Beast: An Anthology Page 6

We enter the dark house as quietly as possible. I close the door once Reece enters and lock it. Three locks. The door handle, the deadbolt, and the chain. My mother lies on her stomach on the couch. The television that continues to play softly is our only source of light. I move to cover her with the blanket draped over the back of the couch. When I reach for the remote, a shimmer catches my eye. On the floor is an empty bottle of vodka.

  Perfect.

  I turn off the television and wave for Reece to follow me down the hall to my bedroom. We sneak softly to the corner and turn down the hall when a floorboard creaks. We pause, eyes wide with alarm, and wait to hear if my mother wakes. After a moment of groans from the couch, my mother falls silent once more.

  I push Reece down the hall this time, my fear heightening at the possibility of my mother waking to see me returned to her house, in her life. Angling to follow Reece into my room, my foot accidentally kicks into the door causing it to slam against the wall. We freeze again. This time, my mother wakes.

  “Who’s there?” She rolls off the couch with a thud as her voice, thick with sleep, sounds from the other room. We listen to her struggle before she makes her way to the hall. A part of me wants to help her, but another part, a stronger and more fearful part, keeps me frozen in place.

  She makes her way to the entrance of the hall and flicks on the light. We both cringe, but her eyes narrow as she tries to focus. Through the onslaught of the light and alcohol it takes her a minute, but I hear her soft voice when she recognizes me. “Jadyn?”

  Swallowing thickly, I reply. “Yeah, mom. It’s me.”

  Her whole body begins to shake as she looks around. “Where is he?” She whispers.

  I tense and look at Reece. His brows are drawn together in confusion, but he moves into the hall behind me, showing himself, but my mother doesn’t see him.

  “Where is he? Did he follow you?” She rushes to the door, checking, double checking, triple checking the locks. When she’s satisfied, she inches the curtain aside just enough to peek out at the streets. She asks me again, “Where is he?”

  Sighing, I question, “Where is who, mom?”

  “You know who! Where is he?” She starts to scream as her breathing gets louder and more ragged with the panic gripping her. “Where is he? You little bitch. You brought him here, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” Her hand flies out before I have a chance to react. The slap is loud and jarring. My ear rings from the contact of her palm on the side of my face. When our eyes meet, there is no apology in her gaze. Only fear and loathing.

  * * *

  “What did I ever do to you?” I shout at her.

  She fists her hair and turns away while growling, “You’re just like him.”

  Realization slams into me. My father. Of course she wants to be sure I didn’t bring him here. He’s a witch, just like me. I slam my bedroom door shut and stare at Reece.

  He lazes on my bed. It’s a good view, but it starts to blur with the onslaught of tears. My throat starts to close up with sickness. Sickness that she is my mother. Sickness of the incident Reece just witnessed.

  My eyes brim with tears and my chest tightens and my face stings. Reece pats the spot next to him, and I crawl over. He lifts an arm, and I nestle into his cold form pulling a blanket up around us. It’s oddly peaceful as we listen to my mom throw things and fumble through the house. My body flinches every time an object flies down the hall at my door, but she never enters.

  Reece places a hand against my cheek so feather soft that I barely notice it at first. He traces over my cheekbone, down my nose, to my chin, and sweeps back up along my jaw. It’s comforting and eases the prickling sensation from my mother’s hand.

  “Was your mom like this?” I whisper as my mother finally quiets down, possibly passing out again.

  “My ma. Yeah, she was beautiful.”

  My lips tip up when he calls his mom, ma. “I wasn’t asking how she looked.” My pointer finger pokes into his side.

  He chuckles as his hand leaves my face to grip my wrist. He guides me until my hand rests on his heart. “No, my ma wasn’t like this.”

  Reece pushes himself against my headboard and spreads his legs, tugging me between them until my back presses against his chest with his arms wrapping around my waist. It’s an intimate position, but it’s what I need.

  “Tell me something,” I whisper, desperate to think of anything other than the aching hole in my chest.

  One of his hands drifts to my hair, threading through the long strands. “What do you want to hear?”

  “A story,” I reply, but my heart pleads take me with you when you go.

  Reece rests his chin atop my head, and we sit in silence for a while. His steady breaths lull me with the rise and fall of his chest. My eyes are heavy with sleep when he finally speaks.

  “There once was a boy who had everything he ever dreamed. The perfect family, the popular friends, the most attractive girl in school.”

  I snort, but he continues.

  “Life was good. He felt invincible. Until one evening when it all changed. The boy had just ducked into a coffee shop as a drizzle of rain turned into a downpour. The boy found a table and pulled out his phone to play games until the weather let up.

  A man sat across from the boy at the same table. The boy eyed the stranger curiously, but the man didn’t leave. Instead he smiled. Little did the boy know that he was grinning with greed.

  “Do I know you?” the boy questioned.

  The man’s smile grew as he replied, “Today you will.”

  An hour later, the boy left the shop with wide eyes of shock and disbelief. His stomach turned at the idea of his once perfect life crumbling to pieces. He ran to the back of the building and vomited on the pavement, his throat burning with stomach acid and lies. It had to be lies. The man’s words echoed in the boy’s head.

  Son.

  Mine.

  You are.

  That was the first and last time the boy ever saw his real father. The man — his father — left with a smile on his face like the only thing he had to do was tell the boy that the life he’s been living has all been a ruse. A sham. That he wasn’t supposed to be a part of that family in the first place.

  Once his stomach was emptied of everything he had left, he ran home. His body was covered in sweat and rain, and his skin was pale as he ran through the door.

  She was the only one home — thank God. His mother looked at him and instantly rushed to his side seeing that he was distraught. Or maybe she just thought he was ill. He felt ill, but not with the flu or a cold.

  The boy was sick with the possibility that everything in his life would change. The fear the he may possibly be pulled in two directions. The fear of this new father pulling him away from his family. His body trembled, but he stood tall and resolute as the words spilled from his lips.

  Father.

  Mine.

  He is.

  After telling his mother what happened at the coffee shop, he looked for her to tell him that it wasn’t true, that this stranger was playing some sort of sick joke. But her face went pale and her eyes grew as they filled with fear and tears.

  Her expression told the truth far better than her lips ever could.

  “Please, mom,” the boy pleaded. “Tell me it’s not true,” he continued, begging her for his life back.

  But she only mumbled, “I’m so sorry, Reece.” Her shaking hand reached out to him, but he shirked it off.

  How could she do this to their family? How could she have lied for sixteen years?

  His mother told him everything. About how her and her husband had been struggling to get pregnant. The marriage was strained and they took nights away from each other because the pain was unbearable with the knowledge that they couldn’t make a baby together. Maybe that meant that they, as a couple, didn’t work.

  She was depressed and went to a bar after work one day only to notice a handsome man sit next to her. He flirted, and she was flattered. One drink led
to another which led to a bed that wasn’t her own.

  A couple months later, she discovered that she was pregnant. The husband was ecstatic with the news. Things were finally turning around. How could she take a child away from the man she loved, even if it wasn’t his?”

  Reece’s breath hitches in his throat. This story is about him. I listen as he struggles, wanting to face him, wanting to comfort him, but knowing he needs to get it all out. With what little I can do, I run my hands over his arms that remain wrapped around my middle until my hands reach his, then intertwine our fingers. He nods against my back like he understands the gesture before taking another shaky breath and continuing.

  “I felt lost. I was pissed at her for wanting to keep me a secret. I hated myself for playing the part of the good son, though I suppose over the years I became far less good. I started drinking and smoking. Cigarettes and pot. I graffitied a wall downtown. Stupid shit. If I wasn’t drunk, I was high, if I wasn’t high, I was drunk. Then other times the ache in my chest was so bad that I did both.

  I miss that, you know. The high feeling. The buzzing sensation of being invincible even when you know you’re not. I didn’t want to think about it all, so I didn’t. I did everything I could to bury it. Days went to months, and months to years, and everything was going fine. Until it didn’t.

  One night when I was drunk and high, my emotions were all over the place. My dad, my fake dad, I don’t even know what to call him… He was pissed about my downward spiral. He said he was ashamed of me. That unless I pulled my shit together, I was no son of his.

  I snapped.

  I told him I wasn’t his son.

  He slapped me.

  Only then did my ma speak up. Only then did she tell him that it was true. That she cheated on him all those years ago. That she was sorry. Ma was in tears, begging for us to stop fighting, but he wouldn’t because I wouldn’t let him.

  He stepped away and I rushed at him. I punched him. All the anger and disappointment I felt for my ma, I threw into him. We fought hard. I was no match for him.

  The pain was unbearable. He was so goddamn powerful. I couldn’t handle it. I collapsed to the floor struggling to breathe. My lip was cut open and one of my legs screamed when I put weight on it after falling backwards over the table and taking a chair down with me. He started to walk away, but I didn’t want it to end here.

  I was so drunk and high, and I grabbed his gun from the cabinet. I tried to hold it to my head, but he snatched my wrist, trying to stop me.

  The worst part of the whole thing was that he wanted to save me. He loved me and he didn’t want to see me go. But I wasn’t his. I wasn’t anyone’s. I was a lie in an otherwise happy family.

  “Let go, Reece!”

  But I refused. I twisted and tugged harder on the gun, trying to get him to release his hold.

  “Dammit, son, let go!”

  It was that moment. He called me son like I was his; like even though he knew I wasn’t blood, I was his family. There was no doubt or hesitation in him. We were family.

  But it was too late. The gun went off. For a moment, we froze, unsure of who got hit. If anyone got hit.

  Then I felt it. It was almost peaceful. The blackness was coming for me. The silence. The nothing. A place where I could just be, without being a lie. A burden. A shame. I felt like the black spot in their life. The one blemish in their world.

  “No. No, Reece.” My dad told ma to call an ambulance, and turned back to me. “You hang in there, son. Stay with me.”

  We were a happy family once, and I let all those good moments blur because one secret was kept from me. One secret that hid my ma’s wrongdoing. But it also kept me with their family, with the life they had built, and I overlooked that. It’s something I wish I would have realized sooner. Even though I wasn’t their family by blood, I was completely their son and brother because they loved me and I loved them.”

  Reece’s arms shake as they hold me to him, snaked around my waist. I want him to know that it’s okay that he made a mistake. That we’re all human, and that’s what we do. We mess up. We do stupid things. We fight. And sometimes we fight because we want someone else to hate us as much as we hate ourselves. But the words are stuck in my throat. His body trembles and his breath against my neck is hot and wet.

  I can’t take it anymore. I turn in his arms, and grip his face as my fingers swipe at the tears that fall to his cheeks. His chocolate eyes focus on me, and his arms tighten around my waist once more, holding us together.

  Only now do I realize that I’m straddling him. This position is far more intimate, but we don’t move to adjust.

  I lick my lips.

  His gaze lowers to my mouth. “You can’t kiss me,” he whispers.

  “I wasn’t going to,” I reply just as softly.

  He nods, but his focus remains on my parting lips as he pushes forward. He’s sitting up straighter, causing my back to arch. Our bodies press together and electricity hums beneath my skin as his fingers trace over my back.

  “We’re not all good, and we’re not all bad. We are all both beauty and beast. It’s something I wish I would have realized sooner. Maybe I’d still be around.” Reece brushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Maybe I could have been around for you.”

  “You’re already here.”

  His gaze drops and his long lashes fan across his cheekbones. “No, I’m not.” When his eyes meet mine, they are intense with longing. “Not the way I want to be. Not warm. Not whole. Not real.”

  My breath stutters as I reply, “You’re real to me.”

  “If one person believes, does that make it true?”

  “Maybe if the right person believes.”

  His throat bobs as he swallows his emotions, struggling with the longing he feels for his family, his life, and the life he could have had. “Jadyn, don’t give up on your family the way I did with mine.”

  * * *

  The sun hurts my eyes as it shines through the blinds. After a few failed attempts, my fingers finally grasp the string to flip them and coat the room in shadow. Even though the light is dimmed, my mind is awake. I push up until my back hits the headboard, and I rub at the sleep in my eyes, trying to collect my thoughts.

  My memories are fuzzy from last night. My eyes ache with the lack of sleep. Then it hits me.

  Reece.

  He’s nowhere to be found. Fumbling with the cord again, the sun fills the room, blinding me for a moment before my vision focuses. He’s not outside. I push over my book stacks on the floor next to the bed so I can get a view of the underside, but he’s not there either. I run to the closet and throw the door open, but only my clothes greet me with a soft sway from my frantic movements.

  My bedroom door opens and I startle, the squeak of the hinge catching me off-guard. Reece stands in the doorway, his brows cinched in worry, but I shake my head as a smile breaks over my features.

  He’s here.

  He’s still here.

  And he remembers me.

  We didn’t know what would happen overnight. This is his first ghostly experience. My first interaction and friendship with a ghost. We didn’t know if there were rules and guidelines. If he was only able to walk at night. If a ghost can even survive out of the grave for extended periods of time.

  I walk over, relieved and thrilled. My arms wrap around him. He’s still solid. He’s still real. To me, at least.

  His arms slowly wrap around me as he whispers, “I’m still here.” I nod, but it does little to ease the fluttering in my stomach. It strikes me just how terrified I am to lose him.

  But isn’t he already lost?

  I don’t want to think it. I can’t. He’s here, and that’s all that matters.

  Still clutching him, I ask, “Where’d you go?”

  “I wanted to check on your mom.” I lift my eyes to him, shocked by his statement, but he shrugs and continues. “It’s nice to be around the living. I want to take it all in. The world. Your world. Yo
u.”

  My face heats, so I bury my flustered expression into his chest once more and my arms tighten around him.

  Reece eyes the mess of my stacked books on the floor, then looks to me for an explanation. My shoulders rise in an embarrassed shrug. I don’t want to admit that I looked for him under there, but the ever-growing smirk tells me that he’s already figured it out.

  “You thought I was hiding under your bed?”

  “How was I supposed to know where ghosts go in the morning? It’s dark down there.”

  He throws his head back in full-bellied laughter. “I’m a ghost, not a vampire.”

  Again, I shrug. He can’t fault me, but his warm and tender smile that hits me in all the right places tells me he doesn’t.

  I tell Reece to stay in my room while I run to shower and clean up. Grabbing a pair of shorts and a tank top for the day, I leave him. The thought tightens my muscles — a boy alone in my bedroom — and I rush to get ready. Once in the hall, I pad quietly into the bathroom and turn on the water. My mother stays fast asleep while I clean up, tug on my clothes, toss my wet hair into a messy bun, and apply a coat of mascara.

  My muscles relax from their tense position when I return to Reece. I plop down on my mattress as he wanders through my room. My chest swells and my lips lift in anticipation as I watch him. He touches the clothes hanging in my closet, not looking at them so much as feeling them. He eyes the bookshelf in my room, full of trinkets and books. He picks a couple out and thumbs through them only to put them back. Then his gaze lands on me.

  In one moment, he’s on the other side of the room. In the next, he’s in front of me with his hands placed on the bed on either side of my hips. His face is mere inches from mine. When I finally have the courage to meet his stare, there is a question lurking in his eyes. One he is hesitant to ask.

  “What?” I ask, breathy and nervous.

  His eyes flit over my face and body. My body heats under his gaze, but I don’t move away from him. If anything, I’m pulled closer. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers. His breath tickles my neck as his thumb lightly grazes against my thigh in a smooth circular motion. “No pictures?”