Chapter 12
“I’ve lived too long with pain. I won’t know who I am without it.”- Orson Scott, Ender’s Game
“I think the fool who came up with ‘you should always be yourself’ never met you,” I jest and chuckle quietly at my joke.
“Well thanks, I’ll go inside and untie the noose,” he laughs. “You’re a real joy today aren't you?” Bentley quips as he sits down next to me. I smirk and roll my eyes at him.
“And here I was thinking I was always a joy to be around.” At that Bentley roars, a full on deep belly laugh and for the first time in what feels like forever, I laugh too. A real laugh. It feels...good.
“So I take it you got over being mad at me,” he says once he’s recovered.
“Nope, still pissed. At Brock too, actually.”
“That’s a shame. We’re only concerned about you. It’s good, right? To have people who care?” he offers.
“Not always. No,” I answer hesitantly.
“Okay. You still owe me a talk. Out with it,” he says, completely changing the subject on me.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I answer.
“Oh I beg to differ. You moved in. Threw up in the dirt. Refused to let me help you when you clearly needed it. Ran yourself ragged, almost drank yourself dumb and somehow climbed out of whatever hole you were living in. We build this sad little friendship over the course of a year - mostly because I force you to start trusting me to just be near you - and then one comment from me sends you tail-spinning out of control and back into that hole. Talk.” Damn. He really pays more attention to me than I’ve ever given him credit for. I stare at him blankly, wondering how I missed his interest in my life.
“If you’re going to keep talking, I’ll start singing ‘Ninety-nine Bottles’...loudly.” I chirp sarcastically.
“Honestly, I’d rather stick my dick in a blender, Mags, I’ve heard you sing.”
“Well that would solve a few problems, yeah?” I whip back at him.
“You’re trying to distract me. TALK,” he pushes. I stare at the ground for a while in silence. He waits though, making it clear that he’s not leaving until I give him something.
"I see the pain you shoulder, Mags. It's in your eyes. Your actions give it away. I think you're dealing with some seriously bad shit. I can see the emotion in your eyes, regret, or sadness, maybe both. Your guilt is tangible, Mags. It's all there if someone's willing to notice." Bentley's words slice through me like a hot knife. I never thought I was fooling the world but his admission, that he's invested the time to notice me, makes me feel something. It stirs emotion in my chest. Affection, maybe? No, it’s something more. Need. Want. I want to be noticed. I want to be special…again. Maybe it's time I let someone in finally, just a little. Just enough to take the loneliness away until I leave.
“When I manage to forget what happened, when there are no mirrors and no people that remind me, when someone makes me laugh or smile, really smile...in those moments, I have hope. Aster...Aster says that I, um...it’s those moments that make the pain bearable. Those moments happen, but they're fleeting. And then I remember everything and...and I'm filled with so much rage. It's like I want to set the whole world on fire,” I say softly. I have no idea where that all came from but my mouth betrayed my head. He watches me for a moment, his face giving nothing away, and I wonder if he has secrets of his own. He doesn't seem to care that I’m damaged.
“Who’s Aster?” he finally asks.
“My cousin,” I answer.
“Well get out, the loner has family,” he winks. I hate it when he winks.
“Had,” I smirk at his attempt to keep things light.
“Well it sounds like you still have her.”
“I do, in a small way. We talk on the phone a couple times a week but it’s not like before.” I shrug.
“Well what happened?” he pushes.
“I can’t.” I shake my head at him and will him to shut up. This has gone far enough. I hear a faint buzzing sound coming from his pants. “Uh, your balls are vibrating,” I deadpan. His face is a mix of shock and amusement as he reaches in his pocket and pulls out his phone.
“Are you trying to seduce me?” he chuckles before looking at the screen.
“Why? Are you seducible?” He flips the screen up and reads the message waiting for him. His eyes cloud over and his face gets serious.
“I have to go,” he clips.
“Okay, well that wasn’t awkward,” I blurt.
“Sorry, Mags. Duty calls.”
“So are you, like Special Ops? What were you, Seals? Rangers?”
“Officially, I'm only allowed to say that I'm a sworn officer participating in certain missions that would make most men want to crawl up and hide inside their own assholes.”
“And unofficially?” I cock my head to the side and give him a look.
“Still not allowed to say,” he smirks and takes off around the corner. Moments later I hear his truck speeding down the dirt road towards the main highway. Well that wasn’t terrible. I actually shared feelings with someone other than myself. It almost felt cathartic. I get up and stretch before heading in for the night. I have a busy week of working every. Single. Bloody. Day.
Ezra meandered into the back yard, a beer in one hand, eyeing everyone wearily. His eyes slowed at Cane manning the grill and stopped when they landed on me. A strange look passed across his face but before I could figure out what it was, it’s gone, replaced by a fake smile. “Time to go, Cypress,” Ezra barked out at me sitting at the picnic table.
“Let the pretty little tart stay,” Mike sneered at him, and sat down next to me, a little too close. Cane’s head whipped around to check on the situation. I felt out of place. I shouldn't be here. Why would Cane bring me? This was no cookout, this was some meeting that I was clearly intruding on. Cane looked nervous and pissed simultaneously. It made my stomach twist.
“I'm not talking to you,” Ezra clipped.
“I’m not talking to you,” Mike mimicked. Ezra’s hand moved at the speed of light and connected with Mike’s nose, sending his head snapping back with a crack. Red mist sprayed from his face. Someone was screaming and it wasn’t until Cane’s arms came around me that I realized it was me.
“Shhh, baby girl…” he soothed into my ear. “Let’s get you out of here.” He released his grip on me and took my hand before tugging on it gently to get my feet moving.
“You go near her again, I'll kill you. You understand me?” Ezra ground out. “She’s an Ash.” Mike’s face was ashen and bloody. I don't understand why Ezra hit him, why he flew off the handle. I’d never seen someone get punched before. Not really. Not intentionally. My feet stumbled over the lumpy yard as Cane dragged me with him towards the street.
“Go home, Mags, it’s not safe here.” He looked ashamed and sad as he spoke.
“I...I don't want to be alone right now, Cane. That...that scared me.” My voice wobbled as I spoke. He kissed my forehead and pulled me into a tight hug. “I’m sorry. I should have never brought you here,” he lamented before opening my car door for me and putting me in it. “I’ll stop over in an hour, Mags, wait up for me.” He kissed me deeply before shutting the door and walking back to the cookout.
What the hell was that all about? My brain went a mile a minute the entire half-hour drive back home. Who were all those sketchy men and why the hell did Ezra fly off the handle like that? I knew they’re family but Cane is nothing like that, not that I’ve seen. Why would he choose to surround himself with those people who are so clearly not like him?
Cane had immediately moved out after graduation into his own place. When I got to Cane’s I poured myself a glass of water and as I chugged it I noticed little red dots splattered across my forearm. In a panic I ran to the bathroom, stripped off my shirt and scrubbed my arm raw. The sight of that man’s blood on my arm had made me feel queasy. I never was good with blood. I took my shirt and tossed it in the trashcan; even if I could get the blood out I doubt I’d ever be able to wear the shirt again. I pulled on one of Cane’s white undershirts and plopped down on the couch before texting him letting him know that I was at his place, not my parents’ house. My parents were out of town this weekend so I would have been home alone-but I’d rather be at Cane’s apartment. It’s comforting to me and smells like him. After an hour with no response to my text I started to get nervous. I texted him again to remind him to go to his place in case he forgot and went back to watching a cheesy movie on AMC.
The front door had blown open an hour later with such a bang that I squealed and leapt off the couch. Cane looked furious as he charged me. He had a black eye and his bottom lip was swollen. I didn't know if I should be scared or glad that he was okay.
“Cane!” I called out before he reached me. His face softened at my voice and when we collided he scooped me up, forcing me to wrap my legs around his waist and held on tight. “I love you, Mags. I love you so damned much,” he said into my mouth as he kissed me. “I love you too, Cane,” I told him honestly. He fell back onto the couch with me still wrapped around him so that I was straddling his lap and he took my face in his hands. “I’ll never let them near you again,” he said while searching my eyes for something.
“I’m okay. I, uh, had to throw my shirt away, but I’m alright,” I answered.
“No,” he clipped firmly. “No, Mags, it wasn't alright. You’re too good to ever be exposed to that trash.”
“Cane, that trash is your uncle, I mean, I don’t get why you hang around with the rest of them but I understand family is family,” I answered softly.
“Yeah. Well, if he hadn't raised me I’m not so sure my dad would have wanted us around each other,” he returned cryptically.
“Why would you say that?” I asked and snuggled my head into his chest.
“Mags, he’s into bad stuff...I guess I am too. It’s the family business.”
“Please, Cane, please come to school with me. You can get student loans and take graphic design courses,” I pleaded.
“Mags, I’d never get in. Plus, Ezra needs me to stick around and help him out.”
“With what?” I ask. “When are you going to tell me what really happens at the gym, Cane?” He pushed his fingers through his hair and let his head loll back to the cushion.
“Please don't start this again, Mags. It’s better you don’t know, I promise,” his pleading oozing frustration at my never-ending curiosity.
“Just tell me. Damn it, Cane! I want to be a part of your life, not an escape from it!” I cried, and jumped off his lap before pacing the room. He was staring at me, wide-eyed. I rarely shouted and I cussed even less frequently. I knew I’d shocked him but I was all set with his mystery home life. I fell to my knees between his legs and took his hands in mine. “Please, just tell me. I’d never betray your trust, Cane, you must know that by now.” He eyed me warily but then surprised me by talking.
“Ezra’s a...I help him move guns. The money is good, and our risk is pretty small since we just pick them up and drop them where we’re told.” He finished and squeezed my hands tighter. My mind whirled.
“A gunrunner?” I squeaked. “Like on ‘Sons of Anarchy?’” His face morphed into disbelief at my response and he chuckled.
“Kinda? But a little more shady than they make it look.” I blew out a deep breath and let the idea of my boyfriend being a gunrunner roll through my brain. “Is this what you want to do, Cane?” I asked finally.
“No. You know that. But you’re the only one who knows that,” he returned pointedly.
“How do we get you out then?” I asked hesitantly.
“It won't be overnight, baby girl, if I’m going to get out alive. I need a damned good exit strategy, but if it makes you happy I’ll tell Ez that I need a good cover because of you, and cut back on my involvement. Maybe I’ll even take a class or two to make it look good,” he finished thoughtfully.
“Sounds like a good start,” I said, crawling back into his lap and resting my head on his chest. “I love you, Cane. You’re not like them and I don’t want you to be.” He kissed the crown of my head before grabbing the clicker and changing the station to ESPN. “I’ll replace your shirt, Magnolia,” he whispered into my ear.
“I don’t want a new shirt. I just want you. Promise me you’ll get out,” I whispered back. His arms squeezed around me tightly and he sighed. “Okay. For you, okay. I’ll figure it out.”
I wake with a jolt, the memory of him coursing through me. But I don’t cry anymore. I let the feeling, the memory of him, come. I use it now. I aim the pain at the one responsible for it. I use it to drive and guide me. All I am now is a remainder piece, a left over bit that you carry over into the next column, or more accurately, the next life. I close my eyes and inhale deeply before pushing out of bed. I need a release. I need a night out or something. I check the monitors as I lazily lounge in my bed and see that nothing’s amiss in the vicinity of my trailer. I close my eyes and reach for the pistol under the opposite pillow. Sliding it out I hold it, letting the weight of it settle in my palm. I grip it tightly and turn it over, staring at it. It will come to this one day. I will have this gun in my hand and pull the trigger. I carry the burden alone. I’ve been carrying it for so long that I don't see myself anymore. I only see the end move. I suck in a deep breath before tossing the gun on the bed beside me. Peeling back the covers, I get up and head to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
Swinging the door open, I notice an envelope drift to the ground at the bottom of the steps. Panic sweeps through me instantly. I set my coffee on the edge of the bottom step and squat to pick up the envelope. No name, just blank. I sweep my gaze over the areas nearest to me before planting my rear on the bottom step next to the coffee mug. I lift the unsealed flap on the envelope and peer in. A gift certificate? I pull it out and read the small sticky note attached to it.
Maybe a good massage will help you get over your fear of contact. – Bentley
I groan and look at the certificate. An hour-long massage, courtesy of Bentley. The man just doesn’t quit. I haven’t indulged in any spa-type treatment in well over a year. To be honest the thought behind it is touching and I do miss having a good pamper day, but I’m not sure I can tolerate someone’s hands on me. I finish my coffee, pondering whether or not I can use the gift.
After a long hot shower and a call to Aster to check in on how her first post-college job is going, and getting my ear chewed out about still not seeing her, I head out at three o’clock for my shift at work. As I slide the key into the lock while juggling my purse I notice another sticky note. What now? I pick it off the windshield and read.
Your appt. is at noon tomorrow BTW.
Well isn't he clever. I yank the key from the door and toss my purse and the note inside before sliding into the driver’s seat. Honestly, it’s as if he knows my next move before I even decide what it is. I pull out my personal phone and shoot him a quick text thanking him for the kind gift and that maybe I’ll go tomorrow. Almost instantly he responds saying No woman turns down a massage - is that your secret? I snort, and toss my phone into my bag without replying. What a shithead. I’m not sure how I allowed him into my life, but he’s weaseled his way in and quite frankly I’m tired of fighting him.
The music blares a steady, fast beat. The bass thumps in the floorboards of Mack’s. I shimmy and slide between clusters of people with my tray high in the air. My three-inch heels are already rubbing my feet the wrong way but such is life. Tips are good tonight. Brock and I hang on our breaks together and make fun of patrons. He’s cheery tonight and I think it has something to do with a new girl he wants to date. I’ve seen her a few times meandering around the gym. She’s fit and pretty in an athletic way and she’s always staring at Brock.
“I dunno…” he crows.
“For crying out loud, just ask, the worst that happens is she says no!” I counter.
“Yeah, but no ego is better than a bruised ego,” he rumbles. I look up to his face and watch his eyes crinkle at the edges as I start to laugh at him.
“As if, Brock! Since when do YOU have no ego?” I snort, still laughing.
“Girl, sometimes I wish I didn’t give a shit about you and your sass mouth,” he chuckles.
“Uh, huh. You love it.” I smile and push away from the wall where we people-watch.
“ASK HER,” I push.
He shakes his head at me and crosses his arms over his chest as I head back out to take more orders.
My shift drags on despite it being a busy night and by the time we close all I want to do is go home, jump in bed and dream about being able to tolerate a massage. Someone giving me a good foot-rub truly never sounded better. Maybe I was ready…maybe I could do this. It’s just one small step, really.
I sling my purse strap over my chest diagonally and push through the back exit, my keys in one hand and my other hand on the pistol tucked inside my bag. The fresh air, albeit cold, is refreshing after being inside the club. I breathe it in deeply before scanning the parking lot. Clear. I approach the car like I always do, carefully. I’m sure I’m insane for being so careful. Something rests on the hood of my car. I can’t quite make it out from this distance, though. I continue towards the land yacht slowly, hyperaware of every sound and sight around me: the gust of wind that whips the lock against the backdoor of the club, the slap of my shoes against the asphalt, the way the light flickers in the one lamp lighting the parking lot.
When I reach the car I lose my breath altogether. I stare at the branch on the hood and will myself not to lose it. A cypress branch rests delicately near the windshield. Of all the things that could cause me to come unglued, this, this is beyond anything I imagined. My chest is tight and I fight my throat to swallow. Cypress trees are not native to Arkansas. I know this. It did not fall from a tree and land on my car. This is intentional. This is just the beginning. A warning perhaps? But why? I’ve been found, obviously. I scan the parking lot and crouch down to look under the car. Nothing. My breathing is short puffs of air that don’t feel like they bring any oxygen to my lungs. I steel myself and remove the branch from my hood. Dropping it on the black asphalt, I unlock my door and slide in, quickly shutting the door and locking myself in. I take the safety off and let the gun rest in my lap. My mouth is dry, so dry. I start the car up with no problem and pull out of the lot. Nothing. The drive home is uneventful, but my senses are in overdrive. I pull into my dirt patch parking strip and push the button on my phone to make the flood lights come on. Everything looks as it should. If this is some kind of mind game, it’s pure torture. My fear is palpable, yet part of me, a small sliver, thinks it was stupid for Ezra to give me a heads up. I am not the person I was a year ago. I’ve been training. I’ve been focused and I’ve been preparing for the day when he comes for me. He just gave me a small advantage.