WARNING: Language, Sexual Situations, Murder
I am face-to-face with my digital clock, it's large red numbers almost a contrast to the moonlight. A low humming noise buzzes in between my ears, but one tired shake of my head makes it vanish. Late nights are no novelty to me, consuming a large portion of my weekdays.
It has been eight days, fourteen hours, thirty-seven minutes, and roughly twelve seconds since my mother showed me her true colors. I returned to school with headphones glued to my ears and the other students kept their distance with only the occasional side eye in my direction. Dare I say it felt nice to be back in school as my house felt like a cemetery most nights. I stayed awake until odd hours swearing that I hear Rosalie gasping for breath under the dirt, but the manifestation of my guilt wasn't enough to break me--shockingly.
My mind dissolves into thoughts of comfort, thoughts woven from forbidden fabric. Nothing excuses the things I have done in my past, but I have grown to learn that I only received the questionable traits my parents possess, just as everyone expected I would.
A calculus book was ironed to my chest when Ezekiel's father opens the door with that infamous beam on his well-aged face. His light pepper grey hair was shaggy on the top, but closely cut on the sides. To compliment the pepper on his scalp, his eyes were sprinkled with a basil green that told you that he was a well seasoned man in all the aspects he partook. That day, two years ago, he wore a plain tawny colored undershirt that hung lazily over his gleaming belt buckle. His denim jeans pulled all the colors of him together. I admired it.
"Teagan right? Zeke isn't home yet. He actually got detention last period and has to stay at school for an extra hour. You think they'd be tired of giving that kid detention, right?"
His hardy chortle took me by surprise and I grinned to make the situation more lighthearted.
"I'll just come back later then, Mr. French."
As I began to take my leave, he grabbed onto my arm with a pinch of force to stop me. It told me that he was the type of man who had always gotten what he wanted whether it took little or all of his effort to do so. I was shaken by his haste, but something in me allowed me to be handled like an object of his. That was my first mistake with him.
"Absolutely not! You can wait for him here."
I gazed at him, unsure about how to answer and afraid that I wanted to blurt out yes so quickly. He sensed this, assuring me that it'd be alright because Ezekiel wouldn't keep me waiting too long. I stepped onto the threshold and that was the moment I was in his grasps for good. Mr. French was a silver fox from head-to-toe. His chest spanned at least fifty inches and his chin stood firm and strong.
"So tell me about yourself, Grey."
He sat down at the table with me, sliding over a tall glass of lemonade he claims is the best on the east coast. The conversation started innocently enough as most things did in my life, but he was a man and I was a girl. No one ever leaves that story unscathed.
"I've been living in Marblehead all my life but uh--I'd like to see the rest of the world someday."
He finished off his glass. Remnants of the lemonade traced his lips and a sort of disablement possessed me. I felt my skin heat up as he ran a quick tongue over them and leaned back in his chair.
"It's a beautiful place and you'll see a lot of beautiful things when you explore it. But first things first, that diploma."
He tapped on the face of the textbook and I observed how large his hands were. As rough looking as they were, I could tell he was gentle with them until he chose not to be.
"That's what my parents say all the time."
Cole French. His laughter was intoxicating.
"I've had a few talks with them. Nate and Tanya right?"
Nathaniel Christopher Witherson and Tanya Angelina Witherson. Teagan Grey Witherson. We sounded like a happy family just by the characters in our names. Quite the opposite.
"That's right. Yeah, my folks are alright."
In fact, they were not alright in the slightest. My parents had been falling apart years before I sat across Cole, but my broken home life didn't seem appropriate to discuss with him. A part of me desperately wanted to be as collected as he seemed to be, but I knew that would never come to flourishion. Cole and I were and remain opposites in the department of calmness.
"Your mom has a nice head on those shoulders. I bet that's where you get it from."
Cole winked at me before getting up from the table to get another glass of lemonade. Flirting with me. Was he flirting with me or was I swallowed by the thought that I was attractive because Ezekiel French asked me on a date earlier that week? I was the slice that all men wanted, whether or not it was true and I let that overconfidence fucking rot me from the inside.
"Unsure?" I asked him.
He had said that I look unsure about what he said about my intelligence. I was unsure about how to approach this feeling gurgling in the pit of my stomach. Ezekiel was a very attractive young man, but his father was a stallion amongst cross-bred donkeys. At that age, I was more sexually experienced than I should have been, my lack of self-respect making it incredibly easy to crawl into bed with strangers.
Putting that aside, I found myself profoundly attracted to Cole as if I was a virgin looking upon a man for the first time. My feelings were a cocktail of teenage horniness, confusion, and hunger for what could not possibly ever be mine.
"I remember when my sister and I were teenagers. She was smart as all hell, but all she worried about was how pretty the boys thought she was. Let me tell you, intelligence will always beat what's on the outside."
"I--thank you, Mr. French."
He puts his drink down abruptly, covering his mouth.
"You're a pretty girl, Grey. A very pretty girl. I didn't mean to say that you weren't."
He gently laid his hand on top of mine, squeezing lightly. My heart rate skyrocketed and nearly burst my heart to bits. I snatched my hand away, gathering my textbook and thanking him as I raced towards the front door.
"Whoa, hey."
His words get me to stop in place. Stopping was my second mistake. Mistakes became my close friend in those years as I began to throw them together with conscious choices instead of unthought out impulses.
"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
Uncomfortable. I had not wanted anyone as badly as I wanted him at that moment. None of the things he did or said led to the intense feeling. I was weak for a man who would hold me down and not feel the need to apologize for it. I was addicted to being a man's toy to use at his own leisure. Cole French was a good man, but hardly any good man can resist something so tantalizing, so ripe for the taking.
What was I thinking? Everything buzzed through my mind, my thoughts then winged creatures looking for a place to nest. I intensely breathed in, dropping my textbook and wrapping my arms around his neck. His eyes were broad as I placed a simple kiss upon his lips. Cole pushed me off of him, wiping his lips in what seemed like disgust. My walnut colored cheeks instantly reddened and I wanted to apologize sincerely, but my tongue was twisted along with my stomach.
"You shouldn't have done that, Grey."
His chest puffed out and he stormed towards me. I let out a loud, terrified scream as he threw me over his shoulder and took me upstairs. How could he have been that type of man? I was a sixteen year old girl too powerless and afraid to defend myself against any man, but wanting just that all the same. He was going to take advantage of my mistake, or so I thought.
Cole locked the bedroom door behind us before placing me on the mattress. I sunk into its softness reluctantly as my wet eyes looked up at him frighteningly. With a spark of strength I found, I beg for him not to hurt me. He knelt down to me, lifting my chin up with his index finger. The glaze in his eyes was indescribable to say the least. That was the moment I realized that his words weren't a warning, they were an invitation. Mistake number three.
"I won't hurt you, unless you ask me to."
Both of his palms engulf my kneecaps as he slowly pulls them apart. My ability to breathe got caught in my throat and it became harder to breathe each kiss of his that made it closer to my upper thigh. There was no opportunity for me to think about the wrong I was doing or to think of stopping it. At that time in my life, I wasn't numb and I felt everything except the morality of my actions. He stops just as he reaches my upper thigh, looking up at me intensely.
"Are you a virgin?"
Cole ate me out in the bed he and his wife shared like I was a delicacy for his taking. He left me that way; completely desperate and starving for more of him as he knew a young girl like me would. It took no time at all for my body to respond to him, to climb its mountain and come stumbling down the other side. Shortly after I caught my breath and he rinsed his mouth of my taste, Ezekiel came home with a bright smile upon his oblivious face.
Knowing it was wrong did anything but steer our morality compasses south. My affair with Cole lived parallel to my relationship with his son and I never felt an ounce of guilt about it, yet I was hurt when I learned of Zeke's feelings for Emerald. There was a power in possessing both of the French men that I struggled to let go of.
My mother groaned obnoxiously as Cole laid her gently on the couch. From my experience, she slept it off better when she was there on the couch as opposed to her own bedroom. We all had clemencies to drive the numb feeling within us; my mother's was alcohol, my father's was pussy, and mine was Cole. She had drank too much at their company's cocktail mixture and Cole took it upon himself to bring her home. To this day, I'm not sure if this was out of the kindness of his heart or if it was to see me that night, knowing well I wouldn't deny another chance to taste him.
It took little to no convincing for him to follow me up to my bedroom . I was crashing from my LSD high and riding out the rest of it with him inside of me. His lips feather my ear as our skins collided in a lust for sexual gratification. He covered my mouth with his hand, pulled my hair, and bit me gently.
My headboard scraped against the wall and the springs in my mattress caved with each hard stroke he gave. My fingers slid off his skin as I tried to keep my back arched as he demanded of me. I was given something I truly didn't need, but Cole was my NyQuil; he would put me to sleep no matter how sick my actions were. A married man whose son I was in a relationship with; the pure wrongness of it kept me close to him. I was wearing a costume never intended for me, but fit so well as life's camera kept rolling.
My mother stayed unconscious on the couch and my father wouldn't return until morning. No one was there to witness the sin that had occurred in my bedroom that night. I begged for him to fuck me harder and he awarded my submission with what I asked for. My phone rang on my bed stand and it was his son; keeping good on his promise to call me before bed every night that he was away with his grandparents. It rang and rang as his father put to rest a beast he awakened.
"Fuck it,"
Not wanting to be alone in this anymore, I pickup my phone and text Cole without a second thought. He answered almost immediately, telling me he'll meet me at the mouth of the woodland. Perfect.
I throw on my favorite burgundy hoodie, my sweatpants, and a pair of light boots to tread through the soft soil in my backyard. Rosalie. I wonder if her soul has found peace there in the ground just outside of the woodland. Thinking about it over and over, I would've preferred to bury her there where nature would nurture her soul instead of our backyard. No one has come looking for her, so keeping quiet has been simple.
When I asked my mother why no one from the police department has come looking for Rosalie, my mom answered simply: just because. As a lifelong patreon of her vagueness, I took it as it was, not really interested in the sorted details.
I can sense Cole's presence a few moments before he turns the corner. It was this overwhelming sense of anxiety and anger bowed by vanity. A mutual flatline falls across his lips as he gets closer to me.
"It was stupid for you to text me a message like that this late at night. I told you that we were through, Grey."
Suddenly I am turned to stone, unable to speak, barely able to breath. Cole instantly sees my Medusa ridden demeanor and closes the space between us. He places a caring hand on my arm.
"Grey is--is everything alright? You look petrified,"
"It--it's sort of complicated and I didn't know who else I could tell. Despite the wrong we did Cole, I have always felt more comfortable around you than I have anyone and I didn't know who else to turn to. I didn't know if I could turn to anyone,"
He grabs me firmly as my words become a raging snowball of gasping and fear induced muttering. I let myself feel his hands caress my back as his words of comfort cascade down his chest and into my ears. The entire world falls into a serene silence, giving me a moment to gather myself.
"Just tell me what's going on," he requests.
"Rosalie Silva is buried in our backyard. My mom killed her in our kitchen a little over a week ago," I explained.
Cole steps back in shock.
"Cole, please," I beg.
"What the fuck did you just say to me? She--she killed someone? Grey, what the fuck?"
"Keep your voice down! I know what I just said. Yes, she killed someone in our kitchen and then buried her in our backyard and I haven't been able to sleep since then."
"So you thought it was appropriate to drag me into your shitshow?"
"I needed someone, Cole."
"It's called a fucking therapist , Grey. Jesus--jesus christ."
Cole paces back and forth, crossing and uncrossing his arms, looking at me in disgust, murmuring things to himself. It is slightly relieving to see someone else bearing the weight of this burden, yet a part of me feels heavy hearted for shifting this weight onto him. I still care for Cole, no matter how things ended between us.
"If you ever tell anyone about our affair, I'll make sure you never see daylight again," he blurts out.
"What are you--I'm confiding in you asshole,"
"And I'm risking a lot by being out here with you. You just told me about a buried officer of the law in your backyard and to make matters worse, your mother is the one who killed her. I have lived in this fucked up world much longer than you have Grey, so I know how to keep a secret."
"Clearly, so can I! Do you know why your son is still able to look you in the eyes? Why does your wife still sleep in that bed and give up her pussy like you own it?"
"Don't talk about my family!"
"And don't talk to me as if our affair was one sided. Last time I checked, I wasn't fucking myself. If you want to use this as blackmail, that's fine. Hell, I've even show you where she's buried, but don't you ever talk down to me again," I say threateningly.
Cole sighs desperately, closing the space between us once more. He wraps me in his orbit, placing a soft kiss on my lips before resting his forehead on mine.
"I'm sorry that we ever met,"
He leaves me like this, shocked by his words. I watch him disappear into the night air, leaving behind a smoke trail of warm air from his lungs. Tucking my hands into my pockets, I make my way back home, hoping that with a lighter mind, I can get a decent night of sleep.
"Grey!"
I jolt awake, nearly falling out of bed at the call of my name. The light of mid morning stains my bedroom walls, my surroundings bright with its shine. 9:45am. I grab onto my clock in disbelief, curious as to how I could sleep through my alarms.
"What the fuck," I murmur to myself as I throw my blanket off and jump out of my bed.
"Open this door now!"
I instantly recognize the voice beyond my door. Christine French, wife of Cole French and mother of Ezekiel French. Shit. Her voice is cloaked in an anger that can only come from discovering your husband was screwing his teenage son's girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend. I don't have space in my head to even conceptualize a way to deal with Christine right now, but what possible diversion is the universe going to hand me to avoid it?
When I open that door, it'll all change for me. There will be no floor underneath my feet. My hands quiver as I force clothes onto my skin before showering. Clear your head.
"Grey!"
She calls out to me, she calls me to the front lines so she can size up the kind of woman who sleeps with a married man. I wasn't a woman when I did it and who is to say I'm a woman now? Bang. I picture a bullet turning my entire world off in a moment's notice as she ends her problem permanently. I rush down the stairs.
Perhaps she'll express her anger physically; pulling at my hair, clawing my eyes into the recesses of their sockets, or drawing blood from my mouth. Maybe she'll do nothing like the other wives that inhabit this town. I take a deep breath and open the door.
Christine is as gorgeous as Cole is handsome. Her summer blonde hair is wrapped in a bun on top of her head and it clashes beautifully with her pale skin. An arctic blue creeps in her angry glare; it sends shivers up my spine. Her figure is slim, but appealing at her hips. I imagine Cole taking her from behind and holding onto those hips of hers to keep her from slipping away.
"Misses French," I say.
She welcomes herself into the house, standing in the center of the kitchen as I shut the door. Here we go.
"Stay away from my son and you stay even further away from my husband or I'll ruin you."
Her finger shakes at me in a lecture manner. All of this anger is far too late. Where was she when her husband would press me up against the shed in their backyard? Where was this anger when Cole was so eager to fuck me that he'd pull my panties to the side instead of taking them off? Also, she's too late to ruin me. You can't fuck up something that's already completely fucked up.
"I understand, Misses French." I say lowly.
"You don't even deny it? Who the fuck do you think you are? I saw you with him last night!"
Shit.
This lioness was so used to her lion, to her cub that when a young hyena snuck into her cave and bit her in the neck, she had no choice but to bleed. Little does she know, she's been bleeding much longer than this wound shows.
"Say something, Grey. I fucking dare you, you cunt."
Christine huffs loudly. I let my lungs inflate as I inhale deeply. She rushes over to one of the drawers, pulling out the first knife she could find. I stumble backwards with my hands in the air. If you had asked me last week if I thought Christine French was capable of murder, I would've laughed you out of the room, but now I know that even the most sane of us with kill to protect what is theirs.
"Misses French, please!" I beg with her.
"Why should I give you a chance to explain yourself? You clearly didn't need a reason to fuck my son or my husband and I don't really need a reason to protect what I've worked so hard to build," she replies.
"I understand how angry you must be, how fucking pissed off you are now, but this isn't you. That much I know."
"You don't know shit, Grey."
As she approaches me with the knife in hand, I am thrown back into the moments I heard Rosalie's skin splitting open as my mother took the life from her body. A dark shade overtakes me and I think of Christine turning the knife on herself; driving it slowly into her neck as I watched. It makes me chuckle lightly.
Christine suddenly sounds pained as the veins in her forearm protrude from strain. The knife is slowly making its way to her neck.
"What the fuck are you doing!?" I scream.
"Grey, please!"
Tears are now coming down her face as she tries to use her free hand to stop the knife, but it is determined to make her neck weep. My lungs deflate as I watch the tip of the knife break into her neck like a hot knife through chilling butter. Christine begins to gargle on the blood while still pleading for me to help her. I am stuck in place, watching the horror of my thoughts come to life.
Christine falls to her knees and her corpse falls to its side, twisting the knife in her neck even further. I vomit violently as her blood begins to pool around her body.
I run upstairs, frantically calling my mother. Straight to voicemail.
"Answer your fucking phone!" I scream as I dial her number again.
On the tenth call, she finally answers the phone with a frustrated tone. Apparently, she was in a meeting with her higher ups and my phone calls caused the meeting to be cut short.
"Look--you need to get home right now," I say with a quivering voice.
"I don't have time to deal with your childish emotions, Grey. Get yourself to school and we can talk when I get home tonight."
"Mom, you need to get home now!" I say.
I sit at the kitchen table as I hear the keys jingle in the garage. My mom enters the kitchen, instantly dropping her keys in the pool of Christine's blood.
"What the fuck, Teagan!?"
"I--she came to confront me about sleeping with Cole and I--"
"Wait, you were having an affair with Cole?" My mother asks.
"I think we can talk about my moral decisions after we talk about how Christine just stabbed herself in the fucking neck!"
"What do you mean she--Christine did this to herself?"
"She came at me with the knife and I thought about what it would be like if she turned it on herself. Then it was like she was possessed or something because she was fighting so hard to keep the knife away from her neck, but it wasn't enough," I explain.
"Did you touch her?"
I shake my head.
"Good, this will be easier to explain to the police then."
"Mom, what the fuck!? I think I did this! I think she somehow read my thoughts or something!"
"Yes, Teagan. I didn't think it would ever come to this because you haven't displayed your abilities since Peter, but lately, they've been erratic and out of control," she tells me.
"P--powers? What are you talking about?"
"I need to tell you the truth about your father, the truth about yourself, Teagan."