Objective: (Bloodlines Book 2) (11 page)

I daydreamed about it a lot…what I’d wear, how I’d fix my hair, what kind of corsage my date would bring me, how I would dance. Prom was the highlight, to me, of our senior year. I wanted it to be perfect. The plan? Meet up with Aster and her date, Jim, for dinner, then convoy over to the big event for an evening of dancing, fun, and magic! It was going to be so perfect!! I stood in the foyer of my house with my stepmom on one side of me and my dad pacing back and forth on the other. I smoothed my hands down over my black, fitted floor-length silk dress. My stepmom spent three hours curling and pinning up my long black locks, but the outcome was stunning. I wore a little more makeup than normal but not too much. I must have done something right because when I came downstairs my dad’s eyes had bugged out and he demanded that I change. Carol and I had just laughed at him. The knock on the door startled him. I watched Carol shoot him a look before he swung the door open. Our prom theme was Mafia so Cane went with a blood red cummerbund and mini-roses for his boutonnière. He stepped through the threshold after shaking my dad’s hand and when I caught sight of him in his white tux my draw dropped. Carol nudged my shoulder and I instantly picked my jaw up off the floor.

“Hi,” I breathed.

“
Mags, you’re stunning...wow…” Cane said and let out a low whistle. His eyes dragged slowly over my body from toe to top. His eyes seemed darker than usual and it set my belly on fire. Our contrasting outfits were tied together by the blood-red flowers he’d picked out. We looked rather dashing. I’d never felt so beautiful and wanted in my life. “This is for you, I hope it’s right,” he said, handing me a wrist corsage of red roses. It was gorgeous and I had really been hoping he didn't go for one of those pin on corsages. The air whooshed from my lungs. Seriously? Hot. No, strike that. The definition of hot and thoughtful.
“It’s exactly perfect,” I gushed as he slipped the elastic over my hand. His fingers grazed the inside of my wrist,. leaving the skin tingling. We let my dad and Carol take at least a hundred pictures of us before we finally headed out to meet Aster and Jim at school.

When we arrived there were champagne colored balloons, in different sizes, taped on the wall as a backdrop. Paper flower garlands were strung between the lights over the dance floor. Everything looked expensive and magical. If it wasn’t for Cane being so handsome I’d never have torn my eyes from the twinkling lights. Cane leaned down and kissed that spot just behind my ear that drives me wild. “What do you think, pretty girl?” he murmured. His thumb swept back and forth at my lower back across the silky material. It was divine. We got photos taken as we walked in, and then
 Aster and I decided to dance all night.

We never stopped, even when the guys took a break. Every once in a while Cane would bring me a drink. He was always so sweet. Our slow dances just about undid me. Swaying together, the feel of his hands at the small of my back and the sound of his heart in my ear as I rested my head on his chest was heavenly. I was sure tears leaked out of my eyes when Kip Moore’s ‘Hey Pretty Girl’ came on and Cane murmured all the words in my ear as we danced. How on earth did I get so lucky? My feet hurt so much, and Cane and I kissed until our lips were numb under all the glitter and lights. I couldn’t have asked for a better night.

“God, Mags, you’re gorgeous,” he growled as we headed to the hotel room he booked for us. Aster and Jim were meeting us there for our own private after-party.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Ash,” I giggled. He rested one hand on my thigh and brushed his thumb back and forth. It drove me insane with want. Cane didn’t know but tonight I had plans of my own. I fully intended on giving myself to him. It might seem a cliché but to me, it would be the perfect ending to a perfect, romantic night. “I can’t wait to get out of these shoes,” I grumbled as he pulled into the hotel parking lot.

I woke up from my nap in the worst mood and with tears streaming down my face. Prom. Jesus, I’d had the night of my life, well up until I’d passed out at the hotel. Not exactly how I’d planned it but still, I wouldn’t have traded the memory for anything. Unfortunately for me, dreaming sets me back a step. It hinders my ability to live a normal, or almost normal, life. Normal for me is hate, biding time, and training with a healthy dose of fear at what awaits me.

“Dip! Slip! Punch! Come on, Mags, get your head in the game!” Brock yells at me as I twist under and around the rope strung across the ring. I momentarily squeeze my eyes shut to try and refocus. It doesn't work.
I have no past
, I remind myself. My rhythm is off today. My head’s not in the game. I stop moving and pop up to the left of the rope.

“I’m done, B.” I wipe the sweat from my brow with my forearm and squeeze between the ropes before jumping down onto the floor. “I can't focus.”

“That’s not like you. You’re my warrior. What’s up?” He looks genuinely concerned. I shrug at him.

“Don’t know. Just off today, I guess,” I offer. He twirls the towel into a tight rope before whipping it at me. The crack of the towel snap and the sting of the whip make me smile. I deserve it, for one, but Brock doesn't know that. He just thinks I’m smiling because it’s all in good fun. He doesn't know I like feeling pain because it means I’m feeling something, anything, in the present. I need it to keep me grounded. I run my fingers slowly over the pink welt on my side and feel normal for a moment.

“I’ll be better tomorrow, B, I promise,” I toss over my shoulder as I head for the locker room.

“I wouldn't want you to lose your willpower,” he chuckles at me.

“That’s okay. I’m not very good at controlling it anyways,” I laugh.

I started boxing and mixed martial arts when running just wasn't cutting it for me anymore. I couldn't lose myself running anymore and I really needed to lose myself. Brock mentioned one night at work that he went to a boxer’s gym around the corner from work and that I could tag along sometime. He was hitting on me then. He wanted me to think he was big and bad and ripped while I watched him move around the ring. He wanted to impress me by showing me how to hit a bag or wrap a hand. The shock he wore on his face when I already knew all those things, when I showed I clearly knew my way around this kind of gym, was hilarious to me at the time. Needless to say, instead of becoming a couple we became friends, sort of, and now he’s my training partner. I never thought I’d set foot in a boxer’s gym again, but I also never thought I'd purposefully choose to call myself
Mags either. Working out this way allows me to feel pain. I like it. I crave it. It helps keep the guilt at bay, and drinking does the rest. I want so desperately to escape
him
but my need to hold onto him is greater.

On my way home I swing into a nearby nursery to pick up some plants. The sun is shining, it’s warm out and there’s a slight breeze. It’s the perfect day for a little gardening. By the time I swing into my driveway it’s late afternoon. I schlep all my crap from the car in two loads and change into comfortable pants and a tank top that I don't mind getting dirty. I sweep my hair up on top of my head and secure it in place. When I catch my reflection in the mirror I stop and stare. I hardly recognize myself anymore. I turn slightly to the left and stare at the visible portions of my magnolia tree tattoo. I think about the three four-hour sessions it took to complete it. I’d stopped at Bloodlines Tattoo Parlor in Blacksburg Virginia. Clara asked few questions and made me feel safe while I was there. It was like she knew I needed the tattoo. Looking back, she probably shouldn’t have done it for me; I was a wreck, barely holding it together. But I’m glad she did. It starts just above my left butt cheek and sprawls up and across my back. Beautifully detailed branches reach up to my right shoulder and arm, the blossoms bursting color throughout the branches. The branches are gnarly and twisted, like my heart. It’s gorgeous for a tattoo but I’m not a tattoo girl, not really. The pain that came with getting it was fitting. Bittersweet actually. The longer I stare at it the more lost I feel.

My vision turns blurry and I feel like I’m swaying. Memories that I keep deep in the recesses of my heart assault me. I grab the countertop to steady myself and count slowly to ten while deep breathing. When I can take a step I grab my disposable phone and dial from memory.

“‘Lo?” comes the familiar peppy voice.

“Aster,” I blurt. “It’s bad today.” The line is silent for a moment before her voice starts and instantly soothes me.

“It’s okay, you’ll be okay. Breathe. How are things besides
that
?” she asks trying to distract me.

“I miss him so much. I still miss him so much. Fuck. It hurts...” I cry brokenly into the speaker.

“STOP!” she yells firmly. I sniffle a few times and get myself back under control.

You give me like two measly phone calls a week, bitch! I am not spending them wasted on
that
situation anymore.” She sounds mad, and guilty, and sad all at the same time. I suck in another deep breath and exhale. Just keep breathing.

“I miss your face so much, Aster. God, I miss you,” I croak.

“Not as much as I miss yours, you stupid jerk. Seriously. Finals are just around the corner and I’m dying without you. I suck at school!” She laughs.

“You don't, you know, you just actually need to
go
to class and not party so much,” I counter.

“But the boys are
soooooooo cute, Mags, so damned cute.” This time I’m the one laughing. It feels good. It feels familiar, but only with her. She’s all I have left from
that
life. “When can I see you?” she asks, breaking my mood.

“Aster, we talked about this.” I grimace.

“Yeah, but it’s been over a year. It has to be safe now. Come on,” she pleads.

“I don't think so. I promise to call twice a week to check in still but I don't think it’s safe for you. He might watch you.” My tone is hushed even though there is no one around me. Thinking about him gives me chills. Aster lets out a long sigh on the other end.

“Mags, six more months, that’s all I’m giving you. Six. Months. Then, I show up at your door,” she states with determination.

“Fine. But keep your eyes open, Aster. I need you. You’re my sanity.”

“Are you still...
medicating?
” she all but whispers to me.

“I promised you I wouldn't get that bad again and I’m not. I barely drink at all now,” I tell her hoping she can hear the sincerity in my voice. We chit chat for a few more minutes about nothing but gossip before hanging up. I always feel better while talking to her but once the line’s dead I feel heavy with a different guilt. I abandoned her. My cousin, my best friend. I left everyone else behind without a thought, but I couldn't with her. I still need her, I always will. So for now, I keep her with me the only way I can. Phone calls on a different burner phone each week. She’s really the only one I miss. Well, not the only one, but the only one who’s still alive
to
miss.

Chapter 10

I spent the rest of my day yesterday planting, weeding and mulching my small gardens. It was cathartic and gratifying. The little patio area smells and looks amazing now and it makes it more enjoyable to sit out here. It’s a beautiful morning out. Not a single cloud in the sky. I love mornings. Always have. Mornings can make you feel brand new. They are peaceful and quiet. Serene. Mornings bring hope. I covet my mornings. Steam billows off the coffee mug in my hand as I sit in my Adirondack chair and enjoy the sound of nothing. I take a sip of the steaming hot liquid before leaning my head back against the chair back, and closing my eyes and enjoying the feel of the sun on my face and the smell of the flowers I’ve just planted wafting in the breeze. The crunch of gravel under shoes makes my eyes snap open. I twist towards the sound in a panic, ready to move if I need to.

“Relax. It’s just me. Always so jumpy,” Bentley laughs at me. His chest glistens with sweat. His running pants hang low on his hips and his tee shirt is tucked into the back of his pants as he keeps coming my way. The way the sun makes the light sheen of sweat glisten is ridiculous. How does this man not have a different woman every night? I scowl at him before he nods towards the trailer door, silently asking permission to get himself a cup of coffee. I blow out a breath and shrug at him. He knows I don’t like people in my house. He also doesn’t seem to give a crap what I like or don’t like. Our friendship is all superficial pleasantries. I gave up questioning it after a month of him randomly sitting with me outside in silence. Mornings or late nights, I never know when he might appear but he doesn’t ask too many questions anymore and he almost makes me feel...safe, so I let him stick around. The trailer door slams shut loudly, making me cringe. The sound hurts my ears this early in the morning. It ruins the peace.

“Nice morning for a run,” I offer as he lounges in the chair next to me sipping his coffee. His defined abdominals contract as he sips and swallows. It’s mesmerizing.

“Not too hot, not too cold. Perfect running weather.” He grins and I nod. He leaves it at that and lets us sit in silence for a while. It’s comfortable silence. I think he knows I don’t chit chat, but he’s so comfortable with it that it makes me wonder if he’s somehow broken like me. I stare at the dregs of coffee in my mug and contemplate refilling my cup. I have nowhere to be for another two hours. Just the gym and then work.