by Nessa Morgan
I invite his tongue into my mouth, teasing it with mine before I pull away briefly.
“You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on, Joey Archembault,” he whispers, his lips touching mine as he speaks. “Because I love you, I know that we need to stop before we get carried away.”
“I know we need to,” I tell him sadly. “But I don't want to.”
Zephyr lets out a loud groan. “Don't tell me that, Joey.” He takes my hand, kissing the ring on my finger.
“I'll know when I'm ready, Zeph.” His eyes widen, the dark brown of his irises lightening. “And I'm ready.”
If his mouth could drop open, it would. It would hit the floor. But before I can kiss him, before I let my hands trail over his body, we're interrupted.
“Oh, God, I'm sorry,” Patrick says as he backs away from the door, basically walking into it. He closes the door while I'm laughing and Zephyr is staring, puzzled. The door opens again and Patrick pops his head in the door. “Uh, dinner is ready,” he tells us. “I was supposed to wake you if you weren't up, but it appears that you're both awake and all sex, I mean sexy—” he cuts himself off with a palm to his forehead. “If I didn't sound like a dirty old man before...” he trails off while Zephyr and I laugh hysterically. “I'm just going to go before I say anything else more embarrassing.”
He leaves, leaving the door open, as Aunt Hil would want it.
“So you were saying before?” Zephyr asks.
The moment has long been killed between us; there’s no more intimacy in the air. I mean, it's not like we were going to have sex right this very moment.
“I was saying, Zephyr Kalivas, that I”—I kiss his neck lightly—”am ready”—I kiss behind his ear, nipping his lobe with my teeth—”to have sex.”
“You said it,” Zephyrs says like a whimper.
“Mmm hmmm.” I kiss behind his ear again. “You know what that means.”
“What does that mean?”
“That we should head down for dinner.” I lean away, smiling mischievously at the boy lying on my bed. “I'm starved.”
“Me too,” Zephyr tells me as I stand away from the bed and stretch my arms above my head. “Just not for food.”
twenty-one
“You look beautiful, honey,” Hilary tells me as I stand in front of the locker rooms. I'm wearing a large, paper thin red gown and a flat square on the top of my head with something dangling in front of my face every time I move in any direction. If this is beauty, damn, I've been wearing the wrong clothes. She keeps fussing with me. I tap my foot—I'm wearing a pair of heels for once—and wait for her to stop fidgeting. “I am so proud of you, Joey.” I can see the tears in her eyes as she smiles at me. I know she's trying to see me through my mother's eyes, I'm trying to do the same thing, but my mother is so different from my aunt. I don't know her, so I can't see it.
I do know that she would be so proud of me, though. My grandparents are standing next to me, both of them sniffling slightly. I almost glare at them but when are they going to have the chance to do this again—wait, when I graduate college.
Tomorrow I leave for protective custody. I have no idea where I'm going I just know that it's far from Washington.
Officer Delaney—I finally learned his name—told me when my father is captured, and they believe they’re getting closer, I could return to my old life. So I'd be waiting a few more months—maybe years—to start school, I might be lucky enough to start with my original class. As I look around the groups of families waiting for the ceremony to start, I spot cops. They're there to keep an eye on me and to make sure things go according to plan—basic speak for making sure I graduate high school alive.
Wonderful, huh?
Though, all of this happens after I meet Owen Simms—my biological father. He’s in town for the graduation. I didn’t want to take any time away from Milo since Owen is only in town for a few days, but we carved out some time to meet before I go into hiding.
At my last session with Dr. Jett—it would be hard to continue therapy when I’m in protection, but I’m happy I can say last session—I thanked her for her years of help. She really did help me, as much as I hate to admit it; she was a good outlet to have.
Zephyr and his family are nearby; he's standing with his parents as they talk to Jamie about Grad Night, something I don't get to do. It's not as if I wanted to anyway; I can’t leave the venue and with whom would I hang out.
Someone tugs me away by the hand.
Zephyr.
“Have I told you how sexy you look in red?” he whispers in my ear as he pulls me toward the food.
“Have I told you how much of a kiss ass you are?” I ask with a giggle.
“I think I've heard that somewhere.” He kisses me. On the lips.
“All right, graduates,” Miss Cherry calls as she wanders through the crowds. “Time to line up.”
“Got to go,” I tell Zephyr with one more kiss before I join the other graduates in the locker rooms beneath the bleachers. We spent two hours yesterday after school walking properly—lining up and entering the stadium together; it was dull. But we finally got it. I'm standing behind Jamie; we're in the second row near the beginning. We don't do it alphabetically, basically wherever you want to sit, you sit. you just have to sign up first.
“You excited?” Jamie asks me, looking just as ridiculous as I do in her cap and gown, though she pulls it off. She can make anything look great.
“I'm nervous,” I reply honestly.
“Me too,” she tells me. She takes my hand and we start are walk into the stadium while the orchestra plays the theme from Aida.
It seems so surreal. I can't believe I'm graduating high school right now.
After the speeches from a selected student, the valedictorian, and the Senior Class president—the long, grueling speeches about things that I don't even care about—we finally get to walk.
The first row goes—the student council president and the senior class president reading off the names—then it's our turn.
I follow Jamie up the ramp, holding her hand while we wait. “Jamie Demetria Kalivas,” the student class president reads. I watch her shake the hand of the principal and smile for a picture just as the senior class president reads another name. Then I hear, “Josephine Elizabeth Archembault,” and applause erupts around me.
The orchestra is applauding, my family is up on their feet, and I see Zephyr cheering like a madman. I shake hands with the principal and smile for a picture. I’m pretty sure I blinked through it but I don’t care. I’m a high school graduate. Well, after I turn my tassel.
We sit through the rest of the ceremony and more speeches from faculty.
“Will you please stand?” Principal Grady motions us with his hands and we all stand as a group. He places his hand on his tassel—as do we—and he moves it from right to left—as do we. “I now present the class of 2014.”
Those seated in front of the principal—all of us—throw our caps in the air. Mine soars from my hand and lands on Jamie’s head. At least it wasn’t a corner. I laugh as we file out and join the families as they walk away from the stands. The rest of the evening is spent taking pictures, writing in yearbooks, hugging people, and I start crying as I stand in a picture with Harley and Kennie. I always pictured us, at this precise moment, standing in red gowns, Kennie holding flowers from her parents, Harley’s dad looming over us with a sad smile, but none of that is happening because I’m the only one graduating right now.
“Next year,” Harley makes me promise.
“Next year,” I tell her but I’m not so sure I believe it. I’d like to believe I’ll see their graduation, I’d like to believe my problem will be resolved, that everything will miraculously fix itself, but somewhere in my heart, I know that’s only a dream. A nice, lovely dream.
Finally, everything ends, the seniors who want to go venture on to Grad Night, and I find myself with Zephyr on the way home. Or to his house
. Hilary and I are leaving in the morning. She convinced Patrick to go with us. I really don’t believe it took that much to convince him. I have no problem with that at all, I just wish that Zephyr were going, too.
“Congratulations on graduating, Miss Josephine Elizabeth Archembault,” Zephyr whispers against my ear as he leads me into his room. “I am so proud of you, proud that I get to call you my girlfriend and the love of my life.”
“I love you, too, Zephyr,” I reply, wrapping my arms around his neck.
I can't leave him tomorrow, I can't leave this place, it's my home. Everything about it is my home.
“One day, things won't be like this,” he tells me, swaying me back and forth. He has to be right. One day, my father will be behind bars again and I will be free to live a normal life. A life where it’s just me and Zephyr. “And do you know what I also think?” he asks.
“No, what do you think?” I ask.
“That I might actually cry when you say yes.”
“Say yes to what?” I ask, confused.
“When I ask you to marry me, of course.”
“Zephyr, that'll be years away,” I start. “You can't be—”
“What? Serious?” he asks, grabbing my hand and placing it on his chest. “Do you feel that? It's my heartbeat. It's speeding and racing and it only does that when I’m with you. I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait for that man to go back behind bars, I’ll wait for you to graduate college, I’ll wait for you to get your PhD, I will wait for you if you decide to become an astronaut and head out to Mars. I’ll wait for you through the ice age, I’ll wait—”
I cut him off with my lips, pulling him close to me. “Then bring tissues when you do it,” I tell him. I lean my head on his shoulder, feathering his neck with kisses.
“You are the most beautiful girl that I have ever seen, Joey.”
“Make love to me,” I blurt out, unexpectedly.
“What?” He asks loudly.
“Or have sex with me,” giggling into his shoulder. “Whichever you prefer.”
He leans back, staring me in the eyes I think, I can't see his in the dark that well. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack,” I whisper.
“We don't have to, just because you're leaving doesn't mean—”
“I know it doesn't mean anything, but I don't want to wait for this, Zephyr.” I lead him back toward his bed. “I want you and I want this. As sure as you are you want me to be your wife one day, I’m sure that I want to do this right now.” Because I love you. I love you so much, Zephyr, it aches when you’re gone.”
His shocked expression eases to happy before his hands rest on my hips and pull me close to him, pressing his lips so gently to mine, you’d think I didn't ask to have sex with him... or for him to make love to me.
“Well, how can I turn that down?” he asks against my lips.
I lean against his bed, scooting back until my back hits the headboard.
“Well, you’re a bit too far, Jo.” He grabs my hips and pulls me back to him, straddling his lap, placing my hands on his shoulders to steady myself.
“I love it when you call me Jo,” I tell him as his lips attack my neck. He slides the straps of my dress down my arms. His touch is light and gentle against my skin. He treats and handles me delicately and preciously.
“I love that you let me call you Jo,” he says with his lips pressed against my neck.
His hands slide up my bare thighs and he pulls me closer. I want to be closer; I want to feel every part of him. I glide my hands up his chest under his shirt, tugging the fabric away from him, and thread my fingers together behind his neck, pulling his lips to mine, attacking his lips in a kiss that might be our last. I never want it to stop.
He tastes like cinnamon, so delicious. His skin feels so soft, so good against mine that I’m distracted. I don’t notice when he unzips my dress, I don’t notice when he leans back against the bed, and I don’t notice when rips open a plastic wrapper.
How could I forget about condoms?
I reach down to unzip his jeans, helping him out of them. He helps me from my dress, tossing it to the floor, and leans away to look at me. I want to cover myself, I want to hide the scars that cover my body, but he doesn’t seem disgusted. He looks happy to see them.
Zephyr traces one of the longer scars with his finger before he leans down to press his lips against it. The immediate contact of his lips against my skin sends a shock through my body, one that radiates to my trembling core, one I want to feel again and again until I’m screaming in ecstatic joy.
He trails kisses up my body, up my neck, before finding my lips again.
“I love you,” I tell him for the thousandth time.
“I love you,” he tells me.
The window across the alley illuminates, shining a light into Zephyr’s darkened room.
“What the hell?” I ask, pushing Zephyr back. “Who’s in my room?” I ask aloud.
twenty-two
“Could it be Aunt Hil?” Zephyr asks, sitting up to get a better look with me. My room should be dark and empty. I mean, I’m over here. Hilary wouldn’t go into my room, she never does unless I’m in there myself. Neither would Patrick. Something isn’t right.
I don't see Aunt Hil. I see a man. Tall with broad shoulders and a leather jacket. That isn't Patrick. His back is to the window as he leans forward, looking to something on the floor.
Then it hits me.
Oh, shit.
“Oh my God,” I blurt. I tug on my dress and bolt from Zephyr's room, Zephyr right behind me as I burst into my house. “Aunt—” Zephyr's hand clamps over my mouth, stopping me before I scream her name.
“Don't make a sound,” he whispers in my ear. “We don't know who’s here.” He doesn’t but I do.
I nod anyway. I might be wrong.
We take a few steps into the house, looking around the living room. A shoe pokes out from the kitchen, a large black Converse sneaker attached to a leg.
“Patrick,” I say as I see him. The front of his face is covered in blood and bruises. I drop to my knees to check the pulse on his neck. As I press my fingers against his neck, he groans in pain. His pulse is light but he’s still alive. “Zephyr, call the police, now,” I demand as I stand up and head toward the stairs.
Slowly, I walk up the stairs, not sure about what I'll see. I just keep praying that my aunt will be okay. She needs to be okay. She’s all I have left. Nothing can happen to her.
We should have left when we were told. I was stupid. All I thought about was myself and what I wanted—my graduation and more time with Zephyr. I should have thought of Hilary, I should have thought of Patrick. This—whatever’s happened—is my fault.
I can only blame myself.
The light’s on in my room at the end of the hall. Slowly, I walk toward my door, preparing myself for what I’m about to find, kicking it open.
Hilary is lying on the floor in a tangled heap.
“AUNT HIL,” I scream, rushing to her side and falling to my knees. I grab her hands, her sweatshirt, anything I can touch to search for life, and smooth the bloodied hair from her face. “Aunt Hil?” I ask quietly. Despite the blood, she looks peaceful, as if she were already dead. But she can’t be. She just can’t. She’s warm to the touch.
I look down, seeing the rise and fall of her chest. I can’t help the joy swelling through me with the knowledge that she’s alive. All she needs is help and Zephyr’s making the call.
“Josie?”
My blood runs cold as the fear creeps in, all remnants of joy quickly washed from my trembling body. I wanted to be wrong but I knew it.
I shouldn't look, but I do. Slowly turning, I spot the man of my nightmares sitting on the edge of my bed looking over us hungrily.
Benjamin.
He looks different from my dreams. His blue eyes are faded and slightly gray, his smile isn't loving, in fact, his mouth is twisted in a horrifying snarl you’d expect on a cartoon character—m
aybe a Disney villain. His hair is longer and his skin is darker. He’s not my father—he’s only a scary man standing in my room, a man created by nightmares.
“What are you doing here?” I say through clenched teeth.
Benjamin shrugs. “I wanted to see my daughter,” he tells me, taking a step forward.
“You’ve seen me, now go.”
“It’s not that easy, baby girl”—I wish he wouldn’t call me that—“we’re going to be together now, just like we’ve always wanted.” We? “I’ve got it all planned out, we can—”
“No, no plans,” I interrupt. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“I saw you singing.” Benjamin ignores me. “You’re so beautiful and your voice is so lovely. Come on, sing daddy a song.”
In Hilary's hand is a kitchen knife from the woodblock by the stove. I grab it and hold it out in front of me. “I am not afraid to hurt you,” I tell him, watching the blade in my hand shake. I can’t control.
Benjamin laughs. “The way you’re holding that knife says otherwise.
“I’m not afraid of you!” I say louder, trying to believe it myself.
“Honey—”
“Don't call me that.”
“Josie.”
“Don't call me that, either. My name is Joey.”
“No, it's not. Your name is Josie,” he demands of me. “I don't know why I let your mother name you Josephine. It’s such a stupid name for a little girl. It’s not beautiful, like you.”
“STOP TALKING!” I yell. “Just leave. Leave me alone! Stop writing me letters like I give a shit about you. I don't care about you. Do you hear me? You mean nothing to me.”
He takes another step forward, his snarl turning to a malicious grin.
I hold the knife higher, prepared to plunge it deep within his heart. “I will stab you,” I threaten. “I don’t care.”
“Oh, Josie, baby, didn't they ever teach you not to bring a knife,” he pulls a gun from behind him, “to a gun fight.” My face falls as he points the gun at me. “Now, I'm going to tell you this once, and only once, put the knife down or I’ll shoot Hilary in the head.” He clicks back the safety. “I'll count to three, baby girl.”
