(4) Presence
The church pews were filled with tired adults and restless children. Chloe chose her seat carefully, not wanting to sit beside her parents who would undoubtedly be chattering throughout the entire session. She wanted silence that Sunday morning. She wanted piece of mind that she didn't think she'd ever find. Finally, Chloe chose a seat near the back of the room beside a window where no other people seemed to be interested in sitting.
"Good morning," the minister said as he stepped up to the dwarfish podium. "First, I wanted to start off by reading a scripture from Matthew..."
The elderly man's voice droned on in Chloe's ear. She could not concentrate on his words and instead stared out of the foggy window. Philip was never with her on Sundays. She felt mildly thankful for that; Philip suffocated her at times with his words. His ignorance to her past always added to the building wall between them.
Philip, Chloe thought to herself, I wish I could tell you. You deserve to know. The window remained foggy even as Chloe pressed her warm palm against the glass pane.
"Loneliness begets bitterness, m'dear."
Chloe's head spun around to see the infamous Brady at her back. His hair was tousled into a messy array while his crisp grey sweater accented his jovial eyes. "You should know that more than me," she replied with narrowed eyes. Her gaze returned to the now opaque window.
"I can't argue there," Brady told her. He took a seat next to her frigid body. "What the hell happened to your hair?"
"I cut it," Chloe told him placidly.
"Looks good."
Chloe turned back to Brady's eyes almost happily. "What are you doing here? I thought all of this," Chloe said, gesturing towards the minister and the eager crowd, "was just a 'crock of shit.' And I quote."
"Belle talked me into it last minute. She said it would do me some good."
"Naïve Belle, preaching to the converted."
"I could do without the sarcasm, Miss Lane."
Chloe's eyes transformed into slits once again. "Brady, you're the one who's always so sar--"
"Hey, let's try NOT getting into another debate, shall we?" Brady asked her, a half-truth, as arguing with Chloe Lane was constantly the high point in his week. Tossing insults back and forth with her always made his day. She was someone who was willing to stand up to his critical nature, someone who managed to keep him connected to social matters which he would otherwise dismiss with a curt comment. She kept him entertained. But was it more than entertainment now? Brady shook his head slightly.
"I'm just surprised to see you here," Chloe told him. "That's all."
The two sat idly for twenty minutes, both attempting to absorb what the minister was saying--something about being true to yourself, something about not letting the chance get away from you and seizing it firmly.
"Want to get out of here?" Brady asked in a hushed voice.
"To go where?" Chloe replied.
"Just around. Salem Park?"
"Sure."
The two headed out of the church casually, their parents not realizing that they had escaped the sterile building together even before the minister had finished his sermon.
Chloe pulled the thick black glasses from her face as she stared into the dying sun with squinted eyes. Her short hair whipped at her neck in the strong autumn wind as she walked deeper into the wooded trail with Brady Black at her side.
"I heard about your mom," Chloe stated rather officially as they both stared up at the sun setting.
"You did."
"There's nothing I can really say now to make you feel better. I'm sure you wouldn't want to hear any more meaningless condolences from people who don't really care."
Brady nodded as they ventured off of the trail into crowded trees.
"But I'm sorry about your mother, Brady," Chloe told him, forcing his eyes to meet hers. "I really am."
A smile played on his lips for a moment. "Thanks, Chloe."
She understood him. In a twisted turn of fate, it was Chloe Lane who knew what he had gone through as a child and what he was still going through now. And in some meager degree he understood her, too. But it was obvious that she was holding something back from him. "Since we've covered my past, let's dwell on yours."
"It's still quite sunny for the end of fall," Chloe noted, attempting to change subjects, but knowing she had to tell someone the awful truth. "Back in New York, it was never like this in November." Her transition in speech was swift, just as all her transitions had been in the past.
Brady kicked up several golden brown leaves in his path, watching them surrender to the relentless wind as they flew helter-skelter in every direction . "New York? It seems like a tough choice of scenery for a girl like you. When did you live in New York?"
Chloe shrugged. "You know, I can't even remember myself. I must have been about four or five years old at the time. My foster parents lived there and I was just happy to have a place to call home."
Brady cocked a brow at the enigmatic girl walking alongside him. How little he knew about her. "It must have been tough growing up like that."
"It was," Chloe whispered, more to herself than to Brady. "Things happened there that I would rather forget about."
"Like what?"
Chloe was surprised to see care lingering in Brady's eyes. She wanted to let him know why she wouldn't let him get to her. She wanted to scare him, to see something other than arrogance or contempt resting in his gaze. Let's see if you like what you hear, Brady.
"Like what?" Chloe repeated his words. "How about fathers who don't exactly treat you like a daughter. Fathers who want something more than love from you. Fathers who come to tuck you in late at night when they don't have to. Their stinking breath slamming against your forehead. Wanting to be good, all the while wanting to cry out and kill him..."
She broke down. Cried even. She would have punched herself if Brady weren't in her presence. "He raped me, Brady. Mark raped me."
Even though he felt it, Brady refused to let sympathy or pitying shock exude from his expression. He pulled her into a tight embrace. Her body convulsed with tears. He wondered who she had told about this, but knew deep within that he was the first and last to ever know. Somehow, he just knew.
He also knew that she didn't want his pity, not after five years of harbouring a horrible secret. "No one should have to go through that, Chloe," he told her as he pulled her chin to see her tearstained face. "Especially you. You're strong. I can feel that about you. I don't even have to look at you and know it. You're something different, Chloe." Still, Brady held her in his arms, wanting to shield her from her past and knowing that it was impossible to do so. He knew it because people had tried to do the same with him.
The sun grew weaker as it threatened to fall under the horizon. Ribbons of purple and pink floated into the fading evening sky as the two of them walked deeper into the wooded area of Salem Park. Soon, they found themselves sitting side by side against a giant oak, thinking mostly and rarely talking to each other, all the while savouring each other's company.
"Are you warm enough?" Brady asked Chloe, suddenly feeling protective of her. He offered her his thick sweater.
"Brady," she replied, "I'm fine. Keep it on. You'll freeze for sure. Besides, I like the cold air. It's refreshing."
YOU'RE refreshing, Brady thought. He gently took her hand in his, making it look like he was trying to stay warm against the freezing wind.
Why I am still sitting here? Chloe asked herself. She glanced over at Brady whose eyes were locked on the sunset.
Unexpectedly, Brady's head turned towards Chloe's eager expression. Warm brown filled his icy blue gaze. The pads of his fingers lightly brushed against her soft cheek as she ran her own hand down his arm.
"Brady," she stammered silently.
It was too late. Their lips clumsily felt for each other's. Their bodies pushed against each other's. Their souls collided with each other's. Brady's hand moved down Chloe's side as he felt her body finally give and lower itself onto the cold grass, leaves crunching beneath her body.
Her mouth was so warm as their lips parted and their tongues touched eagerly. In a desperate hunger for her, Brady's mouth moved to her neck, each kiss sending foreign tremors throughout Chloe's body. The dying wind howled in her ears, reminding her of someone who was waiting for her that night. Philip.
Chloe reluctantly pushed Brady away. "What are we doing? Brady, this isn't right," she told him. "I love Philip. I don't want to hurt him." Her line of sight shifted towards his eyes and caught a fear in them that she had never noticed before. "And I don't want to hurt YOU."
"Hurt ME?" Brady almost snorted. He got to his feet, brushing leaves from his sweater. "What did you think this was, Chloe? My doting show of adoration?" He wouldn't even look at her now as his gaze turned to the darkening horizon and the swaying trees that cast shadows against his cheek. "You'd make a good fuck, Chloe; that's all. Thanks for the romp in the grass."
He had forgotten what she had told him less than ten minutes ago. She had been a victim before; as a child, she had been violated. And now, when she was a young woman lost in the ache of her own past, HE was the one violating her. He had only meant to conceal the mysterious feelings rising from within him with harsh words, his tactic for anything that seemed to weaken his pride. He hadn't meant to hurt her.
Tears stung Chloe's dry eyes and she quickly scrambled to her feet. "Fuck you, Brady," she cried out. "Fuck you and your unwillingness think about anyone else's feelings but your own. Fuck you and your shallow pride that will get you nothing in life but a loveless existence." Chloe's heart sank with a frightening discovery of the little boy in a grown man's body standing before her. His expression was silhouetted by the dying embers of the sun. Never had she felt such ardent emotion for one person encapsulated by such a thin sheet mutual compassion. "I pity you," she finally spat out.
He watched her run down the unlit pathway and down the small hill, gradually losing sight of her, gradually losing her for good. The sun finally fell behind the horizon as a surrendered Brady made his way through the dark trees. The back of his neck burned with the sun's final rays stealing through the atmoshere and subsquently conducting his fate.
He was wise to the sun, as he always had been.
(smallfries@muted.com)
The church pews were filled with tired adults and restless children. Chloe chose her seat carefully, not wanting to sit beside her parents who would undoubtedly be chattering throughout the entire session. She wanted silence that Sunday morning. She wanted piece of mind that she didn't think she'd ever find. Finally, Chloe chose a seat near the back of the room beside a window where no other people seemed to be interested in sitting.
"Good morning," the minister said as he stepped up to the dwarfish podium. "First, I wanted to start off by reading a scripture from Matthew..."
The elderly man's voice droned on in Chloe's ear. She could not concentrate on his words and instead stared out of the foggy window. Philip was never with her on Sundays. She felt mildly thankful for that; Philip suffocated her at times with his words. His ignorance to her past always added to the building wall between them.
Philip, Chloe thought to herself, I wish I could tell you. You deserve to know. The window remained foggy even as Chloe pressed her warm palm against the glass pane.
"Loneliness begets bitterness, m'dear."
Chloe's head spun around to see the infamous Brady at her back. His hair was tousled into a messy array while his crisp grey sweater accented his jovial eyes. "You should know that more than me," she replied with narrowed eyes. Her gaze returned to the now opaque window.
"I can't argue there," Brady told her. He took a seat next to her frigid body. "What the hell happened to your hair?"
"I cut it," Chloe told him placidly.
"Looks good."
Chloe turned back to Brady's eyes almost happily. "What are you doing here? I thought all of this," Chloe said, gesturing towards the minister and the eager crowd, "was just a 'crock of shit.' And I quote."
"Belle talked me into it last minute. She said it would do me some good."
"Naïve Belle, preaching to the converted."
"I could do without the sarcasm, Miss Lane."
Chloe's eyes transformed into slits once again. "Brady, you're the one who's always so sar--"
"Hey, let's try NOT getting into another debate, shall we?" Brady asked her, a half-truth, as arguing with Chloe Lane was constantly the high point in his week. Tossing insults back and forth with her always made his day. She was someone who was willing to stand up to his critical nature, someone who managed to keep him connected to social matters which he would otherwise dismiss with a curt comment. She kept him entertained. But was it more than entertainment now? Brady shook his head slightly.
"I'm just surprised to see you here," Chloe told him. "That's all."
The two sat idly for twenty minutes, both attempting to absorb what the minister was saying--something about being true to yourself, something about not letting the chance get away from you and seizing it firmly.
"Want to get out of here?" Brady asked in a hushed voice.
"To go where?" Chloe replied.
"Just around. Salem Park?"
"Sure."
The two headed out of the church casually, their parents not realizing that they had escaped the sterile building together even before the minister had finished his sermon.
Chloe pulled the thick black glasses from her face as she stared into the dying sun with squinted eyes. Her short hair whipped at her neck in the strong autumn wind as she walked deeper into the wooded trail with Brady Black at her side.
"I heard about your mom," Chloe stated rather officially as they both stared up at the sun setting.
"You did."
"There's nothing I can really say now to make you feel better. I'm sure you wouldn't want to hear any more meaningless condolences from people who don't really care."
Brady nodded as they ventured off of the trail into crowded trees.
"But I'm sorry about your mother, Brady," Chloe told him, forcing his eyes to meet hers. "I really am."
A smile played on his lips for a moment. "Thanks, Chloe."
She understood him. In a twisted turn of fate, it was Chloe Lane who knew what he had gone through as a child and what he was still going through now. And in some meager degree he understood her, too. But it was obvious that she was holding something back from him. "Since we've covered my past, let's dwell on yours."
"It's still quite sunny for the end of fall," Chloe noted, attempting to change subjects, but knowing she had to tell someone the awful truth. "Back in New York, it was never like this in November." Her transition in speech was swift, just as all her transitions had been in the past.
Brady kicked up several golden brown leaves in his path, watching them surrender to the relentless wind as they flew helter-skelter in every direction . "New York? It seems like a tough choice of scenery for a girl like you. When did you live in New York?"
Chloe shrugged. "You know, I can't even remember myself. I must have been about four or five years old at the time. My foster parents lived there and I was just happy to have a place to call home."
Brady cocked a brow at the enigmatic girl walking alongside him. How little he knew about her. "It must have been tough growing up like that."
"It was," Chloe whispered, more to herself than to Brady. "Things happened there that I would rather forget about."
"Like what?"
Chloe was surprised to see care lingering in Brady's eyes. She wanted to let him know why she wouldn't let him get to her. She wanted to scare him, to see something other than arrogance or contempt resting in his gaze. Let's see if you like what you hear, Brady.
"Like what?" Chloe repeated his words. "How about fathers who don't exactly treat you like a daughter. Fathers who want something more than love from you. Fathers who come to tuck you in late at night when they don't have to. Their stinking breath slamming against your forehead. Wanting to be good, all the while wanting to cry out and kill him..."
She broke down. Cried even. She would have punched herself if Brady weren't in her presence. "He raped me, Brady. Mark raped me."
Even though he felt it, Brady refused to let sympathy or pitying shock exude from his expression. He pulled her into a tight embrace. Her body convulsed with tears. He wondered who she had told about this, but knew deep within that he was the first and last to ever know. Somehow, he just knew.
He also knew that she didn't want his pity, not after five years of harbouring a horrible secret. "No one should have to go through that, Chloe," he told her as he pulled her chin to see her tearstained face. "Especially you. You're strong. I can feel that about you. I don't even have to look at you and know it. You're something different, Chloe." Still, Brady held her in his arms, wanting to shield her from her past and knowing that it was impossible to do so. He knew it because people had tried to do the same with him.
The sun grew weaker as it threatened to fall under the horizon. Ribbons of purple and pink floated into the fading evening sky as the two of them walked deeper into the wooded area of Salem Park. Soon, they found themselves sitting side by side against a giant oak, thinking mostly and rarely talking to each other, all the while savouring each other's company.
"Are you warm enough?" Brady asked Chloe, suddenly feeling protective of her. He offered her his thick sweater.
"Brady," she replied, "I'm fine. Keep it on. You'll freeze for sure. Besides, I like the cold air. It's refreshing."
YOU'RE refreshing, Brady thought. He gently took her hand in his, making it look like he was trying to stay warm against the freezing wind.
Why I am still sitting here? Chloe asked herself. She glanced over at Brady whose eyes were locked on the sunset.
Unexpectedly, Brady's head turned towards Chloe's eager expression. Warm brown filled his icy blue gaze. The pads of his fingers lightly brushed against her soft cheek as she ran her own hand down his arm.
"Brady," she stammered silently.
It was too late. Their lips clumsily felt for each other's. Their bodies pushed against each other's. Their souls collided with each other's. Brady's hand moved down Chloe's side as he felt her body finally give and lower itself onto the cold grass, leaves crunching beneath her body.
Her mouth was so warm as their lips parted and their tongues touched eagerly. In a desperate hunger for her, Brady's mouth moved to her neck, each kiss sending foreign tremors throughout Chloe's body. The dying wind howled in her ears, reminding her of someone who was waiting for her that night. Philip.
Chloe reluctantly pushed Brady away. "What are we doing? Brady, this isn't right," she told him. "I love Philip. I don't want to hurt him." Her line of sight shifted towards his eyes and caught a fear in them that she had never noticed before. "And I don't want to hurt YOU."
"Hurt ME?" Brady almost snorted. He got to his feet, brushing leaves from his sweater. "What did you think this was, Chloe? My doting show of adoration?" He wouldn't even look at her now as his gaze turned to the darkening horizon and the swaying trees that cast shadows against his cheek. "You'd make a good fuck, Chloe; that's all. Thanks for the romp in the grass."
He had forgotten what she had told him less than ten minutes ago. She had been a victim before; as a child, she had been violated. And now, when she was a young woman lost in the ache of her own past, HE was the one violating her. He had only meant to conceal the mysterious feelings rising from within him with harsh words, his tactic for anything that seemed to weaken his pride. He hadn't meant to hurt her.
Tears stung Chloe's dry eyes and she quickly scrambled to her feet. "Fuck you, Brady," she cried out. "Fuck you and your unwillingness think about anyone else's feelings but your own. Fuck you and your shallow pride that will get you nothing in life but a loveless existence." Chloe's heart sank with a frightening discovery of the little boy in a grown man's body standing before her. His expression was silhouetted by the dying embers of the sun. Never had she felt such ardent emotion for one person encapsulated by such a thin sheet mutual compassion. "I pity you," she finally spat out.
He watched her run down the unlit pathway and down the small hill, gradually losing sight of her, gradually losing her for good. The sun finally fell behind the horizon as a surrendered Brady made his way through the dark trees. The back of his neck burned with the sun's final rays stealing through the atmoshere and subsquently conducting his fate.
He was wise to the sun, as he always had been.
(smallfries@muted.com)