A gangly boy pops out of the darkness scaring the shit out of me. I nearly fall backward till he asserts his hand forward to catch me.
“My apologies, hello Tristiana!” His bright yellow polo accents his dark skin when he shakes my hand in his greeting. “We have never met, my name is Star,” he jitters with excitement. Twinkling charcoal eyes that hide behind thin wire glasses bore deep into my memory.
Nope, nothing. I have no recollection of Star’s existence. Dude is a skinny black version of Bill Gates, I would have remembered that in my life. Then again, I didn’t know about Valeria either. Is this it or are there more of us?
“We can build another ear cuff if you would like me to,” he says nervously, still vigorously shaking my hand.
I don’t answer Star. Looking at Marvy, I ask the obvious question, “How many are there?”
She sucks in her lips and drops her eyes. Shaking her head, she whispers, “I don’t know. I just know about these guys.”
“Oookay…,” I say looking at the rest of them. I’ve never known Marvy to be less than poised and in control. Right now, she’s almost subservient: acquiescent. Neither Valeria nor the guy, who apparently has glue stuck to his palm, say anything to let me know they know either. Mercy just smiles and twirls her braid around her finger.
It is a fleeting minute though. Marvy rolls her eyes and clicks her jaw. “Well anywhozle, this has been a lovely family reunion and all that shit, but we gotta go.” Valeria is already stepping back, tugging at Marvy.
Valeria nods at the same time. “Yeah, he be here soon an we ain’ts gotsta be. I kin only do so much.” My brow furrows.
Marvy waves as she steps back. “Bye T, take good care of us!”
They turn and fade back into the darkness.
“Nice ta meet cha!” Valeria shouts and grabs a pouting Mercy’s little hand. “Come on, runt!”
“Wait!” I yell after them. “Who’ll be here? Who’s coming?”
Star doesn’t immediately do the same, but it looks like he really wants to. He’s wringing his hands now that he’s let go of mine and keeps shifting his weight as if gravity isn’t holding him in place.
“Tristiana, get to a computer. I will do the rest…then get out as fast as you can.” He gnashes his upper lip between his teeth. “Doesn’t matter where, just run!”
“Don’t trust anyone!” Marvy calls out from somewhere. She is no longer visible against the blackness.
Valeria can barely be seen when she shouts, “Git out whilez ya kin an run! Run yer ass off!”
I shoot a pleading look at Star. “Who are they talking about?”
He pokes his head up, eyes madly darting. “Please, just remember to get to a computer. Then run. You cannot trust anyone.” Star squeezes my hands giving me a meek smile and heads in the same direction.
“Wait! Who are you?” I demand.
“I’m the brains!” he whoops, running backward.
“He’s coming! Run T, RUN!” I hear Marvy scream from the distance.
As the blackness seeps in around me, I think I see reddish violet eyes in the fading darkness. It must be a figment of my imagination.
What? Am I going to run into Edward Cullen too?
SHAKING AND GASPING for a breath that only trickles in, I wake next to a sleeping Bryson and a hovering glamazon.
“Oh honey! Bad dream? Let me get you something,” the glamazon sympathizes. She returns shortly with a tumbler glass of something clear that burns going down my throat.
“Thank you,” I croak gratefully, handing the glass back.
She smiles at my novice drinking expression. “No problem, honey. Let me know if you need anything else.” With a wink, the glamazon is gone. She’s not so bad.
Wiping the sweat from my brow, I’m exhausted from the nightmare. Even with the quick-fire club Techno music blaring in my ears, my head feels dense. The viscid fog lures my eyes to close and I slide back into sleep.
Before I know it, burning sunlight blinds me awake. I shade my eyes to see the white sandy beach I’m standing on. A reminder of my father taking us to the beach when I was a kid flashes in my mind. We were there so often, he called it our second home, which I loved. It wasn’t Cravens Bay, but a close replacement. Family picnics, fishing from the shore, sand castle building contests, and a lobster-toned Jones because he refused sunblock. The nostalgia brushes through the idyllic memories. I havn’t been back to the beach since the accident.
On this beach there are children playing in the sand, people splashing in the crystal-clear water, and seagulls gliding overhead. I breathe in to smell the sea filled salty air. It inflates my lungs as I peer out over the deep blue water and watch the boats go by.
I faintly hear my name and turn to see Bryson quite a distance away. Chuckling, I can tell it’s him by the way he’s awkwardly walking in the sand. Shoes in hand, he has his suit slacks rolled up, and his jacket casually slung over his shoulder.
The gritty sand covers my toes and I wiggle them with a smile on my face. I turn my attention back to the crashing waves absorbing the rhythm as I wait for him. Just past the break, a small boat comes into view. Alex emerges from the cabin and waves. My heart leaps with excitement to see him, but I snap my head to Bryson and notice both men see each other. Both call to me, beckoning me to come to them. When I try to move, I find I can’t. The heavy wet sand at my feet is high above my ankle, rising mid-calf with the tide coming in. Bryson drops his clothes and starts running toward me. Alex dives into the water, swimming toward the shoreline. I look down again, and the sand is sucking at my knees with water rushing past me. Both men are a few yards away, but the sand is gaining and it’s up to my thighs. I’m being ravenously swallowed up by the shore. They grab my arms to stop my descent, but I sink even faster.
“Help me!” I beg, the sand at my waist now.
They frantically try digging me out, but an abrupt rush of wind knocks them down. Chest deep in the engulfing sand, I have trouble breathing as it compresses my lungs. I try to close my eyes when a wave crashes over me, but I’m not fast enough. It stings my eyes with brine water and sand. A hand grabs mine and pulls; actually, it is clinging to mine. I squint through my burning sight and see Alex fighting against the powerful current. The sea is dragging him back out into the ocean’s gaping mouth. I desperately try to hold on to him, but his fingers slowly slip from mine.
“Alex!” I cry.
An upsurge of sea steals my scream of his name. The swell’s victorious grip drags him away and under. Bryson is lying still on his side, eyes closed, already half buried in the sand only a few feet away.
Neither man calls my name through the deluge whipping around me. The water bubbles up faster, encapsulating me. Its sole purpose is to have me join a maritime myth and legend. The salty reaper caps above my head taking my vision.
The grip that holds me releases and I jolt back, sputtering and gasping for air. Though when I open my eyes, there is no sand. No watery grave that I was sure was my fate. Instead, I’m on a street sidewalk in a rundown residential area. My clothes and hair are dry with neither beach view, nor either Alex or Bryson present. The terror of drowning continues to ripple through my blood. The feeling of loss ever present.
I’m not sure where I am, but at the same time I do. I’ve been here many times in my sleep. I hate this place. The knot in my throat is hard to swallow and tears well up. One of my earliest fears resides here. The sequence is scripted and I know what happens every fucking time, yet I’m unable to change the outcome. I walk along the cracked paved sidewalk littered with discarded remnants of people’s lives. With a stick in my hand, I walk hitting it against the chain link fence. My legs pick up speed, walking faster and the violent pulsating stick digs into my arm. My hand grips tight as it vibrates with each thwack on the chain link fence. With no control of my legs, I break into a run. As usual, my cry of pain is unheard in the abandoned neighborhood. The stick stains with the blood from my hand and droplets fall behind me in a un
interrupted trail. Abruptly, I stop at an open gate of a tiny one–story house. Its open door invites me and like an idiot, I walk right in. Again. In the middle of the poorly decorated small living room, a massive mountain of dirt, mud, and sludge nearly reaches the ceiling.
My stomach fills with sickness and my hands twitch, but I take my first step to climb the mountain. In search for what, I have no clue, but the boding instinct to get to the top forces me up the disgusting mound.
As I climb, my heavy feet sink into the muck. I grunt with effort past the trash and debris littering the mass. I see one of my text books sticking out a few inches from my last hand hold of mud as I claw my way up. Other familiar items come into view: Marvy’s red beaded dress, the crimson shoe with the metallic silver stiletto, my ear cuff, all just out of reach. The more I struggle to climb, the quicker I slip farther down the slope. I battle against the swampy thickness with fierce determination, but it seems moot, as I slip further and lose ground. Gritting my teeth, I find a foothold, giving me progress in my ascent. When I’m close to reaching the top, the scene immediately changes.
I find myself at a familiar shopping center, yet I recognize none of the stores in the poorly lit outdated mall. My arms are weighted down with a slack and bleeding small child. I call out for help, but the patrons just look at us as they walk past, ignoring our needs. Some don’t bother looking at all and continue their window shopping. Some look through us as if we are nothing. I walk faster, looking for and crying out for assistance, but no one comes to our aid. The child gets heavier in my arms making me stumble as I dash down the grimy carpet walkway. My hands, sticky with blood, are slippery at the same time. I don’t want to drop the child, so I hold her tighter to my body. Her warm blood soaks through my clothes as the child’s heartbeat slows next to my racing one. Climbing a small flight of stairs leading to the parking garage, the growing weight of the child renders me weak. My legs fail and I buckle to the stairs.
Sitting there, I clutch the child closer, whispering, “I can’t. I can’t do it. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Tears stream down my cheeks as I make another attempt for assistance. “Please, someone help me!”
I weep for the dying child, but no one cares enough to interrupt their day. We are invisible to human decency.
In a flash of light, I’m standing on a large walking bridge surrounded by the clearest, faint blue water I’ve ever seen. Wiping my cheeks, I find they are dry, but my unnerved heart has not let go of the resonating pain. Sunlight flashes against the aqua pool, hitting its small peaks, making sparkling ripples that glitter dance on a gentle, crisp breeze. At the end of the bridge is a giant white dome with what seems like a celebration is going on inside. Curious, I walk toward it. Through the dome’s opening, a crowd fills the arena. A group is gathered around a young girl of six or seven years. Her curly brown ringlet hair and smile look familiar, but I can’t place her. A woman in a crisp white suit is standing next to her.
“Trista, come in! We’ve been waiting for you to say good bye,” the woman calls to me, waving me in.
“Good bye?” I whisper. I don’t understand why my heart is breaking, but the tears reemerge and roll down my cheeks. “But I just got here. I don’t want her to leave yet. She can’t. I need her!”
The woman looks at me, and smiles. “It’s her time. She’s done what she was sent here to do, and now she’s ready to leave you.”
“NO!” I scream as the young girl walks through a brightly lit doorway. The light grows around her, devouring her shape.
Before she is completely absorbed into the light, she turns to me. “Bye!” the little girl says smiling. “I love you!” She waves and disappears into the white.
“WAIT!” I can’t get to her fast enough to stop her or hug her for the last time. To beg her to stay for just a little while longer; to tell her how much I love her with all my heart, and thank her for being in my life. I lay my face in my hands and sob under the weight of my despair. The over-whelming loss is too great, too real. The pain is unbearable, and the sorrow cripples me.
Someone shakes my shoulder and calls my name, pulling me away from the dome. “Trista, Trista, wake up!”
I open my eyes, still panting through my tears and disjointed with immersing sadness. Bryson’s eyes come into focus, disquieted with my awakened disposition.
I fly into his arms. “Bryson! It was horrible. No one would help me and she died!” I muttered between ragged breaths. A solitary, residual tear creeps down my cheek.
Handing me his handkerchief, he holds my trembling body snug. “Shhh…it’s okay, it was just a dream. Who, Trista? Who died?”
I take a deep breath and looked up with wild eyes. I’m astonished I know who.
“I did,” I answer without hesitation.
BRYSON WRAPS ME in the safety of his arms for the rest of the flight. I am immobile, buried deep in the lingering tentacles of the dreams. I’m too exhausted to decipher a meaning, even though the images unrelentingly repeat themselves.
A cold towel Bryson requested feels good against my puffy, swollen eyes. Though the chill from the dreams still dampen my skin and I shiver. He rubs my arms and pulls the blanket over my shoulders.
“You’re a good man,” I say, leaning into him. There is a perfect niche for me between his arm and chest for which I nuzzle into.
“I heard you call out for Alex. Do you mean Rush?” he asks uncomfortably.
All I can muster is a nod.
“Are you in love with him? Is that why you pretended to be Marvy at Volta la Terrea?”
If it were possible to be more spent, I think about how angry Alex was at the airport and become bone-weary.
Did I lie to him to protect Bryson or myself? How could I do that to Alex if I loved him? What is it about Bryson that I can’t let go of? Like he is embedded in my marrow and flows with my blood?
I bury myself deeper into Bryson’s hold. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I lied and betrayed him. It’s over.”
He simply sighs. "Trista, all I ask for is a chance to make things up to you, to be your protector. I know I screwed this up from the beginning, but I can be there for you the way someone should be. Treat you the way you deserve to be treated. I promise to be that man, if you let me try. I know we’ve just met, but the moment…ugh, I don’t know. I just know I wasn’t kissing Marvy, I was kissing you. I will move heaven and earth to protect you so your nightmares will never see the light of day, and make it my mission to make all of your good dreams come true.”
Bryson holds my face, eyes diving deep into mine pulling me closer. Our lips touch and touch again. Slightly parting mine, it is a deep, but gentle exchange. Intimate, but not sexual. It’s as if he is gifting his heart through it. A glow washes through my body dissipating the nightmarish thoughts as I return the affection. My stomach flitters and I revel in the sanctity of the moment and his promise.
When we finally separate, I lean my forehead against his lips. “Wow,” I gush.
“I promise every kiss, every day, will be that. You bring that out in me. You take my breath away, and give it back all at the same time. You are every hope, every dream, every fantasy, and every imagined thought. My heart starts and stops with you.” Such tenderness weaves through his words, but makes my torment run deeper through me.
I drive my palms to his chest pushing him back. “How can you say that with such certainty? You’ve known me for less than two weeks. Hell, you didn’t even know my full name till a few days ago! You didn’t know how old I was. You don’t know I like my bacon extra close-to-burnt crispy, my likes, my favorite food, my favorite color or my favorite band or my favorite anything! You know nothing about me!”
Taking both my hands in his, Bryson clasps them firmly. “I know your favorite flowers are Lilies. And yes, I do know you like your bacon burnt and your eggs runny. I know you’re a runner freak-girl and can fix a toaster like no one I’ve ever known. You get more excited than I do about tech and gadgets. And
I know you coo like a dove when you’re dreaming.” He leans in to my ear. “I know how your body contorts when I touch certain places. I know we fit together.”
Pushing him back again, I argue, “Don’t do that. You’re changing the subject and trying to distract me!” But I smile, shaking my head. “Bryson, you can’t say you love me when you only know that. That part is basic lust, I feel it too, but you can’t base love on that alone. What if things I do drive you bat shit crazy? What if I’m mentally unstable, or have irrational idiosyncrasies, or habits that grate on your nerves?”
“Trista, I think the ‘us’ is worth working through it. The life we can build together will be full of challenges, but there will also be communication and compromise. Sometimes we’ll even agree to disagree. That’s the way my grandparents did it for so many years. Marriage is not all sonnets and roses, I know that. But you’re a fighter and so am I, it’s in our blood. We’ll fight for it—for us. There is always forgiveness when there is love.”
Is there? Could Alex forgive me?
Bryson is a realist and a dreamer. He’s also the reason I’m here. This is the man that instigated my rape. This is part of the game he’s playing. It’s got to be. My body language closes off to him. “You may love what you know of me, but you may not for the things you don’t. Sometimes love isn’t enough. There are things that can break even the strongest emotions; love is not immune to them either.”
“What are you not telling me, Trista? Did my investigators get it wrong? Are you really not eighteen? Are you a mental patient? A serial killer? Why can’t you just give into the irrationality of this? We didn’t meet under ideal circumstances, but I know you feel something for me too. I can see it in your eyes. You couldn’t kiss me like that or give yourself to me the way you did the other night if you didn’t.”
Pieces Of One, Part 2 (The Dark Life Collection) Page 10
