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Nasty weather.
Storms usually came around August, the scaredy-cats at the weather center belted out the tornado sirens every so often with premonitory warnings (annoyingly). None of the storms were ever considered tornado-worthy, up to her standards at least, but nevertheless they grew at times violent and destructive to the frail rooftops.
Unlike the other fretful residents in the suburbia of Jameston, Terra Markov extracted meditative exhilaration from the white lightning in the backdrop of deep purple, absently counted the nickel-sized hail coming down in streams, sat in the candlelight during power outages soothingly listening to the music Mother Nature created, the pitter of the rain against her bedroom window. Storms never frightened her; nothing these days could rattle her cages, anger or fear.
She turned up in this little town out of New York from the urban side of the Queens, a city-girl wishing to escape the reek of unemployment and losers. One loser in particular— her ex-boyfriend to be exact, short for his age but handsome with his wild green eyes, wanted to leave her for bigger dreams and bigger opportunities. The blonde bombshell packed her things in their high-rise the next morning, leaving the bland goodbye note on her side of the pillow (gosh...when his blonde bangs fell over his eyes when he slept...she was reminded of how gorgeous he was) and never looked back. It was a mutual breakup between them, of that she knew, but the sting of resentment didn't quite fade away with time. Not as much as she cared for anyway.
Storms reminded her of running away from home at fourteen, never again to return, getting caught in the downpour, falling down in the gutter and kicking off her squishy hot-pink sandals when she stubbed her big toe. Of her first night without electricity in her independently paid room, reading a sappy romance novel by the light of the half-blinded moon. Of standing on her rickety balcony outside the apartment she shared with him, of his thinly muscled arms tightly dissolving her into a state of numbed contentment as he joked about dying his beautiful, blonde hair an atrocious minty green color (a part of her always will hate him for that)— that kind of passion could not be found anywhere else.
Even now, she believed in the end he loved her, in conduct no one else could ever know— a side of himself kept stored away for special use. Those tender gestures he consciously presumed, his eagerness to please her. It had not been about erotica, there was something bigger in the act of them being alone, one curled up to the other, and whispering about minuscule aspects of their lives.
Bigger. Secretive, snaking his forearm around her shoulders to cradle the side of her face with a gentle hand and her name murmured warmly into her ear canal. Her real name, not an alias. Not a shadow pretending to have qualities.
Not like in Jameston.
The young woman shook off remnants of long-forgotten yesterdays, fixing a band to hold back her waist-length hair from burning and eyed the low-lit red dot on the device she held in her right hand as she ironed the last of her collar shirts.
Her fan lights flickered forebodingly as did the light on her iron; Terra addressed the thunder rumbling patiently under her breath, "Don't even think about it."
As if someone above had heard her threat, the power remained constant. But a crack of lightning sounded bolting right above her head, causing the poor woman to jump and nearly drop the steaming-hot appliance on her free hand.
"Jeez christ…..!"
Disquietly, the half-naked woman heard someone bang on her knocker only moments after. Almost at a leisurely pace.
Raising an manicured blonde eyebrow to why anyone would be outside her door in the middle of an intense storm such as this one, she flipped off the iron, setting it sideways and grabbing the nearest blouse to slip over her voluptuous bra before going to answer her front door.
Soaking wet on her welcome mat, a small dark cloaked figure.
Terra ignored her paranoid urges to call neighborhood watch on suspicious characters— she would not succumb to that suburbian-stereotype— and asked hesitantly, keeping her door half closed, "Can I….help you?"
The figure stepped forward brashly, (the blonde groped behind for the umbrella rack just in case) and ripped open the strange V-shaped hood to reveal a smooth pale face. Dampened strings of jet black hanging around bizarrely cold-looking eyes of a dark purplish color.
At the sight of them, Terra released a thankful sigh.
"Oh, it's only you."
She allowed her neighbor entrance into her home, "You know your getup isn't exactly the smartest thing to be walking around— " Her peach-lipsticked mouth dutifully snapped shut upon observing the other woman as the darker-haired hung up her cloak on a hallway hook and shivered dripping on her rug.
"Alright, um, don't move. I'll get you a change of clothes."
Quickly, Terra hunted around to bring back a pair of gray sweats and a flimsy pink college sweatshirt, never noticing the nose-wrinkling upon taking in the sight of the sickeningly vivid color. After changing, both women wandered out into the ranch-style family room where the blonde presented her mute neighbor with a cup of hot watery tea, "I'm out of cocoa and coffee. I'm really sorry. Will this do?"
"Nicely, thank you," came a harsh croak.
Terra sipped on her own colorfully plastic cup, clearing her throat and cracking her knuckles unthinkingly before divulging into the subject, "So….uh, any specific reason why you wandered on over here?"
The following silence promptly put the bigmouth on edge, giving the effect that being abrupt in this situation was disrespectful of her; her neck blushed shamefully.
"I don't have anyone to talk to."
Terra smiled cheerfully despite the sobriety of her tone, glad that the conversation was given an initiative. She unlaced her fingers and waved them around a bit to emphasize her cheeriness, "Well, since we are neighboring buddies…your little boy is adorable by the way."
The other woman's expression softened, revealing a subtle glimpse of a knowing smirk. A grateful one at that. Terra was put into further comfort at its presence. She knew nothing about her or about her family, other that they moved in two months ago and were a well-off family by the looks of their expensive Jaguar. Supposedly married to that funny redheaded pediatrician, overall, this woman gave an airs of being the introverted type.
"It's a hell of a long story," her neighbor explained rasping, by the sounds of it it was naturally so, eyes motionless to the floor and arms folded unsettled with shoulders tense.
Terra found herself nodding understandingly, having a feeling that this night would indeed be one to remember, and leaned back on her favorite recliner. The frustratingly long list of her chores that had once preoccupied her worries drained dry from her memory similar in the manner of the boiling water draining progressively from her cup, allowing the heat burning in her esophagus to sink before replying, "I've got all night."
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Nasty indigestion.
She had no idea what brought it on.
Perhaps it was a lack of nutrition…she hadn't eaten all day…..maybe story-telling did this to her. The utter will of trying to keep history from surfacing ultimately failing.
She didn't know these people. She didn't care about this place or them. She ran from her history, the memories, and her mistakes to become someone else, allowed to be ignored and live the rest of her life an unnamed shadow among many. But for some reason— she knew that this particular shadow (Markov) had a firmer perspective on running than anyone in this township. And that's what compelled her to arrive on her doorstep drenched from her walk along the avenue.
Did people from the city have some kind of weird psychic connection with other people from the city?
Against her character, she had spilled her guts to this skinny yellow-haired nobody, history exchanged itself between them in awkward verbalizations. Then afterwards in the guest bathroom, perspiring and overheated, she vomited. Her concerned neighbor sent her home, assuring her that she could clean up the mess later while probably thinking to herself that she didn't want to catch her 'cold'.
Not sick. At least, not contagious.
'Get to know me and I might be.'
With a slightly painful groan as another convulsion seized her stomach walls, the silhouette shrouded in darkness crept past the unfasten door to the master bedroom. She plainly disregarded the reverberation, the noisy snores of her spouse— if you even call him that— and shutting the nursery door down the hall once she entered.
Speckles of rain droplets sparkled lifelessly on the windowpane across from the toddler's crib; light green wallpaper almost blue in the lack of brightness. Faint tiptoes across the overly sized room; she carefully stuck her hand through the wide cylindrical bars, shyly skimming a stubby fingernail over a tiny peaceful rosy cheek.
This...swelling of devastating love brought a tingling of tears behind unpretentiously calculating eyes and she sniffed them back fiercely. How could she love a creature, how was she capable to a creature born of self-loathing and malicious deception, so powerfully and completely?
For all he stood for…taking the embodiment of innocence.
Payback was a bitch. IS.
Why the fuck was she doing this to herself? The answer to her problems were simple, ignore the bastard and it will all go away. Don't allow your heart to open. From the beginning it didn't do any good for her. Focus on your husband and your son and ignore the rest of the world.
(You don't miss him, you don't miss his laugh, don't miss his smiling blue eyes when you clearly see them in Rider's, or the way he made you feel deliriously helpless when he pinned you underneath him before he took you)
'Weakness…..he gave you this poison……to end your reign….he made you FEEL…..'
"I am a better person because of it." She mumbled this sincerity with her forehead pressed into a bar, falling to her knees beside the crib.
'You lie to the very foundations of your soul, love….his poison lives in you because you allow it…….two years and he won't let you go and you're allowing….'
Her face contorted painfully, the side of her hand groping for the stability of the crib bara. Lips etched open in a grimace-scream, she whimpered, "Please……just stop…"
'You love him you sanctimonious whore, you demon…'
Her mouth angrily mock trembled; she battled for a gasp of air, "Yes…"
'Then take what's yours.'
TBC...