Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 82060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
And then we cuddled on the couch and watched a movie.
I didn’t pay a lot of attention to the movie.
I was reveling in the fact that this would be my life. Me and Darius and talking and kissing and TV and nights out and family and friends and knowing Darius had been right back in the stacks of Fortnum’s when he told me nothing would ever cut me.
I’d found him, and I’d done it early.
So I knew down to my soul, nothing ever would.
No, that wasn’t right.
We’d found each other so we had it all.
And I knew, lying in his arms, feeling his long, strong body behind mine, smelling him all around me, we always would.
* * * *
Not long later…
“Malia, honey, come on down. We’ve got to go,” my mom called.
I didn’t want to go.
I really, really didn’t want to go.
But I had to go.
However, I had to do something else first.
I sat at my desk, the paper Duke gave me at Fortnum’s what seemed like forever ago on top, my notebook open next to it, and I was copying the words of the song.
And just like Duke did, I wrote at the bottom:
They’ll cut you ‘til you cry out.
Be the boxer.
Remain.
But I finished mine with:
I’m here for you, forever.
Love you always, Malia
I tore the page out of my notebook, folded it so it was little and tucked it into my purse.
Then I walked down the stairs to go with my parents to Darius’s dad’s funeral.
* * * *
One week later…
I knew Ally didn’t want to, but she did.
She passed the note to me in the hallway at school that day, the look on her face saying it all.
I didn’t need the look. I felt the look. We all did.
Darius’s dad, Morris had been murdered.
It was unthinkable. Unconscionable.
And, no surprise, those two were exactly alike, super close, Darius being the apple who proudly stuck close to Morris’s tree, it had torn Darius apart.
I knew the writing on the outside, the slants and drifts that spelled my name, so I knew I couldn’t open it, until now.
I was home from school, up in my room.
He was gone from me, which was bad, considering I was pregnant with our child.
Yes, we’d been back to the meadow…and then some.
Mom didn’t know about the pregnancy…yet.
Dad didn’t either…yet.
Darius didn’t know about it either…yet.
So obviously none of them knew I was going to find a way. I was going to figure it out. I was keeping our baby. The baby we made together amidst his sweetness and kisses that made me melt and tender teasing and the love in his eyes when he looked at me like there was no other girl in the whole world and he was going to be my shelter from every storm until I died…
At least they didn’t know…yet.
But I talked to Mom about Darius and how he had shut down, gone somewhere dark, somewhere scary.
“Grief, sweetheart, it’s nasty business,” Mom had shared. “I know you’re grieving Mister Morris too. He was a good man. But you have to seek patience. Darius will find his way.”
I wasn’t sure. Since that day in the shelves at Fortnum’s, we’d spent as much time together as we could, and if we couldn’t be together, we were on the phone talking to each other about people we knew, dreams we had, plans we needed to make to realize them, and how we felt about each other.
I knew him pretty well.
And this wasn’t him. This flatness. The blankness. The seething anger barely contained under the surface.
And then there was the fact I was sixteen and pregnant.
Yeah, I had some worries and patience wasn’t going to work.
I couldn’t tell my uterus, “You know, you need to hang tight for a month or two or eleven while your daddy figures stuff out. You can carry on gestating after that.”
I mean, I could try, but I wasn’t sure he or she would listen.
Now, I had that note from him and I didn’t know what was inside.
It could be him pouring out his heart to me, doing it on paper, because boys were weird about showing emotion.
And Lord, he loved his dad. I loved my dad too, like, a lot, but I could see it was a different thing with boys. It was almost worship. And I understood that. Mister Morris was that kind of man, that kind of father. He’d deserved it.
It could be something else.
I didn’t have time to wait. I had enough to figure out, so there was no time to wait.
I unfolded the note.
What I read made my insides go hollow.
I didn’t want to, but I forced myself to read it all again.
Lyrics.
To a song.
Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt.”
With a note at the end that said, We’re done. If you know what’s good for you, stay away from me. -D