This isn’t about her. She didn’t kill your family.
“I’m sorry,” I finally force the words to fall from my tongue. “I’ve been angry so long, about the internet and social media and the lies and the phonies.” I wave my hand at her, “I’ve been taking it out on you but it’s not your fault. You had nothing to do with it.” I explain as much to myself as to her.
“What happened?” She steps forward and grabs my free hand. Ashley looks down at the photo and I follow her gaze. I rub my thumb over them, over my mother’s gentle smile and my father’s robust grin. My brother was much too cool to smirk for a photograph, instead giving a brooding stare that my mother always said ruined the picture. I even look down at myself, the old me, without a beard and without a lifetime of pain dragging me down.
“They were shot, we all were, but they were killed.” I squeeze my eyes shut and the carnage of the day seizes my memory.
“My parents were good people. All about their family, they lived and breathed for us. When Dad opened the restaurant, it was like him and Mom had another son. Like my brother and I were already the old man’s legacy, but his food, his restaurant, it was an extension of it.” I open my eyes and Ashley is watching me intently.
Her rosy cheeks are covered in tears that I can’t cry anymore. “Who shot them? You were shot too?” She sniffles and blinks fresh, fat tears from her crystal blue eyes.
I shove the worn picture back in my jacket pocket and wrap my arm around her. I pull her in tight as she cries and somehow, I feel soothed by comforting her.
“The restaurant got caught up in some bullshit internet news story, just by chance. It was fucked up. When the election happened in 2012, there was all this crazy shit going around. A bunch of made up news stories that were getting reported like they were real.” I explain.
“Fake news, yeah, that’s worse now,” Ashley nods.
“Yeah, well, back then people didn’t think to question if it was fake or not. It was reported right alongside the real news. No one could tell what was true.” I clear my throat and force myself to push the emotions away as I tell her what happened.
Ashley steps back from me and grabs my hand, waiting patiently for me to continue.
“So, the news was that our senator was running a child sex slave ring in the basement of my parents’ restaurant. Which is insanity, right? The senator,” I stress the words still trying to understand how anyone could’ve believed something so far-fetched.
“I think I remember something about that,” Ashley’s blue eyes cloud over as she tries to think back.
“At first my family ignored it. Dad said he had faith in his community. That anyone who knew us, knew it was ridiculous. We carried on, business as usual.” I frown at the snow covering my boots. White and pristine. Just like how the tile floor in the kitchen of Il Lupi looked the morning we were preparing to open. That is, until he came in. Crimson pools and splatters of blood stained the floor like they stain my memory now.
“I’m so sorry anyone believed that,” Ashley tethers me back to the present. The maroon tendrils of my family’s spilt blood shirk back to the corners of my mind and I continue.
“Yeah, it was total bullshit, of course, but still, our sales dropped. People started whispering when we walked down the street. People who had been coming to our restaurant for years, for like a decade, just stopped.” I can feel the bitterness coat my tongue. “Then after a couple of months, we thought we’d hit rock bottom. The restaurant was only doing about a quarter of the sales it used to. My folks were talking about selling it, cutting their losses. It was heartbreaking. It was like watching them talk about burying a child.”
I reach into my pocket and run my rough fingers over the edge of their photo. The only thing I kept of them.
“Some crazy vigilante stormed into the restaurant one morning and started shooting. My mother begged him to let us go, she said she’d show him the basement, show him it was all a lie, but he didn’t care. He was on a mission. He killed them in cold blood, shot me in the arm, but I bled so fast it looked like he got me in the chest.” I twist my face as the memory washes over me.
How I had to lie there, in a river of my family’s blood, playing dead like a fucking possum while some man who thought he was in the right, hunted us down.
“He killed them,” my voice cracks. “I buried my entire family that same week. I couldn’t go back to the restaurant. I couldn’t face it.” My hands tremble as I remember the worst part. The part that broke me. The part that made me leave society and never want to return.
“I’m so sorry,” Ashley tries to console me through her own tears. “I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t. I know that.” I cup my hand on her cheek and engulf her face with my broad palm.
“After the funeral, I was lost. Alone. Just checked out completely. I was drinking and went online. I desperately needed a distraction, you know? Like anything was better than reliving that nightmare over and over. So, I went on Reddit to look for some funny gifs or memes,” I try to explain. “And I found a huge thread about the shooting. I don’t know why I clicked on it, I still wonder why I did that sometimes, you know?” I look up at her.
“We all do that.” She answers.
“Yeah, well, I clicked on the thread and there were so many people, so many,” I stress, “who were happy. They were thrilled that my family was murdered. So many comments about how it sucked that I made it out alive. How my perverted family got what they deserved. Like, they still believed there was some kind of sex ring operation. Even after the real news, the real cops, the real politicians all said it was bullshit. After my real parents and my real brother were fucking taken from me. Still, there were all these believers. All these people who said the story was the truth. That the fake news was right.” My voice shakes and a shiver runs through every muscle in my body. Not from the cold, well not the cold in the air anyway. From the icy memory.
“Oh my god,” Ashley leans into me and throws her arms around me.
“I left that night and never looked back. The wound in my arm hadn’t even fully healed yet, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t live in a society that let that happen. And one that still felt like his actions were justified, even when it was proven he was wrong. I just couldn’t…” my voice cracks and tears I thought I had long ago finished crying, spill out of me.
“I’m so sorry, Sawyer. That’s so awful! I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Ashley presses into me and I hold her close.
“I’m sorry I took it out on you,” I admit. “When we first started talking, all that stuff about your Instagram followers and your job, it brought it all back. Not that it’s ever that far from my thoughts. And, when I saw you with your phone today,” I pull her tight. “I just assumed the worst.”
“I know. I understand why you’d do that. I would never betray you, Sawyer. Never.”
I tuck my finger under her chin and pull her face up to mine, hovering over her lips as I look into her shimmering eyes. “I know. I was wrong. I hope you can forgive me,” I kiss her. Our lips softly part as our tongues frantically search for each other. Intertwined, they explain what our simple words can’t. They tell the story of our love.
“I love you,” I give her a quick kiss, then another, and another.
“I love you too,” she breathes.
30
Ashley
“I think I see something! Up there!” I can hear a distant stranger intrude on our moment. Sawyer pulls away from me, scanning the snow drifts and trees for the owner of the voice.
I step back and twist around like an owl, my eyes wide and my senses on high alert that, for the first time in days, I’m going to see other people again.
Why does it feel like an invasion? Like these peaceful woods are a fortress for only Sawyer and I. The excited cries grow louder and more unsettling as I spot a flash of bright orange a couple hundred feet away.
Sawyer grabs my arm, “Come with me. Let’s get out
of here!” he hisses.
“I can’t. It’s the search and rescue. I can’t just give them the slip. Come into town with me and we’ll figure this out together.” I plead, but I can see it’s falling on deaf ears. His big brown eyes are locked on the search team and he takes another step back from me.
“Ashley, there’s nothing to figure out. We can just go now. Fuck these guys. You don’t need to be rescued. Come with me,” I can hear the irritation grating across his vocal chords.
“I can’t,” I stand my ground. How ridiculous would it be if I just hightailed it off into the forest with him right now? They would worry about my sanity and send more people. Or assume he was keeping me against my will. This isn’t a Tiffany song from the eighties. We’re not going to stumble to the ground in each other’s arms and whisper that we’re alone now.
This is real life. No matter how disappointing and empty it feels.
“It’s her!” A member of the crew announces and begins to run toward me. I can see his partner radio in the information as others come up from behind carrying a first aid kit and supplies.
Everything is a blur of orange and white, I twist around and see Sawyer slowly walking backwards. The feet he’s putting between us feel like miles as the crowd of search and rescue members surrounds me.
“Ashley Young? You’re Ashley, right?” A fit, middle-aged man with a wide, black moustache yells.
“Yes. That’s me.”
“That’s a confirmation on finding the person of interest. Ashley Young has been found at 37.7934° North, 106.9156° West, copy?”
I can hear the radio crackle and buzz like the one Sawyer and I would wind up in the cabin. “10-4 copy that.”
Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh! I tilt my head back and squint my eyes at the bright sky. Above, a black, sleek helicopter is hovering over us like a metallic eagle ready to swoop in on her prey.
“They said we need to get her to a clearing.” A woman with chestnut hair and permanent worry lines etched in her face, interrupts.
“Gotcha,” the man acknowledges her. “Ashley, are you able to come with us? We’ve got a lot of people who are worried about you. Are you injured? Can you walk?” He talks to me like I may have lost my hearing along with my sense of direction the night I took off in the snow.
“I’m not hurt,” I answer and almost fall over as I look for Sawyer past the neon orange. Where did he go?
“Ok, that’s great. We’re going to get you home. There’s going to be a lot of happy people to see you! It’s a miracle you’re alive,” he smiles and tugs my arm, leading me with the team toward whatever clearing they’ve been instructed to take me to.
“Just wait, I can’t go yet.” My voice is shrill as I frantically look for Sawyer’s distinctive plaid among the trees.
“Here, drink some of this, it has electrolytes in it,” the man insists, holding what looks like a Capri Sun bag under my nose.
“No, wait.” I insist. “Sawyer, come with me. Don’t leave me,” I twist like a flag in the wind, but I don’t see him anywhere.
“She’s in shock,” the man with the moustache announces to the other crew members as I follow their lead to the clearing.
“I’m not in shock. I’m fine. I need Sawyer.” I look back over my shoulder, but all I see is a mess of footprints in the snow.
“Sawyer!” I call out. But I know it’s no use.
He’s gone.
31
Ashley
My hotel suite is quiet. Except not like the shroud of serenity that the forest would wrap Sawyer and I in. This is the silence of people trying to walk softly across carpeted halls. The silence of hushed whispers while the media prepares for the story event of the year. It’s the silence of being alone in a crowd. And it’s crushing.
I’ve spent the day being poked and prodded by curious doctors only to be released and brought back to the Telluride resort. I’ve been upgraded to their penthouse suite while they’ve graciously allowed the media to gather in their conference room so I can tell them that this amazing resort is in no way responsible for my drunken decision to run off into the woods.
Instead of being associated with my frozen, wolf-ravaged carcass, like they were expecting, they now get to bask in the glow of my safe return. Who doesn’t love a happy ending, right? Especially one that turns a profit.
The room is beautiful, every inch thoughtfully decorated with the highest quality materials. My television might as well be a movie screen, my hot tub a pool, and my sheets could be pure silk for how soft they are.
All of it is so… awful.
After only a few days away from all of this, it feels foreign. I’ve been walking around my room like a cat with paper bags on its feet, jumpy and self-aware. The monstrous television is too loud and too bright to comfortably watch. The hot tub feels overwhelming to my skin after days of melted snow baths, even the linens feel too slippery to be practical.
I miss the cabin.
I miss him.
Just a simple touch from his rough hands brought me more comfort than any of these luxuries. I try to imagine him in this room, enjoying these amenities. I can’t. It’s more natural to picture a walrus doing ballet than to envision him trying to fuck me on these satin sheets.
My body craves his touch as my mind flashes to him making me his by the fire, and in the snow shelter, and on the bed and…
“Mmmm,” the moan is involuntary. I can’t help how my back arches and my breasts heave at the thought of him. Just the memory makes me wet.
How am I going to get through this life without him? Why did he leave me?
The betrayal stings like the snap of a leather belt. The burn is deep and enduring, seeming to spread through me, radiating from my heart.
I pick up my phone as more tears fill my eyes. I can’t spend any more time crying. I just can’t. I’ve already given myself a headache for my trouble. Wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, he’s gone. He left and that was his choice. There’s nothing I can do about it now.
I swipe my thumb across my cell like a reflex and the screen comes to life with a ding. I don’t mean to open my photo gallery of the pictures of the run-down cabin that began to feel like home.
I snort when I see the pose in my bikini bottoms and his shirt. Me trying to get another perfect butt selfie, while he threw our dinner at me. Was that only a few days ago? How is that possible? I feel like I’m catching glimpses of another lifetime.
I let my thumb hover over the belfie, my Instagram followers would love my butt selfie from the wild. I bet it would get more likes than anything I’ve ever posted.
The thought shrivels up and dies inside me, blowing away in the wind of my apathy. I couldn’t care less what anyone likes or doesn’t like about me, let alone these ridiculous poses. That’s not real. The sex pout over my shoulder while I push my ass out with my heels for maximum curvature, is the furthest thing from reality. Not like the moments that were never recorded. The laughter and tears Sawyer and I shared. The moments with his arms around me as the world became our own personal snow globe. The meals he pieced together. The sex.
That was real.
This, it’s just phony.
I push the button on the side of my phone, forcing my screen to fade to black. I’m not posting these. I don’t give a shit how many likes it would get. All I care about is him.
A sudden knock at my door makes me jolt upright in bed and breathe little, shallow puffs of air like I need to ration the oxygen around me.
Is it him?
I jump from the plush mattress and cross the floor with the beat of my pulse vibrating through my whole body.
Did he come back for me?
I wipe my fingers under my eyes and fix myself up as I reach for the handle. He didn’t run away. He didn’t abandon me. He…
I open the door.
“Hey babe! Say hi to over fifteen thousand of your closest friends, you’re live streaming on Facebook!” Ben doesn’t wait for me to react before pushing pas
t me into the room with his phone inches from my surprised face.
“What are you doing?” My voice is as dead as my love for him. Flatlined, with no hope of revival.
“Mmm, babe you’re looking fine. Did you lose a bit of weight out there in the snow? Damn girl, it looks good on ya! Just make sure you don’t lose that ass though, am I right?” He turns the cell around to his obnoxious face and licks his lips theatrically. “How about you throw some hearts across my screen if you agree out there, ok? Show my girl some loving, people!” Ben demands to the faceless crowd infringing on my privacy.
“Ben, shut it off,” I hiss, not wanting to be picked up by the mic.
“What’s that, hon?” he twists it back around to record me and I scowl. “How about you show us that you didn’t injure that sweet ass of yours and give the people at home a little twerk, hon? Come on, be a good girl and give us some jiggle, am I right? Throw those hearts up if you agree!”
My eyes flicker to his screen full of floating, pink hearts and thumbs up signs. Comments are filling up the bottom half of his phone screen at an unreadable pace.
“No, I said turn it off.” I grit my teeth and raise my voice. I don’t give a fuck if the mic does pick me up.
Suddenly, it comes to me. I want him to shut this off? Hit him where it hurts.
“Ben,” I pout, “we need to talk about how you fucked my sister the night I ran off. I almost died out there in the cold, of a broken heart, because you couldn’t be loyal to me for ten minutes.” I let my crocodile tears build up and Ben’s abnormally tanned face bleaches out.
“Why don’t you turn the phone around and explain how you almost helped destroy me by fucking my sister at our engagement party, hon? Hey, at home, send some love if you want to hear him explain himself.” I egg on the Facebook Live streamers.
The Beauty's Beast Page 67
