Darkest Before Dawn (19 page)

I
toss
the lipstick down on my dresser and glance in the mirror. Sure, I look fine. I’m not.

My phone buzzes with a text. I ignore it. It’s most likely Meg saying she’s on her way. I don’t want to go anywhere, but I told her I would and am now regretting that decision whole-heartedly. I plop down on the couch to wait for her, trying to figure out how I can get out of this bullshit.

People don’t get it; they aren’t able to understand. I’m tired of listening to people tell me to let it go, that I’m a strong person, that it will get better with time. Honestly, I think it’s gotten worse with time. We all pretend that loneliness is cured by surrounding ourselves with others. That’s a beautiful fucking lie because the truth is ugly.

We are always alone.

No one can climb into your mind, no one else has to wear your soul, bear your scars. And when you’re sad, everyone else frowns because it’s polite even though their souls are able to smile if they’d allow themselves to. To everyone else, we must pretend to be something that resembles the ideal of what life should be, and when we don’t, we are labeled as depressed.

Some days I am fine, then some days my entire being oozes fear and anxiety. Some nights I wake up in a sweat, my heart beating out of my chest and I search frantically for Max’s body next to mine. Then the fear swallows me because he is not there. When strangers get too close to me, I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin. A guy looks at me the wrong way—or, depending on the day, looks at me at all—and my initial instinct is to take off running in the opposite direction.

Life shapes and molds a person, and once something has been chipped out of your soul, you can’t put it back. And maybe that’s why I love him so much, he was there when I broke, he understands because he has monsters that my demons can play with, and the thing is, the person I am on the inside—she can’t play with angels because heaven and hell don’t mix.

A loud knock on the door startles me, my entire body jerking in a spasm of anxiety. My heart races and adrenaline from the sudden shock makes me dizzy. Another loud bang. I begrudgingly slide off the couch and look through the peephole on the door. Meg’s standing outside, a grin plastered to her made-up face. She’s wearing her short black skirt which means frat party. I roll my eyes before yanking the door open.

“Oh, you look cute,” she says as she gives me a quick once over. “You ready? I told Tara I’d swing by and pick her up.”

“Yeah.” I grab my purse from the end table by the door and we head into the breezeway.

“Ava, you okay?” she asks as we step into the parking lot.

“Yep.” She gives me a knowing look just as a black SUV pulls up on the other side of her Mustang. I freeze momentarily, but she keeps walking.

“What?” She glances over her shoulder when she reaches the back of her car. “Why’d you stop in the middle of the street?”

“I…uh…” I begin walking again, deciding not to explain that I didn’t want to get that close to a car because I’m terrified I’ll get yanked inside. “I just thought I forgot my keys.” I hold them up. “Got ’em.” I smile and reach for the passenger door just as she climbs into the driver’s seat.

As soon as I’ve buckled my seatbelt, her phone rings.

“Hello? Oh, shit. Yeah…oh, yeah, sounds good, hang on a sec.” Meg glances at me as she puts the car in reverse. “The campus police shut the party down. Took the keg. Devon said we could catch a movie instead. Sound good to you?”

“Sure.” I’d much rather go to a movie, sit in the dark, and not have to talk to anyone, so I am absolutely fine with that.

* * *

M
y heart is going haywire
. I’m shaking. Sweating. I keep glancing around at the people in the movie theater. Waiting.

On what?

On something.

On someone.

I talked everyone in to sitting in the back row, because at least this way no one is behind us. The movie is playing, but I can’t tell you what the hell it is about because all I can do is try to breathe, try to tell myself it’s fine. I’m okay. I’m safe…

The person in front of me abruptly stands, their seat cushion flopping back and I jump. Meg cuts her eyes over at me.

Swallowing, I keep my eyes focused on the movie screen. I want this damn movie to be over. I want out of this fucking theater. The screen goes dark and all you can hear are the heavy breaths of the actress on the film, her footsteps as she runs through the pitch-black house, then a door slams open and the screen goes bright. There’s a scream and that’s all I can take. I launch out of the chair, running down the steps and from the theater with my heart in my throat. Seconds later, the door to the auditorium bangs open and Meg comes scurrying out looking around for me.

“What the hell, Ava?” she asks, her face drawn with concern.

My gaze immediately falls to the floor because I’m ashamed. I have no control over any of this. The uneasiness. The fear. The fact that I would love to be anyone else but me. “I just, um, I just—it was too much I guess. The movie, you know? It’s dark and there’s all those people and the guy in front of us just kinda jumped up and that startled me, and I don’t know, I just. I just. I can’t…” I can’t catch my breath. My chest is so tight it feels like my lungs are going to collapse at any moment.

Meg wraps her tiny arms around me. “Oh, Ava. I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry,” she whispers against my hair. “I wish I could understand. I wish I could fix it for you.”

But you can’t fix something like this. There is nothing to fix. I am not a broken doll. The pieces of me that are missing and warped, those can’t be sewn back on with care. No one understands that. And knowing that makes me feel more alone than I ever did in that cellar.

So it seems, having survived whatever I did, freedom is actually my hell.

I
play
“Unsteady” as I lather my face up and take a straight edge razor to it, slowly gliding over my throat. After each swipe of the razor, I slop the mess into the sink. A month’s worth of scruff vanishes and I look like a new man. I
feel
like a new man.

I find myself humming as I pull the black V-neck over my head. One last glance in the mirror, and I run my fingers through my hair before grabbing the keys from the dresser and heading to the front door. I step onto the porch, taking a deep breath as I make my way down the old steps. The distinct aroma of burning firewood from a neighboring house carries over on the breeze. That smell does something to calm my nerves as I round the corner of the house. Leaves crunch beneath my boots. Twigs snap. I pull open the rusted door of the utility shed, I grab the rope and gloves, then quickly close it back.

Those items go in the passenger seat, right next to her book. Her bible, if you will. I turn the ignition, the engine roaring to life.
Full tank.
I smile because the next time I come back here, she will be with me. And I will never, ever let her go. Some things can only be loved in the dark. Ava and me, we know no other way, I just had to see it.

I drive for five hours before I pull into the tiny city of Tuscaloosa, Alabama. The place is littered with cars and RVs.
Fucking football.
College kids are camped out under tents, circled around kegs, all red-faced drunk and shouting. The traffic in front of me inches along McFarland Boulevard and my knuckles turn white from gripping the steering wheel.

“Fucking idiots,” I mumble when a pickup rear-ends a sedan.

There’s a side street to the right which I turn down. Only a few cars are on this route and within fifteen minutes I’m just outside of campus, in a quaint little neighborhood that resembles something out of
Leave It to Beaver
. And seeing as how this is a college town where football is more important than God, the area is completely deserted. I pass 547, 545, 543 Elder Street, and luckily, find a parking spot right under an old oak tree in front of 541. You’d think it wouldn’t be so easy to find a girl who’s already been abducted once, but University directories—well, they obviously don’t take that into account. The porch light is on and one window in the back of the house is lit up. One car in the driveway. I grab the gloves and my jacket from the passenger seat. After I slip my jacket on, I wind the rope up and shove it inside the front pocket.

There’s no traffic. Not a car. Not a soul. Not a motherfucking bird in sight as I hurry onto the sidewalk and down along the side of the house, thankful it’s dark enough between the two small houses that I blend in with the shadows. When I come to the back of the house, I’m delighted to find the back door open, only the screen door separates me from the inside. My breathing grows ragged, audible as I slip my fingers into the leather gloves and take my knife from my back pocket. It’s so easy to cut a hole through the wire mesh, reach inside, and flip the lock. And easy enough to push the screen back so it’s not noticeable, unless you are looking, that anyone has intruded. Even though I use caution, easing the door open as slowly as possible, the aluminum hinges groan. I cringe, my brow wrinkling, but there is no sound, no movement from within.

I carefully shut the door behind me and quietly make my way along the wall to the hallway right off the tiny kitchen. My pulse hammers in my temples, my skin heats from the anticipation building like a slow fire in my chest. This is a chance I’m taking. I’m not going to lie because I don’t know who is here. I’m on guard as I approach the living room, and even more so when I turn down the second hall leading to the only room in the house with a light on. The room where, hopefully, my dark creature lives—for now.

The soft sound of music drifts down the hallway—“Unsteady”—of course. The song ends just as I reach the doorway, but comes back on because she has it on repeat. And I swear to you, my heart has never raced like this before. Stopping just beside the door, I attempt to collect myself, but when I step into the doorway I find the room empty. The comforter on her bed is balled into a mess by the footboard. Clothes are strewn across the room. Her closet door is wide open, laundry spilling out from a hamper and out of the doorway. And for the briefest of moments, I panic. My plan is failing…my gaze lands on a framed picture set on her bed stand. It’s a picture of her and her parents, and the fact that I can look at her, it makes everything else fade into the background.

I step over the mess on the floor and pick the picture frame up, staring at her, pissed that I somehow forgot exactly how beautiful she was, but then again, I never saw her like this—with makeup on and her hair curled—trying to hide who she really is. Just as I sweep my fingertip over her picture, headlights bounce around the room. The hum of a car pulling into the driveway is barely audible through her bedroom window.

She’s here.

The thought causes my pulse to skip as a deep smile settles on my face. Without pause, I step inside her closet, pressing my back against the wall and dragging in one last, deep breath. My eyes slam shut at her scent, an aroma that once wrapped around me, quitting the demons deep within. And if that isn’t enough to tell me this is fate—that this is how it should be—well, I don’t know what will be.

I hear the front door open. Voices talking. Footsteps treading down the hall. And with each sound, each movement drawing her closer to me, my heart damn near explodes out of my chest.

“Ava,” a girl’s voice floats down the hallway. She sounds agitated. “I’m trying to understand it, but I don’t even feel like you’re trying. I get it, it was shitty. It fucked you up, but—”

“No! You don’t get it,” Ava shouts. “Don’t try to, Meg. Just—just stop trying to force me to do shit. It’s not helping.”

“Ava.” The other girl sighs. “I’m sorry, I just want you to be happy again. I just want you to learn how to cope with all this BS.”

“Yeah, I’ll cope with it.” A cynical laugh fills the room as I hear the door creak open. “Why don’t you just go back to the party?”

“Well, I’m sure as shit not staying here to sulk with you. I’m done enabling this shit, Ava.”

“I never asked you to enable anything.”

The wall shakes when the door slams shut. I hear her cross the room, groaning. The music cuts off. She’s pacing and mumbling under her breath. Seconds later, the back door bangs closed and moments after that, I can hear the faint sound of a car leaving the driveway. This is it. I just have to take her—just claim her. I pull the rope from my pocket and prepare to step into her room, but I hear the hinges to her door creak, and suddenly, she’s gone. I peer out cautiously and hear a shower cut on down the hall.

Sneaking out of the closet, I tiptoe across the room, and carefully, I peek around the doorframe. My gaze strays to the partially opened door at the end of the hallway. I slink along the corridor and try my best to keep the floorboards from creaking—not that she would hear it over the shower. If I’m honest, I do hate how this is turning out. Never did I want to take her from the bathroom, nude. I didn’t want one thing about this to seem perverse or cliché. Because this is our love story. Dark and gritty and raw, so deep it has driven us both to the brink of madness.

I bite down on my lip as I creep along the wall, my hands running over the slick chair rail. When my fingers curl around the doorframe, I hesitate. Maybe this is not the way to do this, but just as Ava said, things stolen hold so much more value to you, and things stolen, in turn, know they have a great worth, for men only steal those things they cannot live without.

And I cannot live without her.