Grace #3
I take a careful step back. As long as Cyrus is with me, he can’t hurt me.
Although our conversation this morning seemed to suggest that Cyrus thinks I’m the one who should solve our problem.
Chase is a deep, deadly chasm between us, one that cannot be bridged.
He wants me to kill him. He’s hoping that once I do, I’ll be normal.
But he has no idea that it’s myself I’m afraid of.
Because that chasm is calling to me, luring me closer. It wants me to leap into it.
Chase Baker is rotten to his core. And he corrupted me, too. He broke me into pieces, then stitched those pieces back together into someone who accepts him. He changed my outlook on life—it had once been too black and white.
“You look fucking amazing next to that bike.” Cyrus’s deep voice is like thunder, rattling the windows. I turn back to him and watch, blinking, as he pulls a black bandanna from the back pocket of his dark jeans and ties it on. He looks… stunning.
When I first met him, I could’ve sworn he was a bad guy. At this moment, I also feel he belongs much more to the bad than the good side.
He hops on the bike and starts it. Clumsily, I climb up behind him, wrap my arms around him, and stare straight into Chase’s eyes until we leave the street behind.
When we get back to Tom, I sink into the soft seat of the Pontiac. Riding a bike for the first time was a novel experience, and this eventful day has drained me.
We took Road 44, and after picking up dinner at Aby’s Diner, we drove to Draper Marina at Lake Stanley.
We chose a spot overlooking the water, arriving just in time to catch the sunset.
We strolled along the promenade with the other couples.
The blue-grey waves lapped at the rocky shore as twilight spilled a riot of color across the sky, and a gentle breeze pushed the sailboats across the darkening water.
The marina was quiet. Peaceful. Unlike my soul, where a storm was raging.
While I was sitting on the bike, I didn’t think about my past. I didn’t think about Chase.
More importantly, I felt free. But the moment I saw the young and old, the families scattered along the lakeshore, I wanted to throw myself into the water and sink to the bottom.
I squeezed Cyrus’s huge, sweaty palm as we walked toward an empty bench, greasy paper bags with food in our hands.
I wanted to silence the hunger in my heart.
I partly succeeded—the greasy, unhealthy food sat in my stomach like stones.
I was so full I no longer felt the urge to let go of Cyrus’s hand and run to meet my fate, my end.
To surrender to the eerie, seductive, endless dark whirlpool.
While I was eating, I didn’t take my eyes off the water.
I kept wondering what it truly feels like to be drowning.
Is it anything like when food refuses to go down because you’re fighting the urge to scream and cry at the same time, when your chest aches, when you can’t get enough oxygen into your bloodstream even though you’re breathing?
“You have to keep living,” the waves whispered to me.
I crushed the greasy paper bag in my fist angrily, threw it in the bin, then tore off the red bandanna.
I let the wind whip my hair into my face.
Neither of us moved. My heartbeat pounded like a war drum.
My mind recoiled from my darkest desire.
The moment stopped the flow of time. I was carving him into my memory, my heart burning with hatred.
Because Chase has always had this vile gift—looking into your eyes and seeing straight through you, uncovering your deepest desires when he looked at you.
His imposing figure stood in the twilight, legs slightly apart, hands shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie. He tilted his head back, but most of his face was hidden beneath the hood. I clenched my hands at my sides and pounded my thighs.
“I hate you!” I mouthed.
His lips curved into a tight, icy smile as he stepped closer, dragging the horrible truth with him. Step by step, he closed the distance. My emotions threatened to swallow me whole.
My wandering thoughts come back to the present.
“It’s gonna be at your place tomorrow,” Tom says to Cyrus, patting his shoulder in a friendly way.
Cyrus walks to me with a huge grin on his face. His smile warms my heart.
“I’m gonna miss you,” I mumble, half-asleep, while he sits in the driver’s seat. He gently rubs my leg just above my knee.
“I think this is the perfect opportunity.”
“For what?”
“For you to see that you can handle everyday life without me.”
I turn my head away and stare out of the window. Exhaustion dulls my senses. I don’t feel like analyzing the coming days, because I’ve learned that what’s meant to happen will happen. Even if I run to the end of the world to escape my fate.
We pack Cyrus’s things into a duffel bag.
Saying goodbye hurts. It hurts to watch him shift the car into reverse and roll down the driveway.
It hurts to see the acid-green Pontiac disappear at the crossroads.
I feel as if all eyes were on me. But this is just panic.
Nothing else. Pure imagination. But when I think about Nikky…
When Cyrus was here, I couldn’t let my emotions spill out. I buried them, shoved them down, because I’m afraid he’ll get fed up with me one day and lock me away in an asylum.
Dylan—our across-the-street neighbor—waves to me while trying to calm his huge dog so he doesn’t wake the whole neighborhood.
Bruce has just chased a cat up the willow tree next to the fire hydrant and is barking at it fiercely.
I wave back and go inside. I lock the door and slide the bolts.
I stop at the bedroom window and only lower the blinds when I notice the police car.
I look around the small flat. The walls seem to be closing in, the ceiling pressing down too, squeezing the air from my lungs. The world is shrinking. Panic overwhelms me.
I sit in the corner, hug my knees, and rock back and forth.
I’m fine. I’m getting better. It’s going to be fine. Nothing bad can happen to me while Cyrus is away. And I can go after him to Tulsa anytime, even though he wouldn’t like it.
This morning, an ordinary brown cardboard box is waiting for me on the doorstep. I almost stumble over it because my eyes are on Madison. She’s guarding me today.
“Good morning!”, she greets me with a warm, wide smile.
“Hi.” My reply is curt, reserved.
I pick up the brown box and toss it onto the kitchen table.
“Can I have your number?”
“Why?” I look at the short woman standing in front of me, my face blank.
“I’m picking you up tonight. I just want to let you know if something comes up,” she replies in a friendly, chatty tone.
“Oh, I see. Of course. I’m sorry… I’m a bit distracted.”
She gives me a sympathetic look, a warm smile spreading across her face. There is no pity in her eyes, which shocks me. And there is no hint that she thinks Cyrus is an idiot for being with me.
For the rest of the day, Cameron takes over watching me. Although… he couldn’t stop it last time. Chase got in. But I didn’t tell Cyrus.
There’s a lot I don’t tell Cyrus…
This morning, I was worried about what would happen if Chase showed up.
But I find it reassuring that nothing happened.
Evening has fallen, and Madison is standing in front of the bar, waiting for me.
Everything is back to normal. Sticking to the schedule I map out in my head minute by minute gives me a sense of security.
After taking a bath, I sit at the round table, nibbling on a ham sandwich.
I didn’t open the box earlier because I assumed Cyrus had forgotten to tell me he’d ordered something for me.
But when I see there’s no sender or recipient listed on it, curiosity takes over.
I grab a pair of scissors and slice them along the brown packing tape.
I ease the lid open and peel back the bubble wrap.
The moment my fingers brush what’s inside, bile surges up my throat.
My dinner ends up in the toilet. And the teddy bear—its head sewn back on—ends up in the trash.