From Darkness Until Dawn

FROM DARKNESS UNTIL DAWN

"Nothing ever grows without a seed, and nothing ever changes without a dream."

-Debby Boone

R un...Run...RUN! WYANNNNNNT!

Echoing screams dissipate into the dark.

My eyes fly open to the ceiling fan's reflection in the mirror, spinning blades slicing through stifling air. I should have taken my sleeping pills, but I hate them. I zone in on the clock to my left– 4:20 a.m . A lifeless internal laugh happens when my brain registers the time coinciding with the thing my mind wants. While my body craves being comatose, it's too late. What little sleep I get lately is nothing short of mini horror films. My nightmares are not of my past but of what possible realities could have been.

Everything feels wrong, out of place. I can't breathe, curling into myself to use the 3-2-1 method my therapist taught me to ground and bring me back when the world is closing in.

Three things I see… I look around.

Clock. It was a dream. It didn't happen.

Window. You didn't hurt him. He's still here.

Closet doorknob. You're safe.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight, hands covering my damp face, trying to focus on the therapeutic exercises and not fall into a full-blown panic attack.

Two things I hear…

The hum of the AC unit. Tears start falling again; the only sound in the room is sniffles and soft cries that I can't hear over my heart pounding. My mind is losing the battle of gripping reality.

Two things I hear.

Two things I hear.

My brain is stuck in an infinite loop of the self-reminder.

One thing you can touch…finds me. My heart nearly stops, slowly making its way from my stomach to my chest as a heavy, muscular arm snakes around my ribs, and I am rolled into Wyant's side.

"Shhh, Duckie. I got you," his voice, deep and thick with sleep, says into my hair as he kisses my head, his other hand gentle yet lazy as he rubs my back. I don't fight when he pulls my hip closer to his body.

My fists grip, twist, and tug at the sheet tucked around him with fumbling frustration. He doesn't fight me, lifting his hips so I can pull back the offensive fabric. I need to feel him, skin to skin, his heartbeat against my chest. He is not dead; you are not dead.

I snuggle my tear-stained face against his neck, nuzzling as close as I can. I use his shoulders for leverage, pulling my body farther up, half lying on his chest. He doesn't hesitate once I turn his head toward my own, fervently hitting his lips with mine.

He pulls my face away, searching my eyes and waiting for the moment my mind clears enough to focus on him. "I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, baby. You're not the monster your brain lies to. You are enough; you are more light than darkness. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. Trust me." He palms my hand in his, moving them up to rest over his heart, his forehead pressing against mine. His eyes have me trapped, but I never want to be free.

Would he take it all back, knowing the depths of my darkness? He's only had a taste of my crazy. Could anyone truly love me, all of this mess? Even weeks ago when I snapped and destroyed his office looking for evidence of cheating, he didn't run away. Instead, he scooped me up in his arms, refusing to let my flailing body go until I relented and sagged into him. Who could love a murderer? What if he's just biding his time? Can't trigger the mentally sensitive chick and all that jazz. The rational side of my brain counters by recognizing we've been here before. That a few months ago, I was in the deep end of self-destruction, desperately trying to survive, and he saved me from drowning.

Wyant came out of the shower to see his office in disarray, remnants of a manic tornado he had nearly missed. Evidence of destruction was displayed with every paper and file out of their typically organized stations. Drawers emptied, laptop smashed. Finding nothing to validate my fears made me feel worse—like I could no longer trust my gut, myself.

I didn't notice when he walked in; curled in a ball against his desk with crumpled papers tightly wound in my fists, my face portraying the agony my body was battling. Or when he sat on the floor, pulling me into his arms as I cried.

"You're going to leave me," I whimpered through a ragged breath.

He tightened his grip, but I writhed to get away. Wyant knew how my manic moments went and simply listened as I poured my fears and recent sins onto him. The suspicious phone call, his lunch date with K, stalking him to catch him having an affair. With soft touches, he whispered, "I got you. I'm here."

His hold on me became stifling, so I moved us to the kitchen, the island creating a needed distance between us. I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge as a distraction and chugged it, immediately replacing it with another.

"You aren't the only one with darkness, Duckie. I have my demons, too—the faces of those that haunt my dreams," Wyant said, breaking the silence. His voice was low and steady, but his eyes glazed over, moving back and forth as if seeing his ghosts at that very moment.

I said nothing. Our demons were not the same.

"You chase the sun, Duckie, every damn day. Even when I see the shadows dancing behind your eyes and the dark clouds chasing you."

I stared at him. His message didn't match the man I saw. My Wyant, all good, love, and understanding—his demons cursed themselves while mine were made from two hands.

"I am darkness through and through. How can you not see that?" Tears swelled, and I couldn't stop them from spilling over.

"I'm still here."

"But for how long?" I cried out dejectedly, anger simmering.

He thought he knew me. How could he be so fucking calm? He was testing me or placating the crazy.

"I wanted to kill you. How long until my darkness consumes you, too? You will tire of me or abandon me eventually, just like everyone else. What do you want from me, Wyant? Being with me feels like a death sentence for you, one way or the other." I hurled the water bottle across the room. My black box of trinkets was the unintentional target, now lying on the floor, broken open, spilling out. My secrets were as exposed as I was feeling.

Wyant didn't bat an eye at my admission. "But you didn't. You've grown more than you think. You cracked, but you didn't shatter, baby. Do you honestly think I'd let you break? You are a masterpiece, a mosaic of all the pieces you had to put back together. Those who should have did not handle you with proper care or consideration. You are a rarity. You are flawed, with rough edges and cracks from when life has thrown you around, and you're fucking priceless to me. Your darkness stems from injustice. While it was warranted for a time, you started to channel it improperly. Death is a part of you like it is me. Only, I don't use it as a weapon for those who make mistakes that trigger trauma or hurt egos. I take out the ones who are truly beasts. If those like us were to take out everyone who crushed their spirit, even you would have died a long time ago. I know who you are, inside and out, because you are just like me. "

I shook my head. Everything he said made sense but also didn't. Resentment was making its way out, overshadowing the confusion and shock. I shook my head again in disbelief, pacing. One arm held my stomach, one thumbnail between my teeth. He talked with such conviction, but there was no way he knew. No one knew. He was trying to test me. To trap me. "You're full of shit. You think—"

"Azrael, Shauna, your mo—"

"I didn't kill my mother!" I shouted. "Her precious boyfriend decided it was time for a trip to Hell and booked two tickets." My correction of the latter left nothing but a confession of the former. The staredown between us was electrifying, the air buzzed around us.

Slowly, he approached me."You talk in your sleep. Did you know that? At first, I was offended hearing you say another man's name." He stood before me, his thumb tracing my bottom lip. "But I could tell they were nightmares. Pieces started pulling together the more you opened up to me. To you, it was just safe truths. But for me, it was just enough to dig. You told me you were from Texas. Searching his first name, death, and the state pulled up results. Most reports stated a heart attack, but we both know that isn't true."

I didn't have to admit it, but the challenge in his eyes dared me to deny it. He had it all figured out. I hung my gaze in shame, unsure of what was worse. The fact that the protective wall hiding my secrets was demolished, that I allowed it to happen, or that it even happened in the first place.

"A little more digging revealed that his ex-girlfriend disappeared on a hike a few weeks prior. The trail was known to be a bitch, so no one really blinked an eye, except her family who insisted she'd never make such a trip alone." It was true. Even my periodic searches revealed local articles where her parents had spoken out against the police department's lack of further investigation. A slight twinge of guilt formed as I thought about how my unintended advantage with Shauna came from society's lack of care toward missing black and brown women.

I felt offended, stripped naked, torn open, and free all at once. The layers of protection I built over the years seemed to melt away as I stared back at him, processing everything he revealed. He'd known, and he never left. He was here. I searched his face for any sign of disgust, but all I saw was compassion, resolve, and love. At that moment, I completely surrendered—hours of filling him in on my life, him confessing he'd taken out his father's supplier years ago, to a plan for us moving forward.

Lying in his arms, we watched my little black box and all its secrets dissipate into the flames with only flimsy ashes floating about. We spent the evening with our entwined bodies amidst the smell of burning history.

It's been a few months since that night, and while he has handled me with firmness and gentleness, something still feels like he isn't being fully truthful with me. Every fear I have wants to spill out, but it would only cause me to spiral further. Instead, I speak the only truth willing to come out: "I love you."

His eyes warm at my confession like always, his growing erection twitching beneath my thigh. A deep hum vibrates in his chest. He takes my mouth with his in a kiss that makes the world fade away until there is nothing but us. Sleep comes once again after Wyant finishes proving he is very much alive with every inch he has to give.

In the afternoon, Wyant heads out to play basketball, and I get my hands dirty in the garden. A few hours later, I'm dancing while carrying the last of the weeds and trimmings to the compost when my phone interrupts the music—a text. Finishing the task, I take a moment to pride myself in the refreshed garden beds as I remove the gloves, lifting my T-shirt to wipe the sweat forming across my forehead and dripping down the sides.

Rue, need ya to come to the shop this evening. Miss Ruby got some new flavors. I'll be there at 6:30 to walk you , Ronnie's text reads. I swear, he is ever the boss these days since Ruby hired him to be her shop handler. I'm not complaining, as one of the perks is being a tester for Miss Ruby's newest creations. He can boss me around all he wants; I would never turn down her ice cream.

Yes, sir! I reply with a soldier and laughing emoji. Looking at the time, I start toward the house to clean up. He will be here soon. I roll my eyes as I grab the door handle, thinking how men can be so clueless regarding women and a heads-up. Exactly thirty minutes later, the doorbell sounds as I'm tying the laces on my combat boots. One last glance into the mirror, adjusting my Run DMC T-shirt, I swing open the door, revealing an unusually chipper Ronnie. With a quick hello and a fist bump, he takes off down the steps, leaving me to lock up quickly and meet him at the gate.

"What's the rush today? Too much sugar in your veins?" I joke. Since he started working for Ruby, he pounds back ice cream pints left and right. I can't blame him; I'd bathe in her creations if I could.

"Naw, sweets. Just a good day," he replies with a smile as we continue to the sidewalk.

Minutes go by as we walk in our usual comfortable silence, and I take in the view. The sun has let up on her direct flames. Families are out walking, teens on scooters jetting up and down the street, laughter echoing in the slight breeze. I'm admiring the art displayed in the window of the new tattoo shop at the end of the block when Ronnie speaks.

"You know we can run away anytime, sweets. You just say the word, and we're gone. I'll always have your back, just as you've had mine."

I look at him, taking in the whole man before me. Tears slightly swell because I know as much as he is joking, he is dead serious. In some ways, Ronnie is the closest thing to a father figure I've ever had. He's shown up regularly to check on me, sending me funny memes on days in between—his new favorite thing to do since learning to navigate a phone after several years without one.

Taking his arm in mine, I place my head on his shoulder as we continue to Ruby's. I say nothing, squeezing his arm in appreciation of our consistent not-so-inside joke. Stopping in front of the shop a few minutes later, I shiver as a small tingle goes up my spine, noticing the lack of line that usually spans the sidewalk and the disappointed faces of a family walking out from under the overhang. They had missed the chalkboard sign in the middle of the sidewalk that reads, "Closed early for a private event." Weird, she never closes the shop early.

As we enter the small but colorful space, I inhale a strong but pleasant floral essence in place of the normal sugar sweetness that hangs in the air. Ronnie shuffles past me, quickly walking toward the kitchen doors. Vases of some of the prettiest flower combinations I've ever seen adorn almost every open surface, illuminated by dozens of candles decorating display cases and counters. A small table sits in the corner with only two chairs. In the center, a rustic copper bowl has been turned into an ice chest filled with several small dishes of different colored ice cream scoops that seem to float on clouds from the cool smoke billowing from beneath them. My mouth instantly waters, and I want to dive into the deliciousness.

A feeling of unease hits me, invasive, as if I am impeding on a special moment. "We better hurry up. What time does Miss Ruby need us out of here?" I shout toward the back as I wander around, taking in all the different arrangements, admiring one in particular, rubbing a soft petal from one of the deepest black roses I've ever seen. "So beautiful," I say to myself.

"Not nearly as gorgeous as you," a husky voice replies.

Spinning around, my eyes widen, surprised to hear Wyant's voice instead of Ronnie's. Running over, I throw my arms around his neck as he pulls me in for the sweetest but most demanding kiss. It's only been hours since I saw him and felt him inside of me, but it feels like forever. His hand grips my ass and gives it a little tap before we separate. "Did Ronnie text you too?" I ask, a little breathless. He's freshly showered, dressed in my favorite jeans and a fitted black tee. He smells of smoked whiskey and charred vanilla with hints of bergamot. It's intoxicating.

"Something like that." His wry grin is infectious, and I find myself smiling as he takes my hand, leads me to the table, and pulls out a chair. Standing behind me, he leans over and selects a mini dish from the copper bowl. Swirling his finger along the top of the mound, he offers it to my mouth. "I think you'll especially like this one; it was made just for you. Lemon and lavender with milk steeped with dandelion root," he says as I slowly lick the tip of his thick finger, continuing on to suck the sweet cream that is the perfect harmony of citrus with floral undertones. He hums and inhales a deep breath.

"Mmmmmmmm, it's perfect," l say, licking my lips and looking into his eyes.

"Keep it up, and the next person to pass by this shop will see your sweet ass bent over this table," he growls with a twinkle in his eye, passing me a spoon.

My core clenches thinking about him fucking me on this table. Instead, I opt for a few spoonfuls from the plate in front of me to cool my thoughts. I'd never admit it but Ruby's ice cream is almost as good as sex. I dig in for another bite to share with him, but when I turn, the spoon drops, landing on the table with a thud. Or maybe that's the blood rushing to my head as I take in Wyant before me.

My handsome man is on one knee, holding a bouquet of perfectly full dandelion puffs staggered with beautiful blue cornflowers, lemon leaves, and eucalyptus. In the center sits a small box resembling a mini ice cream cup with a lid.

"Wyant, what's happe—"

He removes the box and places the flowers beside him. "You are my dandelion, rooting your seeds in my heart since I first met you. Your mind, heart, and body are safe with me. You may chase the sun, but you are my sun, and I will fight with everything in me, any dark cloud or storm that threatens to dim your light. No more secrets, no more running. I will always be with you through the darkness until dawn. There is only you, me, and happy surprises. Marry me, Duckie." He opens the lid, and inside sits the most beautiful ring. I take in the medium-sized flawless blue stone encased in a thin band of what looks like broken chains as he slips it on my finger.

My breath catches. Throwing myself into his arms, I pepper his face and lips with kisses as tears run down my cheeks. He pushes my face back, taking another kiss as his erection sits hot and heavy on my belly. The room starts to fade when claps and cheers suddenly ring behind us as Ronnie, Miss Ruby, and some of the neighborhood gather outside the entrance. Ronnie opens the door. "My man, she say yes?" he asks with a gleam in his eye and a slight chuckle.

"Technically, she hasn't answered yet," Wyant replies with a grin, looking at me with adoration and feigned impatience.

My head immediately nods, and a resounding, "YES!" flies out. It was not as cool and composed as I hoped, but it's all he needed to hear before picking me up and spinning me. The celebration outside resumes as Ronnie swings his T-shirt in the air like a helicopter. His approval brings an extra amount of comfort. I look from the small crowd back to my future.

My Wyant.

"I want to make love to my fiancée," Wyant seductively whispers.

After rounds of fist bumps, hugs, and endless congratulations, we make it home and barely through the door before I am stripped bare. Tonight, there is no yelling out from haunted dreams as they have been replaced with screams of his name in pure ecstasy.

This short romance story is an alternate timeline of events and outcomes for Rue and Wyant, the main characters from my novel, Rotten Fruit , a semi-spicy psychological thriller which is available across most platforms in digital or paperback.