Mia Darien - Good Things

I couldn’t help but think on what threat to the kingdom could have Roman so stressed out that he would bring it up during my ascension ceremony. I knew it had to be serious and I was already feeling the pressure of how I was going to protect my pack from it. Because if I didn’t do it, who would?

Who would fight for us, if not me?

Who else would die for the pack, if it came down to it? I would, without hesitation.

I wasn’t afraid. I was determined.

I was going to do whatever I had to do.

Danger could bring it.

And the Wesley werewolves would be waiting.

Waking up has never been so cruel.

Too soon, the morning comes and rips you from my arms. The son we never had slips from my fingers. Another part of me screams in terror. I don’t have the power to reach for you. Too soon, I’m awake. Again, I scream your name knowing you won’t answer. Again, I’m all alone.

The alarm blares four AM at me. I open my eyes to the dark and remember. The memories flood back. The smell of you and our son. Your hard arms wrapped around me. Your kisses that swallowed my gasps. Then the cold cruel morning that reminds me there was no son…and you’re gone. Alone, I curl into myself. I shiver, cry, and wish for my death. I lay there knowing I won’t fall back asleep. Instead, I reach for the book on my desk.

Mara.

How that name sits with me and churns a vile taste in my mouth. Again, I read through every clue and every word, desperate for an answer to my curse. But your name, it haunts me. Too soon, I close the book and take up the pen and paper beside my bed. Again, I write to you, my dearest love. My sweet. Another night, another day without you. I’ve recorded every day of my life since our first, our last…our only… Every dream, every wish, every moment. If I can’t have you, then I can talk to you at least in note. Here I safely tuck away every thought I have ever had since that night. Our private exchange of you and I. Here on these pages, we live.

A year ago, I didn’t have any demons to fight. Now, they’re everywhere and I can’t keep my head above water.

Your letter had been quite clear. If you see me, if you know me, you will watch me die all over again. Your memory of me in exchange for my life…that was the deal you made with Death. Usually I cast aside such nonsense, but the memory of that night and the scar on my chest where a bullet pierced my heart is a daily reminder that I had died that day and woke again, all on the whim of a death witch and the deal you made with her.

I can’t stay away any longer. I’m back again tonight. The club smells like stale booze. It matches my mood, and makes me feel something. In the last year, it has become my favorite place to be. I never want to leave.

I order my usual with a wordless look that the waitress has learned to read. A moment later, she brings me a cold Guinness. A routine heavy tip guarantees the uninterrupted brooding I’ve been craving now since that night and secures the solitude I want. All drinks are returned to sender. Any attempted advances are quickly and quietly redirected. This is my domain. And you, my king, sit high on your throne center stage, oblivious to my existence. Exactly the way I like it. You take the stage and there it is: the ache, the pull. Just when I think I’ve gotten over you, I see your face and forget all else but you. One word, one sigh, and I’m yours all over again.

I nurse the drink in my usual place at the back. You can’t see me behind the stage lights, but I have a clear view of you. Envy builds in me as I watch your fingers slide up and down the guitar’s neck. Too well, I know what that feels like. The sleeves of your black shirt shift with your arms. I remember my dream and welcome the wave of pain that washes over me.

The band plays on, but I only see you as I turn the bottle of Guinness around in my hand. As your music sweeps through me, I replay the only night we had. The memories build in me and threaten to break my will right here. By the second song, I’m entertaining ideas of walking on stage and greeting you. Or you, by some miracle, see me and know me. Perhaps you buy me a drink. I’ve stolen your heart for the second time in this life, but this time you remember and keep me.

We’d end the evening mouth to mouth. Before my drink is done, the song is over. You’re waving to the audience and packing up your guitar with the same affection in which you cradled our dream son.

The knot in my throat returns with the ball of ice in my stomach and I fight back another wave of hot hurt that will later turn to cold hate. Not toward you, my love, but for the death witch whose deal forged the life we now live.

I grab my purse and slip out the door, but tonight I have no doubt. You see me, I am certain. Maybe I’m off my game. Maybe the dream affected me more strongly than usual. No matter the reason, I ignore your gaze at the back of my head and vanish into the night before you can stop me.

I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting to feel whole again. For a moment, I feel you here with me. I think, foolishly, that I’ll be alright. But the second ends with a heightened state that leaves me sensitive to pain. The bitter bite of absence moves in. I yearn for you. I turn to hold you, to fill the void, but you aren’t there. The hole you left in me returns colder than I ever, and I break.

Shivering, I sob. I tuck my knees into my chest and I cry.

I fall asleep like this every night. You have no idea how much I love you. How much you are a part of me…and how much I miss you. I say your name and feed my fingers through my hair then dig at my scalp, wishing my death would return and take me away from this life as it once did. I sob just one more time until I run out of tears.

Forget the death witch and your vow. Forget loneliness and her bitter bite. Forget all of this life. I relax as my resolve settles the matter.

Whether I should or not, I’m going back.

No matter how many times I hurt, I can’t stay away. You’re playing again tonight. I have to go back again. Just one more time. Without you, I can not breathe. I know this. I’ve tried.

I smear the black eyeliner under my eyes to match the muted red lipstick. I don the usual faded jeans, the kind that rest on my hips while I slide on a tank that hugs my form. Guilt warms my gut and I want to throw up. A part of me is dressing up for you, in the off chance you see me and know me, and will want me. I know a part of me wants you to see me. And I know you can’t. I shouldn’t go. I’m taunting Death. It’s you or I. Only one of us can watch from afar and remember. Me alive, alone in silence. Or you standing over my grave. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stay away. I can’t…

I zip my boots that touch my thigh then grab my leather jacket, the one with a tint of purple buried in the black. The look is not mine, but where I’m going, it serves as camouflage. Nothing more. Dressed like this, I’m invisible despite not looking at all like myself. All the more to hide me from your eyes.

I step outside and the cold air hits me. I breathe deep the stale, thick wet in the air left by the recent rain. What little sky I can see, beyond the rows of buildings, is black. The pavement shines beneath the orange street lights like black gold. My leather boots grind the wet pavement as I walk toward the pub where you’re playing tonight. There, I can breathe easy again. I hasten my step, eager to get to you once more.