Page 63 of Dark Angel

The next sounds are of cups clinking, the door opening, and Rayne sashays in, bringing the light with her. She sets the cups on the bedside table and plops her pert ass on the bed, nudging into my groin as she settles on the small mattress beside me. "Jesus, Jaden. It smells like a distillery in here. Are you awake?" I swear I hear laughter, not condemnation, and crack an eyelid. The damn woman bounces beside me and croons in a wheedling voice, "Wakey, wakey." Her grin widens. "Looks like someone could use some of my healing touch."

My mother's probably having a seizure as she eavesdrops. Rayne's warmth seeps into me, blowing away most of the cobwebs, but the asshole in me still has to put on a show for my mother. "Could you be any louder?" There's a fifty-fifty chance this will trigger a bad reaction from Rayne. I lean around her and sigh relief into my mug as she wiggles her ass against my growing hard-on. "I could, actually. Want me to try?"

That’s the moment when my power and I merge with one common goal . . . To get Rayne home, my home, and let the warmth of her body tell me once again that she’s mine. She’s blown through the test of standing up to my mother. I am hers. “We’re hers already.” My power punches me in the gut. This has to stop.

After a quick breakfast of pancakes with my sister, my mother makes one more valiant attempt to wrestle Rayne under her control. Rayne’s chattering away with Rowan about clothes. I open the door of the fridge looking for juice. Mom’s strident voice cuts through the friendly chatter.

"Jaden, what are you doing?"

My sigh is automatic. Here we go. I’m transported back to my late teens. "Looking for something to drink."

"Rayne, get up and help Jaden figure out what he wants to drink." Just like that, she belittles me and cuts me down to size.

I can’t help it. Those thirteen words bring the shroud crowding in, eager to smother my brief glimpse of light. Three pairs of eyes swivel to me, and I hold my breath, waiting, teetering on the edge of a very high cliff as if Rayne’s reaction is life or death. I can almost hear the death knell as my shroud closes in.

"Jaden." Rayne’s voice isn’t loud, but it’s penetrating and insistent. "Do you want help?" Only when her words cut through the shroud do I hear the undertone of sarcasm. Rowan doesn’t help matters when she takes that moment to practice some of her passive aggression on our mother. "Yeah, Jaden, do you need help figuring out what to drink?" she parrots.

"What I want is to be left alone," I say, deliberately adding an edge to my tone.

"That’s what I thought," Rayne says.

I can feel the volcano simmering inside Mom as Rayne dismisses her, turning back to her discussion with a force that makes my heart sing. The moment I signal I'm ready to leave, a flurry of activity ensues. Rayne quickly gathers our belongings, gives effusive thanks and we make our way out the door.

Driving through the serene backroads, surrounded by miles of untouched nature and farmland, usually brings me peace. Yet, at this moment, I find myself wishing for the speed of a helicopter. My only desire is to be alone with Rayne, to connect through our bond and bodies so I can decipher the true extent of the damage my mother might have caused.

“Well, that was an experience,” Rayne exhales sharply as we merge onto the road, settling in for the three-hour journey home. I sense a storm of thoughts and emotions churning through our link, indicating Rayne is on the verge of unleashing a torrent of words. Normally, I might tune out, letting her voice blend into the background noise of my own turmoil. But not today. Today, I'm desperate to shield myself from any reminders of my past that could draw forth the shadows.

“I don’t want to talk about my mother right now. I need to think.” I plead silently for quiet.

Rayne fixes me with a deep, searching gaze, but evidently, my expression conveys enough because she nods, understanding flashing in her eyes. “Okay. Do you mind if I listen to music instead?”

I nod, grateful for the reprieve, and retreat into the whirlwind of my thoughts as the landscape rushes by. Rayne belts out a Beyoncé song, her voice filling the car. Yet, the lyrics from a song she played earlier haunt me, echoing a sentiment that's all too familiar:

Your heart's not here, your spirit's gone, but your body carries on.

It's not quite clear what went wrong, but your body carries on.

Trust Rayne to find a way to get through to me. In those lines lies the essence of my existence, and listening to her belt out the words is a reality punch to the gut. I've been merely existing, not truly living, since . . . For once, I push the past aside, daring to contemplate a future. What am I striving for? The Impossible Dream?

For so long, I've mastered the art of concealment, hiding behind walls built from pain and betrayal. But with Rayne, it's as if those walls aren't just crumbling; they're being willingly dismantled, brick by brick. Can I truly allow myself this vulnerability, to hope for a future where I'm not defined by my shadows?"

The thought of change is both exhilarating and terrifying. I've been defined by my past for so long, it's become my identity. Yet, here I am, daring to dream of a life where my past doesn't dictate my future. Is it possible to redefine oneself, to build a future on new foundations of trust and healing?"

Every moment with Rayne feels like a stolen piece of time, too precious and fragile. The fear of losing this, of reverting back to the darkness that once consumed me, is overwhelming. How do I hold onto this sliver of light without smothering it with my insecurities?"

In my darkest hours, I never allowed myself the luxury of hope. It was a distant beacon, too far out of reach. Yet now, hope is not just a distant dream but a tangible possibility. Like the star in the east, guiding me toward home, not any kind of external structure but where the heart is. The battle between this newfound hope and the reality of my past is a constant struggle. Can hope truly outshine the darkness?

I've always measured my worth by my past failures and the shadows that follow me. The possibility of being seen, truly seen beyond those shadows, is both a deep-seated desire and my greatest fear. What if she judges me? Finds me lacking? Can I accept myself enough to believe in a future where I'm worthy of love, happiness, and a sense of belonging?

I briefly flash back on all those hours I’ve spent locked up in my own mind. Just as Golem treasured his precious above all, I've guarded my true self, keeping it hidden deep within the shadows of my cave. But Rayne, with her unwavering gaze, seeks it out, not to possess but to understand. She shows me that my most guarded treasure, my authenticity, is not to be feared but shared.

Exposing my “precious,” my true self, feels like standing on the edge of a precipice with Rayne holding my hand. She asks for my trust, to step into the light and reveal the parts of me shrouded in darkness. It's a terrifying leap, fearing that once she sees the real me, she might turn away. Yet, her presence, her unwavering need for authenticity, beckons me forward."

Our bond, deeper than mere words, acts as a mirror reflecting my hidden facets. Rayne's insistence on seeing my authentic self isn't just about understanding; it's about trust. She needs to know the person she's entrusting her heart to is real, not a facade. This bond, it doesn't just tell me; it shows me that hiding isn't living.

I've clung to my “precious,” my true self, like a lifeline in a sea of pretense. But Rayne, she's the beacon guiding me out of the darkness. With her, the struggle isn't about holding on to my precious but about the fear of what happens when it's seen. Yet, she assures me, without words, that it's safe to emerge, to be authentically me.

Trusting someone with your most prized possession, your authentic self, is a journey fraught with fear and uncertainty. Rayne's persistence, her need to see the real me, challenges every instinct to hide. Yet, it's in this challenge that I find strength. Her determination to unveil my “precious” shows me that true connection lies in vulnerability and trust.

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