Motherhood

I remember the way your face
sticky
came into the low light of that close, hot room.
You existed.
I held you all night long, and rocked you.
Exhausted.
Until the sun came up, I touched you
counted perfect toes and
impossible, lovely fingers.
Full of wonder.
I thought:
This is what it is, to be a mother.

For the first months of your life
you cried all night
I fed you
You sucked life from me with your cries and your pull
and gave it back in smiles and light.
I walked you, coddled you, touched your face
sticky with tears.
You roared
Hiccupped.
Full of exasperation.
I thought:
This is what it is,
to be a mother.

You grew and grew
you learned to walk
we were there—
Father, Mother, family
holding out our arms, extended
to you
each begging:
come to me!
Walk to me!
Choose me!
You smiled and toddled to each of us in turn,
your love,
so indiscriminate
as much for the neighbor who
you had never met
as for me
who pulled you out of my own body
Full of jealousy and self-reproach.
I thought:
This
Is what it is, to be
a mother.

Six years old
You could read now
so big
so smart.
No longer pulling life from my body, but venturing
further and further away.
You fell
you said
And in your words, concealed, I saw:
I was tripped
by those nasty little snots next door
little ghetto brats
gang members in waiting
I remember your face
sticky
crying with tears and blood.
I wiped your cut
and held you
hiccupping
Pure protective fury.
I thought:
This is what
it is
to be a mother.

One day, tugging at my skirt with sticky fingers
asking for a treat.
The next, big enough to travel
to have adventures.
One day I lost you, at the festival.
The fair.
The family reunion.
Mixed wires, crossed signals
Is he with you?
Don’t you have him?
I thought-
You mean- he’s not—
Panic
fear, black and sticky like a suffocating tar
This time it was me who cried
and you were calm.
You were fine,
fine,
of course you were fine.
And I snapped at you the whole way home.
For making me a fearful fool.
And then, full of regret.
Still afraid with an ominous surety.
Full of dread.
I thought:
This is what
it
is, to be a mother.

You left home
when years demanded you
a man, now
with friends
more precious to you than family
you loved them more than me.
I packed a lunch for you,
sticky with dates
on which I made you promise to come home
and watched you go, my arms
stretched open to you, but you did not see
my heart crying,
Come back to me!
Walk to me!
Choose me!
The fear of you, lost
still sticky in my chest.
Full of desolation and pain,
I thought,
THIS is what it means?
To be a mother?

And then
and then
and then
and then the day
How could they?
Your head, once sticky with birth, with newness
now slick again with blood
from rocks
and not rocks
flung by some other woman’s child
placed on you by her unruly brats.
They always picked on you, those neighbor boys
a ghetto tradition
I wish I had raised you in some immaculate city
Now the wars of our fathers claim my sons.
But they have wars in the cities, too.
Where could we have run, hidden, to spare you?
Cairo would not have been far enough.
Now you stand
drenched with sweat
sticky with blood and water
and now your arms are
the ones
stretched out wide, a splayed embrace
lacking a participant.
And now you say
come to me
walk to me
choose me.
And for that they kill you
and they take you
and they put you down and cover you with the earth.
I remember the night you were born.
My face, then
My face, now
As sticky with tears as
with blood
with birth
glinting in the firelight
full of emptiness
they have buried my heart.
I’m thinking.
This is what it means.
To be your mother.

A Family Portrait (Rated R, not appropriate for all readers!)

The sun streamed in the nursery window, dust motes dancing in the morning rays. The door swung open noiselessly and bare feet padded in from the shadows behind. “Good morning, sunshine.” The woman murmured, approaching the crib. The baby blinked, lit up, reached with tiny hands. Trembling hands lifted the delicate body, holding it suspended above the white carpet for a moment before bringing the child close.
Bethany buried her nose in Lily’s blonde baby curls, rubbing her cheek over the feather-soft, baby-scented scalp. Lily snuggled her head into her mother’s shoulder, nuzzling her collarbone while kicking happily against Beth’s abdomen. She didn’t make a noise. Bethany thought maybe she should have, should coo or giggle or shriek in the morning, should demand to be changed or fed. But this child, already so much her daughter, wanted the same things Beth did- silence. Safety. Just to be held.
A noise from the shadows beyond the door made Bethany start. Sensing the sudden rtension, Lily began to squirm and fuss. “Shh. Shhhhh.” Beth rocked and murmured, soothing.She closed her eyes against Lily’s stilling head. Turning slowly, eyes still squeezed shut, she tiptoed across the carpet, reaching for the door. She wrapped slim fingers around the glass knob-- slowly, carefully eased the door closed. The carpet under the door sighed ever so slightly, then the latch closed with a barely perceptible snick. Stepping back, Beth turned away from the closed door and opened her eyes, released her breath. Shifting Lily to her bathrobed hip, she moved to the window and moved aside the curtain. “Look, Lily!” Beth whispered against her delicate ear. “Snow!”
“No?” Lily repeated, sunshine-soft.
“Yes, snow! Isn’t it pretty?”
“Petty.” Lily agreed. She pulled back to look up into her mother’s face and smiled, flashing tiny teeth in a rare show of pure beauty. “Lily’s pretty.” Bethany smiled, ignoring the resulting pull and sting in her temple. Lily’s eyes widened with her smile, her plump, rosy face the essence of delight. “Lily petty?”
“Yes, Lily. You’re my pretty girl.”
Lily giggled, bouncing on her mother’s hip and reaching one pudgy hand towards the window, into a shaft of light.
The door opened.
“Beth.” A deep voice beckoned levelly. “Breakfast.”
“Of course, sweetheart. What would you like?”
“Bacon.” The man in the hall growled.
“Alright.” She turned back to the window, rocking Lily back and forth. She thought he might have left, staggered to the fridge for an early morning Budweiser or slumped to the couch to watch TV. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray…” she sang softly, her breath ruffling Lily’s curls.
“Now.” The man demanded. Beth looked over her shoulder to see one large foot advancing over the threshold, into the light of the nursery. She met his intense black-brown eyes, clutching Lily as she held his gaze. Then she dropped her lids. “Of course, Ray.” She put Lily gently back into her crib.
Ray followed her into the kitchen, too close, his stale breath invading her thoughts, filling the small house with hot, rank air. She put the pan on the stovetop, dug the spatula from the barren drawer. She opened the brown fridge, shuffled beer cans to peer behind, opened drawers empty of anything but brown lettuce and green salami. “I could go to the store.” She said, a note of hope slipping into her voice. She eyed the car keys, dangling from that hook on the wall, gathering dust. Ray scowled. “Any excuse to get away from me, huh?”
“No, baby, no. I just want to make you a nice breakfast.” Her stomach growled. She imagined bacon, eggs, sizzling on the stove. Beans. Bread. Luxuries she’d been weaned of during the latest bout of Ray’s insecurity.
His scowl deepened. “You’re only thinking of yourself. You, you, you. Selfish and stupid as ever.”
“I could buy you some more beer.” She suggested. “And I could get some of those cookies for Lily… she’s cutting her back teeth, you know…”
“Oh, yes. Lily. Your precious goddamn Lily. Is that why she’s been crying so much?”
“Lily is a good baby.” Beth smiled, tracing a pattern in the dust on the counter with one slim finger.
“She hates me. Just like you hate me. And the first chance you get, you’ll take her and leave me.” Ray snatched the car keys from the hook. “Well, not today.” He shoved them deep into the pocket of his worn jeans. “Ray, I don’t want to leave you. I just want to buy some groceries. Please, don’t do this. Not today.” Beth pleaded.
“How stupid do you think I am?” Ray snarled. “Forget it, Bethany!”
“I don’t think you’re stupid, Ray-“
“Besides, you look repulsive. Your hair… your clothes… I can hardly even look at you, with that disgusting bruise on your cheek.”
Tears of frustration filling her eyes, Beth shook her head. “I don’t have a bruise on my cheek.” She didn’t see the backhand coming and couldn’t have dodged if she had. Ray smirked over her as she sprawled on the moldy, cracking linoleum. “Now you do.”
When Beth met Ray he was working in a garage, fixing cars. He was a dream come true. Tall. Good looking. Smooth. Smart. And most of all, crazy about her. He loved her intensely, fiercely, protectively. There’d never been anyone like Ray for her. He was exciting—fascinating, like the flame, and she was the entranced moth. Fluttering in the glow for a few precious moments, then alternately singed or cast into the cold. She’d married him so soon. They’d barely known each other. Her mother warned her that it was too dangerous, too stupid. She’d been so sure. “I may not know him, but I know myself.” She’d said. “And I know I’ll never be happy without him.”
He’d never lost that intensity, that attention that, when turned on you full force, made you the single most important organism in existence. He was like a spotlight, and whoever he shone on was the star. When he was happy—oh, there was nothing more beautiful than Ray when he was happy. But when he was disappointed, or hungry, or drunk, or angry…
But she couldn’t leave him.
He was her heart, her husband, her other half. The father of her child. He was so lost, and in his misguided way, he needed her so much. This was a bad patch. It would pass, as the others had. It wasn’t too different with Beth’s own father, although he’d never been so much physically violent as emotionally Siberian. There were times when Beth’s father had been as cold and far away as a Himalaya, and times when he was loving, friendly, present. All Ray needed was patience. A little time.
Beth woke up on the kitchen floor, her head pounding. Dizzy, she sat up slowly, trying to organize the pieces of the world. The TV was on, softly replaying “It’s a Wonderful Life.” In front of the glow was a short plastic tree, its albino branches glittering maliciously in the flicker of the screen. Using the cold formica countertop, Beth pulled herself to her feet, closing her eyes against the rush of nausea.
A sudden, startled cry swung out through her confusion, landed like a hook in her mind. It pulled her, staggering at first, the with increasing determination as the wail grew insistent, enraged. She stumbled down the hall, stopping in the open nursery door to see Ray’s muscled body hunched over Lily’s crib. His meaty left hand held Lily’s arm, her pudgy, reaching arm, while the fingers of his right hand delivered bruising pinches to her softy, downy skin. “Mommy’s precious, aren’t you?” He sneered in a soft, sing-song snarl. “Mommy’s perfect little baby. Think she loves you, huh? Think she loves you more than me?” His fingers twitched up to her curly head, began tugging on her hair. “Say you got my hair. Well maybe I want it back. What do you say to that, precious?” he began yanking her hair, pulling out golden strands one by one.
Beth supported herself on the wall across from the door, nausea and hunger and panic fighting for dominance in her stomach. She shook so hard the world vibrated. Her hands shook as she tried to grasp the wall, support herself, ease down the hall. Her mind reeled, heart pounding, and her cold fingers knocked against the wooden frame of their picture, the only picture in the house, the last picture taken of her, the last day she’d spent without a face full of bruises and a heart full of fear—their wedding portrait. Her dress, so white, she’d felt like some fairy of winter. Her fingers curled around the picture, lifted, brought the heavy, hand-carved frame around, in front of her. In the dim light she could just make out the territorial glow of Ray’s smile—that possessiveness she’d taken for protection, that greed she’d always mistaken for love. Her feet moved forward—moving, changing, acting, shattering a spell she could no longer stay under. The nausea and hunger and panic subsided and left behind only pure, glowing rage.
Ray heard her steps, turned with a startled jerk. His brown eyes went wide, mouth opening as the mahogany frame came down on his golden head. Wood and glass met skin and bone with a sickening, thick crunch. He swayed, wavered, hands grasping at the bars of the crib as he tottered, then succumbed to the blow, hitting the white carpet with a final thud. Lily’s wails subsided to pathetic snuffles. Beth looked down at him, her husband, and felt… nothing. Nothing but impotent rage at the things she couldn’t change. She stepped carefully over his splayed legs, lifted the whimpering baby from her crib, and took down the diaper bag where she’d hidden all the money her parents had sent her, the only money Ray hadn’t drunk. In the doorway she paused to look back at her fallen husband, shielding Lily’s face with one hand. There was a lot of blood. She went closer. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Bending, she put out a hand. Fished in his pocket for the car keys.
In the doorway she looked back a final time, feeling, suddenly, a wash of infinite sadness. “Merry Christmas, Ray.” And then she was gone.

Stranded With a Stranger- Chapter Four

Chapter Four
Chastity woke to see sun filtering in through the leaf roof of the hut. The fire was still crackling, and now had two fish cooking on a stick above it. Richard crouched beside the fire, turning the fish and periodically stirring the fire with a long stick. “Good morning.” Chastity sat up and stretched.
“Morning.” Richard mumbled. Chastity noticed dark circles under his eyes. “Haven’t you slept?”
“I said I’d keep watch.” He shrugged.
“You didn’t have to stay up all night!”
“Well, I was too wound up to sleep anyway. I’ll take a nap right after breakfast.”
“Good idea. How’d you catch the fish?” Chastity eyed the roasting meat hungrily. The rich fish smell was making her stomach growl almost as ferociously as the wild thing last night.
“I tied the knife to a long pole… and went fish spearing.” Richard smiled, a real grin, flashing white teeth. Chastity caught her breath. Crouching in the sun, water dripping from his ebony hair and glistening in droplets on his wide, bare back… muscles shifting sinuously beneath his skin as he lifted the fish from the fire with wide leaves… this was a man. She shook her head and accepted the leaf-wrapped fish he handed her, murmuring her thanks.
While she ate the hot fish, every unseasoned bite tasting better than the expensive salmon Guillermo had bought her in that restaurant last week, Chastity kept sneaking glances at the man across the fire. Sun and drops of water made the bare skin of his chest glint and shine like steel, his toned body radiating strength and exhaustion. It must take a lot to wear this one out, she thought, then blushed.
When he’d chewed his fish down to the bones, Richard crawled to the makeshift bed of palm fronds and storm poncho and lay down. Chastity ate only half of her fish, leaving the other by Richard in case he was hungry when he woke up. Then, standing to stretch more thoroughly, she decided to do a little exploring.
Walking down the beach, Chastity felt her initial sense of adventure and excitement return. It was thrilling and terrifying- being trapped on this tiny piece of land, all alone, fighting for survival… NOT alone. She corrected herself. Trapped on an island… with such an obviously strong, serious man…Anxiety knotted in her stomach. She knew what men wanted in return for their help and protection. It was what she’d given the married, paunchy Guillermo in Italy, exchanging herself for a few meals and a paid hotel bill. It’s what she’d been doing since she was sixteen and Peri ran away, taking them both away from their aunt and Vern. It wasn’t something she relished or was proud of, the way she’d been living. But what choice had she had? She’d had no birth certificate, no social security number, no identity with which to procure a job.
When she was nineteen, she’d slept with a man who forged documents for her and Peri. But by then it was too late. She was uneducated and too far down the spiral of self-loathing to think of changing her life. She’d hopped from one destructive, manipulative man to the next, needing them as much as she hated them. They’d taken care of her- fixed her up with a place to live, made sure she and Peri had food, sometimes bought new clothes or trinkets for them. At first Peri had tried to bear the burden, making it clear that no one was to touch Chastity. But Peri was different from Chastity. Better. Meant for better things. She’d cried every time, which put her boyfriend in a bad mood, and he’d kicked them out. After that, Chastity had found a new benefactor behind Peri’s back. Without really saying anything or acknowledging the shift, Chastity became the provider, and Peri the protected. It didn’t really bother her, the sex. It was her day job. She didn’t like it by ANY stretch of the imagination, but it didn’t make her want to kill herself on a daily basis.
There were times, though, when it made her… tired. She’d be down on her luck, walking down the street, and some man would offer her a ride or a meal. And every time, every time, she’d accept without thinking, heart swelling with gratitude towards the good samaritan. Then when she’d eaten or they were about to drop her off, she’d see that look- that hungry glint that told her nothing comes free. She’d realize all over again what an idiot she was, and perform the obligatory services. She was feeling that now- that reminder that she was an idiot, that men were men, and that you can’t get something for nothing. Remembering the way she’d sought protection and shelter last night, she squeezed her eyes shut against the humiliation. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She chided herself. But then… she hadn’t seen him looking at her. He hadn’t taken advantage of the situation. Maybe he’s not attracted to me. Maybe I’m not his type. Maybe he’s gay! Her heart swelled with hope. Maybe he was just too tired to collect payment. She shot herself down.
Wishing to escape the despair of her mind and her situation, Chastity made sure she was out of sight of the camp and shed her clothes. They were stiff with salt and blood, and it felt good to take them off. Her cuts had scabbed over, but she could see a wide array of bruises dotting her pale limbs. She ran down the sand, into the waves, and couldn’t help smiling at the feeling of the warm water lapping at her sore legs. She dove under, rolled onto her back, marveling at the amazing blue-green clarity of the water. The sky above her was deep blue, white clouds drifting lazily across the wide expanse. I want to drift, like a cloud. From nowhere to nowhere.
She did her best to wash her hair, but she knew it would be dry and impossible with this salt water. She sat on the sand and tilted her head back to submerge her hair, then reached over and back to braid it under the water, where it was more compliant. It was getting quite long, her hair. Tony liked long hair. It was Tony, San Francisco artist, drug addict, and professional flake, who had paid for her plane ticket. He would be happy to see her, if she ever got home, and he’d never miss her if she didn’t. Only Peri would worry, would cry. She felt a pang of anguish over her sister, mourning her, missing her. She’ll have Peter to comfort her. Chastity frowned. What did Peri have to go and get a husband for, anyway? Just a long-term arrangement, the same as what she did, exchanging love for protection. Except Peri couldn’t just leave if Peter was nasty to her, or lost his job, or cheated without telling her. She was stuck.
Chastity didn’t know how long she drifted, thinking, but when she climbed out of the water she was on the other side of the island. The beach stretched up much higher on this side, wide and exposed. Naked, like her. She wandered across the sand, letting the sun dry her, until thirst prompted her to search for her clothes.
On the beach she found things washed up by the tide. Shells. Seaweed. Driftwood. A purse. A single shoe. Rounded glass pieces. She picked up a few large shells for holding food. She picked up the purse to carry the shells in. She put on the shoe, a large leather men’s shoe, to protect at least one foot from the sharp shells on the beach. A little farther along she found a flip-flop for the other foot. She tried not to think about the people these things had belonged to. She wouldn’t think about it, not now, not while she was fighting for her own survival. Later, when she was in the States, she would feel guilty for living. At the moment she would just do it.
Farther up the beach was older refuse- an old tire that she had to wonder about, various bits of trash, bones. Too small and fish-like to be human, she assured herself. They still gave her the creeps.
She soon found her clothes and reluctantly put them back on. It felt so good to be bare, free, and her clothes were scratchy and uncomfortable. But she shrugged them on and gladly exchanged the mis-matched shoes for her own canvas sneakers. She wandered back towards camp through the jungle, picking up a bunch of slightly brown bananas from the ground and collecting dry, dead wood.
Richard woke to see Chastity arranging fruit on a shell, humming a Beach Boys song. He sat up and squinted at the afternoon sun, his body sore and head heavy. “You’re up! Here, have some water.” She handed him the hollow gourd and he drank gratefully. “I made dinner… kind of…” she smiled in self derision and indicated the platter of sliced fruit.
“Thank you.” Richard flashed her a smile, accepting the large pink shell. “This shell is beautiful.” He observed.
“I think so, too. There’s a lot of them, on the other side. I thought they’d make good plates.”
“Good thinking.” Richard chewed slowly. “How’d you get bananas? I saw them, but they were too high up to reach.”
“They’d fallen to the ground… some of them were pretty rotten. I threw them back into the woods. Jungle, I mean. I don’t think we should keep much food here unless we want to attract animals.” She popped a large slice of mango into her mouth and half-closed her eyes with pleasure. “I love mango… but I never have them where I live.”
“And where is that?” Richard inquired.
“Where isn’t that would be a shorter list. For the last three months I’ve been in Italy. Before that…. Texas. Canada. Russia, for one very long week. London. California. France. And now… a desert island somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.” Chastity laughed. Richard liked her laugh. “How about you? Where are your roots?”
“My family’s from Oregon, mostly. I was born in California. I’ve got family all over the states.”
“I always wished I had a big family… uncles, aunts, cousins… all those people, sharing your blood, sharing your memories.” Chastity smiled wistfully for a second before her expression turned rueful. “But as it turns out, I don’t want anybody sharing most of my memories. Wouldn’t inflict them on my worst enemy. So. You have a wife? Kids?”
“No. I haven’t really had the time for that. I started working for the government right out of college… hunting down bad guys doesn’t really leave a whole lot of time for romantic pursuits.” Richard laughed shortly. He’d sometimes regretted his lonely life, but that was how it had to be. Even if he’d had time for such things, getting married was just asking for trouble. His family wouldn’t be safe. They’d be his weak spot, something for criminals to exploit. “You?” he asked.
“Nope. It’s just me. I had a boyfriend in Italy, but…” she shrugged.
“Yeah, I kinda figured.” He nodded.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She frowned. Was it written across her forehead? “Men don’t commit to me!” in neon ink? What was it about her that made her so obviously not worth sticking around for?
“I- it’s just, if you’d been with somebody, you wouldn’t have been alone. On the plane.” Richard explained. She relaxed slightly, feeling silly. “Right. Of course.”
“So why’d it end with Mr. Italy?” He asked. Chastity bit her lip. I won’t lie about who I am. “He went back to his wife.” She said flatly, staring him down, daring him to judge her. His expression remained neutral. “They usually do, in the end. One of the downsides of dating a married man.” He pointed out.
Chastity shrugged. “Beggars can’t be choosers.” She stacked her plate and Richard’s and carried them down to the water to wash. She hoped, by fixing the fruit salad and washing the shells, to prove that she was useful. If she could pull her own weight, make this an equal partnership, then she wouldn’t owe him anything. He was big, it was true, but he seemed decent enough and chances were he wouldn’t force her. Not for a while, at least. Not until he got really desperate. Maybe I could cut off my hair. She fingered the long, stiff braid thoughtfully. Maybe I could get really sunburned… or scarred… But she knew that in the end, it wouldn’t matter. She was a woman and would always be vulnerable to the urges of men.
Richard pondered the possible meanings of Chastity’s beggar remark, taking into consideration the decidedly troubled expression in her eyes as she brought the clean shells back to the shelter. He noticed the way she glanced warily at him and met his eyes only briefly before looking away, ducking her head and quickly sitting down across the shelter. It made sense that she would be afraid of him. A young girl, all alone, trapped on an island with a strange man. But the logic of it didn’t reduce his frustration. He wanted to protect her, assure her that he’d never let anything happen to her, make sure she survived this. He didn’t know how to prove to her that he wasn’t a threat. Huddled in the sand, jeans-clad knees pulled up against her slim torso, she looked like a child. Revisiting her alternatingly cheerful and wary attitude, her reference to bad memories, her utterly un-upset mention of her married boyfriend, Richard could easily imagine that she’d been hurt by some man—many men, in all probability. He felt a swell of anger towards them, the faceless jerks who’d done her wrong. She looked so fragile and small, sitting there, drawing designs in the sand with one finger. Like a little bird too injured to fly to safety.
Chastity sat uncomfortably under his scrutiny, wishing she knew what he was thinking. Was he passing judgment? Sizing her up? Calculating how best to get into her pants? Weighing the pros and cons of killing her? Finally sick of feeling so knotted up, she raised her eyes from the sand and met his gaze steadily, blankly, until he blinked and looked away. “Is your arm hurting you?” he asked. She glanced down at the scabbed-over gash. “Not really.” She mumbled, although she was beginning to notice a hot throbbing from under the scab, and the skin around it looked red.
“Let me see.” He slid off his bed to kneel beside her, taking her arm in both of his large hands. Chastity tensed, ready to jump up the instant he made his move. But he just studied the scab, passing his fingers gently over the swollen skin. He was still shirtless, and as his breath wafted against Chastity’s cheek she became aware that her own breathing seemed unsteady. “This doesn’t look good.” He murmured, and Chastity noticed how his long black eyelashes curved upwards, like a child’s. “I’m gonna bandage it.” He decided out loud, glancing at Chastity to check for protest. She was speechless, caught off guard by the sunbeam that illuminated his eyes, showing off their brilliant emerald depths. He snagged his bag and dug through it, pulling out antibiotic ointment and a roll of gauze. The ointment felt soothing on her hot skin as he gently spread it over the scab. Chastity found herself wondering how hands strong enough to lift the huge branches holding up the roof and wrestle men to the ground could be so gentle.
Carefully, Richard wrapped her arm in gauze, then cut the bandage and tucked the end in. “I think you should take a couple aspirin, too. Just to be safe.” Chastity nodded, still wordless, and obediently swallowed the pills he handed her. She was at a loss to explain how she was feeling. It wasn’t the usual mixture of hatred and fear that she applied to all manly men. The intimidation was there, but it was mixed with something entirely new, a strange kind of fascination, a newfound appreciation of strength.
“What do you say we do a little exploring before it gets dark?” Richard suggested, shrugging into his shirt.
“Shouldn’t one of us stay with the camp?” Chastity asked uncertainly.
“I think it’ll be ok. Come on, I want to see if we can get up that cliff.” Richard pointed to the rocky outcroppings high above. “There might be better places to camp, up there.”
“Well… Ok. But let’s take the flashlight, just in case we get lost and it gets dark.”
“That won’t happen… At training school they used to call me the human GPS. But if it’ll make you feel better, bring it along.” Richard grinned.
Four hours later, they were hunting the bare rock for the way they’d come up in the wavering beam of the flashlight. “The human GPS, huh?” Chastity teased.
“Yeah, yeah.” Richard grumbled. “Don’t you worry. I’ll find the path.”
“Oh, I’m not worried.” Chastity sighed. “It doesn’t really make that much difference where we sleep. What does camp have that this hunk of rock doesn’t?” Her laugh was cut off by the eerie howl, this time followed by a chorus of chattering monkeys.
“A gun?” Richard suggested dryly. “Come on, let’s get going. I think it’s this way.” Chastity didn’t follow. She was frozen, her face pale. “Chastity?” She didn’t reply. “Fine, stay here.” Richard shrugged and turned. Instantly he felt her hands closing around his arm. “No, don’t leave me!” she choked out, her panic evident in every syllable.
Feeling ridiculously guilty for scaring her, he put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s ok. I was just kidding, Chastity. I’m not going to leave you.” He said sincerely. Chastity clenched her fingers around his arm as the howl came again. “Don’t leave me.” She repeated, whispering.
“Never.” He promised, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly. She looked more like a child than ever in the soft glow of the flashlight, her eyes wide and irrationally fearful. “But we should try to-“ he swung the beam back over the rock—just as the light flickered and went out.

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Emily

Stranded With a Stranger - Chapter Three

Chapter Three
When Chastity again opened her eyes, the sky was dark and someone- some angel of mercy- was pouring water into her mouth. She tried to focus and realized that she was sitting propped up against a leg, with a strong hand holding her head. In front of her, a fire crackled. “There you are.” A deep male voice rumbled above her. “We seem to have landed on our feet, actually. There’s a spring in the jungle, which I figure makes sense since not much grows on just salt water and there’s plenty of vegetation around here. Plenty of edible vegetation, so that’s two worries down. I had my pack strapped to me… emergency supplies, standard regulation in my line of work. So we’ve got matches, a poncho, two bungee cords, a knife, a gun, some twine, nail clippers, batteries, a flashlight, some gum, salt, aspirin, bandages, and antibiotic ointment.”
“What, no flares? No signal light? What kind of emergency kit doesn’t have flares?” Chastity protested.
“People like me… well, in a bad situation, the last thing we want is to be found.”
“That’s awfully cryptic. Who are you, anyway?” She sat up, pulling away to search his face.
“My name’s Richard… Richard Ashton. I work for the government, trying to stop people like Stanley Carlston from doing what they do. I’m not very good at it, apparently.” He laughed shortly, staring down at his hands.
“I think you did just fine… it was a difficult situation.” Chastity said, but she knew she didn’t sound very convincing. Richard shook his head. “I’ve never blown an assignment this badly before. I’m sure to get fired when we get back to the states.”
“If we get back. Without any means of communication, everyone will think we’re dead like-“
“Like every other person on that plane.” Richard interrupted, his voice scathing. “People I was supposed to protect.”
At a loss for what to say, Chastity glanced around to see that he had finished her shelter and gathered a pile of coconuts, mangos, and some fruits she didn’t recognize. There was a pile of wood beside the fire. A coconut lay shattered on a wide palm frond with a swiss army knife stuck in its white meat. Some kind of gourd sat on the sand beside Richard, and she guessed that he must have used it to bring her water. “You certainly know a few survival tricks.” She observed.
“Part of basic training.” He shrugged, still staring off into the shadows.
“I’m Chastity, by the way.” She said awkwardly. Richard finally looked at her. After a moment he laughed. “I bet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She bristled.
“Nice name.”
“My mother was religious… she named my sister and I after the two most important goals of a woman- Chastity and Prosperity.”
“The two most important goals, huh? Wealthy and virginal?” Richard snorted.
“Well, in her opinion. I’m not exactly either of those things.” Chastity laughed dryly. Her name had long ago lost any kind of meaning for her. It hadn’t been an easy life, and she’d done what was necessary to survive. It was her experience that a girl could either be rich or easy, and she’d never been rich.
“How old are you, Chastity? Eighteen, twenty?” Richard guessed, summing her up.
“Twenty three.” She sighed. “But apparently I look young for my age.”
Richard studied the young woman in the firelight, the shadows flickering across her soft face. Deep shadows gathered around her eyes, under her full mouth, under her chin. She didn’t look more than sixteen in this light. I’d bet anything she’s lying.
Chastity might have been lying. She didn’t know. She’d never known how old she was. So one day she’d picked an age and just stuck with it. When she really thought about it, she had a feeling she was probably younger than she said- maybe nineteen, twenty. In years. Counting by misfortune and experience, I’m in my late 30s.
“Where were you flying to, anyway?” Richard asked, getting up to add wood to the fire.
“My sister’s getting married. She lives in California. How about you?”
“Well, mostly it was this mission. But I have some vacation time… I was gonna drive to the Grand Canyon. Do some camping.” He smiled crookedly, one side of his mouth coming up high to dimple his cheek while the other stayed tucked self-derisively against his teeth. “I guess this is just as good.”
“I’ve never been a fan of camping.” Chastity admitted. “I like being surrounded by lights and noise. Out here in the dark… I feel like I might disappear.” She shook herself, unable to believe she’d said something so weird, so personal. Richard looked at her for a long moment, causing her to squirm and think desperately of how to retract her thought. “I know exactly what you mean.” He shocked her by saying. “I think, though, the disappearing’s what I want.”
Chastity opened her mouth to reply, but the air was suddenly filled with a horrible howling. A primal, animal scream, the cry of something desperately hungry and alone, something angry and wild… it was like nothing she’d ever heard before. She gasped and instinctively drew closer to Richard. He touched her arm comfortingly, his eyes bright. “It’s alright. Just something hunting.”
“Yes, but hunting what? That sounds like it might like a nice raw haunch-of-Chastity.” She joked shakily. The howl came again, louder, closer, more blood-curdling, and Chastity grabbed Richard’s arm foolishly. “Hey. Come on. It’s fine. We’ve got the fire, which will scare any wild animals off. I’ve got a gun. We’ll be fine.” Richard tried to soothe her, but Chastity had had a long day and would not be calmed. She stared out of the shelter with wide eyes, shaking. Sighing, Richard wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Instantly, she snaked her arms around him, burrowing her face into his chest.
If Chastity at 10 AM had seen Chastity at 10 PM, she would have been shocked at her own reaction to the man she’d previously been so annoyed at. Objectively, she would have sat back and analyzed all the reasons such a reaction was sexist, degrading, and illogical. But in the dark, in the cold jungle, all she knew was that she was scared. Terrified. Helpless. And this man seemed to radiate the exact kind of competence and capability she lacked.
Richard was as surprised by Chastity’s sudden friendliness as she was. His first instinct was to push her away, gently but firmly, and maintain professional distance. That’s what he was trained to do- assist the civilians from a distance and move on. But he hadn’t been at a distance today. He hadn’t been in an office reading a report about a plane crash- he’d been in the crash, surrounded by the death toll. Numbers had names and faces now. He should be dead, too. He deserved to die in that crash.
But he hadn’t.
He’d lived, and by impossible chance, he’d floated quickly to the same strip of land that a girl who happened to know CPR was on. She’d saved him- which was the opposite of what was supposed to happen today. The least he could do was give the girl some comfort, even if their hope was slimmer than he’d made out. There were enough resources on the island to sustain them for a while, true. A few weeks, perhaps. But he doubted that the jungle could support them indefinitely. Most likely their presence would kill off much of the vegetation, prevent it from spreading. The jungle wasn’t thick, maybe half a mile at the widest, with nothing but sand on the other side of the island. Then, when the plants had stopped spreading and died off, they, too, would die.
“You should get some sleep.” Richard advised. “I’ll keep watch.”
“I’m not tired.” Chastity mumbled. “How can I sleep when I feel like any minute I may be attacked and eaten?”
“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. Not that I have a particularly good record of protecting people…” he trailed off, feeling dark and empty inside. The guilt of today’s events was only starting to settle in.
Chastity looked up at him and saw something she recognized, a need so deep he’d never be able to actually identify it. So she said the words she’d never imagined saying to any man, especially not one as macho and threatening as this one: “I trust you.” She even managed a small smile while she said it, feeling distant. Then, quieting her panic and tamping down her anxiety, she forced herself to pull away and lay down beside him, closing her eyes to all the things that might be creeping up on her.
Richard stared at the girl’s still form, swallowing against a sudden lump in his throat. He felt himself resolving to protect this girl, no matter what. As a penance, he supposed, for those he’d let down today. His eyes scanned over her gently curling, slightly damp golden brown hair, her delicate, long fingered hands, her sweet womanly form. You WILL protect her. He admonished himself gravely. From EVERY predator on the island.

Stranded With a Stranger - Chapter Two

Chapter Two
Chastity woke up with the sound of beating waves in her ears and sand in her nose. She struggled to open her eyes, panicking when she saw only blackness. She sat up, blinking furiously, and realized that she was in some kind of cave, with daylight behind her. Standing carefully, she took stock of herself. Her right arm was bleeding from a cut above her elbow. Her head ached. Her back and ribs felt bruised and abused. One ankle was twisted. All in all, not as bad as the average punishment from Vern. She concluded.
Leaving the cave, Chastity tried to remember how exactly she had gotten here. I was on a plane… she remembered the shot, the explosion. The plane crashed. She realized. It was almost enough to make her laugh. The first time she faced her fears, and the worst of them had been confirmed. She had been in a plane crash caused by some kind of terrorist, and now she was… where AM I? She looked up and down the beach, scanning the land for any sign of life. About 100 feet up the sand was a thick jungle. One side of the island was rocky outcroppings, jagged and deadly, with cliffs soaring high above the sand. The other side, from what she could see, was white sand sloping gently to the sea. “Desert island. Bloody brilliant.” She muttered aloud.
The thought that she should probably be completely panicked, sobbing in a ball on the beach, crossed her mind. Instead of terror and despair, however, she felt herself feeling numb. Underneath the numbness was a ridiculous, completely inappropriate sort of excitement. It occurred to her that being stranded on a deserted tropical island was something people told stories about, made movies about, dreamed of, feared. And now she was really doing it.
Quickly making a mental inventory, Chastity began to search for what she would need. The sun was still high in the sky, but she knew it would soon be night. She had no matches or other means of making a fire or creating light, so she needed a shelter as soon as possible. She began to search the jungle for suitable trees.
It wasn’t until Chastity had her beach shack half erected at the edge of the jungle that the body washed up. A dark form rolled out of the waves and lay limply on the beach. Not thinking anything at all, Chastity walked down to the form and pulled the body up onto the sand. Mind blank, she checked for signs of life and began the CPR she’d paid $50 to learn at the community college in one of the many towns she’d lived in, back in California. As she blew air into the man’s lungs, she dimly registered that it was the man from the plane, the one who wouldn’t give her the aisle seat.
She was shocked when he began to cough and retch, to breathe, to live. She’d learned the CPR because she needed it for her lifeguard job. She’d performed it on this man because she was overwrought and didn’t know what she was supposed to do and the sequence was drilled into her. She’d never really expected it to work, for something she did to restore life to a cold body. As the man sat up and looked around, Chastity began to shiver violently.
“My God.” He swore shakily, looking around. “Where are we?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s anywhere. There doesn’t seem to be anybody else.” She trailed off. “I don’t know.” She whispered.
“Hey.” The man touched her arm gently. “It’s ok. We’ll be ok.”
“How? We have no food, no water, no means of communication, no matches, no rope, no knife, no anything that’s of any use on a deserted island!” Chastity ticked the missing items off on her fingers, the enormity of their situation washing over her as she spoke. The man didn’t respond right away, just stood and took a look around the beach. “Let’s investigate that jungle.” He walked up the beach.
Chastity couldn’t move. She crouched, rooted to the sand, the waves lapping at her feet. I’m going to die here. The sky seemed to be crashing down on her, the sand closing in around her. She closed her eyes, her earlier sense of adventure and excitement totally lost. In its place was a deep dread, an assurance that this would end in disaster.

Stranded With a Stranger - Chapter One

Chapter One
“Ladies and gentleman, this is your captain speaking. We’ve now reached cruising altitude. I’m switching off the fasten seat belt sign.” It seemed to Chastity Worth that every person in business class was happily unfastening their belts and leaping up to wander up and down the narrow aisles. The only ones staying seated and buckled were herself, and the man in the seat beside her who was fast asleep.
Not me. She thought fiercely, clutching the belt across her lap. Far, far below her, she saw the undulating surface of the impossibly vast Pacific Ocean. Oh God. She squeezed her eyes shut and inched away from the small window. She had specifically asked for an aisle seat, but no. Of course she’d be sat by the window. Chances were the man beside her, with the aisle seat, had requested the window. That’s life for you. She eyed his seat and wondered if he’d switch with her.
Chastity hated to fly. She hated the taking off, when it felt like the world had crumbled and left her suspended in midair. She hated turbulence, every lurch bringing visions of twisted steel and mangled flesh. She hated airplane food, which she refused to eat, and airplane restrooms, which she refused to use. She hated the fact that everyone seemed to take it for granted that flight was a necessary thing, as if preferring to drive or float to a destination was somehow unreasonable and old fashioned. Only one thing in this life could have gotten her on a plane, and that was her sister Prosperity.
Peri was older, by about a year, and had always been Chastity’s best friend. Through an unstable, frightening childhood, they had been all the other had. They had shared everything- secrets, toys, a single dirty bed, food, a chaotic and uncertain life. No matter what, Peri was the one person Chastity could count on to be there, to be hers, her only real family.
And now Peri was getting married.
When they’d been at cruising altitude for some time, the man beside her started awake and lurched to his feet, making his way unsteadily down the aisle. Chastity resolved to ask him to switch seats with her when he came back. She didn’t like talking to strangers, which was why she hadn’t broached the subject earlier. Now, however, her discomfort was greater than her reluctance.
It was with a funereal mood that Chastity had packed her bags to fly home, to fly back to California from her hotel in Italy, to fly back to say goodbye to her sister. She felt her eyes watering anew at the prospect. No longer her confidante or midnight accomplice, no longer her one call or lifeline, Peri was going to become someone’s wife. And I’ll have nobody. No one to belong to.
The man in the aisle seat returned and sat down heavily with a long sigh. Chastity chewed her lip for a minute, the anxiety she always felt before addressing a stranger stirring in her stomach. “Excuse me?” she ventured. The man glanced at her briefly. “Yes?”
“I was wondering… would you switch seats with me?”
“What?”
“Seats. You see, I really don’t like being by the window. I thought maybe you’d like to switch.”
“If I wanted to switch, wouldn’t I be the one bringing it up?” he asked sardonically, arching one jet-black brow.
“Oh, please-“
“Sorry, miss. Any other time, I’d switch with you. But it just so happens that I need to be in the aisle.”
“You need to be in the aisle?” she asked doubtfully, raising her own eyebrows.
“Yes.” He answered curtly, his tone making it clear that he would not welcome any further discussion. Chastity shrank back against the side of the plane, seething with frustration. What a jerk! She frowned, trying to draw every molecule of her body as far away from the man as possible. It wasn’t easy. He was a big man, a muscular man with wide shoulders and large hands with short nails and veins that practically popped out of his skin. Too much testosterone pumping through them. Chastity thought resentfully. Exactly the type of man she hated and looked down on, the muscle-bound, unenlightened macho type. He flexed his large hand on the arm rest and Chastity flinched, remembering all too well what being a strong man meant. Power. The power to beat and slap those smaller into submission, the power to use fear to control. Half of her mind scoffed at such caveman techniques, and half of her still feared strength as much as she disdained it.
A heavy sigh made her glance reluctantly at the chiseled, unhandsome profile of her stern seatmate. “Look, lady, I’m not trying to make your life difficult. I really do have a good reason for needing this seat.”
“And that would be…?” Chastity asked stiffly.
“I can’t really tell you. You’re just going to have to trust me.”
Not likely. Chastity rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m sure it’s a matter of state security.” She snorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain.
“Look, it’s none of your business!”
“Fine! Why do you think I’d care, anyway?” Chastity snapped.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t!” the man replied with equal testiness.
“Well I don’t!”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Chastity grinding her teeth in irritation. Part of her knew she was being unreasonably rude to this stranger. There was just something about him; something threatening that brought back old fears. So she sat stiffly, feeling resentful and slightly guilty.
“Damn it. I really can’t say anything.” The man broke the silence, making Chastity jump slightly.
“So don’t.”
“I’d tell you if I could.” He assured her.
“Look, I don’t CARE, ok? It’s not my business, like you said.” Chastity ground out.
“How about I buy you a drink to make up for it?” the man suggested.
“Oh, I don’t really-“
A sudden commotion at the front of the compartment distracted her for a moment, and when she looked back, the man had dashed off. “-drink.” She finished dryly. A short, wide man stood yelling at a flight attendant at the front of the section. “Take me to the captain! Take me to the captain!” The man was screaming. The tall, dark haired man who had been sitting with Chastity threw himself at the hysterical little man.
“No, take me to the captain.” A voice startled Chastity. She looked over her shoulder to see a man standing in the row behind her. He casually held up a gun. “If my demands are not met, I’ll start shooting passengers.” He lowered his gun to press against Chastity’s neck. “And I’ll start with this one.”
Chastity gulped for breath, her heart pounding. The barrel of the gun was cold, but not as cold as the casual confidence of the man’s tone. He would shoot her in a moment. She squeezed her eyes shut. I should have known it would end up like this. Her life had been nothing but a series of disasters and bad breaks. Why should her death be any different?
The man grabbed her by the arm and hauled her up. Her seatbelt jerked her back down and she fumbled to unbuckle it. “Stanley Carlston.” The dark-haired man from the aisle seat released the now-silent fat accomplice and stood.
“Of course. I can’t believe it took you this long to spot me. Really, your boys must be scraping the bottom of the barrel… sending a rookie out to face me.”
“I guess you don’t rank that high on our list of dangerously insane, Carlston.” The dark haired man replied steadily. “Just let the girl go and let’s talk about this calmly.”
“Like hell.” Stanley hissed. “Take me to the captain.”
The dark haired man led Stanley and Chastity slowly towards the cockpit. By now the panic had begun to ebb and Chastity was frantically looking for something, anything, any way out of this mess. Her eyes darted around the plane. A bag dragged down from an overhead compartment, swung to smack Stanley? A careful stomp-and-duck? A quick blow to the head with a bag of ice from the drink cart? Chastity couldn’t think of any solution that wouldn’t startle Stanley and fire off the gun.
The woman in red, sitting in first class, obviously hadn’t thought the whole situation through as thoroughly as Chastity had. She courageously threw her martini, glass and all, in Stanley’s face. He roared in anger and threw up his arm reflexively, catching Chastity on the side of the head and throwing her to the ground. Dizzily, she heard the gun go off. There was a gasp, and an explosion, and then everything went black.

New Story coming up

So I dropped the last story like a hot rock after certain assumptions were made (although there really wasn't that much similarity between the story and my life, that suggestion just killed the story for me.) Coming up soon is the first chapter of a new story, VERY corny, very silly, not serious in the tiniest degree and in no way my best work or related to my life. I have no idea if the details are correct or if it's a plausible plot and I don't care; taking care of details makes my writer's block worse. I'm having fun writing it and I hope you have a little fun reading it. Stay tuned for the first installment of Stranded with a Stranger. (Told you it was corny). This story is for my very good friend Christi, for her birthday. Luv you buttercup!

Because She's My Sister Chapter 2

Well, this was already written so I figured I'd stick it up too. This chapter is just one big flashback, explaining what Elijah was asking about.

Chapter Two

Last Tuesday, Mom had invited Elijah, Tom, and Sergeant Grey over for a kind of thank-your-local-police-force dinner. She’d made her famous turkey pie, with blackberry cobbler for desert. After dinner, they played a movie in the living room. It was The Notebook, which I’d seen already. Believe me, once is too many times for me, with that kind of movie. So I went out on the back porch to stargaze, instead. I love watching the night sky, especially when it gets cold in fall like was then. The stars seem brighter, the sharp smell of wood smoke drifts over from the Averys next door, and all seems right with the world.
It wasn't long before Elijah wandered out there, too. “Not enjoying the movie?” I teased.
“No explosions or car chases yet… I’m giving up.” He shrugged in mock disgust, coming over to lean against the porch railing next to me.
“Welcome to reality… I gave up on that stuff ages ago.” I laughed.
“On romantic movies?”
“Movies, books, the real thing… all of it. It’s so fake.” I sighed. “I mean, girls grow up expecting Prince Charming and then you keep thinking that he's coming, when he's not. It’s messed up.”
“Is there something wrong with prince Charming?”
“With the concept, yes! You think, oh this guy’s gonna be perfect and we’ll fall in love and it’ll be happily ever after. But in the end it turns out he’s a jerk. So you move on to the next one, over and over, always thinking, ‘Oh, this one will be different.’. But they never are. You never end up getting your heart’s desire and becoming a princess. You end up getting your heart broken and becoming bitter.” I let out a long breath, then felt blood rush to my cheeks. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to unleash my anti-fairy tale spiel at you.”
“No worries. I get what you’re saying. But you know, just because Prince Charming is never going to come riding up in a Ferrari doesn’t mean you should give up. There might be a Duke Pleasant with a Prius just around the bend.”
“On the other hand, it could be a pirate. On a Harley.”
“Would that be so bad?” Elijah laughed. I couldn’t help laughing, too. Elijah’s just always had that kind of laugh. The contagious kind.
I’d known Elijah pretty much my whole life. He was five and a half years older than me- an eternity away. When Angie was born he had just turned eleven. When she was two, Mom started dating again and hired Elijah as our babysitter. I know now that most people don’t leave their kids with adolescent boys, but I’ve come to accept the fact that my mother is a bit of a flake. And anyway, Elijah lived next door to us, so it was convenient. Most of the other kids lived on the other side of town, close to the school. They weren’t available on short notice like Elijah was. It worked out fine in the end, Elijah being who he was. He was always responsible for his age. He was Angie’s favorite sitter because he played with her. Our other babysitter, 15 year old Alexis from two streets over, would turn the TV on
and spend the whole time talking on the phone with her boyfriend. Elijah brought board games, played hide and seek, built forts outside, told stories, and even played barbies. Angie called him Lijee, and he had names for us, too. Angie was Angel and I, a bit growth stunted at seven, was Little Bit.
Nobody ever called me Tabitha. Mom and Angie called me Tabby, which I didn’t like because it made me sound like a cat. I was generally known as Tabs, but also went by Bitty for a while, just in time for sixth grade and the inevitable nickname “Bitty Titty”.
In her fleeting brat stage at 8, Angie would scream incessantly if Mom even suggested having anyone else sit for us. I always thought that Mom should just leave me in charge instead of paying someone, but for some reason she never trusted me to take care of Angie (even though I was the same age then than Elijah had been when he first sat for us). So until Angie was 14 and declared old enough to watch herself, Elijah came over whenever Mom had a date. Once Angie passed 10, she lost interest in games and mostly wanted to paint her nails glittery colors and have her friends over. By then, Elijah was well into college, so he usually just did his homework and ate everything in sight.
Early adolescence was not a good stage for me. I was just a little too tall for any of the boys my age, built thick and sturdy like an athlete with none of the reflexes. I still took tae kwon do, but that was the extent of my extracurricular activities. I had no close friends at school. What I did have was unfashionable large boobs, acne, and a hopeless killer crush on anything male. I skulked around the house, my nose always buried in a book, sneaking furtive glances at the babysitter, acutely aware of the cruel irony now when he called me Little Bit, yet deathly afraid he’d stop. Like a large spider skittering from shadow to shadow, equally terrified of being invisible and being seen.
By the time I again became human enough to interact with Elijah without swallowing my tongue, he had left for police academy two cities away. I left town too, last year. I tried to go to a university two states over and hated it. I rationalized my flight back home- I’d get a job, earn some money, go to community college and avoid the huge loans. Mom and Angie were running low on money, they needed me. Those weren't the real reasons, though. The truth was stupid. A bad relationship I couldn't face another year. So now I was home, and Elijah was back as well. Still male.
“But seriously.” Elijah cut through my little jaunt down memory lane. “You’re too young to give up on love yet.”
“I never said I was giving up on love… just romance. Not the same.” I smiled. He smiled back, not saying anything for a minute. “So, Miss Not Giving Up on Love. Got a boyfriend?”
I checked my pockets. “Not on me.” I shook my head and he laughed again. “No, I just got out of a relationship with this guy from college… I’m ‘taking a break’.” I made air quotes and a face.
“Awesome. So the chances of you being busy tomorrow night are slim?”
“Uh… slim to nil. Why?”
“My friend’s band is playing at Jonesy’s. They’re pretty good and they want to spread the word… you wanna go?”
“Um... sure.” I shrugged. When I was a kid, Jonesy's had been a bar, but lately it had made the transition to diner/ music venue. Angie and her friends were always hanging out there, but I had never been.
“Cool. I think you’ll like them. So… I’ll pick you up at 9.”
I swallowed. “Uh, wow… I’m such a spaz, I totally forgot. I can’t. I have a… um… thing. Meeting. With… interview. Job thing.” I backed towards the door. Elijah turned around, leaning back against the porch railing. “At 9 o'clock at night?” he raised his eyebrows.
“Uh, yeah. It’s a night shift.”
“That doesn’t make-“
“Well, goodnight!” I hurried inside and upstairs to my room, feeling like an idiot.
There actually was a halfway decent explanation for my freak-out. The thing was, the “relationship” I’d come out of in college was actually only a relationship in the sense that it had been a friendship. I liked the guy, he didn’t see me that way... which would have been fine, except he didn’t bother to inform me of that. We went out on several dates… or at least, what I call dates. Dinners, concerts, dancing, movies… we had fun. But on our fifth date, I tried to kiss him and he pushed me off, acting very surprised. He said he only liked me as a friend, and he hoped we could stay friends. I laughed it off and said of course we could, fully intending to avoid him for the rest of my life.
Instead, I got sucked into this weird little non-thing. He’d flirt with me, compliment me… we had great times. But then, every two months or so, I’d start to think he was finally developing feelings for me… and then he’d start dating someone. He’d disappear from my life for two weeks, then break up with her and come tell me their sad tale. I was like the long suffering wife to his philandering husband, the band aid to his cut, the aspirin to his headache. He started being the insult added to my injury. The salt in my wound. Basically, I was miserable. When school let out, I ignored his calls, his texts, his email invite to come up with him to Hawaii, and his final angry letter. It had taken a lot of will power to cut that boy loose, and I wasn’t about to get sucked into another confusing “Thing” with Elijah. I knew he wasn’t asking me out. I knew he just wanted to hang out, as friends. But no matter how much I knew that, there was always going to be part of me that wondered, or hoped, or wished. I believe whole heartedly that men and women can just be friends. But not Vincent and I.
And not Elijah and I.

Thanks for reading! You'll need to join in comment :(
Just in case anybody's thinking anything, nothing in this chapter is even remotely based on any of my actual experiences.

*Edit* Hey, does changing his name help, or does it still sound too much like my own experience?

Because She's My Sister Chapter 1

Ok, corny title, I might change it. This chapter includes swearing and an act of violence and probably some very bad writing. Continue at your own risk. :)

Chapter One

It took five kicks to get the door open.

In our house, the doors are thin, some kind of man made material that buckles with just one swift punch. Here, in this gorgeous home, the doors were solid wood. Not solid enough that I couldn’t hear the frantic pleas coming from the room, but thick and sturdy and not inclined to fold under my sneaker.
If the door had been locked, I would have been in time to save her.
If it had opened with just one kick, or maybe two, then it would have spared her the worst of it.
But it took five.
If it had taken seven, she would have been dead.
If it had taken eight, he would have escaped out the window and the town might never have known that Pastor Adams’ son was a rapist and murderer.
But it took five.
I finally burst through as the lock gave, the doorframe splintering. The noise made Kevin jump up, startled, and reach for his pants, releasing the belt around my sister’s neck. I guess he’d been too absorbed in holding my sister down to hear me kicking his door in. “Shit! What the fuck, get out of my room!” he started screaming at me while Angela sucked air into her lungs; a shuddering breath, just like the one she took when she was born. And once again, she was thrust from a world of darkness, into the world of the living.
For better or worse.
Kevin made for the window, but tripped over the end table, which had toppled along with the lamp at some point before I kicked the door open. I didn’t need that pause- I would have gotten to him before he got outside. I had plenty of time to tackle him, holding his face in his mildew scented carpet and twisting his arms behind him painfully. “Angie, call the police.” I growled.
“No! You can’t! It’s not what it looks like!” Kevin gasped, struggling in panic. “Get off me, you dumb bitch! Get the fuck out of my house!”
“Angela! The phone!” I said sternly, grinding Kevin’s face down with my knee. He might be a daunting prospect to my 14 year old sister, but he posed no challenge for me. Whimpering, Angie rolled off the bed and started crawling to the desk by the door, where a cordless phone sat.
We heard sirens immediately. Pastor Adams and his family only lived 3 blocks from the police station and jail. It was a centrally located house, equal distance between the jail and the church, to suit Pastor Adams’ needs. He worked as the chaplain at the jail and juvenile detention center, as well as being pastor at the tiny community church. It took the police seconds to charge upstairs and relieve me of my duties. Sergeant Gray didn’t take it easy on Kevin for being the pastor’s kid, either. He’d long been suspecting Kevin of vandalism, petty theft, public intoxication, and generally being a nasty, pain in the ass snot. But he’d never been able to prove anything until now. Kevin’s fake ID was sitting out on the desk, along with two bottles of vodka, and Angela still had his belt loosely around her neck as well as the perfect imprint of his fingers on her cheek and neck. And other, not so visible places, as I learned later.
“You get Angie to the hospital ASAP, you got that, Tabs?” Sergeant Gray admonished me, after he read Kevin his rights and cuffed him. I nodded jerkily, gently pulling the belt from around Angie’s shoulders. “I’ll have Officer Delaney stop by tomorrow morning to take her report.”
“No.” Angie said softly, her voice rough.
“I know it’s gonna be tough, Miss Angie, but you gotta talk to Tom.” Sergeant Gray sighed, rubbing one hand over his face and up into his graying hair.
“I know. It can’t wait. It’s gotta be tonight.” Angie said, still soft, looking at her feet.
“I dunno… Tom’s prolly in bed by now.” Sergeant Grey said doubtfully. Angie looked up and fixed him with her gaze, narrowing her wide brown eyes intently. “Sergeant, I intend to give a full and accurate report tonight and only tonight, because after tonight I am never going to think about this again.” She looked fierce, but her voice was wavering and breaking. I put one arm around her shoulders. “It better be tonight, sir.” I agreed. I could feel Angie shaking under my arm. Sergeant gray sighed, then nodded. “Ok. I’ll wake Tom up. If he won’t get his sorry ass outta bed, guess I’ll take the report myself. See you girls at the hospital.” He nodded again. “Come on, you sorry sack of shit. I got a cell with your name written in shit on its walls. Hope you’ll feel right at home.” He growled, leading Kevin non too gently out of the room and down the stairs.
When they were gone, I turned Angie to face me, grasping her shoulders gently. “Did he break anything?” I asked.
“Just my heart.” Angie replied softly. I bit back a reply and pulled her gently to me, wrapping me arms around her fragile back and burying my face in her hair. How could she let herself fall for him? Why did I ever let it get this far? Angie gripped me to her like she was drowning, buried her face in my shoulder and sobbed. My grip tightened on her, past the point that I was afraid I might hurt her. The fury and hurt in me were as deep and powerful as my love for her, a quantity I’ve never found an adequate way to measure.
Everyone who met Angie loved her. She didn’t have to try. She just drew people to her. With her fluffy, white-blonde hair and her big grown eyes and pointed chin, she looked like she might sprout wings and fly away at any moment. Her eyelashes were thick and golden brown, and she made a habit of looking up at people through them. It was a nearly irresistible expression. When she paired it with her signature uneasy-lip-biting, I hadn’t met a soul yet who could refuse her anything she asked for. She had a way of making people feel clever. Prettier. Special. Helpful, smart, funny, and sweet, she always put people off their guard and made everyone fall in love with her. And she did it with no hint of ulterior motive, no awareness that people were drawn to her like moths to a flame. If I was closer to her age, I suspect I would have grown up jealous and resentful. I know what I am, and too often it’s selfish and cynical.
I was five when she was born. I remember the way her eyes opened as she sucked in that first breath. She didn’t scream, just coughed and kept breathing. Her eyes were blue when she was born, and completely aware. Some babies, you look at them, and it’s like they’re totally blank. They see the world but they don’t get it. In some people, that goes away, and in others, it doesn’t. But some babies… right away, you can see that spark. That noticing, the alertness. From the moment of her birth, I looked into Angela’s eyes and I knew there was somebody inside, looking back at me, thinking her own thoughts. My mother, relaxing on her bed, surrounded by candles, smiled at me while I helped the midwife cut Angela’s cord. The midwife wiped her off and wrapped her up in a pink blanket, then handed her to me. I took short, slow steps as I walked up to the head of the bed to give her to my mother. I was so entranced by that little person regarding me curiously, our eyes remaining locked even after I handed her to my mother to be fed. I had never seen anything so perfect. So beautiful.
Nothing changed as she grew. She remained gorgeous, flawless, fascinating. When she learned to talk, she spoke with a sweet, wispy lisp. Her first word besides “Mama” was “Tabby”. Her huge brown eyes and golden curls made her the favorite of relatives and babysitters. I wasn’t upset about it- I loved her as much as they did. And anyway, The Baby didn’t have my wide vocabulary. She didn’t go to school or Tai Kwon Do or ballet. She couldn’t read or write or draw. She could be the beauty. I was the brains. As we grew up, however, Angela adopted a vocabulary just as extensive as mine. In time, she could read and write and plie. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t look up from under my lashes, bite my lip, and make the world fall in love with me. There would always be more for Angie to learn, and there would always be things I couldn’t.
“Let’s go.” I pulled back finally. Angie nodded, wiping her eyes. I took her hand and led her down the stairs, out the door, across the lawn where Pastor Adams stood, staring down the road like it led off the edge of the world. I opened the passenger door for her and buckled her in, like I used to when she was in a booster seat and I, the Big Girl, got to sit up front on the condition that I strapped her in. We drove to the hospital in silence.
I stayed with her as the nurse checked us in and led her down to be examined. I stayed behind when she changed into a hospital gown and went to be prodded and scanned. In the hall, my knees started shaking. I slid down the wall to sit on the ground, wrapping my arms around my legs and laying my head on my knees. Overhead, the fluorescent lights crackled and glowed sickening blue. My phone buzzed.
New text from Grady
Hey Tab have u seen Angie? Shes not pickin up where is she?
I sighed. Angie’s best friend Grady was one of my favorite people, but he had two annoying flaws. One, no respect for proper spelling and grammar. Two, no matter how hard I tried to convince him otherwise, he refused to believe that he had a chance with Angie, romantically speaking. Like every other male in Lilac Falls, he was crazy about my sister. They had been best friends since 3rd grade, and he was among the few I would have trusted to date Angie. Grady was honorable, sweet, gentle, and smart. Not like Kevin. I seethed. Grady would have ripped off his own leg before letting anything, anything, happen to my sister. He was going to have a heart attack when he found out about this.
She’s safe. No worries. She’ll talk to you tomorrow.
I probably would have told him to come by if he’d had a car. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, I wasn’t feeling much like driving. But being 14, he didn’t even have a permit. I put my phone back in my jeans and leaned my head back against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut. My foot and ankle felt too hot, kind of throbbingly numb, but I didn’t really register it through my haze. Raped. My sister was raped. My head kept pounding it, over and over. That bastard probably gave her an STD. Or got her pregnant. Why did Mom let her leave with him? Why didn’t they listen to me?
“If I don’t get to sleep, neither do you.” a familiar voice brought me out of my reverie. I looked up to see Elijah Hunt shuffling down the hospital corridor, his hair sticking up and the dark grey shirt of his uniform untucked. “Thought they were sending Tom.” I said in greeting.
“Tome sleeps like the dead. Didn’t pick up. And that Adams kid was making such a ruckus, the sergeant didn’t want to leave him all alone. No knowing what he might do to that police station.” Elijah smiled sleepily. “So they sent me.”
“Are you even all legal yet?” I grumbled.
“Nearly. Anyway, doesn’t matter that much up here… heck, YOU could take the report if the serge signed it. It’s not that hard.” Elijah yawned. “Where is that sister, anyway?”
“Getting checked out.” I let my head drop back against the wall. Elijah shuffled over and sat down next to me. He let out a long sigh and his breath stirred some hair that had fallen out of my ponytail to rest on my cheek. I wrinkled my nose. “Didn’t you brush your teeth, Mr. Police officer man?” I muttered.
“When duty calls…” Elijah shrugged, laughing. I scowled. One thing I usually liked about Elijah Hunt, he was almost impossible to offend. But at the moment he was getting on my nerves. I knew why, too, but I didn’t want to think about it.
“So what happened?” he asked after a pause, only seriousness in his voice. I shrugged, dropping my head to my knees. “When Angie didn’t come back by her curfew, I started getting worried… by 1, I knew something was wrong. I went my D.J.’s party and he said she’d just left with Kevin. I drove over there, went upstairs and heard screaming… so I kicked the door in. Angie called the police, and then we came here.” I shrugged, then glanced over to check if Elijah was taking notes. He didn’t even have his pen out. He was looking at me oddly. “I guess that should have been what I meant…” he sighed ruefully, finally getting out his notepad and pen. I wondered what he had meant, if it wasn’t that. “Ok… what time did you get to the Adams house?”
I answered all of his questions, except the first one I guess. Maybe he was talking about last week… a little voice whispered in my head. Well, duh. That’s pretty much the only other thing he COULD have meant.


Wow, if you stuck through all of that, you're awesome. Criticize me! (but by the way, "You suck, never write again isn't really criticism... it's just mean....just saying.) Oh, and my italics were lost when I copied and pasted from Word... I fixed the ones I saw, but there might be a couple of times where it's supposed to be the narrator (Tabitha) thinking in her head, but it looks like regular text.
Love!