by Dyan Brown
“That’s all right,” I whisper, squeezing his ribs gently to comfort him back.
We stand like this for a few moments before I break the silence. “I should get some sleep. You going to come in at all?”
“No, too tempting.”
He smiles down at me, but I have a feeling he only said that to boost my ego.
“We’ll all go for breakfast in the morning and then split up for the day. Sound good?”
I nod, trying to do a half smile, but my muscle pings in protest. I guess this one fools him.
“Good. I’ll pick you up in the morning. Text me before you go to sleep and let me know your head is all right.”
“I’m fine, but I’ll be sure to comfort you on the subject before I go to sleep,” I say, winking at him. I can’t help but tease him for still being concerned. “I’ll see you in the morning.” I giggle despite my very elongated day as I leave him leaning against the brick wall of the building.
For my sake and mine alone, I drug myself to sleep. I can’t put up any more of a fight today than I already have. Although sleep doesn’t come without its own set of daggers, the day rolls over and over in my mind. Different scenarios make their way into the truth, distorting my memories, even though I know I’m dreaming.
Uncle Carl knocks me to the ground and beats me while yelling that I’m killing Jason, but he’ll kill me first. Repeatedly backhanding me across my face until blood pours from my mouth onto the floor, I can almost smell the anger rolling off him. No training could prepare me for this. His form blurs into an Uncle Carl/Jack hybrid monster as he keeps beating me.
I don’t even blame him, because he’s right. I am. I am killing Jason.
My head flops to the side from another blow, and Jason is there. He just sits on the leather love seat where I was reading just moments before and watches, no stress lines on his face, no worry in his eyes. In fact, the only emotion coming from the young boy I love so dearly is satisfaction at my pain, and it’s coming off him in waves as a slow smile slides across his face.
I can feel the tears, hot and stinging, running over my temples to the floor. I knock free from the blows and run. I run hard. Grayson! Grayson will help! He’s always my safe place.
I find him in class, and he’s at my side in a millisecond. I curl into his chest and tell him everything—the Divinely Touched, the Harvested Guild, the real reason my sister died, my uncle denying my path to fight, and all the rest of my untold secrets, even the ones about Cedrick.
Once I finish, I notice the rubbing of my back has stopped. The small kisses on the top of my head have ceased. I realize I’m touching him, but he’s no longer touching me. I dare to look up into his deep, sea-blue eyes and find disbelief in them.
I call out his name, raise my hand to brush his five o’clock shadow, but I find my arm reaches forever. I can no longer touch him, either. I shout repeatedly that he’s a liar because he said no matter what he was on my side. No matter what!
Grayson just stares me down with a befuddled look on his beautiful face. The golden glow around his head looks like a halo. Now he’s in another realm of existence. Even though he’s only a few yards away, he’s no longer in my world.
I hear Cedrick talking in my head. You shouldn’t have told him about me… I look past Grayson and see there’s someone behind him.
Cedrick.
I yell and reach for Grayson again, but it’s futile. The space between us never closes; I’m stuck too far away, double the arm’s length needed to stop Cedrick from reaching him. Grayson’s eyes never stray from mine. Cedrick places his hand on Grayson’s shoulder, holding him steady. I scream Grayson’s name, my voice running raw as the crystal end of an elongated blade bursts from Grayson’s heart.
I look up at Cedrick in disbelief. His words cut through me like the blade in Grayson’s chest. “I told you not to do it. This wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you. You killed him.”
I’m back in Carl’s office. He’s thrown the ultimatum in my face once more, and I push my way out the door. I try to run down the hall, but there’s no other door but the one back to his office. The hall has shrunk to a five-by-five room with a single bench jutting from the far wall, which is otherwise covered in two-foot square pillows.
My ‘hellos’ are absorbed by the cork-filled, white canvas walls, and I’m being filmed by a camera high in the corner of the room. I can’t believe he can just sit somewhere watching me while I’m trapped like a lab rat. While the HG kills more Divinely Touched and their families! I look around to find a weapon to defend myself—to try to find something to throw at the camera—but my arms are completely immobile I can’t move them.
Why won’t they move?
I look down, see my strait jacket, and begin to scream.
21
“Samantha!”
Grayson’s voice is strong and urgent. I know he’s close. I try to call out, but the screaming won’t stop. “Wake up, Samantha!”
Wait. Wake up? What is he talking about?
The words need to sink in before they register. Slowly, I open my eyes. Grayson is sitting beside me on my bed with his hands on each of my arms, holding them down. I’m sitting upright on my bed. He loosens his hold on me, moving to a gentle stroking of my upper arms. Vaguely, I hear April at the doorway to my room.
“Thank fuck. She’s been screaming like that for an hour! I’m going back to bed.”
An hour? My dreams come back to haunt me, and I immediately look at Grayson’s chest. Nothing, not a single mark on his shirt. I put a palm to the center of his chest. He wasn’t stabbed. Cedrick didn’t kill him. I didn’t get him killed.
“Hey,” he says, very gently. “Samantha? Can you look at me?”
My eyes shoot to his in confusion before I realize he meant to look at his face, not his chest. “You’re… all right?” It’s the only thing that will come out of my mouth.
He smiles at me. “Yes, of course I’m all right.” He brushes a few fingers down the side of my face. “Are you? Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head at him. “No, they were just horrible nightmares. I don’t remember much, except that you were—” My mind flashes to him falling to his knees with Cedrick behind him and the crystal blade made into a ruby by Grayson’s blood weeping from the tip. Tears fill my eyes as my breathing quickens.
“No, hey, no. Shh…” He cups my face for a second, then pulls me to him, planting a kiss on my forehead. Suddenly, I am in his lap, being cradled in the only place in the world I feel safe—his arms. “I’m right here. Nothing is going to happen to you or to me. I’ll always protect us, Samantha.”
I nod through muffled sobs into his shirt that is fresh with fabric softener. He must have gotten here in a hurry. The thought settles me.
“Wait, what time is it?” I lift my head and turn to my dresser. Five-thirty in the morning. “Why are you here so early?”
“April called me. Said you’d been shouting names in your sleep, and then she said a while ago you started to just scream.”
I feel hot as my face flushes. Oh, God! I hope I didn’t yell out Cedrick’s name…
“She said she came in and yelled at you, but you weren’t waking up.”
“I’m so sorry, Grayson.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Another kiss lands on my forehead. “Losing you would scare me, too. It’s kind of a compliment, really.”
I scoff.
“No, really, it is. I tell you a lot how much you mean to me, but you don’t ever really…” His words drift.
I don’t ever open up to him, and I know it. I just feel like if I open that part of me, I’ll have to open all of me, and I’m just not able to be that vulnerable right now.
“I know I haven’t said it, but you know you’re everything to me, too, Grayson.” I pause, thinking of how to word it. “You are where I’m safe. Right here.” I snuggle my temple to his heart and listen to the rhythmic pace quicken and then steady itself.
Breakfast is wonderful. I don’t care if I’m supposed to go clothes shopping later. I have a large stack of pancakes in front of me, and I nearly eat the whole thing. Everyone is so busy laughing and talking about the floats and the parade tomorrow that no one except April has a chance to give me a disconcerting look over my meal.
When the girls and boys split, I’m left with Abby, April, and one of April’s friends who I’ve met a few times but never really cared for. She makes April seem like a down-to-earth hippy in comparison. Her arrogance nearly trips you at every turn. We all find ourselves in a small boutique a few doors down from the hole in the wall diner where we ate, and I find myself becoming closer to Abby.
She is sweet. You can tell she and Jay are very much in love. It’s not hard to see why he loves her—Abby is beautiful. She has long, chestnut brown hair that falls in light waves to a very petite waistline, quite enviable. With soft, lightly tanned skin and deep brown eyes, she looks almost exotic.
I find out she is half Hispanic, and these features are dominant traits from her mother. She has three younger brothers who go to middle and high school. Growing up with all her younger brothers’ bumps, bruises, and breaks made her want to go into medicine.
Abby also has a flare for new medication studies and biochemistry. I feel slightly inadequate around her, but she seems to act as if my dull life of school, work, and martial arts training is far more fascinating than her own life. That’s what I find sweet about her. Grayson was right; we do get along very well. She goes into the dressing room to try on a cute, lime green, A-line dress, and I wander around the clearance rack.
“What are you doing?” I hear April snap at me from my left.
I cut my eyes toward her, but I don’t move my head. “Um, shopping?” I say in utter confusion. “I know I don’t do it as much as you, but I do have a basic grasp of the concept, April.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Don’t you know clearance equals last season’s styles?” she stammers in horror, as though I’ve shot a bunny.
Oh, dear Lord, really?
I cannot help my eye roll. I may not tell Grayson off for not considering others’ finances, but I have not one issue with bringing my naive friend back down to earth. “You know, not everyone has the money to stay fashion-current. Some of us are actually trying to avoid student loans.” I sigh and lower my voice to her. “I don’t have a lot of extra funds right now, April. I only get a small monthly allowance, which doesn’t include cash for a new wardrobe.”
“You’re so totally blind, aren’t you?”
“Excuse me?” Completely taken aback by the question, I look at her as if she has two heads.
Once again, it’s her turn to roll her eyes, and she stomps toward me with purpose. I nearly back away, but she rests her left hand on my shoulder so I can’t. Before I know what’s happening, April reaches behind me and puts her hand in my back pocket.
I’m beginning to ask for an explanation of the invasion of my personal bubble, but I’m only able to mutter a syllable before she pulls her hand back out and waves a blue American Express card in my face.
“What the…” My words are cut short as I see Grayson C. Dawson imprinted along the bottom of the card. “When did he do that?” I croak.
“When he hugged you goodbye. Seriously, did you think he’d send you out shopping with me and not think about the money?”
I gape at her. I did think that.
“Well, he wouldn’t. He knows how much you get, and he knows you’ve been stressing out about it. He really does want you to try and relax today. He told me to make sure of it.” She smiles, and her head leans to the side, asking if I understand.
I nod. “Okay, but I really don’t think I can use this.” I hold the blue plastic out toward her.
“Seriously, our Dad pays the bill. It’s not like he cares.” She pushes it back at me. “Buy one outfit and make my brother happy.”
I frown at her.
“Use it on something nice, or I’ll pick out something for you and put it on my card.”
I sigh, flashes of sparkly pink wedge sandals coming to mind. She will no doubt pick something skanky and expensive just to irk me. I growl in frustration, which only makes her squeal in excitement and bounce away, looking for something for me. I move a rack over and try not to cringe at the sixty-five-dollar undershirt.
After Abby sees April hold up a number of gaudy, overdone numbers, she brings over a lovely black dress. It has a rose-pink embellished inlay along the V-neck, which matches the scroll around the bottom hem and peeks up to the right hip.
“Oh, Abby. That’s beautiful!”
She hangs it on the inside of a dressing-room door with a smile. “You need to try it on.”
I go over to the door and graze the soft cotton with my fingertips. “Well, maybe just for a second… I’m not really a dress person.”
“Hey, are you going to get that?” April bounces over, two bags already in her hands. Her friend, whatever her name is, is still checking out.
“Maybe…” I stretch the word and laugh a little.
“Grayson would love it.” She winks at me. “May I suggest the gold flats over on that display to go along with it?” She nods to the front corner of the store. “Heather and I are gonna head to the spa; my mini-facial is in thirty. You know where it is, right?”
I nod.
“Cool.” She and Heather head toward the front wall of glass. As they leave, April leans back in through the open door and calls to me. “Get. That. Dress!”
“Yeah, yeah!” I call back, but I really am tempted. There’s a jingle as the door closes behind them, and I smile at the dress.
“Well, don’t just stare at it—see if it fits!” Abby laughs at me. “What’s your shoe size?”
“Huh? Oh, umm, eight. It’s been a minute, sorry.” I close myself in the dressing room and remove my jeans and long-sleeved OU tee. As I remove the dress from the hanger, I see my arm.
“Shit,” I whisper.
“Sam, you all right?” Abby’s outside the dressing room, concern obvious in her voice. “Do you want me to get a different size?”
“What?” I say utterly confused, and then my mind catches up. “Oh, no. It’s not the dress.”
“Well, then hurry up! I wanna see!”
I pause for a fraction of a second. She wouldn’t have any reason to question my stitches, really. I unhook the dress, unzip the side, and slip it over my head. As I push my arms through, the three-quarter sleeves only reach the top of my cut. The dress leaves the whole of my wound for the world to see.
Great.
I take a shallow breath before unlocking the door and stepping toward the three-panel mirrors in the store. Looking at my reflection, I see someone much older than me—not in age but maturity. My hair is doing its ever-curly waves from the top of my head, shielding a corner of my right eye and tumbling down to my chest. The V of the neckline makes a perfect frame for my locket, as though the portraits inside were open and displayed. The seams, which start at the drop of the V and plunge under my breasts, make my waist seem high and appear thinner. The bottom hem of the dress waves loosely around my upper calves.
“Wow.”
I’m not sure if that came from Abby or me. She hands me the gold flats, and I slip them on. They help accentuate the flecks of gold in the scrolling.
“It’s perfect, Sam!”
“No, it’s too much.” I shake my head at myself.
“Oh, no it’s not!” she squeals.
“I’m just supposed to hang out in a dress tonight?”
“Well, we aren’t just hanging out. It’s a party, and I’ll wear my new dress, too.” She smiles from behind me. “You really do look beautiful.” She pulls my hair over my shoulder, so the matching embroidery shows on my neckline. “You’ll knock
Grayson over,” she teases.
I scoff. “Not much knocks him off his morality train.” I’m looking for the price tag when I see my stitches again; I try to position my arm so they won’t show.
“Oh my gosh! What happened to your arm?” She grabs my wrist.
Shit.
“Oh, please don’t say anything! Grayson doesn’t know about my accident.” I try to remove my arm from her grasp. “He’d never let me in a kitchen again if he did,” I lie. I hate lying, especially to her. I feel Abby’s going to be a good friend.
“Ouch.” She only examines it further. “You did this a while ago. The stitches are fine to come out, you know. Then you’d hardly notice it.”
“Can you take them out?”
“Me?” Her voice raises a few octaves. “Are you sure?”
“If it’ll make the cut less obvious, then yeah.”
She glances around the shop. “All right. Change out of that dress, and I’ll take them out.”
I promptly obey, hanging the dress back up and slipping on my normal clothes. I open the door to see Abby digging items out from her purse and ushering me back into the dressing room. She sits me down on the bench, putting nail clippers, tweezers, alcohol wipes, and a small, unlabeled white tube down between us.
“This must have happened a while ago.” She tears open the alcohol wipe and blots it over each stitch, making them sting ever so slightly.
“Yeah, it’s been few weeks and has been a pain in the ass to hide from Grayson,” I lie.
She scoffs and starts to clip the thread. “I can imagine. You probably have to keep a shirt on.”
“Shirt on?” I say, puzzled by her question.
“During sex,” she explains matter-of-factly, pulling at the first of many threads.
I look away as the tiny room sways, though I’m not sure whether it’s from the pulling on my cut or the question of sex. I breathe in deeply, trying to calm my spinning stomach. “Um, no. That hasn’t been an issue.”
