Takes place near the end of dark angel; except, Troy never tried to commit suicide, and Heaven is about to graduate from college. And yada yada. I loved Heaven and Dark angel, but the rest of the books, I thought were total crap because I didn't like the way that things went. SO I'm going to make my own book, the continuation of Dark Angel called Revelations. I'm going to try to update a new chapter every Monday, to get on a type of Schedule that you can easily follow. I won't be updating next Monday though, since I'm leaving on Vacation. If I can squeeze out a chapter before Friday, I'll do it. But If I'm too busy, I'll just wait till the following Monday. Ok, so read my first chapter and leave a review :
Chapter 1 : Memories
The sun was shinning brightly on graduation day. That reflected my mood that I was currently feeling. I was finally accomplishing my lifelong dream that I'd wanted to pursue ever since I was 6 years old. Me, Heaven Leigh Casteel, was graduating from one of America's best universities. And I'd done it alone. I was the first one from my hillbilly family to actually reach this far, and the fact that I was graduating (a Casteel no less) made me elated. Not even a year ago, I would have gladly admitted that I was ashamed of being a Casteel. Now, I had two reasons to contradict that. For one, I'd proved everyone's insecurities about me wrong, proving that I was more than that girl from the wrong side of the tracks (or in other words, the wrong side of the mountains). My silly aspirations as a young girl were no longer silly; for I'd achieved some of them. A few I still had to pursue, such as bringing my siblings back together under one roof, and finally gaining my Pa's love.
An unexpected pain shot through my heart as I thought about Pa. A part of me longed for him to be here, to see his daughter graduate from college, to even accept and love me as his daughter. And if that would ever be accomplished, I would instantly forgive him for all the tribulations throughout my childhood that I had to overcome along with my brothers and sisters. But I could stop the wistful wishing, for he would never be here. I now knew why he hated me so much, for I didn't just kill his Angel with my birth; I wasn't even his biological child! I had recently found out that Tony was in fact my biological father, for he had raped my mother when she was 13. When I had first found out that, I denied it, for it possibly couldn't be true! But I slowly began to accept that Tony was telling the truth, and I resented him for it. I hated him for he raped my teenage mother. I couldn't believe that a man of his stance, a man who could have any woman that he wanted, would rape a child. He even went on as to say that my mom had provoked him! I found out that in his own way he loved my mother. But still that gave him no reason to do what he did. And for that, I resented him. But for some unknown reason, I couldn't build up my anger against him to leave him, for without him, I never would have reached my goal.
As if the devil himself had a magnetic field about him to magnetically pull my eyes toward him, I turned back to the crowd to see Tony smiling encouragingly at me, alongside Jillian, who looked as if she would rather be anywhere else but here. Jane (who refused to be called Our Jane anymore) and Keith were there, a few seats away from Tony and Jillian, sitting with the Rawlings looking really happy for me. I still could not get over how healthy and beautiful they looked, with their radiant smiles and glowing complexions. It was as if the mountains had never happened, at least in their lives. I would given anything for Tom, Grandpa, and even Fanny to be there. But that was more wistful thinking, for Tom (along with Grandpa) couldn't bear to leave Pa alone, even though 'he said' that he had to do college exams; and Fanny never in a million years would come, unless there was a chance that she could ruin my happiness. But I mailed her an invitation anyway, which she obviously declined. Not even a letter or a phone call (I never gave her my number, but she managed to weasel it out of Tom) to say congratulations or why she wasn't there. Tom called at least to tell me congratulations and sorry that he could not make it, but that he would be with me in spirit. I sighed. I just would have to accept that me and Fanny would never be close, for she was too blinded by jealousy to ever want to truly be sisters and be happy for me.
Out of a sixth sense, or either Déjà vu, I expected Troy to be there, just as he was there for my high school graduation from Winterhaven, the private boarding school where I suffered daily hell up until a point from various girls, the graduation that Tony and Jillian hadn't bothered to attend. I looked all over the crowd, but found no sign of Troy. A wave of disappointment crashed over me, for without me knowing it, I built up to the dream notation that even though I hadn't seen or heard from troy in over 3 years, he would show up to my graduation to give me the notation that he cared.
I mentally kicked myself for making myself believe for one second that Troy would just show up out of the blue as if everything were all right again and nothing had changed. Lord knows how much I wished for that silly daydream to become reality. No matter the time change since I had seen him last, I still missed him, as if it were just yesterday that he had left me, his brother Tony, and his little storybook cottage that he, along with I, loved. I still missed his teasing manners, his gentlemanly ways, his sensitivity with his sometimes boyish innocence, his wild ruffled hair, and his soulful deep eyes. I missed his caressing touches, his sweet kisses, his way of bringing me to a quick orgasm with a few strokes, not to exclude, out passionate lovemaking. Not anyone in my life had every made love to me like Troy. Though the only other person that I could compare to was Cal Dennison, my adoptive father (wife of Kitty, my adoptive mother), and even though he purposely seduced me to suit his own needs, he could not compare to Troy. Some part of my conscious whispered that nobody would ever hold a candle to Troy. And that was what hurt the most, for even though Troy was my uncle ( for I certainly did not care) I wasn't with the one man that I loved, who I felt truly happy with, for I could share my problems with him and he would be patient and listen to me with unjudging ears. Whenever I received good or bad news, my first instinct was to run to Troy and tell him. But with sad acceptance, I had to realize that Troy wasn't there for me anymore.
I forced out those sad and bad thoughts, for this was my graduation day: a day for me to be happy and rejoice. So I forced all thoughts of Pa, Fanny, and most importantly Troy, out of my head and stared forward at the stage, waiting for my name to be called. When it finally was, I heard the polite applause for me, but the eager applause stood out above the others, me knowing that it was my family applauding for me. As I walked the stage, accepting my diploma, I silently thought a prayer to my dead Grandma Anni in my head. I did it Grandma, I did something that would truly had made you proud. Almost simultaneously following, uneasiness settled over me, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, as if someone were watching me closely—too closely. But I shrugged it off, for it was really stupid. Everyone was staring at me.
My graduation party was a major gala, for people I did not even know (and even though they were not at my graduation) were there. I had the strong feeling that they were there for Tony's sake rather than me. But I didn't care, for I had reached my goals: I would finally become the teacher that Miss Deale had been, and I had found Keith and Jane. I was an adult now, 22 years of age, and yet, I still didn't feel complete. Something was missing out of my life that I desperately craved. Without even thinking about it, more by pure instinct, I followed through the maze that had once had me lost within it's depths and cut through the side to come upon the familiar storybook cottage that I loved. I stood for a minute outside of the blue door, contemplating what I was doing. Without concern for the emotional damage that might occur for what I was about to do, I turned the doorknob and stepped into the familiar adobe of the cottage that felt more like a home. I almost gasped aloud, for the cottage looked exactly for the way that Troy had left it. The rocking chair that he so dearly loved to sit in was turned toward the fireplace, as if he had just vacated it a short while ago. I turned to head toward the kitchen, looking for nothing in particular. I was surprised to find the kitchen fully stocked, as if there were really a person staying at the cottage now. Alas finally, I turned toward his bedroom (or rather former) where he and I had shared so many memories, wonderful and cherishable ones. My eyes adjusted to the dimmer light in this one, the sunlight streaming trough the window not as brightly as it had in the kitchen. The bed with its navy blue sheets made up to perfection loomed before my vision, almost instantaneously stealing my attention. Memories flowed through my head at that moment, the moans of pleasure and groans of release echoing so loud that I though them to be real. I turned away from the bed and went to the dresser, barren, except for a couple of framed pictures: one of whom I presumed to be Tony and Troy's parents (we never talked about them much) and one of Tony and Troy, this one when Troy was young, perhaps around 3. I smiled, thinking how cute and irresistible Troy looked at even a young age. His face captured your attention first, his sparkling dark brown eyes, and curly dark hair such a winning combination. Despite his many allowances of memories of him being a sickly boy, in this picture, he looked radiant with joy, his coloring a healthy color, his cheeks rosy. More than ever, this picture looked as to be of father and son. Only one who knew of the Tatterton history would know that it was the complete opposite. But I had to give Tony credit for being there for Troy in everyway that a father should be there for his son. For a moment, I experienced true jealousy for their love, for I was deprived of it growing up. I looked for love in all the wrong places too, trying to find it in Cal, then finally in Tony, who I still could not contemplate to think of as my father. I briefly stroked the silver frame of the picture before I turned away from the dresser, and toward the closet. I opened it and stared back at the clothes of Troy that remained there. The loose smocks that he favorably wore were gone. In its place hung dark sweaters along with a few uncaterizable shirts. Unconsciously I held up the sleeve of one of his sweaters up to my nose, trying to find a scent that I knew subconsciously would not be there. Feeling silly, I closed the closet door, and stood in the middle of the room, looking all around me, taking in every nook and cranny of the room. Not a single thing there to give me a remembrance of his smell (which I had more than remembered—I craved). Even his adjoining bathroom held no aftershaves (he never wore cologne). I sighed and plopped down on the bed, curling up in a ball with the pillow curled up beside me. I vaguely thought about Kitty's delusion about how it was sinful and evil to lay on your side, especially curled up with a pillow as the way I was laying. I thought about the beating I suffered when I purposely provoked her. I banished that memory out of my head.
I could have sworn I smelt Troy's scent in the pillow and sheets, but my imagination must have supplied it greatly. Even though my mind stubbornly told me it was nothing but a wishful memory, I was intoxicated by the make believe scent, because in reality, his scent would not have stayed as strong over 3 years, no matter how well preserved the cottage was. No matter how much my imagination played with my feelings and my desires, I enjoyed the brief period of bliss. I could practically feel Troy's kisses upon my lips and various parts of my body. In the moment, I stroked myself down there, imagining that it was Troy's excellently skilled fingers instead of my own. I moaned at my own inducement of pleasure, imagining that it was Troy in fact who was doing the inducing.
I don't know how long I lay in that bed, tears leaking out of my eyes as I had finally realized that memories and fantasies just did not live up to the real thing. And no matter how much I hoped and prayed, Troy just wasn't coming back into my life. And that hurt beyond a doubt. I knew that I could never really move on with my life and experience true happiness unless I finally and forevermore said goodbye to the memories that would break way into nothing but pain and remorse. I sat up finally, making no move to fix the bed which I disarrayed in my daydreams and fantasies. I stood up, rearranging my summer dress before I went to the front door of the cottage. I stood before the door, my hand on the knob. Without turning around, I whispered to the still cabin, almost as if it were waiting for the words that I were about to whisper: "Good-bye Troy." Despite the tears that leaked down my face, I opened the door, and forevermore closed it, for I would never enter this cottage of love that I once knew to endure more memories that would only bring on pain, and never let me move on.