A
fter a while, you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul.
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't always mean security.
And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises and you begin to accept your defeats with your head up
And your eyes ahead with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.
And you learn to build all your roads on today because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.
After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul. Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure that you really are strong and you really do have worth.
And you learn and you learn.
With every goodbye, you learn.
-- Comes the Dawn by Veronica A. Shoffstall-----
I hitch my heavy backpack onto my shoulder as I hit the crash bar and the door swings open. A blast of frigid air creeps in through the tight weave of my pink angora sweater and I shiver. I am not looking forward to walking the three miles home in this biting wind. I do not have a car and my mother will be at school by now while my father is undoubtedly still at work. My only other hope for a ride, my best friend Megan, left long ago after I told her I would be working late on the costumes for the next show.
As I hurry along, I fervently wish I had brought a coat. The thought of a coat triggers my memory in ways the wind did not. I stop suddenly, still shivering. I did bring a coat. I wore my new letter jacket this morning. How could I have forgotten it? I was the one the had wanted the silly thing so badly, even though the best I could do for a letter was one from orchestra. Don't get me wrong, it is a perfectly good letter for talented people but I have never been talented in my life. Sixteen probably won't seem very long to you who have lived beyond it, but it is all I know. I hate it when my mother tries to tell me "how it is" because she doesn't understand "how it is" for me. In fact, she doesn't really understand me at all. She thinks she knows everything because she has been through it. Sometimes she is right, but that usually feels worse than anything to me. She thinks I have so much going for me and cannot understand why I am not happy. I think she would have me in to see a shrink if it didn't mean she might have to face up to the fact that she did some irreparable harm when I was a child.
The bottom line though is that I am a fraud. And that is what bothers me about wearing my jacket now. I am certain that people will look at me and know instantly that my letter is not for sports. I don't know why that matters, but it does. I would think it would make more of a difference if I were a boy - then I could be crushed that I wasn't a football or basketball star. Maybe I was a boy in another life and that is why it bothers me so much I grip the door handle and jerk viciously on it, my thoughts still centred around my talents or lack thereof, but the door will not open. Great, just what I need. Another gust of wind blows my long brown hair across my face, tangling it into knots. Stymied, cold and frustrated, I feel tears pricking my eyes. Then I see one of the doors propped slightly open. Relief courses through me and I pull it open, stepping into the dimly lit hallway. Every second light down the hallway sandwiched by the gymnasium and the theatre is off, creating pools of light followed by long stretches of darkness I walk quickly to the stage door, fumbling with my keys. I am surprised to find it propped slightly open as well. The set up here makes me suddenly uneasy, but I shake the sensation away, reasoning I will only be here long enough to snag my jacket. I am convinced that is what victims always say to themselves, before they get whacked over the head and dragged off, never to be seen again. Sad to say, I don't take my own advice. I dash across the barely lit stage, dimly aware that some of the lights I extinguished when I left are now burning I unlock the chain link door leading to the costume bridge and bound up the steps two at a time. I do not need any more lights to see my jacket hanging on the handrail. I snatch it up and fold it over my arm, turning to descend. That's when I hear it.
Soft laughter drifts in through the open stage door. I pause on the stairs, waiting to see who will enter "Are you sure this is okay?" A soft, sultry female voice giggles. "Trust me. No one ever comes here after hours," A low, familiar, liquid honey male voice assures her. What is he doing here this late I wonder? Then wince at the stupid question. I slowly sink down on the step face flushed and hot, deafened by the shattering of my dreams. Oh God. Surely God will not be so cruel as to make me listen to them do THAT, I think, agonized. Just get up, I tell myself. Make a lot of noise and clamor down the steps so they are sure to be dressed when you get there and leave. But it is too late. I hear the soft rustle of clothing as he starts to undress her. Gently, I put my hands over my ears and press tightly. I can't stand this, I think wildly. I just can't. God, how can he do this I have been in love with Spencer for a long time? So long I can hardly remember when I first knew it. Probably I fell in love with him the night I stayed over with my friend Beth and he kissed me. He and his friend Aaron were spending the night at Aaron's house and Aaron's mother wouldn't let the boys out to play. So Aaron talked with Beth at one window and I talked to Spencer at another window. It was summer and dark and so mysterious. He leaned out the window as we talked and kissed me. He kept kissing me and I wasn't sure what to do. It wasn't until he started sliding his hand up my side that I panicked and backed up. Maybe that was it, maybe not. It didn't really matter because he had not looked twice at me since that night. He had even turned me down flat when I came directly to him and threw myself at his feet. He was sweet and lovely and polite but it was still a rejection and I had not gotten over it yet. All I can think now is that he was desperate before. Now that he is in high school, he has a broader selection of girls to choose from and I just don't measure up.
I rest my forehead on my knees hands still pressed to my ears, dimly aware of tears dripping off my cheeks. I hear my mother's voice in my head telling me that the sun will shine and the wind will blow and you will forget all about it, but I won't. No! Not this time. I uncover my ears from time to time, nauseated by the sounds of wet flesh slapping together and periodic moans of pleasure. I can think of nothing but what the two bodies below look like, naked and writhing together in a primitive, pagan act. I wish I could run the times tables in my head or a list of American Presidents or conjugate French verbs, but I can't at last, they finish. Her shriek penetrates even my plugged ears and I wince in response. I do not know what happens next. Someone must have come in or perhaps they heard something. I hear muffled curses as they try to untangle clothing and get dressed. They whisper good byes or love words or something and the light snaps off. I am left alone in total darkness. I wipe the tears from my cheeks and take a deep breath before standing up.
I gingerly feel my way down the dark steps, locking the costume bridge by feel. I do not know my way across the stage in the dark right now so I make my way to the back wall and use it as a guide. I am halfway there when he grabs me from behind, one sinewy arm slung across my throat the other wrapped around my waist. His hand traps my scream in my mouth. I struggle against him, but my unwieldy backpack limits my efforts "Who are you?" Spencer demands roughly. I sag against him in relief. I am still furious with him, but at least I know I am not dealing with a lunatic. "You know me?" He asks, reading my actions correctly. I nod, the motion exaggerated and nip his finger gently with my teeth. He moves his hand away from my mouth "It's me." He is silent for a long moment. I wonder what he is doing then realize with burning shame, he doesn't know me by voice. Again tears well up in my eyes and I am grateful for the darkness. I bite them back savagely, unwilling to let him know what I am feeling. "Sabine MacKenzie." I clarify tightly. "If you would let me go, I need to get home "What were you doing here?" He asks, still holding me although much more loosely. "Why didn't you say something?" "I was working on the next show and I forgot my coat. By the time I figured out what was going on, it was too late to say anything." I explain, my cheeks flaming. "You were already occupied "Oh." There is an odd note in his voice, one that I do not care to contemplate too deeply. The nature of his touch has changed in some indefinable way and I am uncomfortable and desperate to get away. "About what happened, "I certainly am not going to tell anyone," I cut him off dryly. "I would have to admit to being present. Do you really think I want to do that?" His chest is pressed against my back and I feel the rumble of his laughter as it rises. I close my eyes, praying for deliverance. I want to be out of here, to be anywhere else but here.
"Please let go of me," I say softly. I feel the hesitation tremble through his forearm and then I am free. Placing one hand on the curtain lining the back wall to guide me, I walk toward where I know the door should be. "You really shouldn't be here after hours," He calls after me. "It isn't safe for a young girl to be out alone." I can hardly believe I am hearing those words come out of his mouth. "Thanks for the advice, big bad wolf," I mutter. I hear a rustle and he is right next to me again, his hot breath damp against my neck. He catches my arm, half turning me toward him and runs his fingers, whisper soft, over my cheek. "I'm serious. Don't forget it." My breath hitches a little at the feel of his fingers on my face and I nod. Then cool air caresses my cheek and he is gone.
I lean back against the door, activating the crash bar with one hip. I hate him. The thought consumes me. Who does he think he is to talk to me like that? I haven't needed help making decisions in some time. At least he has cured me of my infatuation, I realize with a grim smile. Between bopping Miss Prom Queen and giving me orders like a military general, I think I am done mooning over Spencer. I stalk down the hall, hoping my burning fury will keep me warm as I walk home.
I am halfway to the outer doors when I hear a soft snuffling sound, almost like a dog rooting in the leaves. My heart lurching, I miss my step. I don't pause to investigate, but continue walking as if I hear nothing. Suddenly, something grabs my ankles, jerking me off my feet. I crash onto my front, breaking my fall with my elbows. A scream lodges in my throat as I scrabble helplessly on the slick tiled floor. It is dragging me back into a dark alcove. Panicked, I kick violently, hearing a whoosh as I connect with something soft and vulnerable. The pressure on my ankles tightens and I know that in a second my bones will be mush.
"Actarn! Waremal coushar unctan!" Spencer calls from so far away. Relief makes me feel weak to my bones until I understand that he will never be able to reach me in time to save me. The strange words he speaks do not penetrate my consciousness immediately. Not until the grip on my ankles loosens. Astonished, I scramble away from the darkness and the thing lurking there.
"Montawi aturnar eshenta." Spencer continues, much closer now. "Are you all right?" He asks, genuine concern coloring his voice. "Y..es." I stammer. "What was that thing?" "I told you to get out of here, now go. And make sure you don't come back until morning." Spencer says briskly without answering my question. I stare up at his dark form looming over me, astonished. "By all means, your lordship," spit sarcastically, pushing myself up on my elbows. "Would you like to meet my pet personally?" He counters in a subtly dangerous voice. My eyes are drawn involuntarily to the darkness that is deeper than the shadows surrounding me and I shiver. "No, of course not." I scramble to my feet and sling my backpack over my shoulder. The heft reminds me I have a French test in the morning, an English paper due and biology homework. The significance of these assignments suddenly seems negligible although God knows I do not want to hang around here any longer.
I head toward the door warily, keeping half my attention on Spencer's motionless form. I have nearly reached the doors when he speaks again. "Do you have a ride home?" Dread hits the pit of my stomach as heavy as molten lead. "No. I have to walk." He swears and speaks softly to the thing in the shadows, then strides purposefully toward me. "You can't walk, not tonight. I guess I'll have to drive you." He digs in his pocket for the keys to his bright red Mustang convertible. I would argue under ordinary circumstances. Ordinary being that there was not a strange, hungry thing living in my high school. I was not in any mood to argue now. If Spencer thought there was good reason for me to not be on the streets tonight, tonight I would swallow my pride and allow him to escort me home.
I shiver in spite of the warm wool jacket I am now wearing. Spencer unlocks the passenger door and pulls it open with a savage jerk, sweeping an arm toward the seat in a mocking gesture. I look at him coldly and toss my backpack between the front bucket seats to rest on the floor in back. The plush beige velour seat wraps around me like a hug as I settle miserably down to wait for my front door to appear. He stalks around the car, lean and panther like in the fading light. A little shiver runs through my stomach and I hate myself for still being susceptible after all I know about him. Avoiding any possible eye contact with him, I lean my forehead against the cool window, feeling sad and sorry for myself, and wince at the sound of the gears grinding. He spins the red sports car out into the parking lot, tyres screeching. At the mouth of the parking lot, his fingers drum impatiently on the steering while we wait for the street to clear and I feel his gaze shift to rest on me like a physical touch.
"So what are you angry about?" He finally asks, his voice sullen and belligerent. I stifle my hot response. "You're the one who "He breaks off with a vivid curse and accelerates onto the street. "This isn't about last spring, is it?" I close my eyes in sheer mortification. God, I had truly hoped he had forgotten about that. "No, it isn't about last spring," I reply in a low voice, shrivelling inside. "I just want to get home." He is silent for several moments then casts me another sidelong glance. "It wasn't anything personal, you know." "No, I don't know, and I don't really want to know. Turn left here." I can make it through this, I chant silently. Only a little longer and I never have to see him again. Hell, I might even transfer high schools. "Fifth house on the left." He pulls the car to a smooth stop in front of my dark house. No one is home yet, as I suspected. I fumble my keys out and reach for the door handle, a polite thank you on my lips. Spencer reaches across me and grabs the door to keep it shut.
"It wasn't ever about you," He says softly, his husky voice flowing over and into me like molten caramel. His lean, sinewy forearm radiates heat onto my body where he touches me and I can scarcely breathe through the shivery tingles sliding up and down my body. I close my eyes, praying for control. Drawing a shaky breath, I steady myself and exhale a bitter little laugh. "How could it not be? It was a pretty personal thing." My words drop like stones swallowed by powdery snow and I feel like I am suffocating under a heavy wool blanket. With a soft curse, I shove against his arm and wrench the door open. Surprised by the force and movement, his grip is broken. I almost make it away. I reach back to yank my backpack from the floor and his fingers close around my wrist. A sob rises in my throat as I pull futilely against his iron grasp. "Please let me go," I whisper, letting my hair fall over my shoulders to shield my face from his sharp gaze. "Sabine..." He says softly, helplessly. "Wait let me try to explain."
I shake my head violently. "I don't want your explanations. I don't want anything from you. Just let me go," I beg. He sighs and tugs gently on my arm. It is enough to pull me off balance and I tumble down to the seat, desperation clawing up my throat. Then he releases my wrist. Immediately I push myself toward the door but he hooks his arm around my waist and pulls me back against him. Panic tears loose and I twist and arch and throw myself against his grip. He says something, but I am so far gone I can't hear anything. Tears flow down my face, sobs rip from my chest. He gives up trying to communicate with me and hauls me across the seat cradling me in his lap. He catches my wrists in one hand as I flail wildly trying to connect with flesh. He rocks me gently, whispering soft things in my ear and strokes my hair with his other hand. Finally, I subside into faint hiccupping sobs and twist my wrists free from his grip. I settle into his embrace, turning my face to his chest and pressing my hand to his heart. "Oh, Cher," He whispers gently, resting his cheek on my hair. "I am sorry. So sorry."
His proximity is rapidly becoming uncomfortable for me. My body is softening, warming. I badly want to arch into him, to kiss him. I start to push away from him, but his grip tightens on me, pulling me closer. I shake my head, feeling panic rising again. "Spencer, don't. Just let me go." My voice is brisk and measured now with no hint of the turmoil swirling inside me. His laugh rumbles quietly in his chest. He smells delicious, clean and musky with a hint of sweat. My fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt. His fingers slide through my hair and along my jaw, gently urging my face toward his. This is such a bad idea. I know this is a bad idea but I can't help myself. I lift my face to him, my eyes falling closed as he feathers his lips across mine.
Oh God it is more wonderful than I ever imagined. Heat spirals through me and I arch my body into him. He groans deep in his throat, his fingers digging into my hip as he hauls me closer. I am suddenly cognizant of the hard bulge in his jeans pressing into me. The knowledge that I affect him this way, that I have the power to transform his body like this makes me weak. A low groan rumbles in his chest as his fingers slide under my sweater, his palms flattening over my back. I can't seem to get close enough. I am on fire, aching, needing... his hand is curving up my side towards my heavy throbbing breasts when a plaintive howl slices between us. Spencer pulls away as if dashed with a bucket of cold water. I am bereft by the sudden loss of his warmth but I come to my sense with a snap. Oh God. Bad idea? Yes. I slide off his lap without a word, gather my things and get out of the car.
"Sabine, about that, " He begins, awkward. "Please don't say anything," I say softly. "Just don't. Thank you for the ride." Before he can say another word, I slam the door and turn toward the house. I walk up the sidewalk without hurrying, something that requires a great deal of effort. I reach the front door, fumble with my keys and enter without waving him off. I hear the motor rev and the tires squeal as he races out of the driveway and is gone.
I do not let the sigh of relief escape me until I hear a soft click as the door closes behind me. I lean against the cool wood to steady myself as reaction from the day's events sets in. I walk to the kitchen on shaky legs and reheat the micro meal my mother left for me. I eat in great gulps without tasting the meatloaf, green beans, cottage cheese and noodles, my sole goal to finish eating and be in my room before any of the other occupants of the house arrive. I cannot imagine trying to talk to my parents tonight. I toss my backpack on my desk, briefly thinking of the assignments I have due in the morning. Again, that seems to be the least of my worries right now. Without turning on the lights, I strip my clothes, and wad them into a ball that I throw into the corner. I may never wear them again. I slip on a soft pair of dark grey, lightweight sweat pants and a matching crop top and settle onto the window seat with a brush. I tear the brush savagely through my hair, feeling heat still burning in my cheeks. Embarrassment? Desire? Anger? I have no idea what I am feeling any more. How could he have screwed whoever that cheerleader-bimbo-prom queen was and turned around not twenty minutes later and kissed me until my toes curled?
I throw the brush across the room and rest my cheek on my knees, staring out into the black night with tears burning in my eyes. No, it isn't fair. I suck in a deep breath and glance over at my bulging backpack. So much to do and I don't think I will be able to concentrate on any of it. Of course, I've gotten this far without doing much in the way of homework, so why should I start now? I'm a good student; don't get me wrong. I've been on the Dean's List far more often than not, but I learned how to put in the minimum effort possible a long time ago. So my average is an A-... big deal. School really is nothing more than the 'establishment's' attempt at indoctrinating the youth of the world, right? I pass a hand over my face. Oh yeah, right. Jesus, what is wrong with me tonight? The 'establishment'?
A high, mournful howl wails in the wind raising every hair on the back of my neck and brings me back around to face the dark window. I shiver convulsively, remembering what Spencer said about staying inside tonight. No worries there, I think, although not because he ordered me to stay in. The thought prompts me to wonder what the hell grabbed my ankle at school tonight, a seriously grim creature, no question there. Evidently, Spencer is tangled up in something weird and I flush hotter realizing I didn't even have the presence of mind to demand answers from him. Once I got into an actual conversation with him, not to mention a confined space, I lost my mind, like a stupid groupie for God's sake. It was so unlike me, but everything I thought of as me seemed to disappear in his presence. Surely I hadn't imagined the thing, had I? No! Not a chance. If I had imagined it, then why did Spencer order me to stay inside? I tug up the leg of my sweat pants and examine my ankle in the dim light from the street lamp. Ugly purple and black bruises have bloomed on the skin like a weird sort of bracelet, nope, didn't imagine a thing. So what is it? Or do I really want to know?
It's nearly nine thirty and both of my parents will be home soon. Much as I love them, I still don't want to talk to anyone but I haven't decided whether I will feign studying or sleep. A flash of headlights at the mouth of the street sweeps across the dark lawns and I'm guessing it's mom because she's fairly predictable I never know when dad will be home from the hospital. Comes with the territory, he always says and I guess I can be grateful he didn't get into upper management until I was in high school. I make my decision unconsciously as the car turns into our driveway and I find myself flying toward the bed. I lay on my back staring up at the dim patterns on the pristine white canopy, trying to decide if I really did see a human shaped figure outlined in the glare of the car lights. I shudder again, feeling creeped out and silly. Mom knocks on my door and calls to me. "Sabine? Are you home?" I muster my best I've-been-asleep-for-an-hour-leave-me-alone-please voice. "Yeah, Mom. I'm here." "Are you asleep? " She asks, obviously startled. "Mmmm, yeah. Got to be up early..." "Oh. Well...good night then." My door clicks closed softly and I breathe a sigh of relief. Guilt gnaws at my stomach because I could hear the disappointment in her voice, but I just can't talk tonight. I just can't.
I have a good relationship with my mother and we talk about lots of things, but...not this. I roll over onto my side, hugging a pillow tightly to my stomach and try to breath into the tightly wound, suffocating knot of pain living inside me. I expect to be awake for hours, but I'm not. I fall into an uneasy asleep within minutes and spend the rest of the night dreaming restlessly.
