Page 124 of Flock
And though it hurts like no other pain I’ve felt, I did what I set out to do.
I can safely say Cecelia Horner is a wallflower no more.
I leapt, and now I have to decide if this pain I’m feeling was worth the trade-off of one unforgettable summer.
Time to kick, Cecelia.
Brooke Shields comes on screen; beautiful, naïve, innocence intact as she takes the steps down the stairs to her lover, untouched by the bitterness that I can’t help but feel, and I want to warn her, to tell her that look she’s giving that boy as they fuck by the firelight is going to cost her. Instead, I ache with her and grieve the innocence she’s letting go of, because deep down, I’m still addicted to that all-too-familiar feeling. My heart curses me as I watch on, rapt, reliving my days and nights beneath the trees and stars.
As I watch, all I can do is feel the sting of loss and mourn the girl she was before love took hold of her.
My phone buzzes on the table in front of me and Christy’s eyes meet mine as NEVER ANSWER crosses my screen.
I silence it without hesitation, and she gives me a proud smile before her gaze darts back to the movie, her eyes love drunk.
But mine are wide open.
It’s the addict in me fighting to keep me in the deep end, and so, I do the only thing I can.
I kick.
Chapter Forty
The day I return home to Triple Falls, I change the gate code and trash the bikini I wore the day at the lake. My phone buzzes with a lone text and I ignore it. I haven’t permitted myself to check Sean’s messages yet. There’s no excuse, no reason I can fathom, that will ever be good enough to justify what they’ve done to me.
I’ve trapped myself in my bedroom and spent the majority of my day reading up on career possibilities and the majors that coincide with them. I’ll have the first year of school to seriously mull it over, so I rest easy in that knowledge, but decide to get a jump on my pre-requisites and sign up for fall classes. Between my time at community college and working at the plant, I’ll stay busy enough to keep my nose clean.
Back to square one.
And I’ll use my time here productively. With a clean slate, trying my best to erase the last three and a half months.
After a few hours locked into my cell, I decide on a better plan. And it has nothing to do with getting even and everything to do with eradicating any lingering curiosity or attachment to my summer.
Sometimes the best revenge is piquing the curiosity of those who fucked you and moving on. I’ve learned well enough over the past few months that silence can be the best weapon. So, if Sean wants to be heard, my retribution for his betrayal will be to shut him out. Although he’s been doing all of the calling and texting, I swore I heard the distinct sound of a Camaro on the lone road when I walked the grounds of the garden this morning. But these men are bold— they’ve raided my home more than once unannounced, and if they want to get to me, they will.
Roman’s permanently moved to Charlotte. He’s no threat. If they want my attention so much, they know where to find me. And I have to be ready because odds are, if Sean’s calling and texting, and I continue to avoid them, they’ll be coming.
What could they possibly want or have to say?
If they regret it, why did they take so many pains in making such a show of it? And not just in front of locals, but other chapters of the hood.
I can’t afford to care. My head and heart can’t take it.
It’s over. Whatever it was, it’s over.
Spell broken or not, I attach myself to the burn and let it have its way with me.
Tomorrow is my first day back at the plant, and I have zero doubts I’ll have to face Sean. He’ll find a way to corner me, to get me alone. After hours in the silent house, and organizing my life to the point of insanity, I decide to take a drive to clear my head. Setting out down the long driveway, I listen carefully for the sound of a Camaro and decide it was the result of my overactive imagination, hating the notion that it might have been more like wishful thinking. Quieting these thoughts with a spoonful of those agonizing seconds in their garage, I head out on the road. I breathe a little easier when I reach the end of it, and I ease into the three-way stop looking left and then right, my eyes landing on Dominic when he comes into view, waiting on the shoulder.
Fuck.
He watches me, intent from where he sits feet away. Snapping our connection, I spring into motion, gunning my car past him where he’s parked before hauling ass down the road. In seconds, he’s on my tail, my sedan no match for the lightning beneath his hood. Nerves firing, anger building, I steer through winding roads leading down the mountain toward town. He keeps his distance but remains close enough that I know he’s there and not giving up. I gas my car well above the speed limit, but he keeps the same amount of distance.
“Fuck you!” I roar as I race down the now-familiar roads, driving like a lunatic to evade my old spellbinding captor. Rage boils through me as I replay that night over and over in my head, making good headway toward town. Dom remains hot on my trail until I’m forced to slow at the first stoplight. I check my rearview and see he’s laid back, posture relaxed, the same smug expression on his face that was there the day I met him. I speed through one stoplight and then the next before crossing through to the opposite side of town. Sure he’ll eventually tire, I take him through twenty minutes of winding roads, but he stays right at my bumper.
Fed up with the charade, I skid to a stop at an abandoned camp parking lot, and he narrowly misses a tree, jerking the Camaro in after me, fishtailing and skidding to a stop on the asphalt. I’m already out of my car charging toward him, and he barely makes it out of the driver’s seat when I deliver the first slap.
He takes my hit, his body solid against his car and looks over me as if he’s breathing me in. Hand stinging, I swing again, and he blocks me. Livid, I drink him in as he drops his head, his face blanched red with the outline of my fingers. His hand closes around my wrist, restraining me.
