Blue & Green
04
"A fox is a wolf who sends flowers."
The wedding would be in December.
Lots of Jacinda's family.
Most of Steve's family was dead, including his wife, his parents, and his daughter.
No, his daughter was right there, staring at her reflection in the bathroom.
Numbly, Chloe turned her head from side to side. She was gaunt-faced, with sad eyes and brittle hair. The image staring back had been the same for years, wasting away and it wasn't leaving.
She remembered a time where she would sit outside until her thighs were golden and then red, peeling with sunburn.
Sticky ice cream dribbling downs her fingers, licked away by the puppies she met on the pier.
Salty ocean waves hitting her feet, Derek beside her.
Tori's reluctant enjoyment during the water balloon fights with Liz and Simon.
Buttery, salty popcorn kernels caught between Chloe's teeth while they sat in the dark.
Sticky sweat making them grimy while they ran.
Playing in the trees, squealing when Derek scooped her up.
Tall, wet glasses of lemonade on the lawn.
She sighed tiredly and turned away from the sad-eyed girl in the mirror. Hair scraped her shoulders, painfully brittle.
"Chloe?" It was Rae, knocking quietly on the door.
Stomach twisting into knots, Chloe pulled open the bathroom door and forced a smile. Everything around her was breaking, shattering, but as long as she slapped on a smile and said, "I'm fine" enough, no one would ever know.
Rae's hair, now free of its braids, was pulled into a bun, pieces sticking up and that's when Chloe saw the red-purple hickey on her neck.
"Who?" The blonde's voice came out tiny and weak; she sounded pathetic, almost.
"No one." Rae's almond eyes dropped as she brushed passed the shorter girl. "At least, not officially," she added with a cheeky grin before closing the door.
Not again, Chloe thought quietly, please don't let this turn out like Royce.
Jacinda was in the kitchen planning the wedding invitations.
Cream envelopes, brown lacey trim, elegant handwriting.
Dear (whoever), you are invited to Jacinda Rodgers and Steve Saunders' wedding, December twenty-first.
Something sour filled Chloe's mouth as she stood there, staring at the invitations. Her mind was shifting backwards.
Tiny chubby hands gripping the edge of the counter, she balanced on the top of the chair.
Mommy was looking through old photos, pasting them and cutting them into funny shapes. Long strips of ribbon and lace were crumpled in piles, haphazardly placed around the table.
"Mommy," she called as she pushed her finger against the thick, beige envelopes, "what's that?"
Mommy looked up, smiling softly.
"Daddy and Mommy's wedding invitations. When you get married, you have to invite people." She pulled Chloe up onto her lap, pulling an envelope closer and popping the seal with her thumbnail. The smell of musty paper and old wax rose from the stack of invitations.
"Mommy, what does it say?" She was rocking excitedly.
Mommy laughed, ruffling her hair. "Dear Lauren Fellows, you are invited to Steve and—"
"Chloe?"
The blonde blinked hard.
Bright fluorescent lights flickered above her, throwing the tan face staring up at her worriedly into dangerously sharp contrast.
"You okay?" Jacinda had paused mid-letter, ink soaking the paper, ruining it but all her attention was focused on Chloe.
Something sour burned in the girl's mouth as she forced her feet to move, pushing herself towards the backdoor. As she thrust the door open, she heard Rae's mom ask, "Where are you going?"
She couldn't have answered even if she wanted to.
She wandered. Her sneakers crunched gravel and leaves and mud. Her eyes took in the barren trees, grassy hills, long rivers; although, she hardly noticed any of it.
Everything was blurry through the permanent film of tears in her eyes. The icy wind pierced her skin, reminding of her lack of jacket or scarf, and she shivered, hugging herself tightly.
Seeing Jacinda sitting there in place of her mother, head bowed, long fingers writing the wedding invitations just like Jennifer did all those years ago, made something inside Chloe shatter, shards piercing.
Ducking under a low-hanging branch, she continued on.
Bugs crawled under her feet; birds sang lonely songs for each other, meant for only their ears; sunlight streamed down from between the long, gnarled branches.
In the forest, everything had melted away, all of her anxieties and the headaches and the sadness of her mother's death; all of it just vanished. Right now, it was just Chloe, the birds, and the trees.
Her breath escaped her lips in a transparent cloud as she shivered, wondering if Jacinda was even worried or if anyone even noticed she was gone.
She knew, without a doubt, that she was being biased towards the young woman who'd captured her father's broken heart and mended him but the raw pain of her mother's slow death was still fresh.
Years had done nothing to dull the pain, nothing to bring any sort of closure for her. Sure, Lauren and Steve had obviously moved on, taking down her photos and auctioning off her things.
The only thing Chloe had was that damn room.
Her foot missed a step and she slipped, landing hard enough on her ass to knock the breath from her lungs. Cold shock shot up her back as she realized she'd stepped off the embankment and was now tumbling down the incline.
It was a little exhilarating and scary, tumbling head-over-heels in an unknown place, not knowing what was at the bottom or if she would hurt herself terribly and end up on the news (fifteen-year-old girl found dead) but it was freeing, the rush of falling, everything leaving for sweet, ignorant moment.
She stopped after a long time, head spinning and her knee stinging. Twigs and leaves fell out of her hair, off her clothes. She sat up, blinking, disorientated.
It was a huge, silent clearing.
Lots of long, tall grass, the outskirts hugged by trees and hidden by their line, far off was some sort of pond and something lying on the ground.
Chloe got to her feet slowly, taking her time to brush the dead underbrush debris from her legs and hair. She calmly picked up her lost shoe (when had that happened?) and headed over to the water.
She was in the midst of kneeling down, staring at her reflection—bloodshot eyes, messy hair chunky with mud, scrapes and was that a twig in her bra strap?—when she heard a voice shout, "Hey!"
Turning so she could watch the person, she felt all fear vanish. It wasn't a murder or a man jerking off or a woman holding a knife.
It was Ramon, his hair slick and a towel around his neck, jeans clinging to his sharp legs, who asked, calmly, "Would you like some help?"
In all honestly, she should've said no, shouldn't have broke down.
But she did.
"Yes," she croaked, "If that's alright."
He held out a hand and smiled. "It is."
