Page 4 of Divine Violence
The melody I was lost in mere moments ago stopped, leaving me with the sound of rain and an ambulance rushing somewhere not too far from here. My eyes sought him, my heart thundering, foolishly thinking he would stay, that tonight would be the night.
But when I looked at the spot he’d occupied during my dance, the disappointment washed over me, killing what little hope I had.
He was gone.
* * *
Being soakedduring the harsh October weather was not my idea of fun, but it didn’t seem like such a bad idea hours ago. Now, as I trekked up the hill, pulling my bicycle with me, I realized that my night only went from bad to worse.
I stayed on top of that goddamn building for another hour, hoping he would come back. Hoping that I would get to live this fantasy I had in my head, but I didn’t need to be a genius to know that the only companion I would have tonight would be the cold wind and the shouts of drunk frat boys roaming down the street.
So I left.
I had no idea what I was angry at. Him? Myself?
It always came back to being angry at myself if I was being completely honest. What person of sound mind would even imagine getting lost in a stranger’s arms when there were so many dangers lurking from every corner of our world?
Me, that’s who.
But I guess that when you had nothing else to lose, recklessness became the companion you shouldn’t have craved, but it attached itself to you all the same. And me? I didn’t care about the consequences.
That man, that shadow lurking in the darkness, could’ve been a serial killer, and I was just another silly eighteen-year-old craving attention in the forbidden places, because I had no one to tell me that I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t have gone there.
I should’ve run the first time I saw him, but the fire burning in my veins pulled me closer to him. Every time I saw him standing there, observing, I felt like the only girl in the world. Wasn’t it fucked up that I needed that attention just to feel alive? Wasn’t it fucked up that I couldn’t go out with someone my age? I had no doubt in my mind that the faceless man was older than me.
The only people awake and out and about during the witching hour were those with souls colored in crimson, depraved enough to seek what they wanted, consequences be damned.
But no more.
I would never go back there again. I would never crave his touch. I’d be damned if I ever even thought about him.
God. What a fool I was.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, mirroring the torrent of misery and shame in my heart. The worst part of this anger inside my body was that it stemmed not from actual rage, but from the mortification of an eighteen-year-old who thought she could attract someone, while being hugged with the hands of youth and sadness.
Who would’ve wanted to introduce themselves to an obvious young girl pretending to be older than she was?
Sometimes I felt like I was mature beyond my age, but other times, like tonight, I could see myself for what I really was—a young fool.
A young fool looking for paradise in the dark night where only sinners and villains lived. A young fool, hopeful that someone, someday, would take me away from this madness swarming inside my head.
It didn’t matter that in two days I would have everything I ever wanted, at least materialistically. I’d been dreaming for years of the moment when someone would come and say that all I went through was a dream and that I would finally get to go home.
But what was home? Was it four walls and a roof, or was it two eyes and a heartbeat? Was my home still in Corwynth or was it somewhere else in this big, beautiful world we occupied?
It still bothered me that the excitement I expected to have evaded me. Even though I wanted to be happy, I wanted to be elated, I still couldn’t bring myself to it. My grandma was just on the other side of the ocean, east from here, east from my heart, waiting for me to walk inside her house.
That tremble in her voice when she called me was proof enough how relieved she was that they finally found me, and how heartbroken she was that my brother wasn’t with me.
Goddammit, I wanted to feel that happiness, that tiny sparkle inside my chest, spreading light and joy through my body, but it still slept. It still hid from me, and I had no idea why. Was it because of the stranger? Was it because my soul wept for tragedy more than fortune and comedy? Was it because I yearned for toxicity more than normalcy?
Maybe if I had a time machine, I would’ve gone back in time, stopped my parents from ever getting out of that hotel, just so that I could have a joyful life. So much time spent on what-ifs, so many years spent with the tear-stained face, and now standing here in front of the group home I’ve lived in for the past couple of years, I wondered if I blew it all out of proportion. Perhaps I did?
There were traces of depravity in me, and that had nothing to do with the tragedy that struck our family. The depravity came alive from the choices I’d made, from every little mistake I’d committed. The death of my parents and my brother was maybe a catalyst for who I was today, but the rest… the rest was my own doing.
But could I change it? Could I change my DNA to accommodate the new life I wanted to have?
Dogs barked from their own little prisons and I couldn’t help but feel for them. I knew what it felt like. You were free, yet confined to one singular space. You were fed, but starved for something more than food.
