by Amarie Avant
Raven wrapped her arms around her midriff, a faux display of the ability to connect with humanity—humans got cold. Raven had always had a cold heart, she’d seen things differently; had a way of categorizing life, preventing emotions from getting in her way. She’d learned how important it was to live in the here and now, so she also allowed her lips to chatter, and she gave a slight tremor of her arms.
When they’d gotten upstairs to Liam’s shared dorm room, the scent of sex was a telltale sign of what had transpired between Monica and the very charming Shawn.
Raven stood in the threshold. As if Liam knew she wouldn’t be entering, he mumbled about getting her something to wear. Before she could decline, he disappeared down the hall and returned with a hoodie. Raven nodded her thanks, and she was engulfed with the scent of him, pulling the navy blue hoodie with the prep school’s insignia over her head. At that second, Monica came from down the hall in the opposite direction, buttoning the front of her jeans.
Hot water streamed over her body as she stood in the shower. Raven closed her eyes and let the torturous sting take her away from the here and now. She didn’t know this new Liam. Not one bit. Three years had transpired. If she were to gauge him off looks alone, He. Was. Not. Her. Liam.
After applying a dime-sized drop of liquid soap into her palm, Raven allowed her hand to graze over her shoulder the way Liam’s had when he’d taken her hand and led her to the creek behind his prep school. Then her slick hand glided over and cupped her left breast.
The soft stroke of her thumb over her chocolate brown nipple didn't evoke any feeling. Her hand trailed down her abdomen. There once was a boy, and her heart coveted every moment they had together. He would always be there. The shoulder to cry on. The friend who listened when she felt like talking about her mom, on the occasion that she mumbled about missing out on having parents. But Raven had placed herself in this predicament. She’d taken her best friend for granted. That’s why when he moved to France, he never called…
The last day embedded in her memory was filled with a kiss. A kiss Raven thought about taking in their very own marsh for over three years. Some days she was unable to compel, let alone force, herself to go to school, so she just lay in the marsh thinking of his kiss. Now her finger coiled through the silky curls of her womanhood as she remembered that kiss.
The taste of his tongue twining into her mouth made her finger speed up.
As steam rose and her caramel skin became dewy, Raven let her thumb flicker over the tiny, soft bulb. Her pussy walls quivered, and warm sweetness trickled down two fingers now.
Her mouth opened wide as she took a deep breath, letting her fingers trail over the swelling of her labia. Desire sparked every inch of her body as an image of this new Liam came to mind.
And then she stopped touching herself.
4
The next morning, Raven helped her grandfather Otis work on one of the neighbor’s old radiators.
“Gramps, this rattrap has been working on a wing and a prayer. I’m telling you, this is the end of the line.” Raven dropped the wrench onto the pavement.
Otis chuckled. “C’mon, ReRe, we’ve been fixing Miss Wimble’s car since–”
“I was born?”
He laughed, wiping his hands on his soiled navy blue jumper. “Well, I was gonna say since you were about five. You were about that age when I began to tell you to go hand me that-there-something-or-another. I reckon I’ve been toiling around with this car for going on thirty-something years.”
“Humph,” Annette said, coming out of the house with a tray, one glass of lemonade and a can of beer on it. “Now if you wanna get politically correct, old man, we should be sitting on a cool mill’, with how many times someone has brought their car around for a hand me out.”
Raven picked up a screwdriver, shaking her head at Annette. “Granny, it’s not about money. It’s about helping people.”
“Yes, honey, it is. But if y’all want to go around helping folk, you wouldn’t allow Miss Wimble to get behind the wheel. You’d think after making two hundred years old, the woman would stop driving.”
“She’s not that old,” Raven chuckled. Her cell phone vibrated in her jeans pocket. Upon slipping it out, Raven noticed the number Liam saved in her phone yesterday. After a few more seconds, the call went to voicemail. She dropped it back in her pocket.
“What’s with all the sighing and carrying on?” Annette stopped watching her husband struggle with the antique of a car, and landed a questioning gaze on Raven.
Raven placed her hands at her side so as not to fidget with her fingers. “Nothing.”
“You’re getting too old to be shrugging. And if it’s that damn Christopher you’re avoiding, I need to know exactly why.”
Grandpa put down his beer. “Nettie, let the girl breathe. Raven, if we have a problem, tell me.”
Like hell. You’d kill Chris for just one of the arguments we’ve gotten into!
Raven tried, “It’s–”
“I can’t stand that little pissy ass boy,” Annette cut in.
Otis held up a hand to calm his wife. Then he turned to his granddaughter. Though his demeanor was caring, he asked, “ReRe, do I need to show Chris my shotgun again?”
Her grandpa had enough guns to fight off a zombie epidemic in both the Carolinas, but she knew which one he talked about. When she was young and couldn’t imagine herself liking a boy, Otis had etched the name of boys that so much as smiled at Raven too long on the wood handle of his shotgun, saying, “That’s for any guy messing with my baby.”
Raven quickly told the truth. “It’s Liam. I don’t feel like talking to him at the moment.”
The two stared at her in confusion. There was never a need to add Liam to the list for “scare tactics.” As far as her grandpa was concerned, he’d become family at such a young age, and that was the way he’d stay. Annette, being the more intuitive of the two, had asked an arsenal of questions when Raven came home from the mall after the serendipitous meeting. Then she smiled as if things were still the same.
Before either of her grandparents got a word out, Raven hurried into the house.
It was a Saturday night. Never mind that she ignored Liam’s call and text message. As dusk set in her tiny bedroom, she replied to Chris’s latest text message with a simple lie: “Grounded. Can’t go out.”
The will to reaffirm her convictions wasn’t in Raven tonight. She didn’t know how many damn ways to tell Chris that she refused to have sex before marriage. Funny, Raven used to say, “I’m going out with Liam,” to sneak out with Chris in junior high. The day after Liam left without a single goodbye, her entire tune changed.
Chris wasn’t the best boyfriend in the world, not by a long shot. But being in the golden boy’s shadow during high school helped with the depression of losing a big piece of herself. She wasn’t the token, cheerleader girlfriend by far. No, Raven just considered him a catalyst for momentary happiness, since people loved to be around him. Sometimes she did, too.
Around 9:00 p.m., Raven replied to Liam’s text. “You busy?”
The minutes unfolded ever so slowly. As Raven’s fingernails dug against her tightly closed palms. She glared at her phone on her pillow, lying on her stomach in bed.
It seemed like ages, but Liam responded with a call less than five minutes later. She pressed the AWAY button and texted him again. “Meet at The Arch Theatre in an hour?”
Her heart sunk. She truly wasn’t attempting to play games, only desiring to be the director of her own future when it came to Liam. Every time she glanced into those brown eyes, she reminisced about their past. A second later, the phone pinged in response. He said okay. A fire lit under Raven’s ass as she hopped out of bed. Grimacing at the sound of how loud she was, Raven stepped to her dresser mirror.
She’d showered, after sort of helping grandpa Otis fix Miss Wimble’s car. But fuzzy pajama pants and a thermal weren’t all that appealing. No, I’m not going for appealing. I never t
hought about my outfits for the old Liam.
In the end, Raven chose to keep on the cream-colored thermal, since it was cold as hell outside. She put on a dark blue pair of jeans, and an army fatigue jacket that clasped in the middle, and accentuated her waistline.
Arms around herself, she walked down Main Street. The chirping sound of crickets had just faded. In its stead was an old rock song. There were patrons hanging out of Beverly’s Bar. Her pace quickened since the rest of the stores had closed. The Arch Theatre’s neon lights lit up the sky about a half mile down the road. She hadn’t even called for box office information, and only went to the movies if Monica or Chris wanted to.
“Hey there, pretty lady,” called a drunken voice from behind her in Beverly’s parking lot.
It was too dark to be cordial. Raven continued at a steady pace. The slurring man sounded familiar, and she’d be glaring at him sideways come tomorrow morning while directing the choir at church.
“Hey, you stupid bitch, I’m fucking talkin’ to ya!”
Bitch. That word was a trigger. Raven did an about-face as a man in a hoodie and crumpled jeans headed toward her. With the street lamp casting a glow, which dusted across a face that had lived a hard life, she could see desire in his dark eyes. His lust was her energy. Her gaze iced over, anger freezing her veins.
BLURP, came the sound of the Sheriff’s cruiser.
The scarred and stubble-faced drunk began to back away. As a deputy exited his cruiser, Raven’s anger decreased. She almost wished she had a permit to carry a gun. Lord knew her grandfather had taught her well.
“I thought that was you, Miss Shaw.” The deputy stepped onto the curb. “Raven, what in tarnation are you doing out after dark? Nettie will have my hide. Was that man harassing you?” The deputy’s kind gaze searched her icy blue gaze for signs of life.
“Huh? Um…” But she didn’t want to respond. The deputy wasn’t needed. Raven sought an outlet, like the drunk, to take out her rage.
An engine ground to a halt right in front of the cruiser. They both turned to look at an all-black Ducati. The rider wore black jeans, a leather jacket, and helmet. Raven’s hand twitched to touch Liam’s hair as he took of the helmet. Every trace of anger within her vanished.
5
Liam had wanted to ask Raven if she’d need a ride to The Arch Theater. Of course she did. He hated himself for the scene he saw unfolding while driving down Main Street. He almost considered walking past Raven and the deputy to get the identity of the man who’d been yelling at her, when he decided instead to stop the Ducati a few blocks down the street.
As his eyes searched Beverly’s Bar, Liam took a few lengthy steps, and he was on the sidewalk.
“Raven, you okay?” His knuckles grazed against her jawline, thumb turning her gaze toward him. Something reminded Liam of their past. The way Raven would sometimes glare as if murder wove through that beautiful mind of hers, even at the tender age of two.
Yet her plush mouth tipped upwards at the edges. “Yeah, I guess. The both of you are just making something out of nothing—”
“Son, I’ma have to ask you to move your street bike,” the deputy interjected.
Liam didn’t acknowledge the man, only searched Raven’s demeanor again. No, she’s okay. Why am I even thinking of Raven and murder in the same sentence?
The officer’s tone tightened, “Mister–”
“Jonathan Delacroix Lemaître Junior.”
“Oh, Mr. Lemaître, I didn’t…”
Liam cut over his stuttering. “You can go. I’m here. She’s safe.”
The deputy backed away, giving a stern look. “ReRe, I suggest you head home soon.”
She nodded.
Liam stood before her again. “Who was that asshole?”
“What?” Her arched eyebrows crinkled.
“Who was the man that,” Liam’s jaw clenched, “started over toward you a few minutes ago? Who was he?”
“I don’t know.” Raven shrugged at his intensity. In anger, his chiseled features were more pronounced. Thick, impeccable eyebrows, a strong-bridged nose, thick, tense lips, square jaw rigid offset his honey eyes. It was the face of confidence, of a man with power.
“He shouted at you, and disrespected you.” Liam wanted to punch the drunk’s lights out. Go figure, for the better half of his life, he’d attempted to persuade Raven not to fight. Most of his squabbles were extinguished with words, wits, intelligence per Pierre’s teaching. The Delacroix had other means. Yet here he stood, peering toward the bar. He hadn’t gotten a good look, but all he needed was a name. “Who was he?”
She answered his question with a question of her own. “Can you hear correctly, Liam?”
He grumbled. “Oh, you don’t know? Yeah, all right. Everyone knows everyone in this damn town.”
“Humph, that’s not entirely true– at least I don’t think.”
He placed a hand on his hips, still staring toward Beverly’s Bar.
It had been dark, and Liam heard shouting before anything else. When the deputy’s lights had flashed on the drunk, the brightness had washed out the man’s face. He understood what Raven was implying.
She no longer knew him.
Liam had mentioned the part about returning to Brinton, but leaving. The way he hadn’t returned to the girl he loved more than air itself? He wasn’t yet ready for those parts.
“Would you still like to–”
“No.” Raven began to back away.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.” Her shoulders rose at what seemed an obvious answer.
In a few short paces, Liam stood before her. He grabbed the lapel of her canvas jacket. “You sure as hell aren’t walking home.”
“Hmmm.”
His eyebrow arched.
She shrugged, deciding to elaborate but choosing an altered dynamic. “You sound different.”
“Different how?”
Raven licked those luscious lips. “French.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Did I say it was, Liam?” His name snipped out of her mouth. There it was. Those undertones of irritation that always made the fat, younger him do her bidding, or at the very least stop talking when she didn’t feel like it.
“You know what, ReRe, that’s beside the point. Get on my bike, I’ll take you home.”
When Raven murmured her nickname in irritation, it made Liam’s skin crawl. He knew she preferred he didn’t use it. Every single second, they were moving further and further away from the best friends they’d once been. They’d been oceans away from each other for so long, yet Raven stood right before him, seemingly galaxies away.
She sighed before following Liam to the bike. He wondered if he should offer to walk. No, a Delacroix wouldn’t readily agree to another person’s request unless it was in his or her favor. Liam considered, But the boy Raven once knew would move hell and high water…
Liam’s long, lean leg slid over his Ducati. He held out his helmet. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Doubt I have a choice.” Raven snatched the helmet. “Thanks.”
“Welcome, and not at all as far as choices go.”
“Suppose it wouldn’t be the first time someone I cared about decided not to give me a choice,” she mumbled the words so low he had to decipher much of them. When he did, it cut to his core.
Her soft body molded to his back, the warmth of her legs around his frame made Liam force himself to concentrate on driving. The warmth between those thighs of hers made him second-guess himself. This wasn’t the time to become aroused by the person he fell in love with. They had yet to be friends, so nothing deeper would transpire. “Hold tight.”
She barely clasped her arms around him. Liam jerked the shift. Raven clung to him. He smiled. Her soft tiny hand reached beneath his leather jacket, sending his hormones into a whirlwind. Instead of caressing his abs, she pinched him. Laughter erupted from Liam’s gut. Before he rode off, he again reminded her to hold tight.
<
br /> They’d passed by her street, and Raven pinched the bit of skin over his taut bicep in warning. Not taking heed to those hard and rather painful squeezes, Liam rode toward the town limits. The streets weren’t slick, and he was glad his intuition told him it wouldn’t rain tonight. At each jarring in the road, Raven held on tighter.
He took in a deep breath of her fruity perfume. Papayas mingled with the lush mountain scape. Once they got to the sign that read “Brinton,” Liam pulled off the road. He did not intend to tell Raven that he’d traveled this road for much of the year and a half of his junior to senior year.
It was always his plan to return to her. And he had. So many times Liam had returned since starting high school in Brinton.
They got off the bike. Up and to the left were bright lights from Brinton; down below were a few faint yellow lights of Bellwood.
“Wow, Liam, you're hard of hearing, and you’re forgetful. Suppose you don’t recall not ten minutes ago that I requested to go home?”
“You sound irritated, ReRe,” he goaded as they’d once done as children. Now the mention of her nickname was just as taboo as a slam to her character.
“Cut the bullshit, Liam. My house was along this route. I don’t mind walking. That’s what legs are for.” Her pearly white smile was more of a snarl.
“Like I just said, you sound irritated. Guess what? I was very annoyed earlier today. You ignored my calls. Then played–”
“Played?” She zeroed in as if that was the only word she'd heard.
“Let me finish.” Liam looked down at her, gaze sincere. “When we were little, the entire world revolved around you. That’s the only way I would have it. And yes, played. You wouldn’t answer my damn call. Requesting to meet as if Granny wouldn’t let me pick you up.” Though his face was stoic, Liam inwardly smiled. Raven didn’t even like him calling Annette Granny anymore either. Oh well. “You still won’t tell me the name of the asshole who cussed at you, since we’re talking about being forgetful! I've the notion to take you over my legs and swat that ass, I bet you'll listen then. Is that what I should do?”
