Break Through

by Amber Garza

  He motioned me inside.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out Kurt’s face. Only he was still there. Smiling that big ass smile of his.

  I slid into the seat, closing the door behind me. Rain pelted the window. Heat blew through the vents, warming my icy hands.

  “You warm enough?” He asked kindly. Too kindly.

  I should have known.

  “Aspen?” Carter’s hand nimbly lighted on my shoulder. “You okay?”

  I shook my head. No, I wasn’t okay. And I was beginning to think I never would be. “I-I- I can’t do this,” I spoke under my breath.

  “It’s alright. We don’t have to go to my house,” he said. “Here. Take my hand.”

  I forced my eyes open, my gaze flickering to the hand he extended. He nodded as I tentatively reached for it with my own trembling hand. It was taking a lot of effort to breathe normally, but I was working at it. When his fingers folded over mine, his skin was soft and warm. His grasp was steady.

  “C’mon. I’ll help you back to the house.” He held firmly to my hand as we began to walk forward.

  The further we got from his car, the more composed I felt. “I-I’m sorry,” I murmured, feeling like an idiot. There was no way this guy was ever coming back. I was a nut-job, plain and simple.

  “Its fine, Aspen. You don’t need to apologize.” He guided me up the stairs. They moaned beneath our feet, reminding me of a child’s wail. When we reached the porch, he released my hand. I let it fall to my side, feeling cold and empty. I missed his touch, missed the way his hand encased mine with strength and assurance.

  Glancing over Carter’s shoulder, my gaze swept over his car parked in the gravel driveway that wound out toward the road. Then beyond that I caught sight of the top of our neighbor’s red barn. I’d never met the man who lived in that house, but my mom said he was a writer. Apparently he lived with his girlfriend, but they rarely left their property. I liked knowing that there were other people like me. People who preferred to stay close to home. It made me feel a little less crazy. Besides, I liked that our closest neighbors kept to themselves. It made it easier to come out here knowing I wouldn’t be hounded by people.

  My parents chose Red Blossom because it was a small, tight-knit community. I think they felt like I would be safer in a town where people looked out for each other. The problem with tight-knit communities is that word travels fast. Our first month of living here people showed up every day with pies and casseroles in the guise of wanting to welcome us to town. What they really wanted was my story. Specifically how it happened. That was the part of my story people found comfort in. The fact that I went willingly. I wasn’t taken from my room in the dead of night, or snatched from some predator hiding in the bushes. No, it was my mistake that sealed my fate, and it made people believe their children were safer because of it.

  But it didn’t always happen like that. Sometimes kids were snatched from their beds. I know, because that’s what happened to Eve.

  “Another time, okay?” Carter said, bringing my attention back to him.

  “Yeah. Another time.” I lowered my gaze, staring hard at my feet. My insides twisted, knowing there’d never be another time. I’d screwed up. Ruined my one chance for a normal day, a normal relationship. Carter was handsome and successful. He could probably have any girl he wanted, so why would he choose to waste his time with a twenty-three-year old who acted like a scared child?

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  I nodded, lifting my head and trying to appear braver than I felt.

  For a long moment he stared at me as if trying to gauge if I was telling the truth. Then he buried one hand deep into the pocket of the jeans he was wearing. “Good.” He smiled. “I should go. I’ll see you later.”

  When he turned around, my heart sank. “Yeah, I’ll see you later,” I muttered, knowing the words were nothing but lies. Feeling like a failure, I watched him hop back into his car. The roar of the engine sounded like goodbye.

  “Aspen?” Mom appeared in the doorway, her forehead a mess of squiggly lines. “Why is Carter leaving without you?”

  I glanced up at the gravel driveway, at the dust Carter’s tires were kicking up. It blew and swirled in the sky like clouds of smoke.

  Shrugging, I turned around. “Changed my mind.”

  Mom nodded, understanding in her eyes. That was the thing about Mom and Dad. They may have gotten on my nerves at times, but I knew they understood me in a way no one else ever would. Our shared pain had bonded us, woven the three of us together in an unbreakable way.

  I didn’t expect him to come back. Not ever. I assumed my mental breakdown in the driveway had scared him off. So when he showed up just a few hours after he had left, I was shocked. I hovered in the doorway of my home like a butterfly hovers a flower. He was definitely like a flower – bright, colorful and gorgeous. Only I didn’t feel like a butterfly. No, I felt more like a caterpillar, all clunky, slimy and awkward.

  “What are you doing here?” I leaned against the doorframe, the cold from the air conditioning at my back, the warmth of the sun on my face.

  “I brought you pictures.” He patted the bag he held in his hand. “Can I come in?”

  My heart skipped a beat, and I moved away from the doorway to allow him entry. “Pictures of me?” I asked as he stepped past me.

  “You’ll see.”

  I swiftly closed the door and ushered him into the family room. Anticipation filled me as we both sat down on the couch. Mom passed by, looking in on us curiously. A part of me wanted to motion her over, invite her in to look at the pictures. But a larger part wanted to see the pictures for myself first. I never thought I’d be excited to see photographs of myself, but I wanted to see how Carter saw me. Also, it was nice to be alone with him. I may have been scared to go with him this morning, but here in my house I felt safe. I certainly didn’t need Mom to chaperone us.

  Carter set his bag on the floor and then reached inside. He pulled out a stack of pictures and then spread them out over the coffee table. I gasped as my gaze scoured over the bright, glossy pictures. Leaning forward, I plucked one up and held it between my fingers.

  “An azalea.” I traced the petals with my fingertips. “But it’s dying.” My eyes met his. “Yours?”

  He nodded. “I figured I could bring my flowers to you. Not physically, but in a form that makes sense to me.” Glancing down at the pictures, his lips tugged at the edges. “Flowers are your thing. Photography is mine.”

  I stilled, realizing that these pictures were more than what they originally seemed. These were a gift. Carter was sharing a part of himself with me. I swallowed hard, staring at the images - the flowers Carter had captured so beautifully and intricately. Silence surrounded us as I formulated the right words to respond with. Finally I turned to him.

  “It’s like they have a soul. You made them come to life.”

  It’s clear that my answer pleased him with the grin he flashed me. “Wait until you see the pictures of you.” He leaned close, reaching his hand up. I inhaled sharply as his fingers lit on my chin. His skin was smooth, his touch was tender. “I know you think he stole your light, but trust me, he didn’t. It’s there in your eyes. Sometimes you hide it, but it’s there when you’re vulnerable. In the brief moments when you let your guard down.”

  Moisture pricked at my eyes. How had he read me so well in such a short period of time? His hand dropped, his fingers abandoning my face. I sat back, exhaling.

  Carter cleared his throat. “So, is there any hope for them?”

  I bit my lip and nodded. “They’re not as bad as you said.”

  “Really? What about this one?” He scooped up one of the photographs and thrust it in my direction.

  A tiny laugh bubbled from my throat. “Okay, you got me. That one is pretty sad. I’m not even sure what kind of plant it was. But I don’t think there’s any hope for it.”

  “Ah, now don’t say that. I like to believe there is always hope.
” A teasing smile played on his lips, but his eyes held a serious look. The double meaning caused a shiver to run up my spine.

  “There is a slight chance we can revive it, but it’s going to take a lot of effort and patience. It won’t be easy.” Our gazes collided, and I fought to keep my breathing even.

  “Fair enough.” His gaze never wavered from mine. “I’m willing. I have a feeling it will be worth the wait.”

  SEVEN

  I awoke to the sound of laughter. Child’s laughter. A foreign sound. One I hadn’t heard in so long. I uncurled myself from the fetal position I had assumed on the floor and looked around. My heart sank upon realizing I was still trapped. In my dream I had been outside running around in the grass, the reeds tickling the tender flesh of my bare feet. If only I could somehow escape into my dreams. If only that were possible.

  Honing in on the sound, I realized it was coming from outside. Hoisting myself up, I grabbed onto the bars of the window and tried to peek out. Only the window was a little too high. I jumped up and down but couldn’t see anything except for the blue of the sky, a puff of a cloud. The noises came closer. Footsteps on pavement, chatting, laughing, the squeal of children. My heart ached. I jumped again, but it was no use. I couldn’t see anything. The window was too high. The noises were right under me now. I reached up as high as I could, stretching my arms above my head. The window was slightly open, and a breeze spilled inside brushing over my skin. I sighed, relishing it. I carefully slipped one of my hands through the bars and waved it in the air. Perhaps the people below would see me. One of the voices sounded like a girl around my age. It made me miss my best friend Katie. I wondered what she was doing right now. What time was it? Was she at school? I paused, realizing I didn’t even know what day of the week it was.

  “What are you doing?” Kurt’s voice rang out in the room like a clap of thunder. Over my shoulder I saw him slam the door shut and move toward me.

  I flinched, pulling my hand back. When I did, my wrist slammed into the bar, and pain shot up my arm.

  He grabbed me by my other arm, violently pulling me away from the window. His hands clamped down on both shoulders. “Were you trying to get someone’s attention?”

  “N-no,” I whispered, tears filling my eyes. My gaze shifted to the floor so I didn’t have to look directly into his face. But I could still feel his eyes on mine, still smell his putrid scent. And his hands burned where they touched me as if his handprints were branding my flesh.

  He glared at me and stood back up. Shoving past me he headed to the window. My heart picked up speed as he looked through it. Sliding his arm through the bars, he closed the window. The slam reverberated through my entire body. “I’m keeping it locked from now on.” His voice was hard, final.

  I shuddered as he stalked past me. When he left the room, I turned around to face the window. I stood perfectly still listening. Desperately trying to hear something. Anything.

  “Hello,” I whispered into the empty room.

  But only silence responded.

  It was pretty quiet on our property. Rarely did cars pass by. We were in the middle of nowhere surrounded by open fields of golden, brittle grass. But I’d always liked it. I didn’t desire attention from others. I didn’t want noise and chaos. However, now I found my ears perked, longing for the sound of tires on gravel. I was desperate for the slam of a car door and footsteps on the front porch signaling Carter’s arrival.

  He had called earlier saying he’d be by and that he had good news for me. It was crazy how the sound of his voice made me feel. It was scary how much I anticipated his arrival.

  “It looks like we’ll be working together,” he told me minutes after coming over.

  We were sitting on the back porch sipping iced tea. I tucked my feet up under my body, a little embarrassed at how dirty they were. Carter leaned back in the Adirondack chair, his khaki pants rustling with the movement. Sunglasses covered his eyes, and his tousled hair fell right above them across his forehead.

  “So no more Neil?”

  “No more Neil.” He shook his head, his lips curving in a smile.

  My shoulders relaxed, and I exhaled.

  “You’re relieved?”

  “Very,” I answered.

  When he turned toward me, my own reflection stared back through his dark lenses. Uncomfortable, I glanced down at the cup of iced tea in my lap.

  “What is your biggest fear?” He asked.

  “In life?” I ran my fingers over the condensation on my glass, drawing a swirly pattern. As a child, I loved to draw. One Christmas my parents bought me a huge kit filled with paper, crayons, markers and colored pencils. I had every color imaginable in that kit. I would spend hours drawing pictures and coloring in my coloring books. Mom used to tape them up all over the fridge as if our kitchen was a shrine to my art; my own personal art museum. She used to tell me I would grow up to be a famous artist. But Kurt never let me have crayons or pens. All I had was a few dolls and stuffed animals. That was it. No books, no paper, nothing to draw with. Sometimes I would draw on the carpet with my fingertips, little hearts or balloons in the thick reeds. When I returned Mom tried to get me interested in art again, but it was futile. I felt like that was part of who I used to be; a girl I didn’t even know anymore. Still sometimes I found myself doodling as if that little girl inside was trying to get out.

  “No,” he clarified. “About this article.”

  “Oh.” I puckered my lips, thinking. The answer was simple, but I didn’t want to share it. That he’ll find me again. That he’ll come out of hiding and come looking for me. I knew it would make me sound stupid. I was an adult. There was no way he could hurt me now. So I kept my thoughts to myself and went with my second fear. “Reliving everything, I guess. I mean, it is one thing to think about it, but another to have to vocalize it; to remember all the details.”

  “Then you won’t have to.”

  “What?” How could we do an article if I didn’t share the details?

  “You can share whatever you feel comfortable sharing. I don’t need to know all the details. Most of them I can get from newspaper articles from the time you were taken and when you escaped.”

  “Really?” I had never thought it could be so simple.

  “The first day I met you I promised to make this as painless as possible, and I never go back on my word.” He winked. “I do hope you’ll let me take some more pictures though. We got some good shots, but I’d still like a few more.”

  I nodded. “Of course.” Bringing the tea to my lips, I took a sip. The sweet, cold liquid swam down my throat. A gentle breeze blew over my face, carrying with it a floral scent.

  “Do you have any siblings?” Carter set his iced tea on the porch, the ice cubes clinking against the side of the glass.

  “No.” I shook my head. “I was sort of a miracle baby. Years before I was conceived Mom had been told she couldn’t have children. She was devastated and planned to adopt one day. But then by some miracle she got pregnant with me. I think I was pretty spoiled because of it.” A small laugh escaped. “What about you? Are you an only child?”

  His eyes darkened, and I immediately regretted the question. “Yeah.” It was odd the way he responded to this, almost like he was unsure of the answer. “But I’m not the one being interviewed here.” Even though he attempted a nonchalant laugh, it came out strained.

  I watched him for a moment, wondering what he was hiding before saying, “Well, then interview away.”

  Carter chewed on his bottom lip, and I found my gaze lingering on his mouth. I’d never been kissed. In fact, I’d never wanted to be kissed. But I wondered what it would be like to kiss Carter. The idea caused my stomach to flip flop. “What is your favorite thing about being free?”

  “Wow, no one’s ever asked me that before. Usually reporters want to know the details of my time in captivity. Not the details of now.”

  “I believe that’s why you hired me. For my unconventional methods.”


  “Yeah, I guess so. But it’s hard to answer that question because I don’t really know if I’m free. Not really. Sure, physically I am, but mentally it’s like I’m still that girl locked in that room. Those five years he had me, I fantasized about one day escaping and no longer having to be scared or look over my shoulder. But I still am scared.” I pressed my lips together, staring out at the yard. “And I hardly ever leave this place. So in a sense I’m still kind of a prisoner. The biggest difference is that I can leave if I want to.” Pausing, I tried to make sense of my thoughts so I didn’t keep rambling. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that he may have only held me captive for five years, but in some ways I feel like he stole my entire life.”

  I was momentarily startled when Carter’s hand rested over mine. “I’m sorry, Aspen.” The concern in his voice almost broke me, but I swallowed back the emotion. His flesh felt good against mine, and I savored it. We sat like that for a few minutes in silence before Carter spoke again, his hand still over mine. “What can you do to steal it back?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can’t let him have the rest of your life, Aspen. So what will it take for you to claim it as your own?”

  No one had ever asked me that before, and the question stopped me cold. “I don’t know.”

  A bird flew through the sky, landing on the telephone wires lining the backyard. The warm breeze rustled the flowers, emitting their sweet fragrance into the air. I set my iced tea down. It was nearly empty now.

  Carter slipped his hand off of mine and tapped his chin. “What would have been different if he hadn’t taken you?”

  “Everything,” I answered immediately.

  “Be more specific. Like what are some things you missed out on?”

  I nodded, seeing where he was going with this. A tiny bead of sweat trickled down my forehead, and I wiped it off. It was hot today. I was grateful for the shade of the porch. “A lot of things. I missed out on field trips and playing with friends. You know, water fights, riding bikes, playing sports. Sometimes I could hear kids playing outside the window and I would wish so hard I could be outside with them.” I shook my head, the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach returning. “I missed many years of school. I missed school rallies, football games, prom.”