Chapter 14
Shadow
I’ve had a few days to process what happened. All the ways I went wrong, even if it felt right. I knew better. I thought I knew myself. I was wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
I thought that a few days and the hour and a half drive into the city, with the open sky and the wind rushing around me as I pushed the limits of speed, going too fast, unable to slow down, would clear my mind.
It didn’t.
I thought meeting Fawnie and Preacher and their family here was a terrible idea, but one that I could prepare myself for anyway. Mentally. Emotionally. In every other way.
Yeah, no.
I feel like I’m crashing someone’s wedding, or showing up at a party uninvited. Except I was invited. I have a ticket. And I don’t want to think about weddings. I already have no idea how I’ll look Preacher in the face after sleeping with his daughter, let alone the eye again.
I got here too soon. I didn’t keep my bike restrained. If someone had stopped me, I probably would have lost my license, but no one did, and once I hit the city and got into real traffic, I behaved. Mostly.
This isn’t the building the symphony uses in the colder months, but I guess they have a full program they put on here during the spring, summer, and fall.
It’s an open venue. Though there are bleachers with flip-up chairs like you’d see at a football stadium, the wide open space in the center with the stage set up and all the instruments placed, waiting and ready, as well as the thousands of flickering candles, keeps it from having a sporty feel.
As Fawnie said, they’re electric, not real flame.
I guess they’re easier to control that way.
I lied about being afraid of fire, I mean I never want to walk through flames again, but I don’t freak out at the club cookouts.
That’s if I go. Which is pretty much never.
I perch on the edge of the uncomfortable plastic seat, my elbows resting on my knees.
About as much of me hidden as is possible but there are quite a few people here already, and the weight of their stares settles on me, crushing me, even if they’re not looking my way at all.
I know it’s mostly my imagination. My mother always said I was trouble and that the scars just showed everyone who I really was on the inside.
As a twenty-one-year-old with self-esteem issues, that kind of thing sticks with you.
My foot starts to tap in my heavy boot. I shove my elbow down harder to stop it, but it’s useless when my whole body is vibrating.
It’s been buzzing uncomfortably since I left Fawnie’s place a few nights ago.
She wanted to see me. To touch me. She touched plenty, but she couldn’t get to me the way she opened herself up.
I tell myself that I’m always honest on the inside, and often on the outside too, but I know that’s the least honest thing about me.
The scars aren’t bad. It’s the ugliness on the inside I don’t want her to see.
I knew that once Fawnie touched me, there was no going back.
She’s already started to dismantle all my walls, breach all my defenses.
It was one night, one fucking time, and I’m already half hers.
The hard truth is that I’m a wreck. I have nothing to offer.
I’m stuck, I’m trapped, I’m bitter, I’m cruel, I’m mean—often to myself.
I’m not alone, but I am lonely. I don’t want anyone to peel back the layers and see me.
I don’t want to be stripped bare, naked, raw, exposed, vulnerable, a mess with a twisted soul.
It’s already started.
And maybe I wouldn’t be so upset about that if there was something there worth seeing, worth touching, worth having. I want there to be, but this is the first time in a lot of years that I’ve been able to admit that.
From the first time Fawnie ever turned her beautiful face my way, she saw all the things I wanted to keep hidden.
She eviscerated me from the first word she ever spoke in her sweet, light, musical voice.
Memories sizzle behind my eyelids, as hot as the flames that night.
I grind my teeth against them and shove myself back into the seat, letting the plastic edges dig into my back.
I haven’t eaten anything all day either.
My stomach churns from the pain, from being empty, and from the nerves.
I shouldn’t have agreed to this.
I stand up so suddenly and violently that I nearly pitch into the next row of seats. I sway, grabbing the back of the chair in front of me so tightly my knuckles go white.
My life seems to be a fucking comedy of errors lately.
The most ironic one being that the second I decide I need to leave, I spot Fawnie and her mom walking my way.
She’s already spotted me. Her face is radiant, a huge smile turning up her perfect lips, eyes sparkling, dimples showing in both cheeks.
She’s dressed nice for tonight, a tight black leather pencil skirt with laces down the one side of her leg, black sheer stockings that end in spiked-heeled black boots that reach nearly to her knee, and on top, a white blouse with little black stars that’s so sheer the lace of her camisole underneath is clearly visible.
She’s absolutely gorgeous.
In her clothes and out.
I swallow thickly, trying to choke back the acid coating the back of my tongue. I force a smile solely for her benefit, like I wasn’t just going to bug the fuck out of here, but I can tell by the way hers fades, that she’s not fooled.
Her mom is right behind her, an older version of Fawnie, stoic in a white blouse, black cardigan, and black slacks. She looks like she’s ready for the office, while Fawnie is giving all the sexy librarian dreams that I’ve never even had until this moment.
Fawnie’s lush blonde hair is swept up into a tangle of curls with little crystal pins that wink and sparkle in the faux candlelight.
Stars, I realize, as she reaches me.
They’re stars to match her blouse.
Her makeup is gorgeous, heavy black eyeliner with little black stars drawn on right by the wingtip at the corner of her eye.
She chose bold, red lipstick. It suits her.
All of it. She’s the most beautiful woman here tonight.
She’ll always be the most beautiful woman wherever she goes.
I’m convinced that there’s not a single person in the world who could match her.
I greet her mom stiffly, mumbling a few of the token words that pass for a hello, then sit my ass back down into the hard seat beside Fawnie’s, telling myself to keep it there and not go straight into a full blown panic attack.
It’s hard to do, especially when Fawnie sits right beside me, blocking her mom’s view of my face. Her lips press into a flat line, and there’s no disguising the worry in her eyes.
Great. I look that fucking good, huh?
“Finn,” she breathes, her hand coming up discreetly to brush the side of my thigh. Her heat scalds me right through the barrier of the denim. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”
Yup. She’s always had my number.
My eyes frantically scan the place, the bowl of seats angled around the stage in the center, all the tiers, rows and rows, people starting to stream out, flowing between them, around them, filling the place up in an array of color and a loud buzz of voices.
I want to tell her that I’m fine, reassure her, give her something to work with, but I have nothing. No words. Bright flickers of light burst behind my eyes as my stomach rolls. The scents of the place, too much perfume and cologne, hairspray, and laundry detergent press in on me.
My hand shoots out to grip what, I don’t know.
It lands on Fawnie’s knee and curls too hard.
My rough fingers dig into her smooth black hose.
Sweat doesn’t just bead on my forehead any longer.
It pours from my temples. My stomach rises up, lurching into my throat.
I’m going to vomit. I’m going to puke my guts up right in front of Fawnie and her mom and every single person here and the fucking symphony hasn’t even started yet.
I thought people were going to stare at me because I’m a burned and disgusting freak?
Fuck no.
I’ll be the main goddamn show. A mess. A wretched—
Fawnie stands, takes my arm in her hands, and jerks me up with her.
“We’re just going to find the washroom, Mom,” she says. “We need a moment of quiet and a bottle of water from the concession. We’ll be right back, okay?”
Her mom says something. I can hear her voice, but the words blur together, blending into the roar of too many people talking. My head swims, lights gliding behind closed lids. When I open my eyes again, it’s even worse. A sickening blur.
Fawnie glides past me. She never lets go of my hand. Her fingers curl into mine, warm and reassuring even through the leather. She leads me, pulling me along the concrete edge, over to the stairs. There aren’t that many, and there’s a railing, thank fuck.
She seems to know where she’s going, even though I don’t think she’s been here before.
She doesn’t stop at the landing. She leads me past the concession, clogged with far too many bodies, straight into an open stretch of carpeted hallway, and then finally down a narrow hall.
I blink just enough to catch the sign that has a picture of a man and a woman with children. A family bathroom.
She pushes open the door. It’s heavy and slams shut behind us. She twists the lock and flips the light on. It’s spacious, with a sink, a change table area, and one toilet.
Just seeing that makes it so much worse. The second my eyes land on it, the onslaught of nausea is too strong to control.
I stumble to it and sink down to my knees on the floor. The floor of the public bathroom. It’s clean. Smells like lemons and bleach, but still. It’s the final nail in the puke coffin that I can’t keep closed.