Find You in the Dark

                                             Prologue

How did I get here?  When was it that my life took this insane detour into the gigantic mess that I now saw when I looked in the mirror?  Sure, everything had started so simply.  A look, a touch, a kiss.  Your first love is supposed to be beautiful, right? 

  And maybe it still is.  I don't know.  All I do know is that I'm kneeling on this nasty bathroom floor in a dingy motel room in bum fuck Egypt, wiping my boyfriend's blood off the gritty tiles. The skin of my knees raw from my morbidly methodical task.  The stinging of tears burns my vision and I feel like I'm about to follow him off the edge.

  Wipe, scrub, sweep.  That's what I'm doing.  Wiping up the turmoil of our relationship.  Sweeping away the anger, the hurt, the fear.  Scrubbing it all away as I try to figure out how to piece myself back together.

  But then I remember those elusive moments.  The tiny slivers of time that help me recognize that it wasn't all bad.  Because I love him.  And he loves me, in the only way he can.  Perhaps my only failing was not seeing that I wasn't able to hold it together on my own.

  But I'm not one to give up - or forget.  As much as
they
wanted me to.  Because he had, for a moment in time, been my world.  My focus, my entire being.  And it's hard to think I am now without that.  And maybe what we had, for those few blissful months,
had truly
been beautiful.  Crazy beautiful.  Or maybe just crazy.

 
Who knows.  I was scared, tired and alone and missing that vital part of myself that had once felt whole and complete and now felt sad and empty.  Wipe, scrub, sweep. 

  
The holes would close up.  The ripping seams would come together.  But I would never be as I was before.  Before him.  My crazy beautiful love. 

                                                
Chapter 1

“
You have got to be kidding me.”  I groaned, kicking the tire of my piece of crap Toyota Corolla that had conveniently refused to start.  Standing in my driveway, I unleashed every curse word imaginable as the minutes slowly ticked toward my inevitable tardiness.  “Won't start again, Maggie girl?”  My father had poked his head out of the screen door.  He had most likely been made aware of my predicament by my sailor worthy tirade.

 
Sighing, I slammed my car door shut and picked up my messenger bag.  “Nooo...”  I drug out the word in tired defeat.  My dad held the door open for me as I made my way back into the house.  “Didn't you just have it in the shop two weeks ago?”  My dad asked as I slammed my bag down on the kitchen table and threw myself into a chair.

 
I blew my bangs out of my eyes in frustration.  I didn't bother answering.  Everything was going so spectacularly wrong today.  I shouldn't have bothered to get out of bed.  Maybe I should fake a cough or something and try to convince my dad to let me stay home.

 
My father took a bite of toast, crumbs falling into his neatly trimmed beard.  “Well, I'll drive you to school.  Can't have you missing that big chemistry test.”  He smirked at me, as if reading my inner plot to skip school.

 
I groaned for the millionth time that morning.  I'd completely forgotten about the test but of course my dad, with his iron trap brain, remembered.  Well, that thoroughly screwed up any chance of a good day.  Merry freaking Monday.

  “
Maggie May, what are you still doing here?  The tardy bell rings in T minus ten minutes.”  My mother breezed into the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee and conferring with her watch to make sure she wasn't mistaken of the time.   Looking at my super serious, all business, pretty fantastic looking mother, I wondered, and not for the first time, how I could have been made from her DNA.  She was my opposite in every possible way.  Where her hair was blonde and shampoo commercial perfect, mine was a dull, mousy brown that refused to be managed into anything resembling a fashionable style.  My mom had a perfect figure.  She didn't look anywhere near her age.  Where I had the misfortune of being dubbed a “late bloomer.”  My underwhelming cup size and non-existent hips were hardly anything to write home about.

 
But I did have her eyes.  And I will say, allowing myself zero modesty, they were pretty awesome.  I loved that I shared the same sparkly green and dark lashes.  They were my best trait- (well aside from my astounding wit and amazing personality, of course-) and I received my fair share of compliments because of them.  So, no, you couldn't compare me to the back end of a dog or anything but, like most teenagers, I was anything but pleased with myself. 

  “
Her car wouldn't start.  I'm just getting ready to take her to school.”  My dad filled in before I could answer.  My mom gave me a sympathetic smile before giving her husband a rather obnoxiously sweet kiss good morning.  They were really nauseating at times, the way they were still so in love with each other.  Though, deep down, I just wanted the same thing and I spent a lot of time freaking out that I would never find it.  But that was a panic attack for another time.

  “
We can help you with it this time, you know.  You worked really hard over the summer to buy it and it's been nothing but trouble since you parked it in the driveway.”  My mom, despite her Barbie perfect appearance, and a no-nonsense accountant personality, was pretty awesome.  I took the bagel she handed to me and licked the cream cheese from the top.

  “
Thanks.  But I still have money saved up.  Let's just hope I don't need a whole new flipping engine or something.”  I muttered.  My mom ruffled my hair as if I were still five and picked up her brief case.  “Well, Marty, if you've got this under control, I've got to get to the office.  I'll probably be late tonight.”  My mom ran her own accounting firm in the city and worked - a lot. 

 
She leaned down and gave me a quick kiss on the forehead, another loud smack for my dad and left. I shoved the remainder of my bagel in my mouth and wiped my lips with the back of my hand.  A napkin appeared under my nose.  “I don't think you were raised in a barn, Maggie.”  My dad joked.  I lightly touched the napkin to my now clean mouth, just to make him happy.

  “
You can head on out to the car.  I'll meet you there.  Call Burt's garage today, they'll come and tow the car.  Mom and I will pay for the towing, you pay for the repairs.  Deal?”  My dad put his tea mug in the sink and filled it with water.  I felt guilty having my parents pay for my car in any way, shape, or form.

 
I had been the one insisting on buying the shit-mobile outside.  My dad wanted me to shop around more, to get a CARFAX report, all that rational stuff that I, of course, wouldn't listen to because I am seventeen years old and I know way more than my parents.  Well, I learned that lesson the hard way. 

 
But I knew I most likely wouldn't have enough money to pay for the tow
and
the repairs.  My savings from my job at the ice cream stand over the summer was almost depleted and I would be firmly in mooch territory soon if I didn't find another way to earn money. 

 
I mumbled something unintelligible, not bothering to formulate words.  Dad only chuckled.  “I'll interpret that as a thank you.”  He said, shooing me out of the kitchen.  I walked out to the family mini van, not focusing too much on the social mortification of having my librarian father take me to school.  If I wasn't feeling so negative, I'd appreciate how considerate my dad was.

 
I really was lucky in the parental department.  My mom and dad always seemed to take my teenage moods in stride.  Not much ruffled their feathers.  Not that I'd done much ruffling in my seventeen years.

 
So here comes the obligatory life run down.  I was your typical teenage girl, living in small town America- (or Davidson, Virginia if you really wanted to know-) on the corner of cliché and stereotype.  My life had been typical and uneventful.  I grew up, the only child of the local beauty queen and the bookish guy she fell in love with.  We had an apple pie life of family dinners and games of Monopoly on Thursdays- (Wednesdays if it was mom's week for Bunco-).

 
My best friends, Rachel Bradfield and Daniel Lowe had been my partners in non-existent crime since the womb.  Our mothers had grown up together and it was predetermined that we would be as close as they had been. 

 
I was suitably smart, sporting a solid B plus average and had aspirations of college; just like my friends.  I did my homework, followed the rules, and basically bored myself to death.  What I was, was in a very deep, crater-sized rut.  How sad to be a senior in high school and already done with it all.  And the year had only just begun!  It was just the third week of September. 

 
So my car's refusal to cooperate this morning only added to my overall sense of malaise.  I waited less than patiently in the passenger seat, tapping my fingers on the dash board in an imperfect rhythm.  “All right, Maggie girl, buckle up.”  My dad's persistent use of my childhood pet name- (only mildly less obnoxious than the fact that I was named after some seventies rock song by a guy with really bad hair and a penchant for super models-) was sort of grating this morning.  I wasn't sure if dad had yet to realize that I wasn't ten anymore.  My parents had a really hard time accepting that I was –
gasp -
almost an adult.  Though to be fair, most days -(this morning included-), I didn't necessarily act the part.

 
I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Rachel and Daniel, letting them know I was running late.  Judging by the time, I was at least missing the painful drone of our assistant principal, Mr. Kane, as he read the morning announcements.  He always sounded as though he needed to blow his nose.

 
So maybe the day was still salvageable.  I tried to minimize  conversation as dad drifted lazily through our tiny town toward the high school.  He sang along, rather badly, to the Righteous Brothers, his voice an alarming falsetto.  He swayed his shoulders with the beat.

 
Dad was being so over the top that I couldn't help but crack the barest hint of a smile.  He caught me, of course, my emo facade at an effective end.  He let out a whoop.  “There's my girl's smile!  I knew it was hiding somewhere.”  My dad reached over and poked me in the side, causing me to squirm and laugh grudgingly. 

  “
You are such a dork, Dad.”  I told him, not unkindly.  Dad only grinned and turned up the radio.  The auditory torture didn't last much longer before we pulled up in front of Jackson High School.  I barely gave my dad time to slow down before I had propelled myself from the still moving vehicle. 

  “
Don't forget to call the garage at lunch.”  Dad reminded me again.  I gave him an ironic salute and turned to walk toward the school.  I was glad to see I wasn't the only straggler this morning.  A few other kids were hurrying from the parking lot.