The Dark Light of Day
Page 63
I was a consequence.
These photos were just one side of my story. There was a cause behind the consequence. I imagined the moment one day when there would be similar photographs of that cause, of the man who made this misery for me.
That became my hope.
I took a photo folder from the cubby behind the safelight and placed my dry pictures inside. I spent extra time cleaning the dark room and putting away the chemicals so there wouldn’t any trace of my presence left behind.
As I walked away from the school grounds, an idea came to me. Maybe, the woman in the scar painting wasn’t screaming in pain. Maybe, she was laughing.
Maybe, she, too, was plotting her revenge.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I STOOD ON THE VERY TOP of the Matlacha Pass on a day with no clouds. The only visible reminder of the nightmare from five weeks earlier when my life changed forever once again was a small, bright red scar on my lower lip. I found myself wanting to spend more time in the sun than I had in the past. I relished the feel of a sunburn now. It was just enough discomfort to remind me that I was still alive and to kill the numbness that threatened to take over every day that Jake was away.
I let myself sit in the blazing heat, my eyes closed and my face turned upward to the sky. I watched the colors move around and dance behind my eyelids while I imagined what it would be like when he returned.
I’d spent the last few weeks planning my tattoo sleeve and pinning cities on the map on Jake’s laptop of where I wanted him to take me. The day before, I’d even bought a sundress. It was green and strapless and stopped mid-thigh. I didn’t have the nerve to wear it in public. In addition to my scars, the bruises on my inner thighs hadn’t quite healed all the way. Wearing the dress had become my goal.
Maybe, I would wear it on the day Coral Pines disappeared in the rearview mirror of Jake’s bike.
I watched a tourist boy try to pull up a massive grouper that he wasn’t prepared for or even skilled enough to catch. The boy was a teenager and a very small one at that. I guessed he couldn’t have been more than fourteen. After more than twenty minutes of battling his catch, he finally reeled in the enormous fish just enough to break the surface of the water, exposing the full figure of what looked to be a forty pound catch. He didn’t have time to celebrate. The second the creature’s tail lifted off the top of the water, the tip of the boy’s rod broke from his pole, and his line snapped, sending him backwards on his ass to the sidewalk and the grouper back home to the river floor with a free meal of Spanish mackerel in its belly.
I imagined I was that boy. I had something so massive and wonderful just within reach. I was starting to believe my line was ready to snap just like his did.
I missed Jake.
It had been weeks since he left. I was starting to lose faith that he would come back to me. I tried to be strong, to believe in him in the same way he seemed to believe in me. I knew how he felt about Owen, even before he’d done what he had to me. I knew how strongly he’d react when he heard what had happened, but I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about me once he knew. As difficult as it was for me, I had to believe we could make it through. After all, he was the one who’d taught me to trust him with my pain. I just hoped that he would trust me with his.
I didn’t know how I would find the words, so I decided I’d speak through my pictures instead.
The moment the afternoon storm clouds chose to block out the sun before delivering their usual torrent, I felt him. Even before I saw him.
I was still on my bench but had just shifted my focus from the tourists to the weather when the awareness of him washed over me. My skin prickled with anticipation, and my heart fluttered in ways I wasn’t used to at all. I smoothed my hair with my hands as I stood and walked off the bridge, hoping that when I got back to the apartment, he would be there, and that the feeling wasn’t just some misguided intuition.
I had only taken a single step when I saw him. He stood at the bottom of the bridge in all his black leather glory.
Jake.
I tried to walk and not run toward him, but as I got closer, I couldn’t help picking up my pace. By the time I was halfway to where he was, I’d broken into a full-on sprint. I flung myself into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist. His smell was intoxicating—leather and sweat and pure testosterone. I couldn’t help running my hands through his hair and taking a deep breath so I could take him all in.
I molested him this way for a while before I realized how stiff he was. His arms hadn’t come around me. His lips never touched my face. When I finally pulled back, I realized his gaze was as hard as stone and focused sternly on his feet.
These photos were just one side of my story. There was a cause behind the consequence. I imagined the moment one day when there would be similar photographs of that cause, of the man who made this misery for me.
That became my hope.
I took a photo folder from the cubby behind the safelight and placed my dry pictures inside. I spent extra time cleaning the dark room and putting away the chemicals so there wouldn’t any trace of my presence left behind.
As I walked away from the school grounds, an idea came to me. Maybe, the woman in the scar painting wasn’t screaming in pain. Maybe, she was laughing.
Maybe, she, too, was plotting her revenge.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I STOOD ON THE VERY TOP of the Matlacha Pass on a day with no clouds. The only visible reminder of the nightmare from five weeks earlier when my life changed forever once again was a small, bright red scar on my lower lip. I found myself wanting to spend more time in the sun than I had in the past. I relished the feel of a sunburn now. It was just enough discomfort to remind me that I was still alive and to kill the numbness that threatened to take over every day that Jake was away.
I let myself sit in the blazing heat, my eyes closed and my face turned upward to the sky. I watched the colors move around and dance behind my eyelids while I imagined what it would be like when he returned.
I’d spent the last few weeks planning my tattoo sleeve and pinning cities on the map on Jake’s laptop of where I wanted him to take me. The day before, I’d even bought a sundress. It was green and strapless and stopped mid-thigh. I didn’t have the nerve to wear it in public. In addition to my scars, the bruises on my inner thighs hadn’t quite healed all the way. Wearing the dress had become my goal.
Maybe, I would wear it on the day Coral Pines disappeared in the rearview mirror of Jake’s bike.
I watched a tourist boy try to pull up a massive grouper that he wasn’t prepared for or even skilled enough to catch. The boy was a teenager and a very small one at that. I guessed he couldn’t have been more than fourteen. After more than twenty minutes of battling his catch, he finally reeled in the enormous fish just enough to break the surface of the water, exposing the full figure of what looked to be a forty pound catch. He didn’t have time to celebrate. The second the creature’s tail lifted off the top of the water, the tip of the boy’s rod broke from his pole, and his line snapped, sending him backwards on his ass to the sidewalk and the grouper back home to the river floor with a free meal of Spanish mackerel in its belly.
I imagined I was that boy. I had something so massive and wonderful just within reach. I was starting to believe my line was ready to snap just like his did.
I missed Jake.
It had been weeks since he left. I was starting to lose faith that he would come back to me. I tried to be strong, to believe in him in the same way he seemed to believe in me. I knew how he felt about Owen, even before he’d done what he had to me. I knew how strongly he’d react when he heard what had happened, but I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about me once he knew. As difficult as it was for me, I had to believe we could make it through. After all, he was the one who’d taught me to trust him with my pain. I just hoped that he would trust me with his.
I didn’t know how I would find the words, so I decided I’d speak through my pictures instead.
The moment the afternoon storm clouds chose to block out the sun before delivering their usual torrent, I felt him. Even before I saw him.
I was still on my bench but had just shifted my focus from the tourists to the weather when the awareness of him washed over me. My skin prickled with anticipation, and my heart fluttered in ways I wasn’t used to at all. I smoothed my hair with my hands as I stood and walked off the bridge, hoping that when I got back to the apartment, he would be there, and that the feeling wasn’t just some misguided intuition.
I had only taken a single step when I saw him. He stood at the bottom of the bridge in all his black leather glory.
Jake.
I tried to walk and not run toward him, but as I got closer, I couldn’t help picking up my pace. By the time I was halfway to where he was, I’d broken into a full-on sprint. I flung myself into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist. His smell was intoxicating—leather and sweat and pure testosterone. I couldn’t help running my hands through his hair and taking a deep breath so I could take him all in.
I molested him this way for a while before I realized how stiff he was. His arms hadn’t come around me. His lips never touched my face. When I finally pulled back, I realized his gaze was as hard as stone and focused sternly on his feet.
