I may not have noticed Dyon’s return right away, but Calla’s never been too subtle.
I’m wandering empty streets still sticky from the day’s tarry sun, barefoot and rip-kneed. The new moon shines invisibly, falsely illuminating my pointless meanders; I keep trying to be empty-headed, but my legs keep bringing me back to the sickly, glass-sparkling puddle where the first fine, tinkling notes fell and cracked. My mind keeps taking me back to that dark alcove.
She melts in and out of thin, creeping saplings’ shadows and I almost don’t see the thick, muscular outline glide-stomping across the too-lit street. She stops right in front of me and I see her. The street light above my head buzzes out like a dying bee, and soon the rest are gone too, flickering out one by one, taking their shaking light thoughtlessly. She smiles and I see the rims of her eyes glow—the event horizon.
She waits, wrapped in a cloak of night, thoughts and noises held close to her body. I wait for her, sucking slow breaths deep into my lungs and letting them out in tiny, trembling gasps. When she finally speaks, her few words hang heavy in the stagnant night air:
“Be careful. He’s back.”
I say nothing. I try not to look at her, try not to acknowledge what she said, but my eyes can’t help but look at the dark mouth that released those words. Treacherous self. Her hand reaches out, pale-shining hennaed palm up, brings my uncertain chin up until her eyes catch mine. Her dark pupils bore into me with the force of an obsidian avalanche; I feel the painful ink rushing again, fresh, remembering.
“Oh, Ashley. I’m too late.”
Mutely, I nod, holding her gaze with my self-destructive obstinance. I can never find my throat around her–Calla, with all her soft words and caring hands, scares me more thoroughly than even Red Calla. More unreasonably than even he does.
Her hands, strong and sure, grip my shoulders. Pull me into her. Tuck my head into that all-encompassing throat. Smooth my back like I’m sobbing–maybe she knows I should be. Her hair hangs heavy around me, covers my head in an impenetrable curtain, and I thank the darkness within the darkness.
“You don’t smell like hair grease anymore,” I’m mumbling into her numerous knotted necklaces, surprised to be talking at all. I just want to break the silence filling me, shatter it so I can stop thinking again, sink back into the confusion that kept me safe for so long.
“You remember that, kid?” She could be flattered, or amused. “That was a long time ago, and I don’t do that fake Egyptian princess shit no more…” Her mind drifts and her hands still. But then she tenses. “You can’t go back there, my little Ashley. It’s too late to escape now, and I wouldn’t let you even if you could. You know that, you’ve always known that, haven’t you?”
I nod again, pressing agreement into her chest. She cares too much.
In struggle,
Bargain Puppy
