Chapter 1: Selene
Ping.
My cell phone chimes, but hesitation rings like an echo in my mind. I bite down on my lip..it’s important, play the game, wait…my hands are clammy, moths in my stomach bouncing off the walls of my chest.
Ping.
Ping..ping.
Gotcha. Finally, I peel my eyes from the ceiling tiles I’m counting, on tile seventy, and shift them to the lit phone screen, my hands nearly shaking with anticipation. This time he’ll love it, this time he’ll appreciate me for real. Want me. Need me.
But instead, my gut meets the floor. Three new messages from Trey, all dressed in varying shades of disappointment, and they follow each other straight to the snapped wire of dread, pairing with a lingering rejection that seems to plague our recent relationship.
Nice.
I’m working late tonight, I’m sorry.
Raincheck?
Sighing heavily, I toss my phone to the mattress beside me and fold my arm over my eyes. Methodically, I tense each muscle in my body. I win, nothing has changed. Put yourself out there more, he said, get me in the mood. Look how far that got me, automated voice to text from his stupid fucking smartwatch.
It took me forty takes to get the perfect angle on my tits, without a double chin…an incredibly tasteful and calculated nude if I do say so myself…all to get a nice and a polite no. I feel like a fool, a clown, prancing around on a stage no one cares to watch. I just don’t understand why it’s changed, why all of a sudden its a huge fucking problem to be attracted to my boyfriend. Any other guy would be jumping for this…right? A question lingering heavily lately, one my realistic brain always shuts down eventually. Look at me, I’m a mess, I’m barely holding down my part time job as a waitress in a shitty small town. Broke. Relying on a man to take care of me. Complaining because my hot boyfriend, of years, is tired because he works a thousand hours is petty. Dumb. I’m being so fucking dumb. But it doesn’t stop the sirens ringing in my head, the anger piling onto the hurt, drowning it in the river of fucked-up-edness, or whatever the fuck. I DON’T KNOW!
Allowing myself a few more minutes of internal rage and madness, when I’m ready to burn it all down, the steep part of the wicked spiral I’ve started, I get up, wrench my extra-large t-shirt from the pile on the floor, and throw it over my head. I don’t even have the energy to fight for it anymore, rejection is callusing my skin and wrapping me tight with tension.
Slipping into the tallest pair of doc martens I own, I pause in front of the dirty full-length mirror in the corner of my bedroom. The black tee falls mid-thigh, and my long pale legs run for miles into the shiny black leather boots. Tousling my long blonde hair, I drag the forming drops from the corners of my eyes and give myself a fake smile. A pathetic, whiny..
I snort at myself. And with a stumbling tear in my eye, I turn to leave the room. Running from myself. I need to be free of the hellstorm coursing my veins at a mile a minute. I need something new. Fill the hole growing in my chest and fill it fast.
Thankfully, my car starts today. Trey has been promising to take it to get fixed for months, but the thought no longer matters to me.
“Thank you, Jerome,” I whisper as I pat the dash, he must know I need to escape, this house, his house, and my head.
The trip to the bookstore feels light, as I bop my head to my little “leave me alone” playlist, mostly just sad girl emo songs, and the occasional heavy metal jammer. Dunkin’ gets my coffee right, the chocolate frosted donut I ordered has extra sprinkles on it, and the sun is shining in just the right way…this was definitely the right decision. Pulling into good ole Barnes and Nobles, the parking lot is mostly clear, another sign, and a sigh of relief leaves my chest. I am not a people person, especially when I’m stuck in this stressy-depressy brain soup.
Hitting my vape, hard and long, I fix my sunglasses further up the bridge of my nose, throw my black leather sling over my shoulder, and head to my sanctuary. Emitting tasty clouds of peach mixed with menthol, my first breath inside the door takes nearly every ounce of frustration away…new books, ink, parchment– all mixed with the wafting scent of the cafe…
“Welcome to Barnes and Nobles,” calls a bored tone from behind the front counter, its a young girl, no older than eighteen, casually scrolling on her phone, she didn’t even look up. But she can’t touch me here, I’m unstoppable now.
Heading straight for the center displays, nothing new grips me…it’s the same setup as last week, I’ve pawed through them all, and have taken to the stacks, where they hide the really good one-off’s. A minor disappointment.
My preferred taste lies with independent authors, the ones with real stories to tell. Not rushed gobbledygook to make a quick profit with a little light stalking and one or two spicy scenes mixed in. Someone sold dark romance to the normies, and now it’s everywhere and unrealistic as hell. If bro thinks he’s going to just break into my house in the middle of the night, and I won’t try to fight back, he’s crazy.
Not a single book in the romance section catches me either, it’s the same old shit, so I shift to horror, my other true comfort zone. The truth is that I’ve read most of this section alone, but I’ll never stop looking for that perfect spinetingling, trapeze act, balancing true darkness with perfect characters in a befit setting. King doesn’t even pull it off, probably the closest, but I’ve yet to find the sweet spot. And with as many books as I’ve read, I might never find it.
Annoyingly, it seems as if the stock is the same, no diamond in the rough, and I carefully walked the aisle twice…I sigh and give up, turning on a heel to head towards the magazines. It would be too pitiful at this point to head home empty handed. Maybe the answer to my problems is buried in one of the newest Cosmo quizzes. Finding a copy, I retreat to the back corner of the store, where several armchairs are left for people waiting, or testing, whatever they’re actually for, and relax my body into the familiar leather. I’ve spent many hours “testing” books I was too broke at the time to buy.
I’m not sure how much time passes, just that I flip through cover to cover, and about halfway through I realize I forgot my phone at home, and that I never answered Trey…I’m definitely going to hear about that later.
Unsticking myself from the chair, I put the magazine back where I got it, and head for the door…its dark, the sun must have set while I was busy distracting my emo lizard brain, Cosmo told me I’m an autumn, whatever that means, and that I need to dump that loser.. And next to my car, is Trey’s black Audi, complete with his stoic frame leaned on the driver’s side of my piece of shit Nissan. This means trouble…this means a fight…this means I’m about to hear about the million things I do wrong on a daily basis. A list of every mild annoyance, or forgotten conversation. Dump that loser, indeed, and somehow I’ll still end up losing. Fear and mundane expectations muddle together in my mind as I cross the street to the parking lot.
“Hey– I’m so sorr–” I try, but my words are cut off on account of him tossing my phone in my direction, it hits my chest with a thud.
“You left that in my bed,” he starts, venom already dripping from his fangs. His eyes trace where the extra large shirt touches my thighs. He’s so fucking angry. Eyes narrowed, the vein in his neck protruding as if he hadn’t stopped clenching his jaw.
“I forgot it,” I start again, and again he cuts me off with a raise of his hand, motioning to absolutely nothing.
“No shit.”
“Trey, please,” I step towards him as he turns sideways, a dismissal.
“I’ll see you at home,” he starts walking away from me, back towards his car, as he lowers his sunglasses. Conversation over just because he decides it is.
Mundane expectations win, and fear edges off my spine. Or maybe its fear that wins, wishing to end whatever I started right here in the open.
“I..want to break up.” I don’t know why it leaves my lips, what makes me brave, or if I’m really just a coward instead, but I say it, and from the way his entire body freezes, and flexes, I immediately regret it.
Turning slowly, towards me, like a horror movie in slow motion, I watch his jaw clench harder, and I instinctively take a step back. Trey lunges towards me, his grip finding my arm before I have the reflex to jump away…he’s on me in a second.
“T-Trey!” I cry, his hands tighten on my arm.
“No.” It’s one word, but spoken through his teeth, it shakes me, disturbs my insides, sends my stomach fleeing for the depths of my being. Gravel and grit, rage.
“Trey, let me go,” I stutter, trying to step further away, but he follows, his looming fire just inches from my face as I count the blood vessel’s popping in the whites of his eyes…he must have dropped his sunglasses when he rushed me…and I’m not sure why I wonder about his glasses…my mind is choosing flight…leaving me with the man bruising my skin.
“You don’t get to leave, not with all that I’ve done for you! I came home early, for you– and here you are, spending money you don’t fucking have, looking like this,” he gestures back to the t-shirt line at my thighs. Tears well, and topple, spittle from his barbed tongue peppers my face, I blink, flinching away from him.
“I’m not even hurting you!” He screams at me, at my reaction, before he forcefully throws my arm back towards me, and unsteady on my boots, I stumble, my knees skid into the pavement, my hands cut with the force of loose gravel as I catch my own weight, a sharp sting piercing my resolve. I sob.
“Get UP,” Trey lashes out, as if it was my fault that I fell into the middle of the street as he bends to appear as if he’s helping me up.
I don’t get up, I sit frozen. He steps into me, and I hear a ferocious rev on a vehicle, my shoulder pushed wide by the force of Trey’s body flying into the curb– a blacked out motorcycle zooms by, the streetlight freshly lit illuminating the bike—
“Trey!” I cry out after my back touches pavement, jumping into action, lunging for his still frame…his head bounced off the curb so hard..
Steps pad the concrete behind me. “OH MY GOD! Are you okay?!?” Someone shouts, but I can’t acknowledge them..there’s blood dripping from somewhere on the back of Trey’s head, as I quickly pull it into my lap, his body sideways against the sidewalk…his eyes closed.
“Trey…Trey, wake up,” I try, with shaking hands I look for the wound on his head, searching his empty face for his presence.
“I called 911!” Another voice shouts, but I’m too busy trying to wake Trey up, shake him back to me.
“Don’t move him!”
Hands land on my shoulder, and I flinch away.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” They ask.
“Help him,” I plead, my voice cracking, but everything below me is shifting, unsteady, the corners of my vision darken, as I continue to shake Trey’s unconscious body. “Please…help him…” a whisper is all I have left, as the sobs take over.
“Help is coming, ma’am,” soothes the stranger, the one that tried to touch me.
“Please,” I beg Trey, wishing he would open his stupid shit brown eyes and roll them at me again… “Please..”
Until the sirens surround us, and the paramedics arrive, I refuse to let him go. A woman takes my hand and one of the medics drapes a blanket around my shaking shoulders as she steals my gaze.
“Honey, we’re gonna take over from here, alright?” Her caramel eyes seep into the frazzled cracks of my demeanor, “Thank you for keeping him comfortable, can we trade places?” She’s soft, or her vinyl gloves are, as she rests a hand on mine.
“Please help him,” I beg, in between fractured sniffles.
“I promise to help him, sweetie, but I need you to try to stand, can you stand?” Her question is clear, but my response is not as I shake my head and also flex my toes, attempting to place weight on my feet.
She nods to someone behind me, and they also approach, “Let me help you.” His deep tones make me flinch, and jostle Trey’s head in my lap.
“Miller, prepare to support the neck, I’ve got her,” the woman says to the man and she shifts back into my gaze. “C’mere, sweetie, let Matt take over, let me help you.”
I let her, my eyes sticking to the blood on my thighs as the two paramedics shift Trey’s head out of my lap and into the guy’s that she called Matt.
Blue gloves interrupt my horror, snapping in front of my face, but I’m dialed in on the dark red trails on my skin, running to the ground, a small pool forming below…
“Ma’am,” she says, but she’s farther away, behind a closed window, muffled by pillows, and all I can see is red, all I can think is red.
“She’s in shock.”
The corners begin to swallow my sight again, red and black tangling together. Hands on my shoulders try to stop the world from spinning, but it continues, as I weightlessly drift, letting the puddle of red take the shape of Trey’s slack face…before the darkness finally wins, tainting everything solid black in slow motion.
