Page 131 of Flock
Bonus Chapter
Music thrums throughout the dark hall as I straighten my tiara before re-adjusting my “Birthday Girl” sash in place around my hot pink tube dress. Walking down the dimly lit, smoke-filled corridor, bass vibrates through the walls and beneath my heels as I inch toward the closed door that reads GENTS.
A noise distracts me—coming from somewhere to my right—and I pause my footing to see it’s a couple making out. Scrutinizing them, I note familiar ink peeking out beneath the hem of the guy’s T-shirt. Onyx hair shields his face as more thick smoke seeps in between us to the point I can’t make out either of their profiles. Uneasy, I shift my focus back to the door, and with each progressive step I take, I start to fill with trepidation. Once outside, I crack it open a fraction and stall when I hear moans and grunts coming from the other side.
“Jared?” I call out as my heart drops when I recognize his voice in a heated whisper—a whisper not meant for me.
Hurt seeps into me as I realize I was right in suspecting him. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. Anger fuels me as I toss my shoulders back to face what’s waiting on the other side. With my palm holding the door, and just as I’m about to step forward, I’m stopped by a hand on my shoulder. Glancing back, I see Christy standing in her little black dress. “He’s only going to hurt you, Cee.” Turning to face her, I shake my head and lift my chin over her shoulder. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. See?”
Christy glances behind her toward the opposite end of the hall, where Sean leans against the wall, his silhouette faint, his lit cigarette glowing as he takes a long drag and exhales a thick plume of smoke that fills the whole space between us.
“See who?” Christy asks.
I squint in an effort to make Sean out through the thick haze, but I can no longer find a trace of him. “He was just there.”
“There’s no one there, Cee.”
But he is, I know he is, I can feel him, even if I can’t see him. Turning, I again face the bathroom door as Christy speaks up. “Cee, don’t. Let’s just go back.”
“I have to,” I turn back and face the door, “I have to see for myself.” Glancing over my shoulder, I see Christy, too, has disappeared along with everyone else loitering in the club hall. I decide it’s better this way, and that I need to face this alone.
Turning back, I brace myself for what waits on the other side and step through. White light blinds me briefly before giving way to the scene before me, where I find myself standing in Roman’s garden. Grunts of an entirely different kind fill the air as a thick mist keeps me from getting a clear view mere feet in front of me. Taking a few steps forward, I’m able to glimpse endless rows of hedges and realize several now surround me as the labored grunts become more intense.
Hesitantly moving toward the sound, some of the heavy fog lifts, and my father comes into view, dressed in one of his immaculate fitted suits, his back to me as he clips the head off a perfect rose.
“Roman?” I call, which goes unanswered as he continues to snap off another perfect bloom and then another with large garden shears.
“Roman, stop,” I cry more forcefully as my mother’s voice breaks clearly through the haze from behind me.
“Let him be, kid.”
“But he’s ruining them!” I say, looking over to see her standing feet away in her dingy robe, arm crossing her stomach, a hand gripping her hip, as she takes a drag of her cigarette with the other. She watches Roman, her expression unflinching as she speaks on exhale. “It’s easier this way, Cecelia.”
Shaking my head furiously—my heart battering my chest as my panic grows—I look back over to Roman as he continues to destroy the rose bushes, lopping the heads off every beautiful bloom. “Mom, he’s ruining them! Please, say something!”
A pained gasp leaves me as warm lips press against my temple while solid arms surround me. “Pup, baby, wake up, you’re dreaming.”
Cracking my eyes open, the sinking feeling stays with me as dread unfurls throughout my chest and body. Realizing where I am—and with whom—tears spring instantly as I grip Sean back. Burying my head in his neck, I release a fear-filled sob as the two realities collide.
“Hey, baby, hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs, holding me tightly to him as I try—and fail—to gather myself, raw and aching as I replay the dream, or rather it replays on its own, the details far too vivid to shake.
When the worst of my cries have subsided, Sean pulls back from where he holds me on his mattress, peering down at me with concern-etched features. I can’t help but gaze back at him, tracing his gorgeous face as he follows the path of a lingering tear down my cheek. Dipping, he gently sips it away with his lips, his soothing voice surrounding me. “I’m guessing this wasn’t a good one?”
“No, Jesus, no,” I say, becoming more haunted by the images circulating through my mind.
“What was it?” He asks.
“Just . . . God, I don’t know,” I exhale. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, and yes, you do know, tell me.”
He waits patiently for a few beats as I gather myself and the details to finally speak.
“It was my eighteenth birthday, and we were at a club. That’s where Christy took me. Do you remember when I told you I caught my ex-cheating on my last birthday?”
He nods.
“Well, it was a nice, slow replay of that, but . . .” I gaze up at him. “You were there too.”
