12.
Dahlia
I had gone back to the house, despite knowing that it was a bad idea. I didn’t think the men who had shot at it would be there—it would be a crime scene now—but I knew seeing it would be painful. And it was.
Our home and our things had been ruined. Windows broken, bricks chipped, furniture riddled with holes, wood splintered, and picture frames smashed. But it was Matt’s blood that trailed through the house that was the most bitter thing to see.
He had risked his life to get into the house and make sure I was okay. He had taken a bullet for me. He had put his body between me and the bullets that would have taken me down. And yet I didn’t feel grateful to him; all I felt was anger. Anger that he couldn’t see how senseless it all was. How pointless.
People were out there with normal jobs, living normal, boring, mundane lives… Why was that such a bad thing? I had once asked Alex that same question, and he had said that it had nothing to do with the danger or even the money. It was about finding family with the people that understood you. Making a life with people who had the same beliefs—the same ride or die mentality as he did. I didn’t understand it then and I still didn’t understand it now. Because I was his ride or die, and I wasn’t a biker. I had never been on the back of a bike and never intended to be.
I stared at the carnage around me, the shattered remnants of our life, and knew I couldn’t stay any longer. I had to get away, or this club would kill me.
With swift, decisive movements, I began packing. There was no time to be sentimental about what I grabbed; clothes were thrown in a duffel bag, essentials hastily gathered. I made sure to grab a few keepsakes, old photos and some mementoes that seemed a lifetime ago. I took a long look around the wrecked living room as I zipped up the bag, my hands trembling.
I made my way to the garage, where my old car sat, slightly dusty but reliable. I heaved the bag into the trunk and got behind the wheel. There was a cabin in Colorado, high in the mountains, that Alex’s dad had once owned many years ago. His dad had died and we hadn’t been up there since, so I knew no one would think to look for me there. It was remote, surrounded by pine trees and silence, a place where I could finally breathe and escape the chaos that had engulfed my life.
As I drove away, the house grew smaller in the rear-view mirror, a memory of a place I was leaving behind. At least for now. I didn’t know what the future held, but for now, I knew I needed solitude. I needed time to heal.
The drive was long but beautiful, the road a winding ribbon that led me away from the devastation of my life and toward something new. As I ascended in the Rockies, the scenery transformed into a breathtaking tableau of rugged peaks and dense forests. The air grew cooler and crisper, thick with the scent of pine and earth.
After hours of driving, and with the sun setting over the tips of the snowcapped mountains, I reached the secluded cabin nestled in the heart of the woods. It was a small wooden structure, weathered by time, and it was almost quaint and picturesque if it weren’t for the haunted house vibe that came from it. The cabin stood in a small clearing, surrounded by towering pine trees. I pulled my small car to a stop, shutting off the engine and climbing out. With one hand on the door of my car, I turned and looked around me, listening to the distant call of a bird and the rustling of leaves above me. The sounds soothed my frayed nerves, calming me.
I stepped out of the car, slamming the door shut, and headed toward the cabin door, feeling the soft crunch of pine needles underneath my boots. I unlocked the door and pushed it open, letting the musty interior air escape. Inside, the cabin had simple furnishings—wooden beams, stone fireplace, an old rustic feel to it—but it exuded a charm that seemed to calm me.
I grabbed my duffel bag from the boot of the car, and the paper grocery bag of food I had brought with me, and I went inside, kicking the door closed behind me. I placed my bags down, pulled the blankets off the furniture, and checked that the water and electricity still worked, and then I sat down on the worn sofa with a heavy sigh. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I allowed myself to breathe deeply. The cabin was a sanctuary, a place where I could find solace and begin to mend the pieces of my shattered life.
After settling into the cabin, my stomach was growling with hunger. I couldn’t even remember when the last proper meal I had eaten was. I knew I had been preparing Alex’s favorite dinner when the police had knocked on my door, but that seemed like a lifetime ago now, not days.
I rummaged through the paper grocer bag, pulling out onions, garlic, tomatoes, chilies, and pork, and then I began to cook up a pot of slow-simmered green chili stew. The smell of cooking food filled the cozy space and I breathed the scents in, wishing that I could go back a week in time, before everything had gone to hell.
As the stew bubbled gently on the stove, I opened a beer and took a long swig of it. The crisp taste of pale ale was refreshing, a welcome contrast to the warm and spicy flavors of the stew. I ladled a helping into a bowl and sat down at the wooden table, savoring every bite.
I cleaned the dishes when I was finished, leaving the pan of stew on the stove so I could eat another portion tomorrow, and then I cracked open another beer and retreated back to the worn sofa once again. The fireplace crackled softly, casting a warm glow across the room. Outside, the sun had set and night had drawn in, heavy and oppressive. I sipped my beer slowly, letting the cabin’s quietude envelop me, providing me with a sense of calm and solace.
For the first time in what seemed like forever, I felt I could truly be in the moment. But with that came the realization that I had to accept Alex was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. This wasn’t a regular trip, or a work thing that he was on; this was death, and oh how death was more painful for the living than it was for the dead.
I didn’t realize that I was crying until I was all cried out and all that escaped me was hiccupping gasps. I swiped away the damp from my cheeks and drank the rest of my bottle of beer before placing it on the dusty table next to me, and then I curled up in a ball on the sofa, dragged the old blanket from the back of it, and I fell into a fitful sleep.
When morning came, I woke with reluctance. My eyes felt gritty and tired from all the crying of the past couple of days, and I knew that only fresh air and a warm shower would help cure them. Those were two things that this cabin had in abundance; a warm shower, but it was unfortunately outside.
Alex’s dad, Cal, had added on the small shower to the side of the cabin about ten or so years back, right before he had passed away. Alex had always sworn that he was going to get a crew up here to get the shower put inside and make the place more modern, but it was one of those things that had never happened.
The cabin had hot running water, electricity, and even an inside toilet, but for some unknown reason Cal had always wanted an outdoor shower. He had sworn that showering with nature was a step closer to God. I wasn’t sure if I believed him on that part, but I had used it once or twice and I couldn’t deny that it had been a great experience. And part of me had always wondered if that was why Alex had never gotten it put inside. Maybe it felt like he was betraying his dad by taking away something he had loved.
I grabbed my shower things and a towel and headed outside, wondering as I did about what would happen to this place now. JD had said that Alex had left everything to me—our house, money in the bank, some stocks and shares—but he hadn’t mentioned the cabin. I wondered if he knew about it, or if it had been an oversight not to mention it.
I undressed and turned the water on, and after a couple of clunking and gurgling seconds the shower kicked to life. Warm water sprayed from the shower head, and I let it run for a minute or two to let the pipes clear out before stepping under the running water. It was more like an open cubicle tacked on to the side of the cabin, with no roof and a small slab of concrete for the floor. The wooden panels went from my shoulders to my calves, and a small swinging door was how you stepped inside. The first time I had used it I had felt so exposed, but I soon settled down. Showering in the wilderness, with the trees above you and the dirt at your toes, was almost liberating.
I washed my long red hair, hating how knotty it had gotten. I used to have it short and died black, but over the years I had given in to Alex’s pleading to let it grow and let my real color come back in. Now, as I washed the long red locks, I felt resentment for him, and for the life he had forced me to lead. He had wanted to buy the house that we had, and he had bought it with his money. He hadn’t wanted me to work because he said it would be pointless because we would be having babies soon and I would need to be at home with them. Family life had been important to him because he hadn’t had much of one himself, and I understood that, even if a small piece of me resented that it was me that had to give up some of the things I loved.
But then babies hadn’t come along. That life apparently hadn’t been for us. I bit down on my lower lip, trying to hold back the tears. Crying wouldn’t get me anywhere—not now.
Alex was gone. Really gone. Not away on a trip that he would come back from, with a bag full of secrets and stories he couldn’t talk about. But gone. He would have a funeral soon and be buried…and oh God, where would he be buried? He hated his dad and didn’t know his mom. He didn’t have a family burial plot. Would I have to buy a fresh one? And then in years to come I would be buried alongside him? Because, let’s face it…I also had no one. Two parents who didn’t speak to me, no siblings, no children. I had given everything up for Alex and he had died and left me bereft of everything.
The tears did come, despite me trying to hold them back, but I didn’t fight them. I let them come. I wailed my grief into the trees above, calling to mother nature and begging her to help me find clarity in the frustrations and worries of this situation. Of the shell that had become my life. A life without my soulmate.
I stared through the steaming water, my hair plastered to my face, a thousand images flashing before my eyes. Of meeting him. Of kissing him. Of our first time in bed. Of going on dates. Signing paperwork. Of weddings and marriages and parties. And it was beautiful. Oh so beautiful.
But after the good came the bad.
The fights. The tears. The arguments. The begging and the pleading. The lonely nights. Giving up my dreams. Giving up my family. My friends. My life.
Through my tears of grief, I found my anger.
Anger not only that he had left me. But anger that he had stripped me bare before doing so. I had given up everything for him—for us—and he hadn’t given up a single thing.
I switched off the shower and stared out amongst the copse of trees, the heavy pine scent now mingling with my peach shampoo and the floral bodywash that I used. It all felt so fake. So pretend. The life that I had been living. The person I had become. I wanted me back.
Hurrying into the house before I could change my mind, I opened and closed the kitchen drawers until I found what I needed. I hadn’t even bothered with a towel in my hurry, and now I stood in the front room of the cabin, in front of the cloudy mirror, and I hacked away at the long red locks of hair. Stripping myself bare of the woman he had forced me to become.
I cut more and more, shorter and shorter the hair went, until it was below my shoulders, but no, that wasn’t good enough. I cut it shorter, to my shoulders, but that still wasn’t good enough. I cut some more, choppy bangs framing my face, and I stared at the woman in front of me, recognizing her after so long apart.
I swallowed—a gulp, really—and then I began to laugh. I turned my head this way and that, examining the wonderful, beautiful mess I had made of myself and wondering where the hell I had been hiding all these years. I scooped up the hair and put it in the trash before throwing on jeans and a sweater, and then I grabbed my keys and headed into town. Because there was one more thing I needed to complete myself. To find myself once again.