Finding Willow (Hers) (6 page)

My decision to walk away flies out the window. I fucking hate being so confused, but I can't help it when it comes to Seven. Everything about her screams
touch me
.

I slip my robe off, and slide into bed next to her. I run my fingers through her wet hair, and her body goes rigid. Something is wrong. Her body has never once rejected my touch, and it’s a slap to the face. I want to cry, but I won't let them see me hurt.

“I can't do this.”

She sits up and the rejection stings. Once again, I am put aside for someone else. The story of my life. I always thought Seven could relate, because she was always the unwanted child in her family. We bonded over that. We became each other’s rocks. Now, she’s pulling away, like everyone else.

“I'm sorry, Star. I love you, and I always will, but I just can't do this anymore. I never thought there would be a day when I just couldn't share anymore. But I’ve made it there.”

I don't want to be, but I’m happy for her. I am a giant selfish bitch for being upset by it. Who wouldn't want their unavailable best friend to finally fall for someone? I couldn't keep her forever, because Seven was never mine to begin with. Even if she is all I’ve ever wanted.

Maybe it isn't Seven. Maybe I have always just wanted someone who will love me for the fucked up ball of mood swings I am? My very own love. My very own happily ever after. Is it possible? If Seven James can get one, I may just have a fighting chance.

“It's okay, Seven. You don't have to apologize for finally finding happiness in your life. I can tell by the way you look at him. He’s good for you.”

I stand up and pick up the long white robe, slipping into it.

“You will always be my best friend, no matter what. We may not be little kids anymore, but you will always be my sister.”

And like that, I walk out the door, down the hallway, and to the guest room, where I finish packing up my bags. I want to be gone in the morning before Seven gets up for work.

All night long, I pray sleep will take me. But it doesn't. I toss and turn in the spare bedroom. I stare at the ceiling as if it holds the answers to life. I play games on my cell phone and cruise Instagram to catch up with friends. Through it all, my mind won't stop racing. I contemplate getting out of bed and going to Seven so many times throughout the night, but decide it’s against my better judgment.

Somewhere between memories of my childhood and the birth of my daughter, I pass out. It isn't for long, because I’m startled by a nightmare. The tears gently trickle down my face, and I’m forced to face the reality of giving away my daughter yet again. I have buried my feelings for so long that I need to just stop. I need to get it out. I need to tell my entire story. I need to tell Seven. Without the holes.

I look at the small black clock on the nightstand; it reads quarter after three, and I quietly walk down the hallway and into her bedroom. She’s wrapped in Levi's arms, sleeping like an angel. I don't want to wake her up, but I need to. It is the right thing to do.

I tap her shoulder, and she blinks her green eyes open, turning her head to find me. Slowly, she pulls out from under Levi's embrace. He stretches and peers through one eye.

“It's okay, babe. Go back to sleep,” Seven whispers, and he rolls over, falling back asleep.

She takes my hand, and we move to the leather couch in the living room. I pull my knees up to my chest and turn to face her. I feel like a little kid, on the verge of confessing my transgressions to my mother. Except my own mother wouldn’t have given a flying fuck.

“Seven, after that time, when you caught us, he wouldn't stop.” I let out a long sigh and pause, thinking about the right way to deliver this tale of terror. I want to hold back, but the longer I keep it all in, the more it tears me apart. “He continued to force me to sleep with him me for two years. The first time, he raped me. I hated it. But I liked it at the same time. My mind and body clashed. I wanted to hate every second of it, but my body craved more. He got violent; he treated me badly. Then I got pregnant, and he wouldn't come near me again.”

I don't want to go into details. The thoughts make me sick. The idea of Blue's hands running along my body makes my stomach churn. I can tell my words cut her deep. She doesn't need to know any more of the disgusting details. She has a laundry list of reasons to hate Blue already. We all do. Telling her any more would just ruin her. I can't do that.

The expression on Seven's face is heartbreaking. A mixture of emotions continue to run through her. There is clear hurt, and rage. I can always spot when she is about to blow, and she is close. She feels pity, and disappointment. In me? In herself? In our parents? Her brother? Where do you place the blame when something so tragic happens?

“I want to find her. I want to find Willow,” I whisper. I don't know what else to say. There is no plan, except to go to the last place I know she was. Woodstock, New York, where I gave birth to her.

Seven nods, and pulls me into a hug.

“We will find her, Star. I will stop at nothing to help you.” Like that, I fall asleep, safe in Seven's arms.

Leaving My Life Behind

I have never owned a car in my life. Living in Manhattan, there is little need for one. Everything is in walking distance, and if you really don't feel like hoofing it across the city, you can hail a cab or take the subway. I’ve always laughed at the people who paid an ass ton of money just to park some fancy sports car. Not that money is an object these days.

Today, though, I’m buying a car. It’s time to leave the city. There really is nothing left for me in Manhattan, and if I am serious about ditching the lifestyle and getting my shit together, I won't come back. I never thought I would own a car; as fuckin' stupid as it sounds, it is a big deal for me.

I said my goodbyes to Seven and Levi this morning before they both left for the office. I didn't want it to be some kind of long drawn out production full of tears and promises. I won't be gone forever; at least, I don't expect to be. I just need to get away from the fucking monotony of the city and everything my life has become. If I’m really going to give this whole sober shit a try, the further away from work and the life I’ve built, the better.

I pull my brand new shiny blue Mazda CX5 up in front of my apartment to load a couple last minute things into the trunk before I take off. I didn't expect to come back, but the more I thought about leaving certain things behind, the more anxiety I felt. What if I never come back?

My music collection is my top priority, followed by my porn catalog, my laptop, and some extra clothes. Seriously, who doesn't need glittery stiletto pumps and clear stripper heels out in hippie country?

I’m not sure where I’ll be staying once I hit Woodstock, but I will figure that out when I get there. Planning has never been my strong suit. I slip the Poison CD into the slot on my dashboard and crank up “Fallen Angel,” making my way to the West Side Highway. Fuck, New Yorkers do not know how to drive!

I guess this will have to do, I think to myself as I pull into the parking lot of a little Mom and Pop motel. When I was a kid, it was owned by an older couple, The Morrises. Of course, back then, they were already knocking on death's door.

I put my car in park and open the door. The dusty dirt parking lot hasn't changed a bit, although the aged motel clearly has a new coat of paint on it. The white building still looks worn, though, even under the cosmetic touch-ups. It reminds me a lot of myself.

I push the front door open and an old cowbell rings. Like I expected, little old Mrs. Morris doesn't round the corner. Instead, a young kid with floppy dark hair and a small stud in his lip comes out from the office. He can't be more than twenty-one. He throws me a lazy grin.

“Can I help you, Miss?” He has a thick New York accent, something you aren't used to hearing upstate. I take notice that he isn't from the area. I know most of the town; people never come and go. It’s a close knit community, made up mostly of people whom I wish I could forget.

“I’m looking for a room. Possibly for a couple weeks.”

I will myself to move to the counter once I realize I’ve been standing in the door the whole time, just staring.

The boy walks over to the dated rack of keys hanging next to a small laptop and pulls one down.

“I'll just need some basic information from you. How about a driver’s license and the credit card you plan on using?” He types something, then places the key up on the counter. If he wasn't so damn young, he would be fun to play with. My mind drifts into the dirt. A girl has needs, ya know!

I open my bag and find my wallet somewhere near the bottom of the pit of despair. I really need to fucking downsize. I throw both of the plastic cards on the counter and start searching for my cell phone.

“Starburst Bloom? You must be from this hippie hellhole of a town.” He laughs, and I have to join him. My name is fucking ridiculous. I hate it. One of the many fucking things I hate about myself. But I plan on changing it all. I am determined not to let the past dictate the future anymore.

“Yeah, I was born here, I think? Raised here for a bit and got the fuck out as soon as I could. Wouldn't you?”

He’s stuck, too, I can tell. He has that look in his eyes, the one I had years ago before I bolted.

“I would love to leave, but I never could. This is my home now. It’s better off this way, anyway.” No details, just vague half-truths you admit to a stranger. We would get along, that is for fucking sure.

I finally find my phone at the bottom of the bag, and send Seven a text.

Got here. Still a shithole. Xoxo.

I can't blame her for leaving me behind all those years ago. If I didn't end up knocked up, I would have been right there next to her, spreading my wings. Maybe not going to college, since she’s always been the brains of the operation, but maybe I could have taken up painting in Central Park, or photography. The type of shit a girl with a free spirit should have done. Instead I opted for something that broke my spirit. Sex for money on camera. For so long, it was what I was told I was good at. I can still hear his voice in my thoughts almost daily.

“Star, I love you so much,” he whispered into my ear as he kissed the side of my face, heading down my neck. Every word that came out of his mouth made me feel loved, and cherished. Not hurt, or abused. He was everything a sixteen-year-old-girl could want. Aren't we supposed to chase after older men?

“I love you too, Blue.” The words came out of my mouth without a second thought. The reality was that I didn't know what love is. I had never had the opportunity to experience love.

“When is everyone going to be back?” I cautiously asked, afraid of getting caught again. After Seven caught us a few weeks back, I became paranoid that my parents would find out. Not that they would do much of anything in terms of punishment.

“Not for a couple hours, so why don't you get naked?” He asked, but I knew it really wasn't a request. He didn't ask. He told me what he wanted and when he wanted it. I followed along like a lost puppy dog just hoping to get some kind of attention, someone to finally love me. No matter how negative and absolutely fucked up it was.