I wave my hand to get her to come down and talk to me, but she shakes her head vehemently.
Chastity: My dad is mad at me and will ground me for life.
I want to remind her she’s eighteen, but like with my own father, they have pull over us with money and a roof over our heads.
Me: I’ll come up.
I can sense her panic before I see it on her pale face.
Pointing to a flower trellis attached to the side of her house, I move to it and give it a shake. It wobbles slightly, but should be okay.
I make it up after two near misses, the lattice grill snapping underfoot. The roof juts out, bordering the first floor, giving me easy access to get to her window.
She’s shaking and searching the grounds as she pokes nearly half her body out the window.
“Hey,” I say, breathing heavy and wiping dirt off my hands.
“You’re insane,” she pants.
“Or romantic.” I quirk a brow.
Snorting, she says, “Yes, very Romeo of you.”
As I move toward her, my foot slips on moss, my stomach dips.
I reach out for purchase of her windowsill, but miss.
Her arms flail to reach for me, but it’s too late. I slip, meeting air, then land on her front lawn with a heavy thud.
My ribs roar, flaring in pain as I land directly on my side.
“Motherfucker,” I croak.
The porch lights flick on, and I hear movement.
Getting hastily to my feet, I make for the brush surrounding the property and dive for cover as the door opens.
“Hello?” a deep baritone barks.
Just when I think I’ve gotten away with it and he retreats, my phone beeps.
“Who’s there?” he shouts.
I take off on crouched knees through the thicket of bush, the twigs and debris scratching holes into my jeans. If it didn’t hurt like a son of a bitch, this shit would be hilarious—something I’m definitely not sharing with the group.
When silence is my only company, I stand, brush myself off, and tug my phone out.
Chastity: Romeo, Romeo, where art thou?
Me: Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.
Chastity: You’ve been reading.
Me: Listening. It’s the only thing that helps me sleep. I’ve been meaning to thank you for that.
Chastity: So thank me.
Me: I will in person.
Chastity: How about tomorrow night?
Me: Name the place.
Chastity: Meet me at the end of my street. Eight o’clock.
Me: Done.
Chastity: Goodnight, Rhett Masters.
Me: Goodnight, Chastity Griffin.
Ignoring the incoming call from God, I slip my car into park at the end of Chastity’s street and get out.
Last night, I slept like a baby. No drugs needed. This audio reading from Chastity has been a revelation.
Her voice lulls me into a state of calm.
She’s doing things to me, and I don’t know how this is all going to play out once my part is completed.
Guilt eats away at me when I see her bounding toward me.
She’s not like most girls our age. She has the wisdom beyond her years, but she’s been sheltered, and it shows.
I bet she’s a fucking virgin—and that makes my task ten times fucking worse.
You’d think with how powerful The Elite is, the dean would be someone within their ranks, but no, so they resort to shitty tactics for future needs.
“Hey, you came,” she says, breathless from the jog down to me.
“Of course. Did you think I wouldn’t?” I smirk.
A small lift of her shoulders tells me the answer.
Gesturing to the car, I ask, “Where to, my lady?”
Shaking her head, she wraps her cardigan over her small frame and jerks her chin toward the road.
“There’s a park just through there. Let’s walk.”
I haven’t hung around in a park since I was seven, but this girl is different and I need to embrace that if I have intentions of seducing her.
Do you have those intensions? My subconscious asks, I silent the voices by asking her questions.
“So, Mrs. Griffin, huh? Is it hard having people know the guidance counselor and dean are your parents?”
“She’s not my parent.” She shakes her head, looking between the road and me.
Sore subject?
“Oh I’m sorry…”
“No, it’s fine, it’s just, she’s my dads wife, that’s it. His choice not mine.”
Nodding my head in understanding I ask.
“Are you an only child?”
Nodding her head causes her hair to fall into her face, and I ache to slip it behind her ear and stroke her cheek, take her mouth with mine.
“Yes. My mother died in childbirth.” A pained grimace takes over her pretty features.
That’s rough.
“How about you?” she asks innocently enough, but the pain slashes into me nonetheless.
Her startled eyes grow impossibly large, and almost violently, she reaches for me and pulls me into her body.
“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out. “I don’t know why I asked when I already know. It was insensitive and foolish, an accident… I wouldn’t try to hurt you—or anyone—like that,” she rambles, and I pull free and smile down at her to ease her tension.
Slipping my fingers into her hair, I finally tuck it behind her ear, then let the pad of my thumb caress her cheek.
“It’s okay. Honestly, don’t worry about it.” After a silent pause, we continue walking.
“I googled you,” she says, flicking her embarrassed gaze to mine, halting our movements.
“That’s how I know about…” she gulps, fidgeting with an invisible thread on her cardigan, “your brother.”
The usual constricting pain grips my heart in a vice at the mention of Robbie.
“I’m so sorry. That must have been…”
“Death,” I rasp. “Like death,” I add, breathing air into my broken lungs. “It felt like I died with him.”
“But you didn’t,” she whispers, almost asking me the question instead of making a statement.
A humorless laugh rattles my chest. “What’s that saying? What doesn’t kill you only makes you wish it did?” I vomit my truth out, surprising us both with my forthcoming emotions.
“You always seem so full of life, happy…”
Grief, borrowed from our shared experiences, fills her eyes.
“That’s just the mask, I’m drowning, but with a smile on my face knowing I can’t be saved,” I confess, letting myself open up to her.
“That must be exhausting.” She murmurs, lines creasing her forehead.
It fucking is exhausting.
My mind is like a carousel going around in circles. Different scenarios bring different outcomes, but it can’t be changed, no matter how much I will it. I’m telling myself these truths as much as I’m telling her.
“My world’s a mess right now, of regret and sorrow.” I almost choke on the last word, grief filling me up from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair, my world quaking beneath me, threatening to consume all I am.
Her warm hand slips into mine, squeezing, reassuring, comforting. The ground settles and I can breathe.
“You’re right here,” she says in almost a whisper. Her other hand comes to rest on my chest where my heart beats slow beneath it’s shelter.
“You’re not allowed to die with him. You have to live for you both.”
My posture sags and my head leans forward, too heavy for my shoulders.
“I promised myself that’s what I’d do for my mom,” she says, vulnerability shaking her voice.
“She wouldn’t want me to let the cruelty of fate stop me from living my best life, so like a ghost attached to my heart, she’s with me. It beats for us both. We’re both living.”
Reaching my hand up without thought, I rest it against her own heartbeat. She doesn’t pull away or falter. This isn’t about me copping a feel—it’s two people sharing pain, learning to live through it, and finding a connection to help us keep living, keep breathing, keep standing, one foot in front of the other, until it stops hurting.
Da-dum. Da-dum. Da-dum.
“Come on.” She smiles, breaking the contact and recommencing our path to her destination. I haven’t talked to anyone about Robbie, and it helps—it really fucking helps.
We walk in silence for a few beats, but it’s not uncomfortable, it just is.
Nudging me toward a treeline, she turns to venture through the thicket.
“Are you going to lure me in there and then have your way with me?” I drawl.
Slapping me playfully, she pushes me farther into the trees, the dirt caking our boots.
“If you mean kicking your ass, then maybe.”
“I might be into sadism,” I snigger out, walking farther into no man’s land.
“I think you’ll find that’s a masochist,” she points out, dodging tufts of growth.
Just when I’m about to ask her what the difference is, the trees open up and an old park emerges in a clearing. The terrain is covered in undergrowth, the framework of the slide and swing rusted by years of being unused. It’s spooky and kind of beautiful all in the same breath.
“Be careful of snakes,” she tells me, her southern drawl more potent when she talks about the dangers.
“Why is this here?” I ask, taking her hand to help her manoeuvre over some fallen branches.
“It was part of the Miller’s property in the late fifties. They died over two decades ago and their land was abandoned. This part was claimed back by nature. The house was vandalised and eventually torn down when a girl claimed she was attacked and taken there.”
Frowning, I sit on the swing next to her and try to move it. It protests loudly, but eventually begins to move, raining down orange on my head.
“That got dark,” I state, and she smiles, white teeth on display.
“Are you not scared to come here?” I ask, searching the woods as the sun sets. Everything drops in temperature, making the place twice as creepy as before.