Page 5 of The One
Because I’d been here more times than I could count, normally at this hour or later.
The path was narrow, surrounded by grass on both sides. It ran over two short hills—not steep enough to take my breath away, just a slight incline that caused a tingling in my calves. I was about to approach the third mound when I veered off to the right, my feet stopping on a spot about ten yards from the pavement.
The darkness would make it difficult for most people to see.
Not me.
I relied on the brightness of the moon and my memory.
In this spot, a clearing big enough to fit me, I lay down on my back.
I had so much to say, so much to get off my chest, but nothing was coming to me, except for, “I’m tired.”
My temper, which had been roaring at the strip club, was gone. I felt as though a faucet had been turned on and the explosiveness of the pressure had drained from my feet. My hands clenched as the blades of grass tickled my neck, my fingers feeling like they were glued to my palms.
Even with the smell of flowers in the air, I uttered, “I’m so fucking tired.”
I focused on the sky, as if I were talking right to it and the night clouds could speak back.
“How has it been fifteen years?” I asked the darkness. “I can’t believe it … yet I can. Because I’ve felt every single one of those fifteen years, day by day, hour by hour.” My eyes burned. “Second by second.” When the burning became too much, my eyelids closed. “Do you know how many of those seconds hurt?” I waited for an answer. “All of them.” I swallowed, my throat gradually relaxing as the heat began to fade from my eyes. “Every fucking one, and I don’t expect that to ever stop.”
Tiredness was a weight that I constantly carried. Most nights, I was lucky to get a few hours of sleep. It didn’t matter how sleepy I was or how badly I needed rest; my mind would wake me up.
Sleep was the reward, and I was being punished.
But something about being here—my body lying across the grass with the sky above me—caused a heavy wave to come over me. Not a wind. This was a slow crawl that moved inside me and covered me like a blanket.
“I’m so tired of keeping your secrets.”
My eyes stayed shut.
My hands unclenched.
My lips whispered, “And I’m so fucking tired.”
Enough so that the blackness began to take over and a picture began to form behind my closed eyelids. It didn’t immediately happen. It was built by the tiny shards moving through the air, landing one by one, piecing together like the puzzles I did with Daisy, my niece.
First, there were feet.
Legs.
A torso.
Arms, fingers.
A neck.
Finally, a face with lips that said,“Rhett?”
I smiled.
Because I knew that voice.
Because I knew that grin.
Because I knew her mannerisms, her expression.
As I stood, unable to move, my gaze going from her feet to her face, the burning in my eyes shifted to my chest.
