Paradise Forbidden

by Natalie E. Wrye

  I see right through to the white silk beneath. I check around to make sure that no one else can. I notice something, and I almost chuckle.

  I continue speaking over the drum of raindrops.

  “If you’re looking for the bus stop, it’s in the opposite direction… and two miles away.”

  Kat stops on a dime, turning to look behind her. She shields her face from the rain with her hand, muttering “Shit” before heading the way I’ve pointed.

  “You might as well get in,” I resume. “I’ll take you to the stop. We don’t have to talk or anything. I’ll just drop you off.” I pause before saying the next words.

  “Aren’t you tired, Kat? Aren’t you tired… of running? I know I am.”

  She hesitates briefly before halting completely. She chews her already-red lip, tapping a heel on the ground with impatience. She’s thinking… thinking… thinking… I can almost hear her thoughts.

  She turns suddenly towards me. “Fine,” she exclaims. “I’ll get in. But take me straight to the bus-stop or no deal.”

  I nod resolutely. “Of course. You got it. Whatever you say.”

  I hit a switch near my armrest, opening all of the doors. I prepare for Kat to take the passenger seat, but when she doesn’t, I am floored. She hops directly in the backseat, pulling her door closed with a resounding thwack.

  I close the open window next to my seat… and then I pull off.

  Kat

  The interior of Brendon’s car is warmer than I thought it’d be. I hug myself to fight off the chill before I realized that there isn’t any.

  His seats are heated and it’s obvious. I didn’t realize that backseats could have that capability, but this is a Foxx we’re talking about.

  He’s one of those suits I thought I hated, one of the spoiled wealthy I could not stand. He flipped the script on me… just when I thought I was getting to know him.

  I reminisce about the conversation with Ama before my night with Brendon. I remember each resonating word.

  “You care for this man,” she states. It’s a statement, not a question.

  “No! Well… yes, but… Ok, yes, but…” I stop talking. I don’t know how to finish that sentence.

  “It’s ok to care for someone, Kat. It won’t kill you.”

  “Yeah… but it can almost make you wish you were dead.”

  She shrugs. “That’s the risk we take, Katarina. Sacrificing pieces of yourself is always a risk. But the reward, Kat… the reward is indescribable. It is untouchable, irremovable. Nothing can wash it away.”

  I listened to her advice. I absorbed it like a sponge. And then I acted on it in one of the most forward interactions I have ever had with a man.

  Stupid me.

  Seven weeks couldn’t wash it away. Several states couldn’t make it fly by. I’m just as infatuated with Brendon as the day we’d locked eyes.

  And maybe he had me before then. The second I heard his voice, I think I belonged to him alone.

  That soothing, calming voice over the phone that lulled me into security and then struck out like a coiled snake. I still don’t know if I can trust that voice… or the man behind it.

  Victor Foxx was an asshole, and judging by the way that Brendon had canned a little-known travel writer like me, the same traits likely lurked beneath the surface for him, too.

  …at least, that’s what I’m trying to convince myself. Maybe… if I try hard enough… I can squelch the tingling on my lips (both sets of them) that takes place every time he looks at me.

  Maybe I can catch the butterfly that’s let loose in my stomach every time he puts his hands on my skin.

  And maybe… just maybe…in enough time… I will forget him. Forget this craving. Forget this… need.

  But right now, that’s impossible… because he’s currently speaking to me from the front seat of his car.

  “I need to explain some things to you,” he says.

  “I thought you said we didn’t have to talk.”

  His voice is deadpan. “I lied.”

  I cross my legs. “Shocking.”

  An entire minute passes by without a word, and I am grateful for the silence. Well, the physical silence, at least. As always, we are communicating with our eyes. Our gazes clash on the surface of the rearview mirror, daring the other to back down: saying all of the things that our mouths dare not voice.

  Brendon speaks first.

  “So… what… is this going to be like it was those first few days in the tent? Not speaking? Not telling each other the truth? Is that your plan?”

  “What am I supposed to say to you?”

  “Anything. Say what you feel, what you think.”

  “What I think? What am I supposed to think?” I explode at him.

  “It seems all you did was plan. Plan and plot on what to do with me. Try to figure out how I was going to fit into your designs.”

  His brown eyes blaze with latent heat, growing intense: outraged in a matter of seconds.

  “I didn’t plan this, Kat. No matter what you think. I didn’t plan to fire you from Foxxhole. I didn’t plan to meet up with you in Tennessee. I didn’t plan to go behind your back.

  “In fact, the only thing I did plan was to find the Oasis on my own: was to start my own magazine and publishing company, and to find that amazing writer who could bring the two together. I didn’t know at the time that it was you!

  “I didn’t plan for things to happen as they did. I didn’t plan on falling so goddamned hard for you!”

  On the last syllable, we pass my bus stop. It passes through my periphery, coming and going like an imagined apparition. Maybe I am imagining it. But to be honest… right now… I can’t even care.

  For the first time in my life, I am shocked into utter silence.

  ***

  Foxx

  The words go flying out of my mouth before I can tether them down. I’d stuff them back in if I could, but it’s obviously too late.

  Kat’s eyes grow scarily wide, and her lips part in surprise. Her hair is wild and wavy again, thanks to the rain. Her skin is smooth: damp and dewy, and her lips –those fucking lips –are swollen and so unbelievably kissable.

  She’s gorgeous. She’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. Even when she’s scowling… like she is at me this very second.

  “How dare you?” she rasps.

  “How dare you say that to me? After everything? After you tried to sucker me into some twisted scheme? I don’t even know who you are, Trevor… excuse me… Brendon.” She shakes her head, causing wisps of wet hair to go flying sideways.

  “And I’m not going to be a pawn in one of your little games anymore,” she says, her voice rising. “I’ll admit: I had my faults. Huge, glaring faults… and I wasn’t blameless.

  “But that does not excuse you passing me around like some little toy, like some… some tiny piece in a competitive chess match with your father or Greg or… whoever! First, Foxxhole, then this new company. What next?”

  “You going to put me on the streets? Prostitute me out to the highest bidder?” she says sarcastically. “You’re selfish, and you care about no one but yourself!

  The force of her anger hits me like a blow across the face. I feel so fucking misunderstood.

  Every step that I’ve taken under these circumstances, every move that I’ve made has been with her in mind. Making sure that she’s alright. Making sure that she’s safe.

  It’s the thought that has kept me going… even when I wanted to give up. But I’m not going to keep taking these licks. I’m going to fight: fight back for what I want.

  I stop the car abruptly, pulling curbside and cutting the ignition.

  I jump out into the pouring cold rain and open the back door so that I can sit beside her in the leather seat. She scoots over as I enter, putting as much space between us as is possible. I close the distance quickly, hovering over her so that she can hear my every word.

  “Ok, Kat, I’m going to make this easier f
or both of us. Let me tell you a little bit about myself…

  “I was an unyielding jackass: a sometimes sexist, oftentimes spoiled rotten, rich kid with a chip on his shoulder. Arrogant. Entitled. A fucking egotistical know-it-all.

  “If you were saying this two and a half months ago, you’d be right. Everything I did was selfish… until you. “

  Kat closes her eyes, growing still. She is so quiet that I’m not even sure she is still breathing at this point. I continue talking.

  “This is different. I went out to Tennessee on my own: to find the Oasis, yes, but only to prove the story’s validity. And it wasn’t for Foxxhole. It was for me. I wanted to believe the story: believe you. It didn’t feel like a lie to me. It felt… real.

  “And this? You and me? That’s real. I’m a better me… a more authentic me when I’m with you. And I think you are, too.

  “I don’t know what this is, Kat… but it’s the strongest thing I’ve ever felt, and it may be the strongest thing I will ever feel. Honestly? It scares the fucking shit out of me… but I… I can’t walk away without letting you know that.”

  There. There it is. I’ve said it. Finally fucking said it.

  I’ve been holding onto the words for so long that I was afraid that they had festered within me and died.

  She remains quiet, her eyelids still drawn downward. Her dark lashes create a shadow just above her cheeks, and I’m dying to kiss her there to feel them flutter.

  I want to run my fingers through her flowing hair. Put my nose near her neck and just breathe. Undress her out of those wet clothes. Warm her up… the right way.

  But in the middle of my fantasy, she responds. She finally opens her eyes.

  “Who said anything about walking away?” Her eyes are opened wide: innocent. They are unassuming, and I’m dying to hear what she will say next. She keeps speaking.

  “I believe the phrase you used earlier was ‘running.’ Running away.”

  She opens the back door and hops back into the still-beating rain.

  “You were right. I am tired of running. Running is so temporary. Running isn’t a permanent solution. So, this is not me ‘running’ anymore, Brendon. This is me, leaving you... and that… that is permanent. Have a nice life, Mr. Foxx.”

  Foxx

  My life has been split down the middle. Or rather divided in some divine way. There’s my pre-Kat life and, of course, there is my “post”: the more difficult of the two.

  It was a nice run while it lasted, but now I can see – and fully accept – that what she and I have is truly over.

  Chris and Griff tried to cheer me up for about four and a half weeks before finally giving up.

  “Well, you put up a good fight,” they’d say.

  “Nobody wins them all.”

  “At least, Elena’s boyfriend didn’t kick your ass.”

  They even threw a bunch of back-patting and “Cheer up, champs” my way. I guess it made sense. I was sadder than a little boy who lost his first sporting match.

  Only with this, there was no consolation, no second-place banner. I was just a loser, and the “trophy” was off somewhere living a perfectly fine life without me.

  No calls. No letters. Nothing.

  Kat wasn’t lying. She was gone for good this time.

  I’d say it was God’s interference that brought Kat into my life in that way. And it’s probably God’s interference that took her out.

  I don’t believe in coincidences. I never did. When circumstances start to feel a little too ironic, it appears that chance has taken a step out and something stronger has swept in.

  And that’s what Kat was.

  In the nearly six weeks since she left me in the backseat of my car, I have become someone else. My father was right. I’m a changed man, thanks to her.

  The experience in the woods taught me compromise. It taught me sacrifice. It taught me commitment.

  I’m more committed to my new company than ever before. Even Chris and Griff can see the change.

  I’m not a half-asser anymore. I give my all. I don’t let life happen. I make it happen, and every aspect of my life is thriving because of it.

  Well, except for one... but I’m learning to live with that.

  We’ve found a “replacement” writer for Kat. Cecily is sharp and competent: a people-pleaser. She hasn’t quite learned to push back against us three managers, but I’m hoping that she will.

  I’m hoping she’ll fight for the articles she loves. I’m hoping she’ll convince us to explore things we never have. I’m hoping that she’ll be someone she isn’t.

  What a hopeless wish.

  But Chris and Griff seem happy. We’re gaining more followers on our social media platforms every day. And every day, Tripping Out! becomes more and more real. More concrete. More successful.

  I smile sadly at the thought. It’s the life I’ve always wanted…

  The Oasis article is still on the back-burner. Though I’ve seen… touched… and smelled the Oasis… it still feels like a fantasy: like a dream come and gone. I can’t find it in me to follow up with the story.

  I just can’t put paper to the God-awful pen.

  My organizational skills have improved, but my writing is stilted. My journalism degree feels like shit, and I’m finding it hard to put it to use right now.

  Still, it’s only a slump, and I know that, but I need the spark: my mojo back. It isn’t enough to just be business-savvy in this world. You have to write. And you have to mean it.

  You have to inspire with your tone. You have to stir the reader with your type.

  I understand, as anyone should in publishing, that your print is your mouthpiece. It takes great skill to weave a tale without lips: to make your story come alive with just your fingertips.

  I want that back. That fire. I think I may know just how to get it.

  The workweek goes by slowly, and on Thursday, I charter a one-way trip to Tennessee. In place of nerves, I feel numbness, and when I exit the plane, I barely feel the burn of the late summer heat.

  I am oblivious to all intense sensation. It isn’t until I arrive at my gracious hosts’ residence that I find some palpable feeling.

  “Hi, Trevor,” Ama greets me, smiling widely from her doorway. I nearly cringe at her words.

  “I, uh,… I’ve been going by Foxx these days, Ama,” I say sheepishly, laughing nervously at the use of this “new” name.

  She steps back after embracing me. “Foxx,” she says, mulling it over. She repeats it multiple times. Suddenly, she looks straight at me.

  “I like it,” she declares. “It suits you.”

  I walk in shortly after, receiving an even more boisterous welcome from Viho, who nearly picks me up in a bear hug. When both of my feet finally touch the floor again, Ama motions toward me, beckoning me to come join her as she takes a seat on the rug in her den.

  When I sit beside her, she lays a hand on mine.

  “So,” she begins. “Has the fox brought the cat with him?” she jokes, giving me a sly smile.

  I try to plaster on a smile. “No, I’m sorry, Ama. Not this time.”

  “Oh,” she pouts briefly. “Maybe next time then…” Little does she know… there won’t be a next time.

  It’s mid-afternoon at this hour and Ama entertains both Viho and I with more stories of the Cherokee nation: detailing accounts of war and triumph, prosperity and famine.

  By the time dinner is over, I’m almost ready to pass out, and I help Ama clean the dishes as she prepares another mat for my stay. Even as I prepare to bed down, she tells me tales of the blanket I will use, decorated with the highland plaid of Scotland: used as a cloak by day and a bed by night.

  I prepare for a night’s rest with more comfort than I’ve felt in weeks, feeling truly blessed to have made friends such as Ama and her lively son. There are so many things to be thankful for… even when there’s a hole in my heart.

  Foxx

  It’s dark when I wake up. I haven’
t awoken this early in months. The forest has a different life in the dawn: a sort of sleepy awakening that sings of vitality and new beginnings.

  I stretch my limbs as I climb off of the mat. I feel relaxed. I feel refreshed. I feel ready.

  I don’t bother changing my clothes. Where I’m going needs no formality. I need no suit. I need no tie. Just myself… and a strong stomach.

  I walk out of Ama’s front door quietly, making sure I shut it silently behind my feet. The sun’s rising glow is muted within the garden, and the further out I travel, the darker the environment seems to get.

  I refuse to ruin this journey with the bright beam of some artificial light. I want to appreciate my surroundings in all its glory. Plus, I’ve been down this path once before.

  In fact, I’ve been dreaming of this trail for so many nights that I might be able to find it completely blindfolded.

  My shirt is sticky and my hands are dirty within ten minutes of entering back into the woods from Ama’s. I’m only wearing a t-shirt and shorts but by the time a half-hour has passed, I must take the shirt off, throwing it to the side due to the horrific humidity that covers me with sweat.

  And the greenery is only getting denser and denser. Obfuscating. Thick. I’m searching now more with my hands than my eyes.

  C’mon… c’mon…

  I turn the corner… right into a halo of light. I’m now drowning in it. It’s as if the sun has hidden itself away from the world and packed herself into some obscure pocket. It’s almost like a playful game of Hide-and-Seek.

  I can’t blame the old girl. If I had my choice of hiding somewhere, this would be it.

  The Oasis.

  It’s just as beautiful as I remember, even more so. Staring doesn’t do it justice. It must be smelt, felt… touched. In here, there is every fragrance of the forest: every taste of cool, fresh springs.

  The lake that sits amidst the space is a glittering diamond, surrounded by a sea of color: every tint and tone known to man… plus a few that aren’t.

  And just like I expected, my stomach bottoms out, hitting the floor at the sight of all that the Oasis has to offer. I sit down because I’m afraid that I will faint, not from the exhaustion as I did last time, but the sheer magnitude of such exquisiteness. It’s overwhelming.