Wallflower Ink

Chapter 5

· Merri ·

Last night, Jace and I had eaten our meal in relative silence. Aside from discussing the financial details of my proposition, neither of us had known what else to say to the other. I had watched the artist closely all evening, but if he'd had any misgivings or second thoughts, he'd kept them well hidden behind his warm smile.

I loathe myself for crying. That hadn't been in my plan to convince him, though it had likely been a swaying factor. No, I had not intended to win his willingness by having a complete meltdown, invoking his pity with some damsel in distress scene in a crowded restaurant.

But when I'd mentioned Joey, that's when my tenuous grasp on my raw emotions had slipped. In my mind I had seen those big blue eyes, full of hope staring into mine, as if he thought I was a miracle sent from God. And in his hands he'd held my wings, offering them to me like a worshipful servant might offer his life for his queen.

After leaving the restaurant, I'd driven through the dark, willing it to wrap itself around me. Only in darkness can I find a tenuous sense of peace. But now that peace is gone, whisked away by the dawn and another bright day, a bleak carbon copy of all the days that have come before it.

"Are you even listening to me, Merri?"

My mother's voice jerks me from my thoughts and back to the coffee shop. I hiss as the drink in my hand sloshes over the mug's rim, scalding my fingers. I set it down quickly then snatch up a napkin to wipe it away. Blowing on my hand, I glance at her and offer an apologetic.

She's staring at me, a scowl crinkling the corners of her eyes and carving a fine line between them. Her round face bears no smile today, only a look of deep concern. I don't want her to know what I'm thinking, though judging by her expression I know she's probably already guessed part of it.

My thoughts have faithfully traveled along the same, straight path for months, and the aging woman sitting at the table with me has held my hand through it all, has been one of the few bright spots left in a world that has grown so very dark for me. More than once she has picked me up and set me back on my feet, tried to steady me while my world fell apart. I'm grateful to her for that constant nurturing, and I will not repay it today by letting her know how dark my thoughts have grown.

She reaches across the table and gently takes my hand. The stark contrast of her almond skin against the near translucency of my own is a familiar sight for me, one I've not taken much notice of since I'd first come to be one of her kids; back when I'd first met the family who'd eventually become mine in all the ways that mattered. The sight of her hand tenderly holding mine today--just as she had that day all those years ago--only adds to the growing turmoil in my mind.

"I know what's going through that pretty little head of yours," she says softly, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. "But you've got to stop blaming yourself. There's nothing you could have done to prevent what happened in that house, and torturing yourself day in and day out won't change it. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can start living your life again."

I sigh softly, shake my head, then close my eyes. "You keep telling me that--"

"And I'll continue to do so until you believe me. I love you like my own, and I wouldn't lie to you for anything."

"I know that."

"Do you? Because I get the feeling you're just patronizing an old woman. I won't take that from my boys, and I won't take it from you, either. You look at me when I'm talking to you, girl."