and I are going to talk here for a bit. That cool?” Connor ask, tightening his grip on her shoulder.
Her wild green eyes calm slightly. She turns toward him, embarrassed.
“Yeah, sure,” she mumbles as if vanquished. Clover gives me one more look as if to say “I’m sorry,” but there isn’t a need too. I watch her walk away tense as the woods swallow up her retreating body.
Connor let's out a deep sigh as if deflated.
“If you think I’m the dangerous one, think again.”
At his words, I stare at my feet like a child. Tears gather at the corners of my eyes fighting to be set free. I strive to lock them in, refusing to let him see me cry. I wouldn’t normally call myself an emotional girl but today everything was a mute point. I watch in my peripheral vision as Connor nears. My heart flips in my chest and I give up the desire to understand why this stranger provokes such a response in me. I try my best to ignore the rushing warmth as his hand brushes my arm.
“It’s okay,” he soothes, his fingers lingering.
At those words, cold anger awakens. It isn’t okay. It will never be okay again. My whole world is changing. Another person I cared about, gone. The image of the red zone I’d fantasized about, gone. My longing to share a love with my mother of this unfamiliar place, gone. Connor speaks again but the words are lost on me. Does he think of me as a child, someone to coddle and reprimand? I’m not weak, or at least I don’t want to be. Can he recognize the heaviness weighing me down and the thoughts plaguing me? I don’t know why the anger releases in me but it does. I give myself over to the madness I’ve been wanting to avoid, finding the transfer over to rage more comforting. The familiar sentiment blazes through me leaving numbness and the ability to continue blindly through this new hell.
I slap Connor’s firm hand away. The expression he gives isn’t one of surprise but one of understanding and remorse. The fact he doesn’t hide it only exasperates me more. My arms come up to push him hard on the shoulders- distancing us and the responses he invokes. This anger I’ve embraced gives me a sharp focus on the world around me- clearing the foggy lens of grief Tom’s death laid upon everything. I want to be consumed by a dark void that sucks my thoughts and emotions away so I don’t dwell on the pain. The more I attempt not to think of them the more memories surface. The images of every painful experience I’ve ever been through overlapping each other, building a mound of despair.
The memories flicker, growing up without my mother and never getting clear answers as to what happened to her. I gave up on the whole idea of knowing. The thoughts come faster, all the physical pain of training so Mrs. Emerson would allow me to follow in my mother’s footsteps, the arguments with Dad about becoming a scout, getting close to Tom and then losing him. I will never discover what information he had about my mom’s disappearance. All these things painfully tug at me. I’m a coward. A sinister voice whispers inside me. I should’ve asked my questions even if Tom probably wouldn’t have answered them. I don’t want to learn the answers but I’m compelled to seek them out any way. My heart pounds in my chest harder, harder as another wave of anger rolls over me deadening the ever present agony like a thousand sharp nails digging into my tender flesh.
I throw my fishermen hat to the ground and let my red hair fall down my back. The idea of no more disguises gives me a bold confidence I was missing earlier. My blue eyes lock on to Connor’s grey as if to hold him prisoner. I embrace the numbness in me and let the cold chill settle into my bones. My muscles ache to move, to be doing something, anything. For the last few days I’ve hiked hours, attempted to sleep on the cold ground, and witness the death of a friend, my body should be begging for rest but instead I’m more alive than ever. I
Her wild green eyes calm slightly. She turns toward him, embarrassed.
“Yeah, sure,” she mumbles as if vanquished. Clover gives me one more look as if to say “I’m sorry,” but there isn’t a need too. I watch her walk away tense as the woods swallow up her retreating body.
Connor let's out a deep sigh as if deflated.
“If you think I’m the dangerous one, think again.”
At his words, I stare at my feet like a child. Tears gather at the corners of my eyes fighting to be set free. I strive to lock them in, refusing to let him see me cry. I wouldn’t normally call myself an emotional girl but today everything was a mute point. I watch in my peripheral vision as Connor nears. My heart flips in my chest and I give up the desire to understand why this stranger provokes such a response in me. I try my best to ignore the rushing warmth as his hand brushes my arm.
“It’s okay,” he soothes, his fingers lingering.
At those words, cold anger awakens. It isn’t okay. It will never be okay again. My whole world is changing. Another person I cared about, gone. The image of the red zone I’d fantasized about, gone. My longing to share a love with my mother of this unfamiliar place, gone. Connor speaks again but the words are lost on me. Does he think of me as a child, someone to coddle and reprimand? I’m not weak, or at least I don’t want to be. Can he recognize the heaviness weighing me down and the thoughts plaguing me? I don’t know why the anger releases in me but it does. I give myself over to the madness I’ve been wanting to avoid, finding the transfer over to rage more comforting. The familiar sentiment blazes through me leaving numbness and the ability to continue blindly through this new hell.
I slap Connor’s firm hand away. The expression he gives isn’t one of surprise but one of understanding and remorse. The fact he doesn’t hide it only exasperates me more. My arms come up to push him hard on the shoulders- distancing us and the responses he invokes. This anger I’ve embraced gives me a sharp focus on the world around me- clearing the foggy lens of grief Tom’s death laid upon everything. I want to be consumed by a dark void that sucks my thoughts and emotions away so I don’t dwell on the pain. The more I attempt not to think of them the more memories surface. The images of every painful experience I’ve ever been through overlapping each other, building a mound of despair.
The memories flicker, growing up without my mother and never getting clear answers as to what happened to her. I gave up on the whole idea of knowing. The thoughts come faster, all the physical pain of training so Mrs. Emerson would allow me to follow in my mother’s footsteps, the arguments with Dad about becoming a scout, getting close to Tom and then losing him. I will never discover what information he had about my mom’s disappearance. All these things painfully tug at me. I’m a coward. A sinister voice whispers inside me. I should’ve asked my questions even if Tom probably wouldn’t have answered them. I don’t want to learn the answers but I’m compelled to seek them out any way. My heart pounds in my chest harder, harder as another wave of anger rolls over me deadening the ever present agony like a thousand sharp nails digging into my tender flesh.
I throw my fishermen hat to the ground and let my red hair fall down my back. The idea of no more disguises gives me a bold confidence I was missing earlier. My blue eyes lock on to Connor’s grey as if to hold him prisoner. I embrace the numbness in me and let the cold chill settle into my bones. My muscles ache to move, to be doing something, anything. For the last few days I’ve hiked hours, attempted to sleep on the cold ground, and witness the death of a friend, my body should be begging for rest but instead I’m more alive than ever. I
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