Redeeming Rhys (15 page)

Rhys stared at the peeling plate of the golden doorknob and picked it just right until he heard the faint click of the lock.
Silly girl, didn’t you learn to lock the dead bolt
? He opened the door slowly to darkness, every step intended and quiet. Wren’s living area was dim with the exception of the hazy light above the stove in the kitchen adjoining the den.

He quickly turned to shut the door, careful to note every single one of his movements. He had waited so long for that moment, he wouldn’t make a stupid mistake. He wanted it to be perfect for her. Rhys allowed himself to sit there for a moment as his ear became accustomed to the silent peace, imaging what kind of life Wren led there. He inhaled deeply, trying desperately to recognize her scent. The innocence he had clung onto for years was absent, which angered him deeply. The thought of her with another man made him feral, and he tried to talk himself away from the edge that he was even fearful of, but he couldn’t be reckoned with when he got in such states. He pulled on the matted strands of his hair, wishing so badly he could cry out for a make believe mercy and find her to have her cuddle his body and tell him that he wasn’t a bad boy, but life isn’t that easy. It hadn’t been for him. Rhys would be crazy to think that she would welcome him with open arms.

He swallowed back bile, charging to the back of the apartment, not even sure what he was doing. He didn’t bother flipping the switch to the hallway light, as the blinds were open and the street lamps from picture perfect suburbia provided a small amount of light into the space. He charged into, what he assumed, was her bedroom. The rage that was previously overwhelming, depleted to almost nothing as he entered an almost child-like room. The walls were bare, but the bed was neatly made. He couldn’t make out what color the bedspread was, but he guessed it was white or light pink. The two shams on the pillows that laid atop the front were adorned with lace, the same kind that Wren had in her bedroom when she was just a little girl. His heart thudded with desire and need. He padded further into her room, inhaling through his nares deeper than before, frantic to find the aroma that he remembered so well. A small smile found its way to the edges of his lips when something familiar tickled his nose.

He needed more.

He wanted to skip around her room, reverting back to better times before madness inundated them. He felt sick and wanted, no he fucking needed to hold onto that piece of goodness. That piece of her. He clenched his jaw, stumbling over to her dresser, opening the drawers in a frenzy, spilling their contents across the room until he found her underwear. They were just like he remembered, soft and cotton, just like the clouds he used to dream about; the false heaven above that he came to realize didn’t exist. She was the only heaven he got. She is heaven. He is hell.

And, despite what happened the day when things changed, the day their adolescence was stolen near the swing-set, he still held onto hope that she was the only kind of heaven he would ever get.

Rhys brought Wren’s cotton panties up to his nostrils and sniffed, the cleanliness tickling him just like it did years ago. He opened his eyes as he continued to dream about better days when he took his girl beneath him, her fight feeding the monster inside of him. She was a monster too. He would make her see it.

He stuffed the underwear into his pants and undressed himself until he was naked, padding into the bathroom and turning on the shower until the water was so hot it fogged up the mirror. He lodged himself inside, letting the water burn and scald his skin, making himself think that the feelings he was sensing were merely an inkling to what he was sure he deserved.

He cleaned himself free from dirt and grime, stepping out of the shower and wiping the fog free from the mirror. The reflection staring back at him was unfamiliar and almost vacant, a creature that was birthed to destroy. He tried to feel something, anything, but the only emotions he had inside were for the girl that he waited for.

He dried his body off and dressed himself back into his dirty clothes. He made his way back into the bathroom, perplexed at the man staring back at him. He made the decision, that since everyone including himself was so convinced he was the devil, he would wear the mask of the fallen angel.

He smiled again.

He wandered through the three cabinets of Wren’s bathroom until he retrieved a small make-up bag. He took something black and pencil-like, making marks and lines over his eyes, nose, and mouth until he resembled a skeleton. He found a charcoal shade of shadow and dusted it across his eyes and other areas, making the shades of the creature transforming before him more profound. He slicked his hair back with his hands and popped his neck back and forth from side to side until he was finally satisfied with the man in the mirror, or devil rather, and beamed out of malevolence.

Finally, a sweet reunion would be had and she was going to like it.

The boy who loved the girl discovered that she didn’t love him back.

WREN PARKED HER
used black Sunfire under a lit lamp in the scattered lot. It was the typical spot, around the same time of evening. She glanced at the flashing digital clock in her dash, nervously counting the seconds. She hated how bad she felt inside, secretly disguising her normalcy. There isn’t such a thing as being normal. There are just people out there that are better at pretending than others. Fortunately for her, she had a mask perfectly applied, she could convince just about anyone.

Wren bit on the inside of her cheek, not exactly sure why she felt so unsure about the evening. She choked it up to the Constantine issue, convinced that she felt uneasy about the fact that she didn’t share anything with him, yet still conflicted about how she responded to him sexually. Every time she thought about their encounter, images of her first time flashed vividly about her mind, making her belly clench and her thighs throb. She was fourteen, and it was wrong. He was her step-brother, a little boy who was always quiet except when he shouldn’t be, spouting off inappropriate bible verses and scowling at their parents like he wished death upon them.

Well, he certainly got what he wanted.

Wren had promised herself since that day, and many sleepless nights later, that she would break herself free from his confines, no matter how many years it took. She would learn about the mind, how it worked, how dysfunctional it could be, and make herself learn to adapt to normalcy. She tried her best to believe in it, even if it were just one time, because for the love of God, she wanted to be normal.

She shook her head at herself, moving the stray strands of her raven hair out of her face. She wished she could be someone who was praised, worshipped, and admired. Someone who was loved, but she came to the conclusion that that kind of adoration didn’t exist. How could it in a world full of so much heartache and hurt?

Wren stuffed her phone into her oversized messenger bag and threw it over her shoulder, once again, not looking forward to the sticky heat that would cling onto her skin when she got out of the cool confines of her small, black car. She pulled her keys out of the ignition, sorting through them until the bright, silver one to her modest apartment glimmered flawlessly beneath the lamp as she exited the car. Something about that key made her feel safe. It screamed home and security. It was the only place where she felt like she could be herself, secretly reminiscing on the times she missed when innocence was all that she held onto, and images of a boy that she never understood, and still didn’t. She hated that he still dug his noxious claws deep inside her head. She knew, above all others, ways to make it better, yet she continued to make excuses for everything.

She clutched a hold of her key tightly in her hand with her bag over her shoulder, sending an aching down her back. Again, it was times such as this that she was reminded of her isolation, facing an empty dwelling with no lover to embrace or hug away her emotional and physical pains. She wasn’t merely isolated by love, she was isolated by her past. She was a prisoner to it, and Rhys held the key. He always would, and she let him. She had to accept it, live, and move on.

She wished it were only that easy.

She counted the concrete steps up to her apartment, sighing with relief when she reached the number thirteen. Wren never recognized why others hated that number so much. Again, it reminded her that she was home and innocuous behind four walls that sheltered her from the monsters that lurked on the outside. She was shown evidence of all the ugly every day from women that lived to tell the tales, as well as the memories that haunted her.

She placed her key in the lock, briefly becoming distracted by the buzzing from her purse. Her heart sped up its pace, thinking to who it could be, wondering, if by chance, it could be Constantine calling her with a change of heart. She shook her head at herself, disgusted with how pathetic her thoughts had become. Wren put her key into her lock and turned it, just as she did a million other times before, and pushed the door open.

Her foot kicked behind her to close the door and she turned around to lock it. Nothing out of the ordinary seemed out of place to her. The lights were off, just like usual, besides the small one above her stove that she kept on almost all the time because she worked and went to school late. There was one particular thing, however, that made her belly drop and her throat turn dry. Everyone always speaks of those moments of horror in life that they experience. They are afraid to blink their eyes or breathe out of fear of being discovered. It was in that moment when Wren smelled fresh soap lingering heavily in the air did she understand that she was not alone.

She had company.

In those occurrences before you meet the dreadfulness that you know you are destined to face, one has decisions to make. Do you fight? Take it? Run? Scream? Hide? Those seconds of contemplation seem like they take eons. Those tiny milliseconds are what can determine life or death; a turn in one’s life for the better or worse.

Wren could feel something dark pulling in her gut, twisting it and making her aggrieved. She wanted so badly to scream for help, but her neighbor had moved out the week prior. The tenants below her were elderly and hard of hearing, so yelling out would be a moot point. Even if she did attempt a yelp in terror, they would likely blame it on her young age and booze, the latter something she never partook in.

But the demons from long ago had come back to say hello, and she didn’t have a choice but to allow them into her life, because part of her would always belong to them.

She heard creaking down the hallway and light breathing, feathering through the air so graciously and alarmingly. Wren wanted to turn around to look, but what was the point? The person would soon enough greet her. She might as well enjoy the few more moments of peace that life had to offer her. She kept silent as she thought of all the times she shared with him; how his steps sounded down their aged oak wooden floors when they were younger before that terrible night. They were the same. He was hungry and she was his meal. She wanted to be eaten, but she couldn’t let anyone know that. That was a mortal sin. He had done too much wrong in this life to be absolved.

Wren became light-headed and had to breathe harder as her lungs started to burn without adequate oxygen. She felt something wet in both palms and let her fingers uncurl themselves, the dripping of blood splattering down onto her carpet and staining it with her life that didn’t matter to many.

Except one.

Him. And he had come back to drink up his darkness.

“Hello, my darling. Have you missed me?” Rhys cooed.

Wren didn’t even realize she was crying from his words. She wouldn’t have been surprised if they were blood. She had seen the most unholy things in life, yet she lived to tell the tales to herself over and over, making her understand that hell is real, because she had seen it. The demons and devils of the world do exist and they don’t have friends. They only have enemies. They take. They steal. They break. And they fucking kill.

“What are you doing here, Rhys?” Wren questioned, her anxiety threatening to take her away as her vision started to close in on her.

Her obsessive nature overtook her as she started to count the drops that she felt from the palms of her hands, a result of her nails and squeezed fists.

“Don’t you remember what I told you, my darling?” Rhys whimpered, his voice almost child-like as he continued to step towards her with regard.

“What’s that?” Wren questioned him again, trying her best to keep him engaged, knowing that she couldn’t push a person like him over the edge.

“Make your face shine on your servant; save me in your steadfast love.” Rhys praised her with his words as his hands stretched themselves out to her waist.

Wren could feel his touch fast approaching, but she wasn’t ready for it. Her feet, however, were not ready to run yet. She had to get him where she wanted him before she made a break for it.

“Do you know what verse that is, my darling?” Rhys hummed, bringing his nose into her hair and inhaling sharply. He allowed the tips of his fingers to dance ever so lightly on each side of her hips. Wren inadvertently whimpered in response and Rhys grinned. He had her trained, still, after all the years.