Waterfall Effect

by K. K. Allen

  Another laugh, this time louder, fills me with more unease. It feels…hostile. And Scott isn’t hostile.

  “Sure, Aurora.” His eyes flicker to mine with a look that sends the final crushing blow. “I thought maybe…”

  “Maybe what?” I’m hopeful this is it. Our closure. Just what we need to move on and go our separate ways.

  He lets out a sigh and drops his head. “That maybe you’d call.” He looks up again, his eyes pleading. “I’ve been up all night trying to figure out where it all went wrong. And I can’t wrap my head around any of it. You’re making a mistake. I get that you’re going through something and you need to do this for you, but ending us because of it is just wrong. After everything—” His voice cracks.

  “Nothing has changed since we last spoke, Scott.” I’m not sure how to explain this anymore without hurting him further. But he needs to understand this isn’t me being indecisive or impulsive. As much as it hurts, this needs to end. “I can’t be with you. We can’t be together. Not now, not ever.”

  He steps closer. “C’mon, Aurora. Twenty years.” He stresses the words like I’ve forgotten.

  “Twenty years of friendship,” I clarify. “We can stay friends,” I plead. “Always. We can still talk on the phone. I still care. I’d be devastated if we lost our friendship. But as for more…I just can’t. And I won’t change my mind.”

  He takes another step closer, and I instinctively take a step back. I bump into the glass case behind me just as he brings his fingers to my chin. I turn my cheek.

  “Scott, stop it.”

  “I love you.” His voice shakes with anger, causing a tear to spring from my eye. What can I tell him to get him to understand it’s over?

  But I don’t have to. The sound of a door opening and then crashing against the wall makes Scott jump back.

  “What the hell is going on?” Jaxon’s deep voice radiates around us.

  I slide out from between Scott and the glass case and move to stand between them, though Jaxon is far enough away for Scott to make a run for it if it comes to that.

  I swallow. “Scott, please just go.” I say it softly.

  His eyes flash when he sees Jaxon. Recognizes him. His jaw hardens and twists like he’s grinding his teeth, and I can already see him reading way too much into what this is. Or, considering all that’s transpired since I got to Balsam Grove, maybe he’s seeing it exactly as it is.

  “You.” Dread settles on his expression. “You work here, too?”

  “Scott—” I try, but he’s already made up his mind.

  His eyes burn a hole in my heart. “You came back for him.” A breath leaves him in a whoosh, like he’s finally put the last puzzle piece into place. “I don’t know why I didn’t realize it sooner. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? That’s why you left me. To be with the asshole who broke your heart without any apologies? C’mon, Aurora. Tell me I’m missing something here.”

  I blink back tears, hot and prickly behind my eyes. “I didn’t come back for him.” I dart a glance at Jaxon, desperate for him not to take that the wrong way before I can explain. “I came back for me. But Jaxon and I—”

  “Don’t finish that sentence.” Scott holds up a hand. “You realize how warped this is, don’t you, Aurora? And to think a month ago I was planning to ask you to marry me.” He twists his head with disgust. “But your dad had just died, and I knew you needed time, so I was going to give you time. Then I come home one night and all your things were gone. You just left…” His voice catches. “Is this some kind of game to you?”

  I blink back tears. “No!”

  He scoffs like he doesn’t believe me, and my eyes dart around the room to see every customer gawking at us.

  “I forgot to give these to you when I saw you the other day,” Scott spits. My head swivels to watch him pull out the bottle of pills I left in his medicine cabinet in my rush to get out of town. “You’re going to need ’em.” He tosses them toward me, hard.

  I’m not fast enough, and the pill bottle lands on the floor with a crash. It bounces once, and the impact is all it takes for the lid to pop off. Pills fly everywhere.

  I don’t even hear Scott leave. I’m on the floor, scrambling for the pills, my eyes blurred as I try to distract myself from what just happened. From what I might have just ruined.

  At some point, I look up to face the silence. Jaxon is still there, swooping down to fill the bottle with the pills I missed during my hunt. He doesn’t return my gaze. When he’s done, he simply sets the bottle on the counter, helps me up off the floor, and then disappears into the next room without a word.

  When Canvas and Wine ends and the doors shut, it’s time to clean up. I make sure to do my part, wiping down the stations and cleaning the dishes before approaching him. I know we need to talk about Scott, but after working all day in a building bursting with tension, all I want is to go home and sleep. It’s been a long fucking evening of Jaxon’s clenched jaw and the unavoidable girls batting their pretty eyelashes at him.

  What’s worse, even if I wanted to avoid any of it, I couldn’t. Jaxon fills a room in every way possible—his booming voice calling out instructions, the sound of his loafers moving across the tile floor, his confident strokes on canvas as he leads the class by example. I’m not sure if anyone else noticed anything beyond the rings of his reddish-brown hair, the turbulence in his eyes, and the gruffness of his voice. Anyone else would mistake those traits for focus. Passion. But I know the truth.

  He’s placing his freshly completed canvas against the front wall when I approach him from behind, wrapping my arms around his waist. He tenses, so I squeeze his middle and place my cheek against his shoulder blades. “Talk to me.”

  He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything.

  “Jax, please. You must have questions. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just please, don’t shut me out.”

  He swivels to face me, pushing me off him in the process. “Just like you talked to me when you found out about the deed? Or how you talked to me when you walked out of that courtroom with him?”

  Jaxon shoves a chair out of his way, causing it to skate wildly across the floor before crashing into the wall. And then he walks forward, not stopping until he reaches the door.

  “You’re wrong, Aurora. I don’t have any questions I don’t already know the answers to. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to go. You ready?”

  Even when he locks up behind us and walks me to my car, I have no idea if he plans on coming home with me tonight. We talked about it earlier, but after the run-in with Scott, I don’t know what to think.

  I watch in my rearview mirror as he follows me out of the parking lot and onto the main road, half-expecting him to turn off when we get to his driveway, but he doesn’t. Instead, he follows me, leaving a glimmer of hope deep in my chest.

  I park in the carport, scanning the heavy clouds rolling in above us and the tree branches lashing in the wind just a few feet away. I haven’t checked the weather today since I no longer have a phone, but usually someone in a neighboring shop passes on a warning if it’s looking bad enough to cause some damage. So I ignore the rise of anxiety in my chest and walk to Jaxon’s bike as he stops behind my car.

  “Come inside. I can pour us some wine. We can talk. Or not talk.” I shake my head, knowing I sound lame. “Or we can paint.” My eyes light up. It’s the first time I’ve felt any sort of excitement over the prospect of painting again. Before, it just gave me anxiety. “I still have that blank canvas you gave me—”

  Jaxon cuts me off with a shake of his head, and that’s when I realize he hasn’t shut off his engine. He won’t even meet my eyes. “Not tonight, Aurora. I need to get home to Lacey. I just wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

  My face falls. “Oh.”

  He nods to the cottage. “I’ll leave after you’ve locked up.”

  It takes me a few seconds to move, too disappoin
ted to come up with anything that might change his mind, so I give in. I want to respect his space, and I definitely don’t want to screw this up any more than I already have. I lean in, pressing my lips to his cheek, hovering there for a second to speak. “I love you.” My eyes squeeze closed and I take a breath before continuing. “I wish you would talk to me, but I know I deserve this.” And then I slide the back of my hand across my cheek, smearing the first fallen tear, and turn toward my house.

  As soon as my door is locked, I hear the rev of the engine. I hear it a few times, in fact, like maybe he’s debating whether he should leave after all. I stay by the door, praying for him to change his mind. But then I hear the crunch of dirt beneath his tires, and the engine’s roar becomes quieter as he rides away.

  My canvas is no longer blank. At some point between Jaxon leaving and the first roll of thunder, I zoned out completely and started painting. Staring at the array of browns, oranges, blues, and greens on the canvas, I’m confused about how the painting got to this point.

  Sure, I remember sitting down and mixing the colors, but I don’t recall applying the first coat of primer. I always did skip the sketching part of the process since I usually had the landscape before me as my guide. But I also don’t remember applying the paint to the canvas, layering light and dark until an image appeared.

  Although somewhat abstract, the image looks like it’s meant to be a cave. My eyes scan the canvas again—searching for what, I’m not sure. But as they scale the rock wall, I pay more attention to the subtleties that only a trained eye would look for. And I see intention. Whatever I was painting was meant to be dark. The lines of the rock are carefully drawn, creating a narrow arc in the center, and the shadows deepen around the bottom edges of the canvas, like a vignette.

  It’s only then that I see a full mane of carefully shaded, dark brown hair at the bottom of the painting, the end of it out of frame. It’s the back of a girl’s head. Her hair is the same color as mine, with light waves strewn about in a tangle, like her face is pressed into the ground.

  The paintbrush I’m holding slips through my fingers and I stand, knocking the stool beneath me over. My inhale is sharp, the breath that follows shallow, and my heart pounds furiously in my chest.

  The moment my legs gain strength again, I’m charging toward the ladder and taking the rungs two at a time before flying to the bathroom and reaching into the medicine cabinet for my pills. Once they’re securely in my hands, I squeeze the bottle in my palm and stare back at myself in the mirror.

  Do I really want to do this? Do I really want to toss away over two weeks of progress only to stifle every emotion, every sense I’ve regained since being back? Is it worth it?

  No.

  I toss the bottle into the sink with a growl and throw on my night clothes. My sheets are cool as I slip between them, my comforter soft and fluffy as I lay it over me. And as another bolt of lightning strikes the air, I curl my pillow up and over my ears, pressing them into the sides of my head, hoping it’s enough to drown out the world, just for a little while. Just until I fall asleep.

  Hope is a flickering shadow against the prison walls of my mind, revealing its presence with each burst of light. Heat waves roll in, and like yesterday and all the days before, air washes my skin with a humidity that leaves me clammy, hot.

  Footsteps approach, a medley of rocks and sticks, much heavier than my own. The sound crescendos at a steady pace. They’re heading toward me, and that’s how I know this day is different from the rest. This time, someone is coming for me.

  “It’s time,” the deep voice booms. His words echo and fade through the space, each soundwave reverberating against me. What is this cruel, dark hell I’ve somehow entered? Am I being punished for my sins?

  Is this how my story begins? Or ends?

  Somehow, over an indiscernible amount of time, the darkness has become my home. I remember nothing else. Not how long I’ve been here or how my body would feel free from the shackles that pin me in place. Not what put me here in the first place. But instinct ignites my remaining senses, telling me something is very wrong.

  To have truth, one must find courage to seek light in the darkness. The words cycle through my mind as if someone is trying to tell me something. But who? And what? And why? Who dimmed the lights? And what good is truth if my journey has found its end?

  Always carry your own light, Aurora. Never forget. More calming words as the footsteps fall silent. My skin prickles as the man stands before me. He smells of musk and impatience. Of power and fear. My eyes search for him in the darkness until I find the white of his eyes, wide and firmly set on me.

  Waiting. Expecting…

  The sight of another man touching Aurora was a kick to my groin. Having that man be Scott was a blow to my gut. And it wasn’t just the way he touched her. It was that he looked at her the way I look at her—eyes brimming with intensity and love. I knew before either of them said a word that there was something more than friendship between them. Something deeper.

  Just when I’ve started to feel like she's mine again, I’m forced to remember how many years we spent apart. How much I still don’t know about her life in all that time. And it drives me mad.

  In that café, I felt the thin shell of our newly formed cocoon strip away, piece by piece, as it all came to light. As I realized who she was standing with and what they were to each other.

  Scott. The best friend from Durham. The boy who would call and text her throughout the summers, sometimes for no reason at all. I knew then that he loved her, but she wouldn’t listen. She called me jealous, and I couldn’t disagree. I was jealous. Jealous and possessive and scared that at any moment our time together would be up.

  But competing with the best friend from back home wasn’t my only obstacle.

  The odds had always been stacked against us, whether it was age or distance or our parents. But we got through it. We pushed and fought and found our way back to each other. And we were so close to forever. Close to her finishing high school. Close to leaving Balsam Grove together. Close to her getting her degree and us finding a place to live. Close to us traveling the world.

  Our dreams were sandcastles in the sky. Detailed, inspired, and larger than life. They were also fragile, and one gust of wind or one wave was all it would take to destroy everything we’d built up in our minds.

  I think of that day in the courtroom six years ago. Scott burst through the doors, and it felt like he came along and stomped all over our creation.

  And then Aurora followed his lead when she walked out that door behind him.

  So yeah, I’m pissed to fucking hell that he showed up in my café to talk to her, to look at her, to touch her. Aurora is no man’s possession, but I know without a doubt in my mind and heart that she’s mine to love for the rest of my life. And I’m hers. We just need to find our way back to each other again.

  Regrets, one by one, stack the deck in my mind, each one bringing the pile closer to spilling. I should have never left her tonight. The one thing Aurora and I were awful at when we were younger was hashing out our arguments together. One of us always walked away, and we both suffered for it.

  Tonight, I should have looked past my blind rage to see those desperate eyes and listen to that heartfelt plea. She was trying to tell me everything I needed to hear, but I was too stubborn to listen. I was too stuck in the past.

  I’m still lost in my thoughts as I turn out the lights for the night. The clock on the living room wall reads almost one in the morning. My head is foggy with exhaustion, my eyes are blurred and heavy, and my body moans its need for sleep. Yawning, I search the spot in the coolest, darkest corner of the room where Lacey always sleeps. She’s not there.

  Shit. Confusion breaks through the fog of exhaustion, and I walk to the hall to look for her. The door to the canvas room is still open from when I showed Aurora her old paintings the other day, so I search for Lacey there. Nothing. Just a room filled with
colorful memories, mostly good, and that only adds another card to the pile.

  Lightning crashes outside, and an internal groan rocks my chest. Of course there would be a storm tonight of all nights. Which means…

  Lacey ran off.

  Shit.

  I turn away from the window, ready to make a mad dash for Aurora’s house, when a flash of white outside catches my eye. At first I’m sure I’ll find Lacey in mid-trot as she races off toward her old home, but then I realize the shape is taller, the figure softer. And my heart begins to crash against my chest.

  It’s Aurora, dressed in nothing but a white tank top and shorts, the thin cotton fabric plastered to her skin like papier-mâché. She’s holding something flat and square, and I know instantly it’s the canvas I gifted her. Panic kicks in my chest as I fear the worst. Maybe she’s here to return it in a gesture that means far more than “no thanks.” Maybe it’s goodbye.

  She walks at her normal pace, but something is wrong with her movements. I can’t exactly place it right away, not until my eyes adjust.

  And then I see it. Her face is expressionless, her arms hang limply by her sides, and her eyes look dark, empty. Like she’s sleepwalking up the hill. She slows as she reaches the top of the cliff and stops completely to look up right where I’m standing. But I don’t think she can see me. It’s like she’s in some kind of trance.

  My past flashes before me. The night our lives went up in smoke. Our very last fight before the darkness stole our future.

  Aurora came to me that night with the storm on her back and thunder rumbling around her. She had just learned I’d turned down the offer I’d received to travel the world. She stormed onto my parents’ property like she was the storm herself, and I spotted her through the window of my old bedroom. Then I met her at the front door, and we fought with a vengeance.

  Accusations were thrown, tears were shed, throats were hoarse, and hearts were battered and bruised. The funny thing was, every word we shouted was a desperate acknowledgment of our love for each other. She was fighting for my future, and I was fighting for hers. I didn’t want to leave her in Balsam Grove, alone with her father. She feared that she was holding me back, and I tried to assure her I could never feel that way. I could paint anywhere. I could travel the world another time, with her right beside me where she belonged. Me turning down that offer wasn’t going to make or break my career. I knew that, but I also knew why she fought so desperately for my future. Our future.