I waited for the voices to return and berate me again, but they did not. I had not heard from them since the evening before I bled Evan to death. Apparently they weren’t aware of what had transpired between us, and as far as I was concerned, they would never know. Maybe I was becoming what everyone said I was. But it had never been their right to say. And back then, it had all been lies. The mocking, the name calling, the taunts and the beatings I had suffered at the hands of bullies that hated me because I was a little different.
And they had killed momma too. As sure as if they had cut her wrists themselves.
But, what was done, was done, and what I had to do, I had to do.
That was all there was to it.
I stood back from the crowd. The stranger walked slowly with the others, their heads down; some crying, some with faces lacking any emotion at all, as mine did.
He removed his dark glasses and as he got closer, he looked at me. Or rather, looked through me. I felt his gaze go into my eyes, and penetrate my soul. His expression did not change.
My heart became even colder as I recognized the same features; softer, younger features, yet still the same.
I never felt so weak. I feared collapsing as he neared.
He couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. And he was absolutely gorgeous. I recalled seeing him once, years ago. He’d been tagging along with his big brother at the park. I guess he was about 9 then. He’d been a scrawny little kid, but he didn’t seem to like the others laughing, and calling me names that I’m sure he didn’t understand. But it doesn’t do much good to have an ally that’s half your size when you are faced with bullies that are bigger than you are already.
He steadily approached.
Adrenaline had dumped into my system and I wanted to scream.
My eyes locked into his, and my face became frozen with an ice-cold desire I could not hide. His eyes held me for a moment, then he turned and continued towards the grave. I was going to be sick.
I watched him walk to the front row of chairs the funeral home had placed for the immediate families of both of the deceased.
He sat next to an older blond woman I presumed to be the dead girl’s mother; she looked just like her.
I watched as his arm went around the woman, a tender long fingered hand stroked the back of her head. He was so far removed from everyone there that he couldn’t possibly belong anywhere else but by my side.
The service was short, and evoked much emotion from the family.
Except him. He never shed a tear. In fact, his expression hadn’t changed since his arrival.
I wanted to comfort him, but he did not look as though comfort was what he sought.
I wondered what was. I knew that whatever it was, I could provide it for him .
I bathed in my own remorse. I wasn’t sorry that Evan was dead, but I had shared with him what I now wanted to share with his brother. Now I needed a way to make it special again. I would have to think about it all very carefully. I certainly didn’t want the voices finding out about Evan and certainly not about this most recent development. I would have to be clever.
I couldn’t take my eyes from him.
I wanted him to scream my name, but most of all, I wanted to scream his.
I bowed my head and immersed myself in my last memories of Evan. Why couldn’t I have waited? But even if I had, would I have crossed Garrett’s path again if I had not killed his brother?
I would have had no reason to kill Evan if they had all just left me alone. Why couldn’t they all have just left me alone?
I tingled all over, not just from the cold, or the excitement Garrett caused in me, but also because I only had four more to go, and momma would be vindicated.
With Garrett by my side… well, …the hell with all of them.
Perhaps it was because I hadn’t heard the voices in days that I felt so free and unrestrained.
My thoughts ran rampant with fantasies of escaping with Garrett, and never having to face the voices again. I wanted so much to be free of them. And I knew that someday, I would be. But, at that moment, Garrett was all that truly existed to me.
My Garrett. Or at least he soon would be.
In every sense of the word.
©2011 Garden Summerland