22. Scarlet
22
SCARLET
M y leg bounces anxiously even as I try to ignore the dreadful tension tightening in my gut. We’re not heading back to the cabin.
No, Ren drove us the rest of the way through town and continued on in the opposite direction, farther into the middle of what looks like nowhere.
The fact that only he knows where we’re going sends a shudder down my spine. At least, I hope he knows, or we’re screwed.
Nothing gives me any hint that we’re lost.
It’s obviously about his past. I know better than to ask for details. If he hasn’t already offered up the information without being asked, he’s not in any mood to share.
It was one thing to get him mad back at the cabin, where there was at least a roof over my head and a bed to sleep on if he lost his temper.
What hope do I have if he loses it on me now?
My stomach flips at the thought. I cross my arms over my midsection like that will help keep me from trembling.
What am I thinking? He wouldn’t kick me out of the Jeep in the middle of an otherwise empty road, right? Not Ren. He would never put me in jeopardy.
I can’t believe I’m entertaining the thought.
But then, I can hardly believe any of this is happening. It still feels like a dream. Sometimes it’s good—very good. Happy and hopeful, like we’re connected completely. The way it used to feel. No matter how many people in the world refused to truly see or understand me, I could count on Ren. He never expected me to be anyone other than myself. I could simply look at him and know he understood; no words were needed.
Those memories cast the current situation in greater contrast and make it more evident than ever that something is very wrong, that I might as well be sitting beside a stranger wearing Ren’s skin.
I almost wish I didn’t remember the happier times so clearly since I only end up feeling more lost and confused as things worsen. No, I can’t let go of the memories. I need to cling to them tighter than ever when I’m so nervous about what might be coming next.
They’re all that’s keeping me in one piece.
If he would only turn on the radio. Riding in silence makes things worse. It draws the tension out until I’m afraid I might scream if only to break it. That scream is building in my chest, working its way into my throat. I press my lips together hard until they hurt.
I’m losing it, aren’t I?
Dad’s voice rings out in my head, the last I’d expect but the one I need to hear the most. Stop this. You’re a Rossi!
Yes. He’s—I’m—right. I can handle tension. How many tense, even dangerous, situations have I lived through? Sure, Dad always did his best to keep Mom, Adela, and me away from that part of his life, but it was impossible not to catch a hint of trouble when something bad was going down. I know what it means to suck it up and roll with the punches.
This is different from those days.
And it doesn’t take me long to figure out why.
It isn’t that I don’t trust Ren. Not really.
But I trusted my father a lot more. Because Dad never had these crazy mood swings. Not that I’m aware of, anyway. I think I would’ve picked up on that over the years. Would he lose his temper when things didn’t go the way he needed? Sure. Did we know better than to bother him with anything trivial when he was in the middle of something important? Most definitely.
He was never unstable, though, and that’s the difference. Even after my sister’s death, my father never lost his temper with us . As much as I love Ren, I can’t pretend he’s thinking clearly.
Which, considering I have no idea exactly where we’re going or why, doesn’t bode well. Who could blame me for worrying?
He would never hurt me. Not ever.
Sure, but that’s the version of Ren who was never sick or injured or whatever made him the way he is now. Ready to snap at the slightest provocation. A man in that condition can’t be trusted to do what needs doing.
There’s a reason my dad would only let certain people into his inner circle. Why he’d keep information from some people and not others. It wasn’t personal. It was a matter of whether he could trust them not to do anything irresponsible, like going off half-cocked and making decisions without his say-so.
I steal a glance at Ren from the corner of my eye. He’s laser-focused, almost leaning over the wheel, gripping it tight. His sharp jaw is clenched, his nostrils flared, and every breath entering his body is heavy.
If I reached out and touched a finger to his arm, I have no doubt a spark would ignite. He’s electric, a second away from an explosion. That intensity is good when the subject is me, my body, and our shared desire.
When he’s driving me to the middle of nowhere? Not so much.
Twenty minutes pass, and he turns down a narrow road that seemingly popped up out of nowhere. No signs indicate its presence, no lights, nothing. His gaze remains straight ahead, driven, on course. He drives without hesitation like everything is exactly the way he expected.
It’s another few minutes before he slows our progress to something closer to a crawl. I can’t help but glance up at the sky, noting the way the light drains with each second that passes. He was supposed to make dinner, wasn’t he? At this rate, it’ll be closer to bedtime before we return to the cabin.
I don’t think he cares. He’s too busy staring through the windshield, his head moving back and forth like he’s sweeping the area for signs of something or another. “Do you need me to look out for anything?” I ask.
My voice sounds foreign, even to my ears. Too tight, too full of dread.
He only grunts without looking at me. So much for that.
Trees grow thick on both sides of what’s now little more than a path in the woods. I wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear my heart pounding, thanks to my growing anxiety. There’s hardly any light as the woods get thicker.
A faint glow up ahead catches my eye. It disappears for a blink due to the trees growing around it, then becomes visible again. A house.
What are we doing all the way out here? What’s he planning on doing? Whose house is this?
By the time he parks and kills the engine, my heart is in my throat, and I can barely breathe. Something bad is going to happen. I can feel it.
He spares a glance at me; the look in his eyes doesn’t belong to Ren. It belongs to someone else.
“Stay in the car,” he orders. I don’t want to stay in the car. I want to follow him. Stop him from making a mistake.
The look in his eyes almost brings to mind what I saw earlier today when he was on his knees in front of me, staring between my thighs. Like he’s looking at something he’s wanted for as long as he can remember, something finally within his reach.
“What are you going to do?” I whisper, dreading the answer.
“Scarlet, nothing is out here for you, and if you wander off and get lost or hurt, it will make everything harder. Stay put, so I don’t have to search for you.”
That’s all the explanation I receive before he opens the door and steps out, taking the keys with him. I watch, chewing my bottom lip as his retreating figure grows smaller before melting into the darkness.
Shit. What now? He doesn’t have a weapon, does he?
How’s he going to defend himself?
I’m asking stupid questions. For all I know, he’s checking the place out. He’s not going to hurt anybody.
There I was, thinking I stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago .
No, he’s going to hurt someone. That’s the goal here. To inflict pain. It was written all over him—every tense muscle, every grunt, the intensity radiating from him. The closer we came to this little house in the woods, the worse he got. The more determined.
He’s going to explode on somebody. I almost feel sorry for them, though I know they must deserve it. So far, though, there’s been nothing but the same soft nighttime noises I’ve heard around the cabin.
How long has it been? Did he go inside? Minutes trickle by so slowly when you’re anticipating something that might not happen. I haven’t seen a change in the lights glowing from the two front windows.
I need to stop thinking. I most definitely need to stop asking questions. There’s no piecing this together on my own.
“Whatever he’s doing, he has a good reason.”
Saying it out loud helps a little. Not enough, but a little. I know I’m trying to justify his wrongdoings, but I have no right to judge him. I don’t know the whole story yet, and I have no reason not to trust him.
I drum my fingers against my thigh as a cold chill seeps into the Jeep, but I ignore it. I’m not sure how long he’s been gone. Minutes, I know, but it seems longer. Not so much as a speck of light filters between the tops of the trees, that much I know. It’s fully dark, and still no Ren. There isn’t any movement around the house. No shadows moving behind the windows.
It’ll be a miracle if I make it out of this without screaming. The strain is that extreme, tightening me up inside until I have no choice but to pop like a spring or explode like a bomb.
What if something happened to him?
Great. Because I needed something else to worry my mind. I can’t even get away if there’s danger nearby. In the dark, unaware of where I am, unseen threats could be all around me, ready to jump out and attack.
I’d never forgive myself if I sat here, doing nothing while he was in danger. Maybe he needs help. What if he’s injured and can’t make it back to me on his own? I can’t handle all the ugly, painful scenarios cutting through my mind. There’s no defending myself from them.
Ugh. Screw this. I need to at least find out if he’s okay. He couldn’t have expected me to stay here all this time, alone, without knowing he was safe.
Carefully, I step out of the Jeep and leave the door ajar so the interior light will stay on—otherwise, I’d be in trouble. My sense of direction isn’t the best in full daylight. Finding a darkened car in the middle of the woods? Forget about it.
The darkness presses in on me from all sides, so complete it’s almost heavy. Heavy enough that I can hardly breathe with all this weight on my chest.
My shoes make very little noise beneath the gravel, and I hold my breath, afraid that the slightest sound will give me away. The closer I venture to the house, moving slowly both from dread and caution, the more I wish I hadn’t gotten out of the car. Goose bumps cover my body, and I’m shivering like I took a headfirst dive into an ice-covered pond.
I want to go home.
Yet something keeps me moving, drawing me closer. I have no choice but to put one foot in front of the other. Like there’s an invisible lasso around me, pulling me in. I couldn’t stop if I tried. I must know what’s happening inside that house.
Is Ren the villain, or is he the knight?