AshesAndBlood Page 8

  No wonder Kevin drinks. After everything he went through, living in years of silence with Brynjar would lead me to drink too.

  ***

  “Over there!” Ciara yells cheerfully. “I think that’s it!” She’s overly excited, skipping instead of walking.

  I’m nauseous. Every tree looks the same. I can’t believe Tristan and Xander could pinpoint the exact location where they found us. They brought us to the clearing where we had found Ciara backed against the weird-looking palm tree. Sarah was able to tell the general direction we had run from.

  Anything more than that is a load of bull. There is no way to tell which tree was the first one we had seen. Ciara is worrying me. She’s putting way too much hope into the tree that she believes will take us home.

  She can’t build her hope so high. The fall will kill her.

  “Ciara, slow down! I’m not sure that’s it!” Sarah calls.

  Dana shakes her head. “I don’t know. The flowers I remember, the little pitcher plants, but we ran to Ciara. We heard her screaming. I can’t be certain how far away it was.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s it.” We are close, but it’s impossible to tell if it’s the first tree we stumbled upon a week ago.

  It’s a jade mangrove-looking tree, just like all the other ones. Gnarly green knobs attach to limbs thicker than thighs that wind down into the black soil. A decrepit and grotesque behemoth, the base of its trunk begins at eye level. I stare down the damn tree Ciara is obsessed with, pretending the tree tumors are its eyes.

  “This is it, I know it is. I can feel it!” Beads of sweat drip down her brow and she won’t stop cracking her knuckles. Her red hair has frizzled and flipped up in various directions, sticking to the sweat on her face and shoulders—it doesn’t help her look sane.

  Sarah smiles at Ciara as a psychiatrist would when trying to calm down their patient while they’re having a mental breakdown. “Ciara, let’s look—”

  “No!” Ciara stomps her feet, her eyes watering. “This. Is. It. It has to be.”

  Tristan steps forward to console Ciara, but she backpedals, her movement sporadic. He puts on a charming grin and, tilting his head, he says, “Ciara, we can’t be sure—”

  “I know! I know it’s this fucking tree!” She points at the huge tree, her hand trembling. “I can feel it!”

  “Ciara, stop! Seriously, you’re acting nuts! The tree isn’t doing shit!” I bark. That was louder than I intended, but I’m getting pissed.

  “Stop yelling at me!” Ciara cries. Her face is soaking wet from nervous sweats and now tears.

  “Stop acting crazy!” I scream, throwing my hands into the air.

  “Guys, calm down.” Kevin steps toward us to try to act as our referee, only to have all four women give him deadly glares. He steps back with his hands held up in defense, retreating to the same distance Tristan and Xander have gone. From the very start, Xander made sure to give us plenty of room, watching the whole argument and not daring to butt in.

  Ciara sobs as she cracks her knuckles. Crack, crack, crack. She even twists her neck and cracks it too, making everyone cringe. It looks as if she’s trying to snap her own neck. She cries, “I want go to home!”

  I laugh, knotting my fingers into my hair, tangling them at their roots. “You don’t think we do? Do you think we like being trapped here?” I let go of my hair, my head is throbbing. “Do you think we wanted this? I had a fucking life!” I spit with each word, my voice rising with each syllable. “I had a job and my own home. I had things I worked my ass off for! What the fuck did you have?” I point at Ciara. “Your dying parents? My dad’s dead and my mom is basically there! So tell me, what the hell else did you have that’s so Goddamn precious?”

  “Megan, stop! You’re not helping!” Dana shouts, crossing her arms and making a sourpuss face.

  I step closer to Ciara, getting in her red, puffy face. Dana springs into action, grabbing my arms, pulling me back. I’m mad, but not enough to swing at her—that would be like hitting a cowering child. Sarah steps in between Ciara and me, hugging her and blocking me from her sight, only making me more frustrated. I want Ciara to answer me; at this point, I need her to. “What, Ciara? Huh, what! What did you fucking have? A goodbye? None of us got that!”

  Ciara crumples out of Sarah’s arms, crying incoherent gibberish on the forest floor. Tristan gives me a pissed off look and runs to her side. Kevin and Xander refuse to move, standing ten feet away, not wanting to interfere. Kevin still has his hands up in defense. Their eyes shift back and forth between the red heap on the ground and me.

  Dana releases my arms letting out a long, aggravated “Goddamn it.”

  Frustrated beyond words at Ciara and the Goddamn tree, I can’t take it anymore. I throw my arms up into the air and scream loud enough for my voice to echo off the trees. My wail startles any remaining birds in the trees surrounding us. They fly up, chirping their own cries of discontent. Blue icy ribbons fly away in the breeze, giving me déjà vu.

  The world spins faster and faster, dizzy and furious. My face feels hot and wet—I don’t know when I started to cry. I’m suddenly aware everyone sees me crying and I need to get away. I storm off into the woods. Dana and Kevin yell after me, shouting things like wait and stop running, but I don’t listen.

  Chapter Seven - Megan

  “Where are you going? It’s late. Who’s joining you?” Kevin glares at me like a parent who just caught his teenage daughter sneaking out past curfew.

  It’s been a rough two weeks.

  “To find a tavern and grab a drink. I want to be alone.” I bat my eyelashes, mocking the situation. “Please, can I have enough money for a drink?”

  I hate asking him for an allowance, and I can’t wait to rent out the house since we are about to move into the barn house. Unfortunately, it won’t be this year, we will have to wait for spring to make some money.

  We’ve worked hard getting the barn house ready for winter. It’s livable but lacks furniture, which should arrive within a couple days. Kevin and Dana are already sleeping there. I can’t blame her, she couldn’t have gotten any sleep sharing a bed with me.

  Dreams torment me every night. I fight something from the instant my eyes close. At dawn, there’s no hint of what happened in my dreams. The only sensation that stays is heat, as if my body is on fire, scorched by something. I got two peaceful nights of sleep from drinking, but I don’t want to make it a habit. However, there’re other ways to satisfy, sedate me.

  “Do you know where you’re headed? I don’t want you to get lost,” Kevin says.

  “Turn right off the property and make a left onto Tavern Street. Been there before. I’ll be fine. I just need to get away.”

  Kevin forces a hesitant smile. He knows it’s hard to be stuck on a different planet. Plus, he can’t keep me locked up. He hands me five coins, which should buy me two drinks and a meal. “Fine. Stay safe and don’t get into trouble.”

  “Thanks, Kevin. I knew you’d understand.”

  “Be careful. Tons of assholes in town.”

  “Takes one to know one. Don’t worry,” I say, flashing him a mischievous smile and adding a wink. “Don’t wait up. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Before he can protest, I shut the door and run down the cobblestone street, laughing, on my way to the bar. It’s my first good laugh in a long time. I wish I’d seen the look on his face. He’s been acting like my big brother, overprotective ever since the tree incident.

  I know I snapped that day, but Ciara broke. Not that I helped—I made it worse, but I couldn’t take it anymore. She kept jabbering on about the damn tree and I snapped because she drove me crazy. But I can’t really be mad at Ciara. We are all upset. We’re lost and confused in a world we know nothing about, with no knowledge of how we arrived or how to get home. I shouldn’t have lost my temper with her, but I can only handle so much crazy before I lose it.

  Honestly, if it wasn’t for Tristan, I don’t know ho
w Ciara would have come out of her catatonic-like state. He practically had to carry her from the damn tree back into town. She didn’t eat or speak for three days, but he didn’t leave her side. It got to the point where Tristan was threatening to shove food down her throat, but something he said must have changed her mind because she joined us for dinner that night. Sarah, Dana, and I had tried to coax her out of bed prior, but it was hard for us to get her to smile when we wanted to scream and cry.

  I considered asking the girls if they wanted to join me tonight, but I decided against it. I don’t think they would like to go bar hopping. The girls right now are boring. They are tame and mundane, falling in love.

  Tristan has been in love with Ciara since he ate her cooking. Ciara, now out of her funk and no longer focusing on the damn tree, engages. He’s always in the kitchen, teasing her, trying to sneak food when she turns her back, playfully grabbing her ass.

  Xander and Sarah are quiet together, too quiet. Sarah’s mute unless arguing, and the two of them have been silent together. They’re busy taking stock of the food inventory for the third or fourth time this week. Sarah’s more like me with relationships; she’s not one for labels or getting too involved. Before, her future career was her passion, drive, and only desire. She dated, had one-night stands, but never had a boyfriend. I’m not sure how she feels now since she restrains her emotions. It’s possible she’s filling the holes of school and work with Xander.

  Meanwhile, Dana and Kevin have been sleeping in the barn since we met Brynjar. I’m happy for Kevin. He deserves someone to nurture, care, and perhaps love him. She had a crush on him at the age when you follow around an older boy like a shadow, but he never noticed. Dana was in elementary school. He was in high school. He watched the cheerleaders, and at the time, she believed in fairy tales. Kevin was Dana’s prince charming. Now he is.

  I’m not jealous. I could never be envious of them. Taking care of someone gives me a headache. It's too much work. My mind has a finite amount of space to handle people and their problems. Between my family and my girls, there’s no room to add another life. There’s too much going on already. It’s easier alone. I can barely take care of myself. Why add more work? And forget kids. To give birth or have a clone devil of myself never sounded like a great idea. Never. It had always seemed like a trap. To give up my freedom, my life, to put all my time and energy into keeping someone else alive seems like a burden. Some people are meant to be parents. Children make me think of parasites. It’s not for me.

  That’s the problem with dating. Normal people want that in the end, to have a family. Even if having sex with the same partner for the rest of their life is dull, most want to settle down and follow the same dismal path. Most men love the idea of never having children or getting married, being friends with benefits, travel buddies, but within weeks or a month, the relationship changes. They ask where you want to buy a house, your dream career, and how many kids. Those topics don’t interest me. Those thoughts make me end the relationship pronto.

  My happiness differs from others. It’s rare to find someone who shares the same passions and emotions. Those I dated knew not to expect more—no emotions, just sex. I made it crystal clear before we dated. I had been seeing Dan, always a gentleman, self-sufficient, and super sexy. Eventually he will find his true love or whatever, blah, blah, and blah, and forget me. I’m not heartless. I’m more selfish.

  It seems like too much baggage, but in reality, there is none. Sex is meaningless. It is equivalent to a day at the spa. A full body massage meant to release built-up tension, nothing more. Once in a while, it feels good to have someone lie beside me, tangled between bedsheets. It reduces stress, helps me relax, and allows me to catch up on sleep.

  Dressed up as nice as possible, I couldn’t do anything about my clothes except unbutton the first two buttons on my beige blouse and shine my knee-high brown boots. Amazingly, my hair and face look immaculate. My skin is clean and smooth, no blemishes. I can’t remember the last time my face looked flawless. My normal brownish-red knotty hair is smooth without tangles; it’s so shiny. It used to take an hour of styling to get it so nice. Whatever is in the soap here, it’s doing amazing things for my skin and hair. I kept my hair long and down. My waves look too nice to have up. The random scarlet strands brighten my hair, making me appear more like my sister with her red hair.

  Copper lampposts illuminate Tavern Street. Each one burns bright, warming and lighting the street so the weary travelers don’t fear the dark. The place I’m headed is in a back alley, away from the normal travelers. I heard it’s behind Tavern Street on a dead end. It’s supposed to have everything: music, food, and a casino, besides strippers and hookers, but they’re everywhere. I chatted with a man at the market. He was hot but married. He told me about Capo’s Secret and that there’s always a ton of fun there—if nothing scared me. It sounds like a good time.

  I pass the last lamppost on the corner and enter the dingy back alley. Lights from surrounding buildings don’t brighten this street. I reach inside my pocket and tighten my grip on the hilt of the small knife I borrowed from Kevin—he just doesn’t know yet. There’s only one other person visible. He stands on top of a stoop, and behind him are double doors into a dark building.

  With my options being going home or back to Tavern Street to find a bar, my curiosity takes over. Maybe he knows where Capo’s Secret is, or maybe he will rape and kill me. My fingers clasp around my knife and I gather up my courage. I approach the giant, swallowing my fears with a gulp.

  “Hi. I’m looking for Capo’s Secret. Could you point me in the right direction?” He could be a bouncer. He isn’t as big as Kevin is, but it’s close. He packed his muscles into a tight beige button-down t-shirt that accentuates his pecs. It’s also sleeveless, exposing his large biceps.

  His bald head tilts, and a grin grows. “Where ya going?”

  Sighing, I glance up and down the empty street. “Apparently nowhere. Damn it, I needed a drink.”

  He laughs as he opens the door, flooding radiant light onto the street. “New here?” His eyes linger on my face before exploring my body.

  “Yes. I need to relax.”

  “Girl, you’re going to get in trouble. Be careful.”

  I give him a gracious smile. “Thanks.”

  “You get one. If you’re in trouble, come find me. I don’t leave this spot. I will help you once. Damn, you got a pretty smile, hmm.” His eyes gravitate past my breasts, toward my stomach, to my inner thighs. He licks his lips. “You could always join me out here and keep me company.”

  “Hmm…” Holding a finger to my lips, I haven’t had fun in what feels like years. I take a small step closer to him and he smiles as if he won. His grin is big, showing off his straight white teeth, adding lots of charm. I draw the tension out, studying him. He’s hot as hell. Maybe one night. “You’re missing something.”

  He lowers his head inches away from mine. His hot breath blows on my neck, sending goose bumps across my body. “What’s that?” he says with a voice as smooth as honey.

  “A drink.”

  Before he can respond, I saunter away. No need to look. His eyes are watching my ass, and I didn’t hear the door shut.

  Multiple types of music play from various parts of the building. Women giggle, men shout, people talk, the atmosphere is alive. Upon walking in, identical blonde twins stand ready to take my cloak for a ticket. They are barely wearing anything. Their blush pink bikini lingerie shows off exquisite beadwork, no stains, no tears—this is an upscale joint.

  I walk away from the twins. Down a few steps to the main floor. There’re rows of tables, some for eating, others for games. Men crowd around a black big wheel that spins and spins with various gold symbols. When the arrow stops, it lands on a symbol that indicates who won and how much. A roar of cheers comes from a table as the dealer announces the winners and losers. They tucked quieter tables of men playing cards and other table games into the back-right corner. Rich men weari
ng bright button-down collared shirts with vests, drink caramel-colored alcohol while naked women lounge on their laps. They are less rowdy than the rest of the club’s patrons. The brighter clothes must represent a person’s status. The more flamboyantly dressed, the richer.

  A few women like me mosey about the club. However, most work. They parade around in tight, colorful lingerie while serving drinks and food, making their customers happy. Some strut in skimpy bright bondage outfits, others wear fluffy white ruffles. My favorite is the long sheer gowns that reveal all while covering all; the most teasing and most fun.

  Drunken men stumble and drool over the pretty girls displaying their bodies for the highest bidder. No one takes notice when three men trip over themselves, dropping their drinks and knocking over a table of food. Conflict brews between the men who tripped and the men whose food fell. They yell at each other, fingers clenching and ready to swing. Within seconds, five long-legged women appear like magic. They’re holding drinks, promising the hungry patrons free food and more alcohol. A bar fight diffused before a man raised his fist—by tits, legs, beer, and food. Smart women. Dumb drunk men.

  Needing a drink in the worst way, I head for the main bar. It’s tucked between two grand staircases. They start at either end of the bar and meet directly above its middle. They keep going up, zigzagging to the third floor. I spot two empty seats at the right side of the bar and sit down on the one, leaving a gap between the next customer and me. Oddly, I feel able to breathe for the first time in weeks. The house has its charms, but it suffocates. There’s no privacy or space to be alone.

  It’s easy to pretend you’re alone, even when surrounded by people—if no one knows you or your problems. You can be whoever you want, become free of your burdens. Invent a new persona, a new identity, or act mysterious. Sarah used to indulge and play this game with me on a semi-regular basis. Dana did it once. She claimed she didn’t enjoy herself wearing a hot pink wig and a black leather miniskirt with matching tube-top, but she was free on the dance floor, pretending to be a nomad traveling abroad and working on her blog. It was fun, inventing new characters. I haven’t played the game in a while. Weird how it became my life.