I know exactly where the file is; on her desktop. I let the cursor hover over the icon only a moment before clicking. And then I dive in, my eyes finding the first line:
Once upon a time there was a girl. She had three friends…?*
When Aiden findsme two hours later, I’m curled up on my bedroom floor, snot and tears covering my face. My head is pounding from crying so hard; my body aches and protests the hard wood beneath me.
Aiden curses when he sees me, but he doesn’t say anything else. He simply leans down and lifts me, hefting me up until I’m bridal style in his arms. He smells like the woods and crisp, fresh air, and I press my face into his neck,breathing him in more deeply.
He carries me down the small stairs, around the corner, down the big stairs, and finally to his bedroom. There he sets me gently on his bed, propping pillows up behind me and spreading a large blanket over my legs. Then he hurries to the chest of drawers, opens thefourth drawer down, and digs around for a moment. I have just enough presence of mind to keep my eyes on him; this is the elusive fourth drawer, the one whose contents he won’t reveal. But now he pulls out three things: a packet of crackers, a protein bar, and a miniature piece of chocolate.
Food, I realize dazedly. He keeps food in there.
For…me?
My eyes flutter closed as a fresh wave of tears finds me, and I burrow back into the pillows. This blanket is so warm, and the bed is so soft, and there’s food nearby so I’m not going to starve.
Safe. I feel safe.
It’s the last thought that flutters across my mind before I drift off, finding sleep easily for once in my life.
* This was another point in the manuscript where I wanted to give up because keeping track of the story and writing everything felt so overwhelming. I remember this chapter especially was a struggle. It was here that I realized while I had plotted Juniper and Aiden’s part of the story, I had done no plotting for my culprit. I had to go back and do a lot of adjustment and outlining.
* Listen toAll Good Things (Come to an End)by Nelly Furtado here.
21
IN WHICH AIDEN ASKS FOR ADVICE
My heart hurts for the woman curled up asleep on my bed, and I didn’t know I had the kind of heart that could do that.
My heart aches for the hungry and the cold and the lost. It aches for the people I can help and the people I can’t. My aching heart is the catalyst behind most of my life’s actions.
But it’s never ached sopersonallybefore. It’s always been a detached sort of hurt, a hurt that I could walk away from at the end of the day and still manage to be okay.
This hurt, though, this pain…it isn’t just in my heart. It’s in the blood being pumped and oxidized and sent throughout my body, branching and spiraling and reaching to the furthest tips of my toes and fingers. This pain I’m feeling for her isn’t the kind of pain I can put into the top drawer of my desk when I’m done working for the day.
It is the kind of pain that ties itself to my ankle and follows me home, trailing behind as I drag. It is riding piggyback, its arms tightening around my neck.
That is this pain. It hurts because she hurts, and I want to make it better, and I can’t.
It’s just…her life has been so rough already. She doesn’t need this mess.
Usually I find my desk chair very comfortable, but right now there’s a weight on my shoulders that makes me squirm. That weight comes primarily from the laptop that’s sitting open on my desk, taunting me.
Whatever is in this document tore my roommate apart. And that’s the kind of knowledge that makes me hesitate. Some things are better left unknown.
But as my eyes drift to Juniper again, her face troubled even in sleep, her eyes still red, her nose still swollen, I make my decision.
I’m going to read it.
No, it’s not mine to read. But I don’t want to wake Juniper up, and I have a feeling that what’s in here relates to the things going on in Autumn Grove right now. So I’m going to ask forgiveness rather than permission if need be.
I debate for a second before unplugging the computer and moving to the bed. Juniper is lying on the right side, where I usually sleep, so I sit on the left side instead. It’s only a few feet removed from my normal position, but it feels wrong, a new world view I’ll never get used to. If I ever get married, that will have to be one of my wife’s characteristics.Man seeking woman. Must be well read. Must sleep on the left side of the bed.
I sigh, settling grudgingly into my spot. Is it colder over here? It feels colder than I usually feel on the right side. Is there a heat vent on the ceiling that I’m missing?
I’m being stupid. I admonish myself silently but firmly to cut out the whining, and then I return my focus to the laptop resting on my outstretched legs. I click the little magnifyingglass at the bottom of the page so that the size-twelve font shows up larger for my old man eyes—though I will tell no one—and then begin to read. It’s best, I think, just to get it over with rather than dragging it out.
And as my eyes trail over page after page of what appears to be a novel—unfinished, judging by the word count—one thing becomes crystal clear.
