Page 21 of After Our Kiss

- Chapter Seven -

Georgia Mary King

––––––––

Why me? Why this again? Why him?

I asked myself those questions until they changed into a tangled mass of barbed wire that shred me where I was weak. I'd always worried about Facile slipping out of the shadows to capture me again. That fear had been an open wound inside of me, one that I'd been told to ignore by each family member and friend as they grew frustrated—ultimately giving up on me - all of them cutting ties.

But you don't fuckingignorewhen you're bleeding out.

I shouldn't have gone to that party,I berated myself.Wanting to live my life like a normal person was a mistake.In hindsight I saw the many paths I could have taken to avoid this. I could have told Chelsea who Conway was. I could have told her I needed to go to the cops. My regrets tugged on my wound until it became a cavern.

Why is he doing this?Could I have read him so wrong when we were kids?

Squeezing my eyelids shut, I drilled my memories, looking for any hint that the sweet boy who'd read books to me would one day become the monster driving this van. Conway had been a kind soul who did his best to keep his father at bay. He'd punched his own brother to protect me.

What had I missed? Because it had to be something.

If not... then there was another reason he was acting like this. God, I wanted to believe that. It was the same flickering hope I'd clung to nine years ago. I dug my nails into the softness of that wish; if I held too tight, I'd suffocate it.

At some point I fell asleep. I didn't know how long, but the light outside the windows had changed—become brighter. The van wasn't moving, was that what had woken me up? Conway ripped the doors open just as I got to my knees. The hard edge of the mirror dug into my inner thighs.

He nodded at me with his chin. “We're here.”

Here—there was a crisp finality to that word.

I'd tucked myself into the far left corner of the vehicle. He was wearing that shiny bomber jacket of his again. It made him bigger. Sturdier.

He wasn't going to ask if I was ready, or if I was coming; he expected me to go to him. I debated trying to slip the jagged shard out without him seeing—with my knees pulled to my chest, I could do it. I'd be able to slice his throat when he came to grab me.

Picturing his blood spilling all over me was too much. I was a fighter, not a killer.

Scooting on my butt with my legs folding up, then out, I moved like an inchworm. I felt about as brave as one, too. The mirror was wrapped in enough layers of paper that I was sure I'd be fine, but I was still cautious.

Conway slid his elbow around mine, helping me down to the grass. A strong wind wrapped itself in my hair. Salt hit my nose, then the ripe, tangy scent of the ocean. We were standing on a slope that rolled down to a sandy beach. It had a single, weatherworn dock.

Peeking over my shoulder, I saw the barely-there dirt road that vanished behind a large hill and thick bushes. A rusted wire fence circled off to both sides, multiple faded “Private Property” signs clung to it.

He kicked the van doors shut, then crouched, tossing me over his shoulder fireman style. “Hey!” I shouted.

Ignoring me, he took long strides down the slope. His boots echoed off the wooden boards of the dock. He was taking me towards the ocean, but I was looking at the white van as it became smaller. I'd missed so many chances to get out of this situation. How many more would I have?

My vision spun; he'd flipped me up and over too fast. Clenching my teeth to settle myself, I was relieved when I felt solid wood beneath me, instead of the icy waves. Conway sat across from me in the small boat; he scanned my face, eyebrows arching. “Did you expect me to drown you?” he asked.

“I don't know what to expect from you anymore.”

He untied the rope holding us to the dock with expert speed.He's done this before. Many times, I think.Gripping the thick oars, he grunted, rowing us out into the high tide.

Overhead, the sky was the color of pasty oatmeal. Seagulls shrieked, circling, barely flapping on the wind. Strands of my hair kept lodging in my lips and blocking my vision. I turned in place, taking every landmark in.

The boat wasn't meant for long distance travel. We couldn't be going far. Squinting, I faced Conway, searching beyond him. There was a dark blob on the horizon; the closer we got, the more I picked out. Some sparse trees... and rocks that angled upwards like dragon spines. “What island is that?”

He navigated without looking at the landmass we were approaching. “That's your new home.”

Shivering, I watched it come into focus. He pulled us up towards a new dock—I spotted another boat, and my heart soared. More boats meant more opportunities to flee. I noted the fence that surrounded the part of the island I could see. It was in the shape of a lopsided horseshoe, blocking all access between the dock and the land beyond.

Not far past that was a house.

---