“Harlen.” Cherry’s voice cracks, and she inhales deeply against my neck.
“Yeah?” I ask, curling a piece of waved hair behind her ear.
Cherry props her head up, her chin resting on the back of her hand at my chest when she notices the blood on my arm,and now, hers. Shakily, she glides her cool fingertips through the stream of warm crimson slowly,warily.Then she shivers, and I watch it move through her. Her skull erupts first, her shoulders following the powerful zap, eyes falling closed tightly.
Then it just passes…peacefully.
I bring my forefinger to the bridge of her nose and trace the slightly up-turned line before pushing my thumb to her lips and doing the same across her cupid's bow.
“You okay, baby?” I ask, my voice croaky.
She places a kiss on my thumb, then her eyes blink open. They’re watery. She looks to be on the cusp of crying, and before I can ask her again, she clears her throat. “Thank you for not fucking me like I’m broken.” Her voice comes out in a whisper. “Thank you for giving me hope.”
Goosebumps litter my skin, much the way they do hers, and I wrap my flexed biceps around her head, resting her back against my heaving, sweaty chest, placing a kiss to the top of her skull. “I got you, Cherry Bomb. I’ve fucking got you.”
My feet melt into the gray carpet when I slip out of Harlen’s bed, trying my best not to wake him. It’s still dark, the lights wrapped around the edges of the room dimmed, illuminating the large space in a blanket of subtle teal.
Snatching up my black lace panties, I slide them up my aching legs and drag Harlen’s discarded white t-shirt over my head. It drapes off my body like a dress, the sleeves long, just touching the bend in my elbows and the length sitting right below my ass. It smells just like him, and I inhale deeply, relishing the scent of leather, lime, and pine.
Padding my way down the hallway, I shiver, wrapping my arms around my shoulders when I notice that the walls are now empty. The taxidermy moths…gone.
They removed them.
A chill embeds itself into my bones, but it’s not a frightening one, it’s a moving one. One that feels so right, one that makes me feel important.They wanted me to feel safe.
I smile, clenching my phone tighter in my now clammy palm as I make my way down the wrought-iron stairs before hitting the landing and moving toward the kitchen. Pockets of coral, purples, and pinks splash across the sky, glowing through thelarge fold-out glass doors and highlighting the marble tiles that lay across the ground.
It’s one hell of a sight; it’s goddamn beautiful, what dreams are made of.
Ambling toward the back bench, I place both of my palms onto the gray marble and hike myself up until I’m on my knees and reaching into the cupboard above. Clasping the tin of English breakfast tea, I jump down and make quick work of filling the kettle and pouring out a large mug. I add two tea bags and a good couple of pours of soy milk before stirring, throwing the tea bags in the sink and cradling what I actually think is a soup mug in both hands.
Placing my lips to the edge, I blow gently over the hot liquid, watching it ripple with my breath as it heats my palms and I head outside. I avoid looking at the dark water of Chase’s black-tiled pool as I move across the artificial turf and onto the patio. I curl up beneath the fairy lights still illuminated above and onto a couch as comfortable as the bed I just crawled out of, sucking back the fresh, crisp morning air.
A clunk rings out in the quiet morning when I place my mug down on the table in front of me and swipe my thumb across the screen of my phone. I know it’s early, only seven in the morning, but he will answer.He always does.
Pushing the phone to my ear, I listen to the dial ring twice before his comforting voice comes down the line.
“How did it all go?”
I exhale sharply, then let out a laugh. “What a loaded question, Cay.”
Caleb chuckles quietly, and I can hear shuffling, blankets rustling on the other end. “How about we start with the most important question…”
“Mmhmm, and what might that be?” I ask, reaching forward and taking a sip of my tea.
“Are you happy?” he asks.
I close my eyes, letting the warm liquid soothe my tortured lungs, and for once I smile because my response to the question doesn’t feel like a facade, like something I’m trying to hide, or protect. I finally feel in my heart that this, how I’m feeling right now is my truth.
And I finally, fucking finally, get to live in my peace.
“Very,” I whisper.
I listen to him inhale, and when he speaks, I can hear his smile. It’s clear in the tone of his deep voice. “I’m so goddamn happy for you, B.”
“Thanks, Cay,” I reply.
Caleb doesn’t ask any more questions.
