Barbie World (Baby Doll Series) (6 page)

Chapter 6.
Barbie

I have not been back here since that night. The sky turns dark, but even the earth’s shaking groans from overhead do not deter me. I remain in the same position. I am frozen; unable to move. Tears that I did not realize I had been crying have long dried to my face. Music of a passing car rattles the windows of the old houses, a dog barks in the distance; sounds that were once soothing to me are now frightening to the point that I am being paralyzed.

My mind is still foggy from the alcohol, making it seem like a good idea to come and check on Mrs. Sophie. Or, so that is what I told myself I was doing. I have not even been around to see her since everything happened. A pang of guilt fills me, she was always there for me when I needed a safe place to go and I just left and put the thought of her to the back of my mind. I have been living in this false pretense of being safe. Safe? Really, how safe am I? When is the other shoe going to drop and the Knights send me packing?

When I stepped onto the familiar street, the memories of that night come to me fast; freezing me into place, crashing into me. I am drowning in them and my arms and feet are too waterlogged to kick to the surface. I try to keep my eyes trained on Mrs. Sophie’s windows and breathe, yet I can feel myself coming undone at the seams, the chip in my foundation cracking. There is an electric charge to the hot night air tonight; I feel it pricking at my skin, choking me. It is almost too much for me to take. I can feel the house behind me bearing down on me with its filthy secrets; ones that it tried to keep hidden from the world.

I turn to face my tormentor; it stands the same as the night I left it behind. Mocking me with a sneer. While I crumbled apart, it stood mighty, just as I left it on that night. It’s chipping grey paint, the skeleton fence that wraps around its self, a rusty gate creaking against the wind, along with the sad excuse of a lawn that alternates between weeds and dirt patches.

The screen door slams against the ghostly house and, each time, I jump at the crashing sound. I can hear his boots behind me. I can still feel the rawness of that night on my skin. I can hear my mother begging him to stop, her black, mooned eyes that are too high to really comprehend what
is happening. Then I see the terror in Everett’s eyes and I cannot hold back. I scream from the top of my lungs, this time not for joy. I scream for all the pain I have ever felt. I scream for the abandonment that I struggle with every day. For not feeling worthy of my mother’s love. For feeling like I deserved what happened to me.

I storm into the yard, kicking at the gate and screaming into the emptiness. Wanting those ghosts to fear me, to run and hide from me. I scream at the house. I want it to fight back. I want something other than the silence it offers me. “WHY?” I scream, throwing the nearest thing I can find—a rusty beer can that must have been consumed by my mother or him, at one time. It hits the house and falls to the ground while the house remains a silent structure. “Come on,” I scream, balling up my fist. “You want me? Because here I am. Fight back. You took everything from me,” I scream.

I don’t care who can hear me, I am so angry. I am mad at what the house represents; it stands solid when it should be burnt to the ground. I am so angry at my mother for allowing herself to become what she is. I am mad at myself for not changing my fate somehow. I rake my finger down the side of the house, welcoming the pain that shoots through my fingertips. I scream, wanting to wake the world. I want someone to hear me. To understand what I am going through.

Someone or something does hear me because the Heavens open up and they pour down on me. Despite the rain, I continue my fight with the house, punching and kicking at the splintering wood until my hands feel raw and bloody and my feet ache.

Headlights fall on me between the sheets of rain, illuminating the world I am trapped in. I don’t care who sees me, though, I continue my war on the house. I make my way around it, pounding on the back door. It’s not until my fist hits a window, shattering it, that I pause for a moment to take a deep inhale of breath and stare at the blood dripping down my fists. Stunned, I collapse to my knees, letting the mud and gravel dig into them. I know Dylan is out there watching me. I can tell whenever he is around because my skin comes alive with anticipation that it might come in contact with his. He doesn’t come near, however, he just watches from the shadows where I can’t see him. He is probably fearful that I might hurt myself or someone else.

My hands spread out on the thick walls of the house, keeping me tethered to this pain. Pain. I will never not know a time when there is not pain. “Why?” I choke out around the tears. “Why couldn’t she love me more?”

“I don’t know,” Dylan answers, his voice is hoarse from what he just witnessed. He puts his hand on my shoulder. “It is going to be okay.”

I slide my hands down the wall. So much sadness, it has filled me to my core. It has filled my life and I can’t help blaming everything and everyone except the woman who is truly to blame. The weight of it is too much for me to bear anymore and I crumble into myself, burying my face into my knees and crying.

Dylan kneels down next to me. “Come on; let’s get you out of here. Nothing is going to change by beating up on this old house.” I remain still, unable to move. “I got you. Come on.” He lifts me up and I let him. I don’t fight it. I am tired of fighting what I feel for him. I let Dylan lead me away from my pain.

He holds me close to his chest and I grip at his shirt, breathing in the comforting smell that is him. It almost blocks out the pain and memories that lurk behind me. I can feel that numbing feeling I crave begin to form in the lower pit of my stomach. I glance back at the ghost of my past; its windows growing larger, wanting to swallow me up. I grip him tighter, letting him rescue me form the monsters. Even if it is a fake sense of safety, it is one I will take.

The rain pours down us, glistening off his pale, white skin as he opens the truck door. He carefully places me in the truck before getting in on his own side and then starting it up to turn on the heat. We don’t drive; we just sit in the truck, the headlights and rain providing a shield of light from the vision of horror that sits right outside his truck. I stare at my hands, still in shock. My hands look exactly how I feel on the inside. Broken.

“Here.” Dylan leans over, careful not to touch me as he pulls a rag from the glove box. He hands it over. “It is probably not the cleanest, but it is better than nothing.” I take the rag and wrap my hand in it slowly. We sit silently for a while as I continue to stare at my hands and Dylan stares off in the distance.

“I wish I was there that night. I wish I could have stopped him. I came here after you told me what happened. I was going to kill him. I would have, too, if I had found him.” He breathes. I can feel my pain becoming part of his and I want to instantly retract it, to take the pain away from him. Why is it that everyone I care about gets hurt when they come in contact with me? “He took a part of you that I don’t think I will ever find again and I hate him for that.” Maybe it is hearing his confession or my deep sorrow, but at that moment, I don’t care anymore. I need him. I need his touch to take some of this pain I feel at the same time that I want to take away the pain that he is feeling. We can soothe each other, why should I deny him that?

I drop the rag I was playing with to the floor and slide over across the bench to him. I climb onto his lap, straddling him. I am careful not to let our skin touch, letting the anticipation build up a wall between us. The feeling of him between my legs sparks something deep inside of me. I squeeze tighter against his hips while he licks his lips hungrily at me. I cannot help myself; I bite on my bottom lip, teasing him.

I can feel the effect I have on him between my legs. I push up against him as I lean in to him, letting my lips linger just above his, teasing him. He waits. I am in complete control of the situation, but I want him to take control. I don’t want to be strong anymore. I want to let go. I lean back against the steering wheel and his hands begin a long, torturous journey up my thighs. He sits up, closing the distance between us, pulling me to him. His other hand slips under my tank top, traveling up between my shoulder blades, painting pictures with his fingers on my skin.

He pushes up against me and I rock slowly against his hips. A moan of ecstasy escapes my lips as he takes me to another place. A place where I can forget about the pain of my everyday life. I lift my arms above my head so he can peel the wet shirt off. I help him take off his and explore his broad chest, feeling the familiar caresses of each well-defined muscle. He pulls close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him as our bare skin touches and that spark which only happens between us ignites.

In a quick move, he flips me over so I am under him, my bare back sticking to the cool leather of the bench. I tighten my legs, keeping them wrapped around his hips then run my hand up and down his back, loving the soft growl that escapes with each lingering touch. He leans in to kiss me, but I quickly turn my head and his mouth finds the bare flesh of my neck. My mind goes to another place, a place where I can feel every sensation. I arch my back against him, exposing my chest to him. My body is going crazy with each nip he takes at the sensitive skin. His mouth is everywhere and my hands are all over him. I cannot get enough of him. It is like he is bringing a part of me that was dead back to life. I want to breathe in the life that he is offering me.

“I have been dreaming of you. I almost forgot how good you feel against me,” he whispers in my ear. “I am going crazy not being able to touch you. All I want to do is touch you.” He spreads his hand across my bare stomach. “If you let me, I will take away all your pain.”

I desperately want to believe his words, but how can I when words lie?

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I flitter, in-between being awake and that fuzzy dream world, my mind dancing with thoughts of last night’s escapade. What we did was reckless. My cheeks burn with the memories of wanting to experience something other than the turmoil I was feeling. He was a balm for my deep wounds that resurfaced last night, but now, there are consequences that I am going to have to face. Not to mention that he has a girlfriend. No matter how much I don’t like her, she is still his girlfriend and now the rumors about me are truer than before.

I try to get the thought of his lips on me out of my head to no avail. He would have kept going, trying to take away the pain I felt, trying to fix the fucked up girl I am. Thank God we stopped while I still had some sort of clarity, though. He didn’t want to, I could tell his body still wanted me, but Dylan—being the good boy his momma raised—nodded his head, took deep cleansing breathes and helped me find my shirt before he put his back on.

My skin still tingles with his touch. It was as if he simply couldn’t get enough of me. It was like being thirsty and unable to quench that thirst, each of us frantic to drink the other in. What happened was hot, really hot. Thank God we stopped when we did because one more touch from him and I would have let him take me to a place I could not come back from. I refused to let our lips touch because kissing him would have made new wounds and I don’t think there is room on my heart for another scar. I was spinning so fast with his hands on my body that they were the only thing keeping me from spinning off this planet. I wanted to plea for him to continue. I want to beg him now to bring me back to that feeling

I listen to the soothing sound of his breathing; my own matching his while our hearts beat in sync. I revel in the stolen moment. Nuzzling my nose into his shirt, I take a deep breath, breathing in the sweet smell of cut grass mixed with the sharp smell of his soap. He is warm against me with his arm draped over me and his hand holding onto my elbow. I don’t know when I stopped crying or when we both fell asleep, but Dylan’s truck is still running and the sun now shines through the windows, warming my face. I hadn’t been ready to go back to Dylan’s house and he’d understood, letting me cry and not saying a word or expecting any in from me.

The vibration from Dylan’s phone in his pocket jerks me from my memories. He stirs and I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Dylan moans and reaches in his pocket, answering his phone.

“Hello,” he says groggily into the phone before he bolts up, wide awake “Mom… Yes, ma’am… Mom… No, ma’am… I am okay… Yes, she is okay, too… Her old house… Mom, I am sorry. We feel asleep… No… Mom… In my truck… I am sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you… Yeah…Okay, we will be home in ten… Mom… Okay… I love you, too.” He ends the call and stuffs the phone back into his pocket. “She is really mad.” He looks at me with his eyes puffy from sleep.

My stomach does a flip. I blush and look away before I try to kiss him into being fully awake. We stop at the only coffee shop in town to order caramel coffees with whip cream and chocolate drizzle. A few giant chocolate chip cookies finish our order. Yummy. We both need the caffeine and sugar fix before we have to face the wrath of Mrs. Knight.

We drive in silence, sipping on our coffee and nibbling on the cookies. I hold my coffee in my hands, letting the heat from the cup burn them slightly. “Thank you for everything,” I say, glancing at him. His hair is messier than usual and his eyes still hold an adorable sleepy look.

“What are friends for?” He grins. Yeah, friends. I blush, remembering the way I straddled him and the desire for him to touch me is back.
Just friends,
I remind myself. What happened last night can never happen again.

Mrs. Knight meets us on the front porch, arms flailing about, yelling before we even take the first step onto the porch.