Willing Captive (26 page)

My life is flawed.
My job is hard. The wages are small. But I love it.

I
am finally
living
.

I miss the days when
things were simple.

Too much has
happened. There are so many things that my mind will not let me
forget. Constant reminders of the past few months haunt me.

My heart palpitates.
I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe deeply. My therapist gave me
breathing exercises and it surprised the shit out of me that they
actually work.

In, two, three,
four.

Out, two, three,
four.

In, two, three,
four.

My heart rate slows,
and I take in a deep breath. I hold it for another four seconds,
then exhale and go back to what I was doing.

Taking the box closest to me, I hand it to Terah with a smirk.
She and Jon moved in together. Location unknown because of his
hottie commando badassness. But I’m happy for her. And she made it
clear that all I needed to do for her to come around was
call.

So I called. And
here she is.

“
God, I hate moving. It sucks hairy balls,” she mutters, then
quickly adds, “But it’s so exciting! The both of us out of Mom and
Dad’s house, and actually doing things.” She pauses a moment.
“Dad’s probably going to sell the mansion.”

He should. That
house is more trouble than it’s worth. And to think he got it only
for security. I chuckle to myself, thinking about how quickly Nox
got in.

My heart sinks. Then
palpitates. Hard.

I can almost feel it
beating out of my chest.

Holy shit, will this
ever get easier?

The bridge of my
nose stings. I quickly start my breathing exercises. Terah, never
one to miss anything, rubs my back. “Nice and deep, kid. I got
you.”

And she does.
Totally.

Terah has been my
rock in this miserable time.

My heart returns to
normal pace, and I check my watch. “You better go. Jon will be
waiting on you.”

When she doesn’t
reply, I look up at her clearly concerned face. She says with false
excitement, “I was thinking I could stay here tonight. We can do a
sleepover! Watch movies and eat popcorn. What do you think?”

Bless her. I love
this woman. I really do.

But I know what she’s doing. So I lie right back to her.
Stretching, I say cautiously, “Oh, honey. I’m sorry, I’d love to,
but I am beat. As in
beat
. So I
think I might just have a quiet one tonight. Besides, I have the
morning shift at work tomorrow.”

Lies. Lies. All
lies.

But this is the game
we play of late.

Her face falls. And
it actually looks genuine. Placing a hand on her shoulder, I
squeeze. “Terah, I’m fine. Go home to your man. What are you doing
tonight?”

She smiles dreamily,
“It’s date night. We’re going to dinner, then out for a drink.
Maybe some ice-cream or something.” She shrugs like it’s no big
deal. But I know better.

Walking over to her,
I open my arms, and she steps into my hug. “That’s great. I bet he
spoils you.”

She chuckles into my
hair. “He does. He’s the best.”

We leave it at that.
Anymore talk about happy relationships turns my mood to shit.

Seeing her to the
door, I wave her off, and halfway down the hall, she yells out,
“We’re such shitty liars. We totally need lessons!”

And I burst into
laughter, loving that we do this every single time.

My sister is the
best.

Making my way back
inside, I pause at the fridge, and peek inside.

Hmmm.

Think I’m going to
need a little more than a box of bi-carbonate soda for dinner.

Time to go to the
store.

***

Exiting my local
store, I carry my bag full of groceries. And seriously! How
expensive are groceries? Yeesh! I almost swooned when the checkout
lady gave me my total.

Balancing the full,
brown paper bag on my thigh, I rearrange myself, then walk on. But
the sight of something familiar stops me.

My heart skips a
beat.

I see him.

His back is to me.
He’s walking away from me.

No.

I don’t think. I
just run.

My bag of groceries
weighs me down. I throw it to the side and keep running.

No matter how fast I
go, I can’t seem to catch up with him.

My hands shake and
my eyes blur. I must look like a crazy person running through the
street sobbing. Wiping my watery eyes with my sleeve, I look
again.

He’s gone.

“
Fuck!” My heart pounds and blood roars in my ears. I keep
running. Through gasping and shuddering breaths, I mutter “No,”
over and over again.

I search and search
but there’s no sign of him. He’s gone. I kneel in the center of the
sidewalk. My body slumps forward, I cover my face with my hands,
and let go.

Crying in
frustration.

Crying for my
loss.

Arms come around my
body. I’m lifted into a strong, warm bear-hug. A deep voice
whispers reassuring words that I can’t hear. Or just don’t want
to.

I look up into warm,
brown eyes. I croak, “What the fuck, Rock?”

His eyes become sad,
and he quietly says, “Lovely Lily.” He looks around and states, “I
shouldn’t be here.”

Gripping his shirt,
I ask in desperation, “Is he dead? As in, really dead?”

Rock doesn’t answer
for a long moment. Using his thumb, he wipes away my tears and
tucks my hair behind my ear. His face is clear. It answers for
me.

My heart breaks a
little more.

Rock whispers, “He’s
gone, sweetie.”

I still can’t accept
it. “How do you know? Did they find him?”

He shakes his head.
“They found bone fragments matching his in the rubble.”

My lip trembles, but
I simply nod. He holds me tightly and silently. Wordlessly, we
mourn together. Pulling away from him, I ask softly, “When can I
see you again?”

Rock’s face plummets
further.

I dip my chin, cover
my eyes with one shaking hand, and cry harder. My heart is breaking
even more. I’m losing them. All of them.

My first love.

My first real
friends.

All the people I
love and care about.

I lift my face to
his and choke out, “Why?”

A
single tear escapes Rock as he explains, “Because we don’t exist,
babe. You can’t have imaginary friends.”

We stare into one
another’s eyes. Rock begins to walk backwards.

Hyperventilating, I
put a hand to my heart. I feel it crack a little more with every
step he takes away from me. When he gets far enough away, he yells
out, “You’ll never be alone, Lily.” He kisses his fingertips and
places them on his heart. “I’ll always be watching.” Rock smiles a
watery smile, and attempts to wink that cheeky wink of his, then he
turns and walks out of my life.

Again.

Chapter
Twenty-Two
The
best place to be

Lily

If you could go back
in time, what would you change?

I would change a lot
about the life I was living.

I would stand up to
my father. I would talk more openly to my mother. I would make
friends. I would tell my sister how much I appreciate her love and
support. Every. Single. Day.

I would be more
outgoing and less passive. I would stand up for myself, and fight
for my right to live the way I wanted to. I would take the reins on
my life.

I
would be brave.

It has been six
months since the explosion. Six months since Nox was killed. Since
he was taken from me.

You know that saying ‘time heals all
wounds’? Time seems to be working against
me for unknown reasons, because my wounds are still raw, gaping,
and tender. But no one can see them. My heart and head are no
longer separate entities. They are joined. And they work together
to bully me. They both tell me the same thing.

Move on.

Tears fill my eyes,
and I pick thin strands of dewy grass. Rolling them between my
fingers, it’s a wonder I can feel the wetness on my fingertips. I
don’t feel a thing anymore.

I’m numb. To my very
core.

I haven’t seen my
father in months. We talk on occasion, but a lot has changed. It’s
not that I blame him for the position my family was put in, but I
need space. I don’t really want to see anyone. I speak to Mom and
Terah almost every day, but I haven’t seen Mom since I left the
mansion.

My father begged me
to come home, but now that the threat of being killed has been
eliminated, I just want to be on my own.

I’m not a child. I’m
a grownup, dammit.

There is a
difference between living and existing. And mine was a dull
existence.

No more.

But there is one
dull and morbid thing I still like to do, and according to my
therapist, it’s helping me a lot.

The cemetery seems
to be a good place to go to mourn. I sit and watch other people
visit the headstones of their loved ones. They must feel some form
of connection, knowing they are close by.

Some chat. Some
laugh. Some cry. Some remain silent.

I have nothing.

Nox…he was never
found. I have no headstone to mourn at. People who don’t exist
don’t get funerals or graves.

I read somewhere
that some people are meant to fall in love but not be together.
Anger surges through me. That’s just not fair. The bridge of my
nose tingles and my eyes blur. I squeeze them shut and try to
swallow past the lump in my throat.

I would give
anything to see him again. Even for a moment.

I would tell him I
love him once more. I would kiss his full lips again. I would put
my heart and soul into our last meeting together.

If
I had the ability to go back in time, I would
not
have left him. I wish I’d gone back for him and
made him to come with me.

If I’d begged hard
enough, would he have gone with me? Could I have saved his life
somehow?

The uncertainty of
what his answer might’ve been haunts me every day of my life.

So, here I sit, on a
bench, under a tree in the middle of my local graveyard. I come
every Sunday. I bring my eReader and I spend most of the day here.
It does something to me. It makes me feel serene and respectful. I
know I’m unlike the people who come to visit the graves of their
loved ones, but I’m no longer a religious person, and if there were
any place I could come to grieve, it would be a cemetery,
right?

Mourning isn’t easy.
The pain of grief doesn’t go away. You just find a place for it.
Store it away somewhere only you have access to.

There are different stages of pain, all of which hurt like a
hell. Mourning someone you love, though, is agony. I just wish the
pain wasn’t so sharp and stabby.

Losing Nox has
brought me so much clarity. I feel so ashamed that it took the loss
of his life to make me see things I should’ve seen, what feels like
a lifetime ago. He lifted the thick fog that was surrounding me,
and sent it away.

Always protecting
me, even in death.

I read somewhere
that if you’re going through Hell, keep going. It’s the only way
past it.

You have to face
your pain, your guilt, and your sorrow. But when the strong hands
of grief capture you, it is overwhelming, and completely
devastating.

I fear I’ll never
get past the stage of Hell I’m in.

The only way past
grief is to grieve. It’s the high price you pay for a love so
sweet.

I don’t think I’m
ready to move on just yet.

Last Sunday, I was
sitting at my regular bench, when I felt someone’s eyes on me. For
a second, a note of panic went through me. I pretended to keep
reading. A minute passed, and although I still felt eyes on me, the
panic faded to nothing. Taking a chance, I looked up right in time
to see Rock and Boo walk away from me. Boo’s back shook in what I’m
sure were silent sobs, and Rock wrapped his arm around her waist.
His hand came up to wipe at his own fallen tears. And somehow this
made me feel content. A watery smile spread across my face and I
stood, taking two small steps closer to them. When they reached the
black SUV I’d travelled in many times during my stay at the safe
house, they turned to face me. Holding my eReader to my chest, I
lifted my free hand slightly, and extended my fingers in a
motionless farewell.

Rock smiled, lifted his hand to his mouth, kissed his
forefinger and middle finger and placed them over his heart. Boo
smiled a shaky smile, and mouthed
love you
. Then I watched as they drove away.

So, of course, today
I’ve been sneaking peeks all over the place, but sadly, they
haven’t come.

I’m not very social,
still. I’ve made a few friends at work. People around my age-group
with similar interests, but I’m not forcing myself to get out there
just yet. I’m comfortable in my loneliness.

There is one girl
I’ve formed a bond with. Her name is Hailey and she’s a lot like
Boo.

Badass with a hint
of lady.

The second I spotted
her at work, I knew she’d be a good friend to me. Hailey is my age,
with dark hair, dark makeup, a petite body, and a great attitude. I
call her Goth-chic.

She’s the only
person who knows how I spend my Sundays. She told me if I needed
her to come with, that she would. I explained it was something I
like to do on my own. For a second, I thought about keeping my
mouth shut and letting her come, but the new independent part of me
opted against it. I was seriously surprised when she shot me a
smile and replied, “Alrighty then, babe. You just let me know if
you need me to come, and I’ll be there.”