by Alana Hart
I scowled up at him, my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides.
“You can’t possibly expect to tell me all this and then me just walk away without any real answers!” I protested, once again through gritted teeth.
He chuckled again, and I could tell he was trying not to fully laugh at me. “You’re like an annoyed pup worrying at a rag. I promise, I will explain, okay? Please, just give me this much trust.”
“Trust?” I shrieked, the hurt, angry tears that had threatened earlier now blurring his face in my vision. “You really expect me to trust you, after what you did to me?” I felt the first tear break free, trickling down my cheek.
“Shhhh, shh, Ada, hush now.” He wasn’t looking at me just then, he was looking past me, over my shoulder, his gaze serious, shaking his head. Calling off his attack dogs, I supposed. He rubbed my arms gently, though, and after a moment he looked back down to me.
“Yes, trust. Next Friday night, alright? Join us next Friday night, and I will explain everything. I give you my word.”
I sniffled once, swiping angrily at my damp cheeks. “Your word isn’t worth a whole lot, to me.” I could hear how petulant and pouty my voice was.
He looked truly hurt, and contrite. “I know I hurt you, Adalyn, but you will understand if you will come next Friday. Will you, please?” His question was oddly shy, the first time I had heard his voice without that innate confidence it had gained in the years between when we had dated and now.
I looked slowly back up at his face, blinking a few times to try and clear the blurriness. He was so handsome it made my whole body ache, even more than when he had stolen my heart years ago. He had hurt me so badly; he had stalked me, and had one of his pals stalk me when he couldn’t. Could I trust him again? Should I trust him again?
Part of me yearned to say yes, to throw myself at him, to take anything he would give me. Another part of me told me I was insane to even contemplate it.
He watched me in turn, seeming both apprehensive and patient at the same time.
Finally I sighed, almost defeated, and slowly nodded. “Alright. Next Friday, then.”
His face split into a positively radiant grin. “Thanks, Adalyn. Come here, where the cars are parked, at sunset.”
I nodded again, trying not to look like a moping kid.
❖ ❖ ❖
Since he clearly wasn’t going to share anything more tonight, I turned and made my way back up towards the fire. I gave a wide berth to the knot of people from Bryson’s group, glad enough to be in the dark and relative quiet for a few more moments to try and clear my overcrowded mind. There was no way I could even begin to sort all this out right now, so I tried to just shove it into a corner of my mind to deal with later.
Soon enough, though, I was back amongst the mingling partiers. I looked around, and spotted Angie, standing and talking to Josh, glancing nervously now and then in the direction of Bryson’s group. She apparently hadn’t spotted my return trek.
I slowly made my way around the fire towards her, my arms crossed on my chest, almost like I was giving myself a hug. I must have looked as wretched as I felt, because no one even tried to speak to me, which suited me just fine. Until Angie caught sight of me, of course.
“Adalyn!” she squealed, and ran the short distance over to me, throwing her arms around my neck, hugging me crushingly tight as if she had been afraid she would never see me again.
I chuckled softly, despite myself, and patted her back. “I’m fine, Angie, really. I’m-” I paused a moment, not sure what to say. “I’m confused. But I’m okay.”
“Did you find out why that guy was following you?” she asked anxiously in a hushed tone.
“Apparently on Bryson’s request.” Her eyes widened. “To make sure I was ‘safe’.”
She giggled a bit. “Safe from what? The only thing you’ve needed safety from was them.”
I chuckled again, giving her a hug in return. “Come on, let’s try to enjoy the party. How’s things going with Josh?”
She bounced a bit and began to gush, easily deflected. “He’s so amazing! I think we’re gonna go out for dinner, maybe next week.” She continued to ramble for a bit, but I wasn’t entirely listening.
I smiled, however, genuinely happy for my bubbly friend. “That’s great. I’m sure you’ll be great together.”
“I know, right?” She beamed, tugging me over in Josh’s direction again. Josh nodded to me, but this time red-haired Pete didn’t have a smile, or even an acknowledgment for me, as though seeing me merely speaking to Bryson — or, you know, maybe the screaming or the slapping — had made me below even his notice.
Feeling mildly uncomfortable between the newly-happy-couple and being pointedly ignored, I left Angie with Josh again, more relaxed now. I tried to mingle with the crowd, but my heart wasn’t really in it. I made my way over to the far side of the fire, where there were self-serve drinks on hand, and a handful of guys were providing the background music with a couple of guitars, a bass, and a fiddle. They were pretty good, I hadn’t realized it was impromptu amateur live music until I saw them.
I grabbed myself a soda, and found a place to take a seat, on a hay bale with a horse blanket thrown over it. I just listened to the music for a while, before glancing around, and spotting Bryson, back with his little group again.
He wants me to trust him? After what he did? How could he possibly have the gall to act hurt that I didn’t immediately take his word as absolute?
I wondered why it should matter, that there were ‘too many strangers’ here. Not to mention what in the world he could ‘show me’ that he couldn’t just tell me now.
As I watched, the mood in his group gradually relaxed, and lightened. Soon they were laughing and chatting with one another until you would never know something untoward had happened only a short while ago.
Damn, but he was handsome. I could feel an almost irresistible pull to him even now, just as I had back then. But I hated him for what he did to me. Or at least, that’s what I had told myself for years… I was so befuddled by now that I didn’t know what I felt any more.
It seemed like ever since I had spotted him on campus, no matter how hard I chased answers, all I caught were more questions.
Chapter Five
Our return home from the party was unremarkable, aside from the fact that Angie did, indeed, manage to land a date with Josh. She was so happily bubbling about that, I (thankfully) didn’t have to come up with any conversation on the way home. As soon as I arrived back at my apartment after dropping her off, I fell into bed, forgetting to even change out of my party clothes. Luckily I realized that before I actually fell asleep, and managed to drag myself up again to shuck my party clothes and put on my pj’s.
Sunday was devoted to studying. Or, at least, that was the plan. My study efforts were only vaguely more successful than the attempt from the day before. Although I was determined not to simply give up this time, my mind just kept chewing over everything that had happened with Bryson, and Mutton Chops — Elijah, I reminded myself — and particularly the bonfire last night. Instead of analyzing equations, I was analyzing nuances of Bryson’s expressions. Instead of remembering the dates of important events leading up to World War I, I was remembering the touch of his fingers on my cheek.
Every word and every possible meaning I could think of was mulled over and considered from every angle.
I was proud of myself for keeping up trying to do my schoolwork all day, though, aside from a few breaks for food and short walks to try and clear my head. Certainly it could not be said I was not stubborn, even if it didn’t accomplish very much.
Monday was little better than Sunday. Angie seemed much more interested in gushing about Josh, rather than helping me get back on track. Not that I begrudged her that; I was genuinely happy for her, and my studying or its comparative effectiveness was not her responsibility. It was just awful timing for me, and I had gotten used to her keeping me on track. I tried to be upbeat
and effusive for her, but it was difficult. Mostly I wanted to pout and sulk.
I stayed up later than I should have that night, since we had a test the next day that I was woefully unprepared for — even though I’d spent far more time trying to study than I normally did (trying being the operative word, unfortunately). Still, I got at least a solid six hours of sleep in. That should be plenty for a healthy college aged girl, right? Yeah, right. I was still fairly drowsy Tuesday morning, unsurprisingly.
I was positive the morning lecture was a dozen times more dull than normal, and dragged on at least three times as long. I nearly fell asleep more than once, if not for Angie preventing my escape by poking me with her pen.
By the time the test rolled around that afternoon, I was jittery and rather ill-tempered. I was so thoroughly distracted, that I didn’t even manage to answer the last two questions. There were several others that I was almost certain I got wrong, because I had to purely guess at the answers. Had that actually been covered in the reading or lectures…?
If I passed that test, it would be a miracle. I could not afford this! I had worked so hard, for so long, and I was barely scraping by as it was. If I started failing tests now, I would end up failing classes, and I would be in danger of losing my financial aid. My mom and stepdad helped where they could, but they could not afford to cover my whole tuition and rent.
Maybe… hopefully… this Friday would actually answer all of these questions, or at least some of them, and give me some peace, so that I could get my mind focused back where it needed to be: on my school work. I could not let a boy from my past destroy the future I had been working so hard to reach.
❖ ❖ ❖
I finally managed to actually get to bed early and have a good night’s restful sleep on Tuesday night, for which I was very grateful. My sleep had been too short and too fitful for far too long.
I actually woke up before my alarm Wednesday morning, and was able to just luxuriate in my bed, a rare treat that I adored. When I finally got up, I decided to dress for comfort rather than looks, to try to preserve that serene, luxurious feeling as long as possible. I picked a pair of loose terrycloth shorts, and a floppy tee.
I felt considerably better than I had in nearly a week. Why couldn’t this have happened yesterday, when it could have saved that test? I whined to myself. Ah, well. Better late than never.
Classes were uneventful. I had indeed bombed the test the day before, but not too badly, and I had already done my mourning and stressing for it, knowing what was coming. I was much more easily able to rhapsodize with Angie and her excitement over her upcoming date with Josh. She, in turn, seemed more enthused to help me with my work. All in all, it was a much better day than any in the last week or so.
After classes were done for the day, I decided to head to the gym. With all the craziness, I hadn’t managed any gym time in a week and a half, and that was no good.
When I got there, I went in the back to change into my workout clothes I kept in a little locker there. I did some stretches, then got on a treadmill, working up from a walk, to a jog, to a pretty brisk run, getting my blood pumping. After that, I moved on to some light weight training, though I didn’t really have any interest in bulking up, just maintaining reasonable levels of strength. From there, it was to the round-robin circle, which was mostly hydraulics machines designed to strengthen various parts of the body.
The music they had going was great, and I was quickly lost in the rhythm of the repetitions, move, repeat. I was pulled out of the happy half-trance, though, when an unpleasantly familiar song came on. Normally it was the type of song I’d have enjoyed, but it just happened to be the song that Bryson and I danced to at Junior Prom. With that song, and the memories it always evoked, the last week came tumbling back into the forefront of my mind.
I sat, almost stunned, listening to the music, and completely missed the low tone that signaled the time to switch to the next station. A grumpy — or maybe frumpy — soccer-mom type cleared her throat loudly to remind me that it was her turn on the machine I was perched on.
“Oh, sorry,” I mumbled, and hopped up off the seat. I decided I was probably finished with the round-robin for now, and returned to the treadmill for a leisurely jog to cool down. Unfortunately, that left my mind entirely free to sink back into the confused tumultuous near-depression of the last few days — which was precisely what happened.
Why couldn’t he have just answered some of my questions at the bonfire? I whined in my mind. Why all this stupid secrecy? Were they a ring of thieves? Drug dealers? Or kidnappers? I couldn’t imagine Bryson doing anything like that, anything that would warrant such evasiveness.
Or such worry about my safety, I reminded myself.
The fact that he felt the need for me to be watched over, presumably simply for having a past association with him, was more frightening than all the rest combined.
I sighed. So much for my better day. Once my jog had slowed to a walk for a few minutes, I hopped off the treadmill, did a few more stretches, then headed for the shower.
Afterward, I bundled up my workout things into the little laundry bag with my name on it, and tossed it in the big hamper on the way back to my locker. That was one of my favorite perks of membership at this gym; they would wash your things and replace them in your locker for you, clean and tidy waiting for your next visit.
I got back into my street clothes, trying not to backslide all the way into melancholy.
❖ ❖ ❖
As I left the gym, I spotted the old beat-up red pickup truck that had followed me before. With a soft growl of frustration, I stalked in that direction, hands clenching slightly.
Well, what a shock, I thought. It was Elijah. Not that I hadn’t basically figured that out when he’d followed me before.
I walked right up to the truck, and knocked on the window, which he obligingly rolled down.
“Yeah?” he asked brusquely. He had a surprisingly pleasant voice, despite the brevity of the question, making me realize that it was the first time I’d heard him speak.
“Why does Bryson have you following me, Elijah?” I asked, trying to make my tone as pleasant and conversational as I could, though I imagine it was still rather tart.
“He wants t’see that you’re safe, that no harm come to you.” He sounded perfectly reasonable, just as Bryson had, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.
“So he said. But why? What is it that I need to be kept safe from? The only sense of danger I’ve gotten in a long time was you folks “protecting” me.” I smirked wryly, shaking my head a bit, my still-wet ponytail tickling the back of my neck disconcertingly.
He just shrugged in reply. “Not my place t’ask. I just do what he tells me to do.” Again, calm and reasonable. I felt the random urge to strangle him.
“Oh come on, you don’t really expect me to believe that you don’t know why he might feel I wasn’t safe, do you?”
Again, he shrugged, and said nothing more.
“Argh! What is this all about, anyway? Are you some kind of… of criminals or something?”
Elijah looked over at me, his watery blue-grey eyes lighting up with mirth. Despite his obvious years of abuse to his body and his unfortunate taste in beard grooming, I realized, he was actually a rather good looking man. “Thought you an’ Bryson was a pair back when he was living with his dam down the road? And you don’ know him no better than that?”
With his ‘dam’? What was this Elijah, a Hell’s Angels’ kennel keeper? He was an odd one, that’s for sure.
“Back then, I wouldn’t have thought so. But after what he did to me, I’m not sure I believe there’s much of anything that is beyond what he’d do.”
He frowned deeply, looking over my face. “You’re awful cynical for such a young pup. Guess I can understand it. He’s a good male, our Bryson, and don’t doubt it, young’un. Don’t doubt it. You’ll understand soon.”
I gave him a funny look. He had the stran
gest turns of phrase. “Why do you all do whatever he says, anyway?”
“He’s in charge. Wouldn’t be right not to.”
I blinked, trying to sort that out in my head. “Uh..huh. Okay. Well, this was a singularly unhelpful conversation. Thank you ever so much.”
He actually laughed at the sarcastic jibe at the end, and I couldn’t help smiling a bit. Dammit! I was not going to start liking my assigned stalker!
I spun on my heel with a little huff, hoping he hadn’t seem the smile.
“Any time, young’un. Any time.” He was still laughing when he rolled his window back up. The glass cut off the sound before I made it to my car a few rows over. I opened the door and sat down, sighing, laying my head on the steering wheel for a long moment, before I started up the engine and made my way home.
