Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Allie

It’s Monday morning. Not being in school makes me feel wildly rebellious, if a little displaced. I’m showered and wearing fresh clothes—wearing clothes at all for the first time since Saturday, actually. Heat tingles up along my skin and I glance across the cabin at Moore who watches me broodily from the coffee maker, his hands balled into fists on the kitchen counter. He’s dressed in jeans and a loose, long-sleeved T-shirt. Boots. Black hair falling across his brow.

Too beautiful to be believed.

It’s so tempting to remain in the dreamscape of this cabin. Spend another day completely lost to pleasure, the capabilities and cravings of our bodies.

I can’t do that, though.

Can I?

My thighs flex beneath my skirt, my fresh pair of underwear growing dewy. In just one day, I’ve conditioned myself to need sex with Moore. To require it. Every inch of my body is tender from his mouth, his manhood, his unshaven jaw, his hands. My nipples are aching buds, my breasts so anxious to be touched, they’re plumped against the front of my tank top—and Moore notices. God, does he notice, that granite jaw clenching nearly to the point of snapping.

I don’t know what to do.

I had a plan. Use Moore’s help to get the paperwork I need from his guidance counselor aunt. Figure out a way in through the side door to get myself to college. Make something out of myself. Follow my dreams of being a meteorologist. Leave the pain of the past in the dust.

And I’m rapidly forgetting that Moore was…is part of that pain.

If I kept him in my life, what would that say about me? That I could so easily trade one bully for another? Is my body in control? My heart? My mind?

Stiff with conflict, I pick up my duffel bag and settle it on the kitchen table, unzipping it to take out my sandals. Rooting through the contents, I take out a chemistry textbook I don’t remember packing. Maybe I should ask Moore to return it to the school for me, since I won’t need it anymore. I’m surprised by a wave of nostalgia that for me, high school is essentially over. For old time’s sake, I flip open the pages and a note falls out onto the floor.

It seems to flutter in slow motion, coming to a rest near my feet.

Something sharp lodges in my gut when I recognize the handwriting on the note. It’s Moore’s. He’s left hundreds of these notes in my locker, backpack and textbooks over the last two years and seeing one never fails to make me lose my breath, tension gathering in my middle.

“Allie…” His voice is strangled, coming from the kitchen. “Don’t read it.”

I stoop down and pick up the piece of paper, unfolding it, my brain telling me it’s the right thing to do. That it’s the momentum I need to leave without ever looking back. A cold, hard reality-check.

You are pathetic.

That’s all it says.

I stare down at it, ice crawling up my arms, until Moore snatches it out of my hand and rips it down the middle. He tosses away the scraps and starts to pace, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus, I didn’t mean that, Allie. You know I didn’t. I was just hurting and lashing out. You are the furthest thing from pathetic. I knew that. I was just trying to…make you feel an ounce of the ugliness I was feeling. And I could die now, knowing I ever wrote that shit down and left it for you to find. I’m sorry.” He comes toward me unexpectedly, crowding my against the table and taking my face in his hands, planting kisses everywhere, my numb mouth and cheeks and forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Somehow I find my voice after being knocked sideways from the blow. Of having the boy I love say such a callous thing to me, even if his voice was echoing from the past. Oh my God. I do. I love him. “I forgave you yesterday, remember?” I manage around the hazardous racing of my heart.

“You didn’t forget, though.” His thumbs trace my cheeks. “How could you?”

There have been many times that I’ve wished for my mother—and this is one of them. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if staying with Moore makes me weak. Pathetic. If loving him makes me twisted after everything he’s put me through. My heart tells me Moore is nothing like my father. That there is an explanation for his past behavior, but oh God, doubt creeps in. It creeps in. I remember how he looked behind me last night, the things he said.

I asked for those things from him.

But what does that mean about me? Is there something wrong with me?

“I just need some air,” I manage, disengaging from Moore. His hands drop lifelessly to his sides, all animation leaving him in a great gust. With a sharp lump in my throat, I leave the cabin. I sit on the back steps and fumble through the process of putting on my sandals, the note seared into my mind. Love waging a war against the sting.

Yes. I’m in love with Moore.

I loved him that night in the field, loved him through the two years of hell and now…oh now, that love is like an ocean liner cruising toward an iceberg. What if I keep sailing toward him and he sinks me? I’ve already spent most of my life trapped at the bottom of the ocean.

I have no idea how long I sit there, riddled with indecision on the back porch. My head comes up when I hear the creak of Moore’s boots behind me. Through gritty eyes, I watch him walk to his bike and come back with something in his hands, kneeling down in front of me and searching my eyes. Whatever he sees there makes him swallow hard, his face paling. “This is a flare gun, baby.” He sets the black metal object down near my feet. “If something is wrong, you fire it off. I will see it. Okay?” I hear him swallow. “I’ll be back as soon as I’ve got your paperwork, okay?”

I force myself to nod. “Be careful,” I whisper. “And thank you.”

After a long moment of scrutinizing me, he leans in and kisses my forehead. “It’s an honor, Allie.”

It’s a struggle not to call him back when he climbs onto the bike and brings the engine to life. It’s agonizing to sit there, unmoving, and let him drive away. Why does it feel final when I haven’t even made up my mind? Keep Moore in my life or start over completely fresh? Build a new life, totally on my own or give in to the love flooding me, filling every crack inside of my heart?

Flare gun in hand, I go back inside. Make myself breakfast, but I can’t eat a single bite, because my stomach is too anxious. I do my hair and makeup. Pace. I go for a walk down to the lake and back, twice, noticing absently how everything looks so different in the daylight. I want to know my mind clearly by the time Moore returns from the school. Do I thank him and say goodbye? Or…what is my other option? Stay at this cabin with him forever?

The roar of an engine breaks into my thoughts and I stand so quickly, my head swims. I jog toward the door, only to slow when the odd chugging registers. That’s not a motorcycle engine. Nothing about the sound is familiar. Holding the flare gun to my chest, I tiptoe to the closest window and peek out, frowning when I see my guidance counselor climb out of the car. Moore’s aunt.

My heart sinks into my stomach.

My body starts to quake ominously.

Where is Moore?

What is happening?

“Allie James?” calls Moore’s aunt cautiously from the bottom of the cabin steps. “I have your paperwork here. I’m just dropping it off, along with—”

I throw open the door, causing her to jump back.

“Miss James.” She flattens the folder to her breast. “You scared me.”

“Why are you here?” My words are tripping over themselves, the terrible sensation in my stomach beginning to creep higher, into my throat. “Where is Moore? My father…my father didn’t—”

“Moore is fine,” she says calmingly. “He explained some of the situation to me and…” She winces. “I can see from the bruise on your face that he wasn’t exaggerating. I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could come to me, sweetie. I’m sorry about it all.”

For some reason, having a woman’s sympathy opens a floodgate of feeling. Maybe it has been dammed up inside of me since my mother left. Tears leak from my eyes, trickling into the corners of my mouth.

“I’m very happy to inform you that you were accepted to all of the colleges you applied to. And I’ve got the loan applications here for all of them.”

Accepted. To all of the colleges.

Relief and pride trickle in my bloodstream. I want to lie down and cry. Because I accomplished what I set out to do. Because I miss Moore. So many reasons. But right now, I need answers. “Why didn’t Moore come back himself?”

When she hedges, my knees get so weak, I have to sit down on the top step.

“I don’t know, sweetie,” says the guidance counselor, slowly approaching until she can sit down next to me. She settles the folder in my lap, then lays a thick white envelope down on top of it, a stack of hundred-dollar bills spilling out just slightly. “He sold his bike this morning—this is the money from the sale. Moore said you would need the cash. He said letting you go is the right thing to do.”

“No.” I try to stand and can’t, my legs refusing to support me. There has to be three thousand dollars in that envelope. “No…no.”

“Why don’t we focus on the schools you have to choose from?”

My whole body is shaking. “But…”

I need him.

Don’t I?

I’m too overwrought to know up from down. I’m in love with Moore. I’ve been in love with him for so long, the feeling has become a part of me. I don’t know who I am without it. And maybe that’s the problem. I need to know who I am when I’m not living in fear. Hiding from a monstrous father. Ignoring the boy I love so he won’t become a target, too. Living to get by.

I need to know I love Moore because he’s good for me.

Last night, the final time we made love, I asked him to bully me. I enjoyed it. It excited me the most out of everything we’ve done—and that’s saying a lot, because the last two days have been non-stop pleasure. But my hunger for that treatment scared me a little. Made me wonder if I’m seeking out something familiar.

Something bad.

Something that isn’t good for me.

I want to go find him right now. Throw myself into his arms and beg him to come with me to wherever I land, but if I do…I’ll never be able to think clearly. To define myself and what I want, what I need. I’m so tangled up in the strife of the last several years, my head is like a shaken snow globe. I have to let it settle. I have to take a deep breath and let the path in front of me unfold.

Moore saved me, brought me here.

Now I need to save myself.

And the only way to do that is to move forward alone.

* * *

Five months later

It’s a quiet storm tonight.

One that trickles from the sky in slow motion, gently caressing blades of grass and creating a fine mist that rolls along the valley in front of my window.

I’m attending college now. Far from home in Wyoming.

When I arrived in town with nothing but a duffel bag, I found a listing for this small, detached garage that doubles as an apartment. An elderly woman seeking a student to rent the space. The price was reasonable because whoever took the apartment would be asked to help with yard work, some light landscaping. I had no experience with either, but I learned. It allowed me to be outdoors. And there is something therapeutic about putting life in the ground. Cleaning up the old leaves and preparing for more to grow. New beginnings.

The house overlooks a grove of trees and the valley beyond. Breathtaking and scenic and moody. But storms never fail to make me think of Moore.

The boy I left behind.

The boy it still hurts to breathe without.

My college classes are nothing like high school. They’re held in lecture halls, instead of cramped quarters. They smell of coffee and textbooks, rather than floral body wash and cafeteria food. But I still turn around, hoping to find him sitting behind me. It feels odd not to have him at my back, watching me in that intense way. Loving and wanting me so badly that he hates me for it.

The noise in my mind has settled.

And Moore remains.

As large and dominant and vital as the day I left town on a bus, my ticket purchased with the money he gave me. I attend classes during the day and work in a small, independent bookstore in the evenings. It’s so quiet that I’m able to study while working and even do assignments, the rows of books to keep me company. On the weekends, I do yard work and God, oh God, I think of him. To the point of distraction. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night unable to breathe because I don’t know where he is.

His body is supposed to be flush to mine.

His eyes are meant to hold my stare.

I need his voice like I need to live.

My love for Moore is a little gnarled. A little bent and unusual. It’s cloudy like the sky I adore so much. Volatile. But it’s mine. I miss it. I want and need and crave it. I can say that now with the confidence of someone who is walking her own path. I’ve created a life for myself. I’m free of pain and violence. I’m at peace.

I’m incomplete, though. My other half is missing and the more time that passes, the more I limp along. The more my heart feels like a hollowed out husk. This love isn’t going away. It’s growing heavier, like weight being added to my chest, making it harder and harder to breathe.

I turn from the window and look at my small apartment, raindrops on the window creating moving shadows over the bed, desk and dresser. I picture Moore walking in the door and wiping his boots off, shaking droplets out of his pitch-black hair, taking off his leather jacket. Smiling at me slowly, knowingly, well aware I’ve been waiting for him to come take me. Come drown in me.

He’s with me every second of the day and sometimes, like now, the only way to breathe with any degree of success is to go outside. So I put on the big, white wool sweater I found at a thrift shop and head for the door. At the last second, I reach my hand into the duffel bag hanging from the coat rack, my grip closing around the flare gun. I don’t know why I take it with me. Maybe because it’s the last thing Moore gave me and I need to have him close.

The mist dances around me a few minutes later when I meander through the valley, my toes sliding through wet grass. Trees sway gently to the tune of wind, dampness finding a home on my cheeks. I close my eyes and search my mind, seeking the peace I’ve found—and it’s there. But it’s disrupted by pain. Missing him. The feeling erupts down my fingertips and I raise the flare gun over my head, firing it into the foggy evening sky, the effort taking everything out of me.

For long moments, I hear my breath and nothing else.

I wish I could rip the flare back down out of the sky, because it felt like I was saying goodbye to him and that’s not what I want. That’s not what I want. But I have no way of reaching him. No phone number. I called his aunt at the school and she hasn’t seen him since the morning he sold his bike. He’s gone. Vanished. It’s not fair. I know he’s good for me now. I know I can’t be without him and that the need is permanent, but it’s too late to take back my choices. I’ve made this bed and I’ll be lying in it forever, without him.

Knowing it will be dark soon and I won’t be able to find my way back, I gather my remaining strength and turn for home—

And I run smack into a hard chest.

The scent of leather and citrus fills my nose and I wail brokenly, my heart flying into a gallop, life spreading back through my numb limbs.

Moore.

He’s here?

He’s here.

His beautiful, beloved eyes bore down into mine, trying to read me in that way I remember like yesterday. Desperate to read me. Hesitantly, his hands lift and cup my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that are dripping from my eyes. “The flare. Was that goodbye, Allie?” His swallow is audible, his gaze nearly deranged with fear, hope, obsession. “Or do you need me?”

“I need you,” I wheeze, launching myself at him. Wrapping my arms around his neck, absorbing the hoarse prayers passing his lips, dizzy with happiness. Dizzy with relief. He’s here. He came back to me. “I love you, Moore. I love you. I don’t want to be without you anymore.”

“You were never without me, Allie,” he growls.

A sob rips free of my throat.

Of course I wasn’t without him. It was silly to think so.

He’s been close this whole time, waiting for a sign. A signal that I’d found my way well enough to know we’re right. We’re inevitable.

“I love you,” I chant, over and over, laying kisses on his face.

“I love you, too. I love you. I love you,” he says, passion vibrating his voice. We sink down to the ground, mouths joining and moaning, reuniting, hearts booming louder than any thunder I’ve ever heard. I wrap my legs around his hips, he lowers his zipper without taking those intense eyes from mine, filling me in one violent drive. And down in the valley, we come back to each other, making promises forever with our bodies and mouths and words, the future writing itself on our hearts.