Fade to Black (The Black Trilogy Book 1) (6 page)

A minute later the baby was out, wailing and balling his fists at me. I held him, slippery with goo, not caring about anything else in the world. I felt hot tears slide down my cheeks. Daniel had not killed everything in me after all.

Nana was beaming with pride, and my heart fluttered wildly with excitement inside my chest. I could feel an overwhelming joy and peace looking in this creature’s eyes. A living, breathing thing was there, and I helped get it there. I looked, with my eyes full of tears, for Nana’s face. She was telling Lana something, and then she looked at me.

“Good girl,” she said winking, and gave me one of her angelic smiles.

I blinked the tears away and watched as Nana cut the cord. She began to tell me what to do. I placed the baby in a blanket rubbed the protective white paste off his face. I suctioned his nose and mouth—just like baby horses, I thought.

After the baby was as clean as I was going to get him, I started toward the mother, but Lana began shaking her head.

“No, he’s not mine,” she said, without an ounce of humor.

I felt my face pinch with confusion. I held the little boy in my arms and watched as Nana sewed Lana up. Nana would turn her head to the side to tell me something, explaining why this and that was necessary. She was coaching me. I didn’t think I’d ever shown interest in the work of a midwife, but she was coaching me nonetheless.

Lana, as Nana later explained as we left her to rest a while, had gotten pregnant by a married man. The baby was going to live with the man and his wife, raising him as their own. Lana didn’t seem to have any concerns about this decision.

Later that evening I checked on her, she openly admitted as much to me.

“I mean, honestly? He’s going to be much better off with his family than with me,” she said sleepily. “And besides,” she added, smiling at me. “I’m going to be an actress. I wouldn’t be able to give him the attention he deserves.”

I just listened, knowing the first rule of delivering babies is you never, ever judge the mothers. Not their age or color or reasons. Lana and I talked and got to know each other a little as I cleaned around the room, killing time, and enjoying the company, even as odd as it was.

Lana was a high school dropout, who worked at a diner on the edge of our little town. She was saving up her tips and longing for the day she got away from her “drunken whore of a mother” and “super-sized” granny and their tiny trailer in the Westland trailer park. She was going to be a famous actress when she finally got away.

I wished I had some kind of dream, but for now all I knew was Daniel, and my mother had made sure I would never be able to do anything without their presence in my head. They were with me always, along with the awful words they’d said, and the things they’d done.

When it was late, Nana had took the baby somewhere, and Lana had signed a bunch of papers that a lawyer for the family brought over, the adoption was complete. It was practical, but it still made me sad. I went to bed excited that I delivered a baby for the first time but sad that it was gone and that I would not know what he would grow to be. The little pieces of my heart still hurt at the thought of never being loved, and never being clean enough to have a family of my own.

chapter nine

Christmas was a huge deal at the Mitchell home, that year especially, now I was well enough to enjoy it. We cooked and baked for church people and neighbors. Nana and I took food to the less fortunate families that otherwise would not have anything. I loved every minute of it.

When we visited the Logue family with baked pies and homemade fudge, I sat and watched
Mickey Mouse Christmas
with Josh while Nana and Mrs. Logue talked. Matthew, I assumed, had grown tired of me by now and didn’t feel the need to see me. I sat rigid and upset that he hadn’t at least come to say hello to me.

I could hear Mrs. Logue and Nana gossiping in the kitchen. Leaving Josh to Mickey, I began to wander around the living room, looking at the decorations. The pictures of a happy family sat all over the room, scattered in different places, including pictures of the elder Mrs. Logue who had died a several years before. After she died, Mr. Logue refused to leave, so the family moved to Cosby permanently from Florida to take care of him.

Something caught my eye and I looked out the window. There, setting on the hill was my blue barn, the image that started my dreams of escape from Daniel and the personal hell I was forced to live in. A light was on in its loft. I instantly turned and left the house, telling Nana I’d be back in a few minutes. I shut the door, not waiting for a reply. I climbed the hill quickly to the barn. I loved that thing—blue and ugly, but a symbol of home to me. I opened the doors and looked inside. There was nothing there. Just the dusty inside of a barn. I climbed the steps to the loft and found Matthew propped up on his elbows reading.

“Oh, hey,” he said, with that crooked grin that made me blush. Laying the book down beside him, he sat up

“I’m sorry,” I stammered, and I began to back away.

“No, stay,” he said, getting to his feet. “I was trying get some things caught up.” He nodded toward the papers and books. “I have to stay ahead if I’m going to get into Duke.” He grinned again.

He was so handsome. He had wavy dark hair clipped close to the scalp, and green eyes that caused my brain to go fuzzy every time I looked in them. He was clean and lovely. He stood a whole head taller than me, and I was pretty tall for a girl. The boys at school made sure to tell me all the time. I got lost for a minute in those deep green eyes. I realized he was saying something and tried to tune back in.

“Piper?” he said, and I blinked back to earth.

He was clean, and I was dirty. I would never be a part of his clean happy family, no matter how much I wanted it. The smiling, happy people in the pictures I saw moments ago would never include me.

I swallowed my hurt at the thought and said stupidly, “Right.”

Matthew frowned and asked, “You okay?”

Getting control of myself, I said, “Yes, I just wanted to see the barn. I saw the light and wanted to see it.”

I looked around, sadness starting to bubble up my throat, tears threatening to surface.

“You wanted to see the barn? Why?” he asked, confused.

I remembered he didn’t know my story. He knew I was dirty and unlovable because he found me, but he didn’t realize why I would want to see the blue barn. Matthew didn’t know it was a symbol of hope in a hopeless trailer that had held a little girl prisoner for months. I paused, and thought this was an innocent enough question to answer.

“This is where,” I stopped, and swallowed my emotions and then finished quietly, “I was running to.”

Understanding slowly dawned on him, and his face went soft.

“Anyway,” I said, feeling uncomfortable. “I better get back before Nana misses me.” I turned to go.

“Wait. Hold on just a sec.” I stopped on the top step and turned to see him rummage around in his bag, emerging with something in his hand.

“Three different girls tried to corner me at school, but I dodged them all,” he said sheepishly. “I brought this home, hoping to get a chance to use it.”

He opened his hand to show me a small strand of mistletoe. I looked at it, not understanding.

“Okay,” I said, not catching on.

I was dirty. Not at all kissable, but this clean and beautiful guy placed the mistletoe over my head and said, “May I?” in a nervous whisper.

I was dumbfounded. He wanted to kiss me?
Me?
Heat rose to my face and I felt suddenly light headed. I just nodded numbly, not knowing I was even moving my head. I wanted nothing more in the world than to taste those pink lips of his.

Matthew stepped down on the step with me, and leaned into me, kissing me so softly. At first it was just him touching my lips with his. I was terrified, and almost shaking with nerves. My cheeks burned, and my head rushed.

Something must have shifted with him because he began to kiss me deeper. Forgetting the mistletoe, he wrapped his arms around my middle. My mouth parted, and our tongues touched. Feeling him press into my body, I jumped back as if he’d burned me. Breathing heavy, I shook all over. Daniel’s face was there for just a second. He had succeeded in ruining that wonderful moment for me. Matthew reached to get my hand, concern on his beautiful face. I began to cry, confused at all I was feeling.

“Piper?”

Something in his voice was gentle, but commanding. I looked up to his face.

“It’s me, Piper. Just me,” he pulled me to him, to hug me.

He smelled like cedar and musk. I loved him, but I was dirty. I wanted to kiss him, but I was diseased. I would never be free from the stranglehold of Daniel. My body and the scars I had would always be a reminder I was not worthy. But damn it, for just a moment I wished to be just that.

chapter ten

Not long after the kiss, I found, by accident, the relief that came from cutting. I absently picked at a scab. I picked at it with so much focus and control, I was relieved when the blood began to flow. This was something I controlled completely, and it released my mind from bonds I didn’t know were there. I began to cut myself daily. I had so many emotions and no control over them. I hurt so badly in my mind, the physical pain relieved me of it and it felt good.

When the first shard of broken glass released blood from my upper arm, I immediately felt better. Not in a soothing way, but in a gratifying way. I could control it. I could cut, and not draw blood, or I could cut, and make myself bleed as much as I thought I needed to. I was dirty and diseased, and therefore I needed to bleed from the sickness.

Escape came to me in bloody droplets. The more I cut, the less I cried. It somehow turned everything off. I now had marks on the outside to match the ones on the inside. I was tempted to cut too deep, but stopped just shy of it. I knew what I was doing was twisted, but I was twisted, so it also made perfect sense to me.

Matthew didn’t try to kiss me again, though we spent hours talking in person and on the phone. It was months before anything physical took place between us, other than hugging. He just got me. He understood without me saying that I wasn’t ready.

Most girls bragged about the things they would do with boys. It made me feel out of place, but I had just not got to the point of not hearing Daniel’s nasty words in my ear.

I turned fifteen and finished my freshman year of high school with honors. Nana was beside herself with pride. I wasn’t sure, but at times sad thoughts showed in her seraphic face, and I secretly wondered if she was just happy I was semi-normal.

I did have my darkness. That was always there with me. It haunted me most nights. I would wake with dry heaves, thinking of the taste of Daniel, or the smell that rose from his rancid flesh after days of boozing. I hid this as best I could, not wanting to add to the worry I was causing Nana and Papaw already. I went day to day with a smile on my face and a heavy heart.

The summer came fast and furious. Lana began to hang out at my house more and more that year. She would come to eat and watch TV. I knew, as did everyone in the county, that Lana lived with her grandmother and her mom. Her mom, Nicole, was what Nana called a “lot lizard.” Nana said she was the kind of woman who hung out at truck stops and did things with truckers for money to buy drugs and beer.

Nana would check on Lana’s grandmother, old Mrs. Morris from time to time but would never take me with her. She said she was scared to death I’d catch a disease. I thought—but didn’t say—I already had a disease, though it left no physical signs. In my mind, I couldn’t catch anything worse than what I already had.

On days that Nana visited the expectant mothers, she had me stay home or work in the office with Papaw. On a mid-summer’s morning I walked to office to help my favorite Veterinarian and found him sweeping.

“Hi, Papaw,” I said as I walked in.

“Well, hello my Piper,” he said brightly.

I was taller than he was, and I bent my head to kiss his rough cheek. Just as my dad could never seem to keep a smooth face, neither could his dad. Papaw had five o’clock shadow by eleven in the morning. His hair had been chalk white since before I was born.

“What ya up to today, kiddo?” he asked.

He returned to his sweeping, as I got a coke from the fridge.

“Nothing. Nana’s visiting Mrs. Morris. Need me to do anything?” I asked, hopping up on the counter.

Before he could answer, a man came in, followed by a younger version of himself. Taking his hat off, the older man nodded in my direction. I hopped off the counter and went to stand behind it. Strangers made me immediately wary. I felt I was always anticipating someone tying me up at any moment.

“Mr. Mitchell. It’s been a long time,” the man said, in an accent I couldn’t place.

He stuck out a big hand to shake in welcome. He was a dark man, maybe Spanish or Italian. He had jet-black hair, and big, broad shoulders. His eyes were so dark they looked black. I was struck by his resemblance to Brutus from Popeye.

“Maurice Duchete! How ya been?” Papaw said, pumping the man’s hand in return. “What’s it been? Ten years?”

The man smiled, creasing his brows together. “Yes, sir. I guess it has,” said Maurice.

The younger version of Maurice was standing in the big man’s shadow. He eyed me slyly, and I felt heat rise to my face. I looked at him and then quickly looked away, aware I was blushing.

“This is my boy, Jean-Paul,” Maurice said proudly.

Jean-Paul shook Papaw’s hand politely. “How do you do, sir?”

Just as politely, Papaw said, “Nice to meet you, son.”

Maurice then inquired about my dad. My heart clenched at this question. Papaw only brought up my dad when he was in certain moods, and this was not one of those moods. He was unreadable, but I know the toll my dad’s death had taken on him—his only child, dead and buried in our family cemetery, up in the hills.

Papaw had a sad smile for the man. “Nate passed not long ago.” He paused. “Car wreck,” he finished, in explanation.

The man, Maurice, looked sad.

“Nathaniel, I’m very sorry for your loss,” he said sincerely.

If we had a dollar for every time I’d heard that said, we’d never have to work again. But I believed this man was sincere. Maurice turned his gaze to me, and Papaw followed it. For a moment, I thought he had forgotten I was there.

“Oh, yes!” he said proudly. “This beautiful young lady is my granddaughter. This was Nate’s greatest gift to me during his too-short life.”

I felt proud for a second. Papaw loved me.
Me?
But I’m dirty and diseased, I reminded myself. Now I had the nasty cuts to prove it. Unseen by the world, I made sure I kept the fresh cuts open, to remind me that bleeding meant being alive, because the other feelings would certainly kill me.

The men talked about reservations and tree stands for the coming hunting season. I was bored with the conversation, so I said my nice-to-meet-yous and good-byes. The younger man, Jean-Paul, never took his eyes from me. I figured he could see I was dirty. I left before his dad noticed it too.

On my walk back home, a car pulled up beside me. It was a miserably hot August day, and school would be starting back up in no time. Lana rolled the window down and smiled her best Hollywood smile.

“Hop in,” she said, with her wicked grin.

“Where we going?”

“Who cares? Get you country ass in the car before I melt.” She waved long fingers back and forth to fan herself.

I ran to the other side, and we set off to I-didn’t-care-where.

We ended up at the river, a spot we would swim and rope jump into deep water. Handing me a swimsuit, Lana got out of the car. Unashamed, she immediately began to undress. Her body was perfect, and there were no ugly scars or cut-marks. She was not dirty as I was. I got out of the car feeling panicky and ashamed.

“I’ll just swim in this.”

I had on a shirt with three-quarter sleeves, and jean shorts I had cut off myself. My cuts were on the insides of my upper arms, and a few on my stomach.

“Oh, no, you won’t! You need some sun. You’re as pale as a vampire, missy.” Lana reached for the button on my shorts.

Nothing was weird or uncomfortable to Lana. She would often curl up against me like a cat, when we sat on the couch to watch TV. Although I had problems with physical contact, I was trying to overcome them. I had no choice with Lana, and I felt oddly safe with her. Nothing Lana did ever made me uncomfortable.

Except for this particular time. I jerked away from her. She was my best friend, and we had been spending a lot of time together since the baby was born, but I had never shared anything with her that I was ashamed of. Nothing about my mother, nothing about Daniel.

I thought about it daily. I’d had a mother who could have given me to Nana, who continuously told me I was loved and wanted. No, my mother sold me. For what I don’t know, but it destroyed who I was supposed to be.

“Stop!” I said, mad now, as Lana kept trying to get my clothes from me.

After noticing I was not playing, she stopped. Taking off the oversized sunglasses she sported, like the movie star she was going to be, she searched my face. I refused to meet her eyes.

“What is it, Piper?” Concern etched her gorgeous almond dark eyes. “Tell me,” she demanded.

I opened the car door. “Just take me home.”

Lana put her arm out, blocking me from getting in. “Livia Piper, I will hog-tie you until you tell me what is wrong.” I could hear in her voice that she meant it.

I began to cry for no reason. I was not hurt, but ashamed. I would give anything to be like Lana, and let Matthew kiss me without freaking out. I was a mess. I had cuts all over me, because I was a freak. I’d never get the smell of stale tobacco and Daniel’s sweat out of my nose. I would never get clean, no matter how hard I scrubbed my skin. I couldn’t bleach the images out of my mind, out of my heart.

Lana hugged me and rubbed my back. After I got control of myself a little, she pulled away from me and got something from under the front seat of her grandma’s beat-up old K-car. Without speaking, she led me to the cliff, where we sat Indian-style. I watched quietly as she placed something in paper and rolled it tight, licking it with her tongue and then putting the whole thing in her mouth to wet it. Pulling it from her lips, she grinned at me.

“This will make you feel much better, and then we’re going to talk.”

I didn’t protest. I watched as she lit up the joint. It made my mouth water, in spite of the smell of skunk. Then I smoked my first joint with Lana. There was no denying it, I felt much better. The weightless sensation carried me away almost instantly. My mind unraveled and my shoulders relaxed for the first time since being home.

We talked and talked. I told her little bits, and finally broke down and told her about my cutting myself. I felt freer with each word that left my lips. She looked at me, wanting to see what I had done to myself. I took my shirt off, and showed her the mutilation of my arms. Lana never judged. Never seemed disgusted. She bent her head and kissed my self-inflicted wounds.

Lana’s jet-black hair shone like glass in the sunlight. I was floating on a cloud. I allowed Lana to kiss me and to hold me. I understood we were both kindred spirits, broken in many different ways yet all were relatable. Lana explained to me how she believed we did what we needed to survive. If cutting made me feel better, then she understood.

“My gran feeds herself all day and all night. The only time she’s not eating is when she’s sleeping. She does this instead of this,” she said, indicating the joint between her two perfectly manicured fingers. “For some unknown reason she believes hers isn’t a sin, but mine is. We both do what we do,” she said with a shrug.

I’d never thought of things that way, but Lana was absolutely right. We talked about heavy things, then funny things. Being high was the first time I had unraveled my inner wrappings, and allowed myself to be in the present. I laughed till my jaws hurt.

We skinny-dipped and lay on the rocks, unashamed by our nakedness. We finally dressed, and began making our way back as the sun set. I giggled all the way home. I hung my head out of the window, letting my long, wild hair fly through the wind.

I was still smiling stupidly when she dropped me off at home. Nana was waiting on me at the door hands firmly placed on her hips. She chewed me up and down. Then, when Lana had enough time to get home, she called her and chewed her out as well. I knew she was just nervous, and worried all the time. I wished there was something I could do to take the worry from her.

As I went to the kitchen to get dinner, I wondered if I could get Nana to smoke some weed with me. Then she wouldn’t worry so much. I laughed out loud at my thought, and Nana shot me a disgusted look.

Nana thought we’d been drinking.

“All the girls to run around with, and you run with that one,” Nana said to me.

I think the irritation at me was gone, and now she was going to coach me. Forever coaching me. I acted as normal as possible, but later over dinner, I told her we swam and giggled by ourselves. No drinking, which wasn’t a lie.

“Nothing bad,” I said, and honestly believed it.

After I’d gone to bed, I heard Papaw saying, “Gracie, you got to let the girl live a little. We both know she’s lucky to be alive.”

Nana never brought it up again, but she sternly told me the next day I was to always leave a note to say where I was going and who I was with, and that I shouldn’t go drinking. Then she proceeded to cover my sunburned nose with aloe from the plants she grew in her window boxes. She swore the herbs she grew cured everything. Oh, how I wished that were true. I’d bathe in them, if they would cure me.

The funny thing was, the more I was with Lana, the safer I felt. Mostly, I felt safer with myself. I was getting comfortable with Matthew now, and as we waited for Josh to finish football practice the following October, I let him hold me and kiss me. I was now a sophomore, and Matthew was a senior, making plans for college. I was so excited for him, but when he talked to me about Duke, I wept inside.