fields around us, hovering over the patches of meadow violets that seem to have sprung up overnight. A calm settles over me. Maybe it’s because I came so close last night or because of how I feel when he’s near, but for the first time in a while, I can see things like I used to. In the way that my writer brain viewed them before.
The world’s a horrible place sprinkled with just enough beauty to make us doubt that fact. I’ve always known that. Lately, I’ve struggled to see the beauty of it, but today, these things seem to shine. My mind wanders to how I’d describe the sky, the way a darker blue pushes against aqua, shoving a few clouds up between. Is there rain on the way? I didn’t bother to check before I left but what does it matter? If it rains, we’ll get wet. The sight of Reeve wet isn’t something I’d avoid, that’s for sure.
He glances over at me as if he can read my thoughts. “What did I tell you about that look?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His low chuckle sends a thrill across my skin. He’s a little different in the daylight. A bit more relaxed and apt to smile. It’s nice.
The fields are eaten away by the forest that creeps up to either side of the tracks until we’re closed in. Hills ri
se around us and before long, we come to the tunnel. Made of stone, with a steep hill of dirt and forest above it, it’s creepy even in the daylight. Moss and mold stain the light colored stone on one side where a steady source of water drips every few seconds. A weathered sign has been bolted to the opposite side, warning against trespassing. Another above it simply reads DANGER in red lettering.
When I turn and take a few steps back the way we came, Reeve stays put, smirking at me. “You don’t want to keep going?”
“Into the tunnel? This is where I turn around.”
“Scared?”
A snort escapes me at the challenge in that one word. “Are you going to double dare me?” He stands silently by the entrance until I gesture at the signs. “It says no trespassing.”
“Do you always follow the rules?”
The words Mr. Wallace spoke when I walked him to the senior center come back to me. “Life’s too short to play by all those rules and so much more fun without them.” It’s true, and young Darcy knew that. The girl who threatened a boy with a knife to his neck wouldn’t hesitate to charge in.
“What if a train comes?” I ask, walking back to look inside. There’s not much to see. A few feet is all that’s visible before the rails are swallowed by darkness.
“There’s enough room on the sides if you stand close to the walls. It wouldn’t hit us.”
It doesn’t mean it wouldn’t kick something up, but I keep that concern to myself because I know I’m going to do it anyway. Last night I was going to off myself. What am I scared of?
It’s a good thing I charged my phone this morning. The flashlight’s bright enough to light the way. “Let’s go.”
After a few minutes of walking, the track bends slightly, and we can see a tiny spot of light. A literal light at the end of the tunnel. The damp smell doesn’t surprise me, nor do the random beer bottles and other trash we find just inside. If there’s a forbidden place, teenagers will find it.
A sudden rustling overhead startles me. I instinctively move close to Reeve and shine the light toward the ceiling.
