This one is not inspired by a photo, but a dream I had eons ago. It is also a repost, because with the move and all that’s going on, I haven’t gotten my computer completely up yet, so we’re posting from the tablet. In any case, enjoy!
I sit across from Isabelle, a heavy quilt wrapped around my shoulders. I wish they were Raven’s arms, because I need the safety he can give. I sort of hate myself for that, so I’m annoyed and afraid and angry all at the same time. My cousin isn’t helping.
“Are you saying you want me to cancel the party?” Isabelle looks like I’ve just asked her to eat her arm.
I lick my lips, trying not to remember the way he’d pushed his mouth against mine. At least it hadn’t gone farther than the attempt to shove his tongue in my mouth. I shudder at what he wanted from me. And I wondered why. Charles Delrey did not do anything without a purpose. There were lots of girls he could call for a quick lay.
“Did he hurt you?” She asks.
Without waiting for her answer, I climb the stairs, sure to lock the deadbolt I’d installed that afternoon. I wished again I were just a few months older so I could be out from under my Aunt and Uncle’s guardianship and away from this place.
Still, I’m glad Raven encouraged the lock. I never asked how he knew things. He just did. I don’t know whether he saw today happening, but I doubt it. He’d never have left if that were the case. I dread the thought of telling him what happened.
But I’ll have to. He always knows when something is wrong.
I drop the quilt and shed my clothes, kicking them into the corner. I crank the water in the shower to the highest setting I can stand and then step inside, letting the water scald away the feeling of being coated in Charles’ slimy ooze.
I have just dried off my steaming skin when my phone rings on the bathroom counter.
I flip it open and answer.
“You’ll just get upset.” I whisper.
“I’ll kill him.” Darkness drips off each word. Rustling fuzzes the phone.
The line goes dead and I pull on long pajamas. Autumn has started to put a bite in the air, and I can’t seem to get warm enough. I pick up the quilt from the floor and wrap myself in it, collapsing into the fluffy arm chair in front of the small TV. From here I can see the door clearly, and my back is to the wall. Despite everything, I feel like the nightmare isn’t over yet. A feeling of dread has invaded me, hung over my shoulder for a couple of weeks. Now it’s smothering me.
Somewhere between talking to Raven and worrying myself silly while watching ridiculous television, I fall asleep.
It isn’t until a large hand lands on my shoulder that I realize this. I jerk awake, heart pounding, limbs flailing.
I don’t even question how he got there, or how he got past the locked door. All I’m worried about is the tight embrace around me, and the feeling of safety that makes my knees weak.
He moves back, never releasing me, and sits on the bed, propping himself up against the headboard. His grip loosens, though he doesn’t let go.
His hand tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and then settles against the headboard. He’s tired. I can see it in the dark bags under his eyes.
I look up into his dark, dark eyes and swallow hard. There’s an edge of danger to Raven. Always has been. But tonight it’s closer. Fresh, like new blood in a paper cut.