Heal Me (Reapers Reign, #3) Page 3

  I know I have been watching him, but has he been watching me too? I throw the thought over in my brain if I see him he sees me, so that means he’s been watching me watch him. My cheeks flash a hot fire red as my stomach drops like twenty floors. Reds husky voice cracks out snapping me from my thoughts.

  “Sure, as shit has he ever, missy. Just as much if not more than you have him.”

  “Damn woman, can you read my mind or something?” I say wiping the tables.

  Laughing, she strolls over, grabbing me by my shoulders. “Timberly, sweetheart, he likes you, you like him, so take a leap of faith, baby. He just may be the saving grace you need right now. Be brave, I know you got it in you, girly. To live through what you do and still function is beyond me.”

  Looking up at this woman I have so come to admire in more ways than one, I feel her words sit in the bottom of my soul. I know she is right. She tells me all the time I’m destined for something better than this. That this is a fork in my road and I just have to find the start of a new road to be free. But then there is all the bad that comes with a girl like me. All the dark demons, nightmares, monsters in the dark, the Devil, that’s enough to put the fear of God in me, she’s evil and scares the shit out of me. I'm not strong enough just yet to break free from the chains that hold me on the sixth floor of her jailhouse.

  “You see, Red, there are a million reasons why I couldn’t do a relationship or even some normal existence in this place you all call life, I'm not normal. Why would he want to talk or see a girl like me?” I'm sure he was just being nice. I mull that thought over in my mind.

  “Timberly, I'm lookin’ at a hundred reasons why he should. You’re a good reason for anyone to want you. You’re strong, beautiful, smart, caring and funny.” She says. It sounds so nice coming from her lips, but why can’t I believe it?

  “I'm also shy, tormented, jittery, dirty, and lost,” I say as the tears pool in my eyes, I blink them back. My internal demons wage war on my daily, the good white angel is slowly turning black and losing her feathers as the battle between the good and the bad crumble the bad taking over the good. Night after night she my mom the one who gave me life torments me with her men, beats me and abuses me and them expects me to carry on. Pick up the pieces of myself from off the bedroom floor and place them back together with duct tape and tears and walk through the day like nothing happen. Its forming a pit of hate inside me its coiled so deep and tight this rage and one day oooo one day the shy, timid Timberly will snap. Taking a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth I paint on the smile and open my mouth and say. “I just don’t know why. Look at him! He’s so freaking dark, hooded, mesmerizing and cool. Look at me, Red.” I pull at my hair and uniform. “I'm this dreary, plain, abused, scared girl who stammers and stalls, and goes fifty shades of red when spoken to.”

  Grabbing me by my shoulders, she shakes me. “Wake up, sweetheart, you need to see what we see!” She says with so much convection.

  “I don’t know, Red...” I start to say, and just like that, the doorbell rings. He steps inside looking all hot, sexy, and dark. Smelling of ink and smoke, his smoke. I don’t mind, it's not suffocating, like the creeps in the night. I'm like a deer in the headlights all stumble and fumble, my knees are like jelly, my mind is swimming. If I'm as readable as Red says, then I can’t afford to look at him. He’ll know that I lust for his hands to hold mine, his eyes to drown in, to get lost in a soul that seems as though it could understand the suffering I live in. But I wouldn’t want to put that hurt on anyone, let alone the guy with the dragon tattoo.

  Red breaks the silence. “What can I get ya, darling?”

  Not taking his stare from my body that I feel shutting down, he says, “Just coffee, Red.” I walk over to the counter to head out back and hide, stare from the safety of the kitchen.

  “Girly, grab the man a coffee and take ya break!” she says as I walk past. damnit. I don’t want to do this, this is well way too much for my anxiety to control I will surely pass out. Breath Tim and play dumb. Right dumb it is check, lets go girl.

  “Huh?” My eyes bug out at her.

  “Coffee for the man and break for you,” she says with a smirk on her lips. Her hands on her hips and that look in her eyes that leaves no room for my play it dumb trick nor my please pleading eyes to escape out back and shake like a leaf till he leaves.

  “S-su-r-e,” I stutter out, heat starting to kiss my cheeks. God I wish I could run and hide right now. Red pushes me to far daily but daily I do see it won’t kill me. This man though and his eyes they could, would and should make me pass out the weight of his stare and the thick scent of his cologne do things to my damaged soul that I can’t even explain or have the sense to control. She knows I’m a hot mess walking yet she pushes me to teetering on the edge. Stepping behind the counter to make his coffee the way he likes it; strong, no sugar and a dollop of cream. I make mine, we drink it the same way... how about that for uncanny. “Here you go,” I say with shaking hands and a quivering voice, looking around over him out the window. Anywhere but at him.

  “Would you like to take a load off? You’ve been on your feet all day, I bet they are sore.” he says to me.

  Shoot I have to engage in conversation this isn't going to happen. No way, no how I can or will I it’s not in me to have chit chat of any kind with this man a man he has just as many dark secrets and screaming demons as I have. Um yeah, um yeah, thanks, they are,” I stammer out, as he pulls the stool out for me to sit down. I walk around slowly from the safety of the counter to the stool that's in the open next to him, like really next to him. Close so close I can feel his heat as my hair stands up on my arms and beads of sweat develop and roll down my spine. Can he see that I was pretty much raped last night to pay a debt owed for drugs from my junkie mother. Can he smell the fear of the unknown and the fact that I’m crawling in my skin and fighting off the black of unconsciousness as the white dots form at the corners of my eyes.

  Taking the seat and pulling myself down into my shoulders, I look down at the counter, picking at imaginary spots, counting the beats of my heart to still a panic attack.

  “Please don’t do that, I want to see you,” He says, his voice a husky wave that sends shivers down my spine.

  “Me? You want to see me?” I say shocked, confused. Every single insecurity washes though me like a tidal wave. I pull myself deeper down into my shoulders as my fingers find the rosary beads from my nana to calm my raging heart. My whole being in on show like on show for all to see and his eyes are the heaviest on me I am under a microscope. It scares me, and I have to dig deep like really deep into the dark haunted soul that walks in the hallways of my hell.

  “Yes, don’t seem so shocked, doll,” he says to me with a hint of humor in his voice.

  “I'm sorry, I'm no one worth seeing let alone knowing, I am pretty sure I explained that this morning.” Pulling myself up, I push back the stool too fast and it falls to the floor with a crash. I flee, pushing myself through the double doors to the kitchen. A full panic attack forming at the back of my eyes and head, the pounding inside my chest takes over my lungs, contracting around each other, needing air. Sliding down the wall to the floor, I let out the breath I was holding. I try to push the panic attack that is forming to the back of my body. I concentrate on the sound of my heart beating, it beats different when he’s around.

  “Red, is she ok?” I hear him say.

  “She’s fragile, doll, a bit lost. Give her time, she just needs time,” Red says like I'm normal and this is a one-time thing.

  “Time it is then, I have all the time in the world,” he says walking out. He looks back, not seeing me. “Same place, same time tomorrow, darling, I’ll see you then.” I hear him say out more to me Red and butterflies swam inside me as panic trickles down my spine. Peering at him through the cracks of the door, I watch him as he throws Red a cheeky wink and a cheesy grin that makes me wish it was directed at me.

  A small chuckle bubbles th
rough the panic as Red throws her cleaning rag at him. Her husky smoke laced voice sounds out around the empty diner. “If I was twenty years younger, boy, you would be in trouble.”

  The guy laughs at her while pushing the diner door open. The bell sends out a small ding as he steps out into the chilly New York City air, sending a chilly puff inside the diner. It kisses my cheeks and calms down the heat that is covering them. His laughter is left dancing around me.

  Pulling myself up, I reach up to the hooks for my hoodie, pulling myself into the comfort of the security it gives me. I give Red a shy smile. “I’ll see you in the morning, Red.”

  “That you will, sweet girl,” she says. Leaning into me, she kisses the top of my head, “Let yourself believe, sweetheart. There is good in this world for you”.

  Walking home, I think about him all the way there. What does he want with a girl like me? There is no way I can let him in, let him see the real me. The fake false me is who he sees at the diner, not the true Timberly. Pulling myself up the stairs of her home – it's not mine – it's just a prison to me, one heavy hate filled step at a time. I walk down the corridor of the apartment building that is filled with drugs users and alkies. I pull myself deeper into my hoodie and silently vow to never become them, what they are. I may be dirty and used goods, but I am no druggie nor am I an abuser of ones soul. I step over the drunks and drug addicts that are passed out. Walking into the apartment, I find yet more passed out bodies new faces and new nightmares my hands sweat as I think of the hell that finds me in this place that’s meant to be safe., I shudder in my skin as I walk from the front room up the hall and into my room. Falling onto my stinky cot, shutting my eyes and seeing his face; them eyes, that smile... I drift off into my happy place, my safe haven.

  I always escape there when things get too intense at home and at work. My happy place I'm striving to find for real. I will make it if I have to. It’s me, sitting on a jetty, dangling my legs over the side with the tips of my toes grazing the crystal blue water below and sending ripples out to the center where they just disappear. I want to just disappear.

  Sunflowers in beautiful yellows and orange light up the banks like happy, dancing faces of love under the bluest sky I have ever seen, while soft crisp wind whips so softly around my face. Birdsong that warms my heart and the most spectacular sun that warms my soul, all the way to my toes. I wiggle my toes each and every time I think about it, and the sun.

  Night after night I escape there when the she-devil allows her drug lords into my tiny room to soil my soul, play with my body, and take another piece of the girl I have lost in the dark. Closing my eyes, I breathe in the smell of fresh air, crisp linen, and sunflowers. Rolling my head back, I allow the setting sun to warm my face as a small smile plays at the corners of my mouth. A warm feeling burns in my core. In these fleeting moments, I'm happy, carefree... me – until I hear the telltale footsteps sounding along the hallway and stopping outside my door. I still in my cot, holding my breath and blinking back the tears. I will not allow them to fall. I will not give them to the monsters that take me.

  I look out through my window to the world below. I wonder what it would be like to walk with them. Business men in tailored suits and shiny black shoes walking through the good part of town towards the subway to make their easy home to their families. Wifes with babies in strollers heading to the park to play, Starbucks for a coffee date or the museum for a children’s display. If I was to step out down into the streets with them would they see me? Or would they just see a girl dressed in tatty clothes from the wrong side of this great concreate jungle that is New York City. Would they know the horror that’s about to go on up on the sixth floor of this state apartment block? The men? My mother? The filthy and grimy life as a modern-day Cinderella who gets abused daily. I sure wouldn’t if I were them.

  My heart stops as I hear them at the door. No, no, no, I chant over and over. Help me. Someone. Anyone. Is there a god? If so, do you hear me? I don’t know how much more of this I can take. Please, not today. I don’t want them to taint the memory of the man with the dragon tattoo.

  I bow down by the cot to pray, to ask for this to be over as fast as it begins. They think that I'm in submission to them, as they demand to find me. Little do they know I'm praying to the gods, Odin, the Devil and kings, that I'm strong enough to withstand one more night to plan my revenge on their souls. I'll cut them from this realm if it's the last thing I do.

  After the soulless bastard has his way with me, I'm left to pull myself together. I head to the bathroom to have a cold shower and then to make dinner for her and god knows who's here tonight.

  The cold shower is surprisingly refreshing. I'm stuck inside my head as I head down the hallway to the kitchen, until the god-awful smell of stale alcohol and cigarettes smacks me in the face. Walking into the small cramped kitchen that was clean when I’d left for work, I find that it is now cluttered with dirty dishes and food everywhere. When will this ever let up? I get busy cleaning and frying up some steaks, eggs, and potatoes with onions for the living room filled with drunken, drugged up fools.

  Depositing their food in front of them, I go clean up the kitchen once again before dragging my tired ass down the hallway to my room to dream dreams of the guy with the dragon tattoo and sunflowers dancing to the sounds of birdsong.

  Chapter Four

  Ghost

  I followed her home tonight, walking ever so stalker-like, sixteen steps behind her, anything under ten is off the charts lock up material. Ha-ha! No, I'm so not as funny as I think I am.

  She moved fast, like a jackrabbit on a mission, knew just where she was going and how to get there. Not once did she stop. Not once did she look up from under her hoodie to see where she was going. She had her path mapped out and followed it to the T.

  She scurried into the bad side of town that I’ve come to know so well, but why is she here? The beautiful soul wrapped in rosary beads surely can’t be from this side of town? She has to be around my age, wouldn’t I have seen her before the Reapers saved me? This would explain why I see her not far from here on my morning drives, no wonder she is so shy and timid. She’s lost here in this cesspool. Nothing good comes from here, just evil and hardship. I have to save her. I have to free her from the ropes that pull you under to drown on the hate of other people’s misfortune and anger, self-pity, and loathing.

  Standing there, I admire the way she stands up a little straighter and squares her shoulders before walking through the grimy door leading her to her place. But seeing her remove her rosary beads and pull into her hoodie hurts my heart a little more than it did watching her walk into this pit.

  Flicking one last look up to the apartments, the tall concrete hell that is a twin to one that once was home to my dark soul, a place that brings back more pain than I care to relive. I try to see which floor she would live on. What black hole in the concreate cell would belong to my midnight black haired beauty. A window with what looks like a board above it catches my eye. Shaking off the uneasy feeling, I pull my hoodie up as I head back to the shop. My phone buzzes in my pocket. Pulling it free, I see that it's Bray, a smile falls to my lips – a cookout at the club tonight. This is just the distraction I need to free my mind from this right here; that and a fuck load of Jager. A club girl on my dick wouldn’t go astray either.

  Swinging by my home on the compound before heading to the main part of the pad, I run a shower, a freaking hot as fuck shower. I need to burn this sting from my skin. Running my fingers over the telltale track marks, I can’t handle the fact that I caved again, failed myself, the club, Bray, my brothers, again. For fuck’s sake, Ghost, I think, shaking my head. I fall into the shower and allow the water to run down over my body, burning as it falls. I allow my thoughts to travel to the sweet girl who has my cold heart feeling again. Thinking what if this dead soul is capable of feeling the warmth of beating blood instead of venom for death.

  They took my heart the night they shot up to die together. Tha
t awful night they left me alone and afraid at fifteen. Setting that place on fire was the best thing I could have done, even if it landed me in juvey for a year. I needed it, I needed to burn the lies, the secrets, the truths, the memories, that still play vividly like a video stuck on repeat inside my brain.

  I’ve been waiting years for them to burn out, to fade away, to disappear. But, like a nightmare, it's on repeat, stuck inside me; in my head, in my heart, inside my veins, like the liquid gold that took them.

  I allow the toxin in to numb the pain, quell the voices, to light up a part of my dark, dead soul, to allow me to feel something more than hate and rage. I slip into an abyss of ecstasy when she fills my veins. The queen to my heart, the lie to my façade.

  Shutting off the tap, I reach for a towel, wrapping it around my waist. I pull my jeans up from the floor, fishing for the baggy in my pocket. I fold it through my fingers and reach for the small mirror and razorblade that lives behind the large mirror that hangs above the black hand-basin. Everything in my house is black. Black is safe, black is home, black is me. Dark and dead.

  I tip some of the white powder out and, in calming movements, begin to cut into it. Cutting out and dragging the white power back in, cutting out and doing it all over again. Rolling up a dollar bill, looking deep into the dark black that my eyes have become, I shake my head at the fucken mess I have become.

  Closing my eyes, I lower my head down to the black marble counter and I snort the powder up my nostril, sniffing back hard as I squeeze my thumb and forefinger into my nostrils. The burn hits the back of my throat, sending sparks into my brain. Raising my head, locking eyes with my reflection in the mirror, I watch my eyes haze over as the drug seeps into my body, filling me with the weightless feeling of fake love that I have come to rely on. As the heavy pit of hate for the weakness that has become the dual battle between me and lady love. She tastes so damn good at the time, but the weight of disgust weighs heavy in my dead heart come morning light.