Chapter 15
Jolie—aged eighteen
Bonny’s hutch was solid and pine. All nails tucked out of reach from the happy little bunny resting comfortably in her home. . . well, she was, until her little creature senses alerted her to Woodrow's presence.
Woodrow surprised me when I first met him, and he continued to do so now, sitting in the dirt, a hungry bunny feeding on lettuce leaves, happily bouncing around his lap, her big black eyes so full of glee.
The sun dropped down between a break in the leafy trees, down onto the miniature mansion he'd erected for his wild friend, who was always calm, if not for her excitement whenever he was around.
I looked around, seeing nothing but trees for miles. We were deep in the forestry, and morning shadows were darkening the space.
I lowered to a squat, taking a chunk of carrot, and offering it to Bonny. Her trust in me wasn't as strong, and I found myself subject to a good twenty seconds of sniffing before she accepted my donative.
“I don't think she likes me.”
“She's a little wary.” Woodrow laughed. “I’ll be back to see you tonight, little darlin'.”
“You’re taking her back to the house again?”
“She brings me peace.” He smiled up at me from his low position as my hands on my knees, pushed me to my feet. My legs felt no strain from the squat, if anything, they begged for another. For more. For my morning run, that hadn't happened this morning. . . or any morning these past few days.
Woodrow handed the rest of the salad leaves, all a dark shade of green—fitting with the house we'd shortly be making our way back to—into the bunny's hutch.
He stood, shooing her in behind them, and watched as she happily trotted away from him. Content with her safety, he asked me, “Are you happy to head back?”
“I can't believe you came to see the bunny without me.” Nessie's foot was in her hand, dirt from the soil blooming her palm, as she brushed away the splinters of twigs.
“You were asleep; we didn't want to wake you.” I rubbed a hand through her blonde tresses, careful of any knots I'd missed while brushing her hair for bed.
“Did you eat your breakfast?” Woodrow's eyes examined the sticky mess that she was now licking from her lips.
“Yeah. Thank you.”
“You're welcome, baby. You want a ride back?” He careened, allowing her to climb onto his back.
Grubby hands around his shoulders and legs wrapping around his waist confirmed she wanted the ride.
I smiled over the softer moment between them.
“Remember. . .”
“I know, I'll be careful with your throat.”
Nessie spun her head to see Bonny, still in a place of complacency, located in her wooden home.
“Will Bonny be okay out here alone?”
“She’ll be fine. Daddy can’t know, Ness, remember?”
“I won’t tell him or Momma.” Nessie's tone hushed as we began the thousands of steps back toward the house, following my lead. “I haven't seen much of Momma. Is she okay?”
“She's healing; it can take time.”
“It hurts my heart that she doesn't want me around her.”
I stopped from my lead, turning back to the siblings, who for once, looked alike as they shared an expression of pain.
“She will, in time,” Woodrow whispered, guiding Nessie’s hand to his mouth and placing a kiss on her knuckles, carefully avoiding a mouthful of dirt. “Are you okay?” He asked, his eyes fluttering to me.
I could only nod as I stood feeling all their pain.
“You look sad again.” Nessie noticed. “Woodrow, hold her hand; she needs comfort.”
He walked to me, a hand again leaving Nessie's body. This time, moving to me, accompanied by his silver eyes as he followed his sister’s instructions.
I looked down to my hand, already joined with Woodrow's, fingers clasped tight. He gave me a gentle squeeze before gifting me a kiss like he’d done his sister, then piloting us in a different direction, proving my confidence to lead us out into the daylight was useless.
The sun lightened the sky, its radiance shining from behind the house in the far distance.
Decay, which could even be sensed from here, was shrouding what was once a beautiful home. We looked to be about a mile away from the once-white monument, when Nessie requested to run the rest of the way.
Woodrow's grip loosened, and she slipped down his back and away from us, seeing her home in the distance, not realizing how far away it was.
She shouted something in her excited little voice, but the gentle breeze and distance between us distorted her words, making them incomprehensible.
My steps became stunted. Now that I was out of the house, I didn't want to return.
“Are you okay?”
“I feel. . . I don't know what to feel.”
“Please, forgive me.” Woodrow dropped down to his knees, his bones pressing into the mud. “Let God be the one to judge me because only he can see that this hurts me as much as you.” His fingers massaged Jesus, dangling around his wrist.
“No, I see that.” My fingers brushed his cheek, and I knew he'd have leaned into me if he could.
“You don’t have to be scared of me.”
“That’s not true.”
“I know. Deep down, I know,” he admitted, with such pain in his voice, it brought me to my knees.
Knee to knee, I stared into his eyes. His soul.
“The second I saw you, my heart beat differently.
I figured it was a teenage crush, but it wasn't. It was bigger than that.
Stronger than anything. I listened to you cry every night.
I listened to you talk to a person who isn't here, and it hurt me so much.
But this, your pain because of me, it's killing me.
. . I'd do anything for you to forgive me.”
“I just haven't healed yet.”
“How can I help with that?” He moved in, inhaling the scent of the daisies around us, and feeling calmer because of them. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I don't know.”
I had two ideas, the complete opposite of each other, but I kept them silent.
Secrets, I shared only with myself. One, avoid him forever.
. . run, and hope to be fast enough to rush from Ville’s battered truck, praying that in time, I’d forget them all.
Or, ask Woodrow to repeat what happened.
. . with gentleness, forcing out the violent memories.
For now, I pushed the thoughts away, because I couldn’t leave without him. I couldn’t lose him. . . I couldn’t ever lose him because I would never forget him. But I couldn’t even think of the idea of sex with him, not without a rush of nerves and nausea.
“Walk with me?” I helped him from the ground, and walked slowly, enjoying the views of the open land, hand in hand, with the boy who had violently assaulted me only days ago. The same boy who'd give me the love I needed to heal.
Days went by, and Woodrow was still Woodrow—this version of himself. He’d bring me snacks throughout the day because I was constantly hungry and craving something sweet to gift myself a little comfort. . . but aside from his scheduled food deliveries, I didn't see much of him.
He gave me space—something I thought I'd need to heal.
It wasn't working.
In my head, he was ever present, whispering words of love. Whispering apologies I no longer wanted. I just wanted him.
I was almost ready to try option number two.
He'd pushed my dad from my daydreams, hogging my attention. Nothing could distract me from him, and when something tried, like Nessie, waving a doll in my face, asking me to play, I'd have to swallow my agitation.
I became distant from reality, in a place that only existed for me. Because of that, I empathized more with Woodrow and his struggles.
In my own way, through my trauma, I was dissociating.
But I knew I couldn't stay in my concocted reality forever. So tonight, I escaped to a new world. Another made-up space. One created from a great mind, not my emotionally challenged braincells.
Earlier today, during one of his food transports, Woodrow suggested I try a book from Nessie’s stack of unread stories. My eyes instantly found a favorite of mine. A love triangle with a grizzly werewolf and a shimmering vampire. . . and one lucky girl trapped between them.
The star-projecting lamp gave me enough light to read, as I settled in bed before the clock struck nine. But I was only on chapter three when this escape was interrupted. . . by Woodrow and my reverie of him, calling me back.
And then that was interrupted. . . by Wynter, singing terribly, clearly high on whatever was left of her pain pills.
I still hadn’t spoken to her or asked if my fears were true. . . was she was involved in Ville’s sordid plan?
Her voice got louder, tarnishing one of my favorite ballads. I closed the book with a thud, tiny dust particles danced in the air from the force.
I slipped from my bed, stepping on the ledge to see if I'd disturbed the sleeping child, who, on the rare occasion, was alone in her own bed. I hadn't.
I slinked through the darkness, guided by the stars twinkling on the ceiling, honored by the nightlight that projected them.
As quietly as possible, I slinked out and closed the door behind me.
I scurried down the hallway on silent feet. I reached for Woodrow's doorknob, but it was jammed by his desk chair. Which meant Woodrow already had a guest.
One he'd no doubt prefer the company of.
I took a step back, ready to retreat to my own domain. I couldn't pat my knuckles against the door, as much as I wanted to. I couldn't risk attracting attention from the opposite door.
I heard a scuffle from inside Woodrow's bedroom, and then I heard the light grind of the chair being pulled back.
Woodrow opened the door, just a crack, just enough to show me the smile gracing his lips.
“I knew it was you. Gentle hands.” His eyes moved down to my gentle hands, before he stepped back and invited me inside, closing the door and securing it behind me.
The bed pulled me towards it with a magnetic force.
“Time isn't working.”
He acknowledged me with a somber expression.
I glanced at the diary, laying open on the bed, taking up most of the space. My eyes roved his admissions. Time hadn't helped him, either.