Chapter 8

~Edward~

I painted as much as I could, mostly the part that was chest level and down, and I felt pretty accomplished. I knew the proper way to do it was to power-wash the grime away and fix nails, sand the parts that had warped and spackle any holes that remained. I didn't do any of this, instead wanting the instant gratification of my end goal. Also, I kind of liked the idea that the grime and nail heads and warped parts and holes had made this house sturdy in its own right.

Like a glue. Like a Band-Aid.

Like a stretchy cloth bandage that held in your insides when a shard of glass from a broken window went across your stomach and through your arm. Deforming the tattoo you'd gotten when you were young and stupid, so now it was just a gash of something unrecognizable, something that died in battle.

I looked at that tattoo now, splattered into an even more grotesque shape from the paint that I'd managed to miss the house with. It was sprayed up and down my arms and smeared across my pockmarked chest, with drippings on my bare feet. I squished one foot on the other and saw it run together and figured I should wash up sooner rather than later. Before the paint dried and left the grime and the holes on me like the house.

One of the things that drew me to this house, besides the fact it hadn't been lived in for a long time, was the small creek and pond that was promised but not pictured in the information Rose gave me. The thought of washing off in that pond was more pleasing than the cold spigot, and I had visions of nature cleansing me rather than dirtying me. Maybe this place, this clean water and fresh air, would begin to rinse me of all the wrong that lived inside.

I was one symbolic motherfucker all of a sudden.

I grabbed my discarded shirt, figuring to use it as a rag to wipe at the paint, and followed the sound of the stream I'd been hearing while I took up watch each morning and night on that porch.

The ground got spongier as I moved away from that clearing from yesterday and closer to that sad house. I craned my neck to look over the shrubbery and saw the house barely visible. The closer I got to the water, everything turned greener and more lush, until I felt like I wasn't in fucking Kansas anymore, Dorothy, but in some oasis they promised you in the desert but never delivered. I stopped to appreciate nature and my surroundings, habits I had forgotten over the years to do.

I heard a bit of splashing and assumed the water was moving out of the pond towards wherever ponds go and felt my feet starting to get covered in the marshy water. There were some rocks I needed to cross that were slippery with moss, but hell, I'd crossed more dangerous terrain than this.

Just as I was about to hoist myself onto the big gray rock, I heard that sound again—the soft, soothing voice and the whine of an animal—and my head shot up in its direction.

There was Deer Girl, standing in the water and laughing as the fawn skittered and played on the rocks opposite my own.

Her hair was still chaotic, bits of bright green grass and flowers clinging to curls hanging halfway down her back.

Her very naked back.

I looked over at the deer quickly, and it didn't seem to notice me, so I turned my eyes back to the girl, half-shamed 'cause I'd been brought up right, but ready to argue she was on my land. Fair game.

Her skin was pale and milky under the dirt she was scrubbing off, her hand reaching in and returning from the water to rub against her legs. Her hair moved then, falling over her shoulder, the ends dipping into the water and swimming left and right as she moved in a lather of creamy ivory bubbles. It was almost as if she were a siren in an ethereal garden, put there just for me, and I stood, planted with one foot on the rock as I watched her wash what looked like the same dress from yesterday. The one with the same colored ribbon that now lived on my flagpole.

I ducked down as she turned, not wanting to be caught but to continue observing her as I had yesterday. Her body stretched out of the water as she lovingly hung that dress over the branch nearby, dripping and making soft puddles as they fell against the lily pads that skimmed the top of the water underneath.

She was like a work of art, like that painting of Ophelia I'd seen in London on a rare day devoid of devastation. She moved in those lily pads and water flowers, speaking to the fawn, and I swear that deer nodded, answering her yet again.

I was struck dumb, staring at her until guilt or good old-fashioned manners started to kick in, and I knew I had to go, to let her bathe, even if it was in my pond. But then she turned her body towards me completely, still unaware of my presence, and it was like I was rooted in place. Her face was pretty, not model-stunning or overly sexy, but sweet and young. There was an air of innocence that warred with something else, something deeper, sadder, and it made her features infinitely more interesting. That tangled hair shifted to cover both breasts, and the water was up to the flare of her hips, so I saw nothing I shouldn't, but I couldn't help feeling somewhat disappointed. Her hands rinsed her arms, dipping back into the water to gather more over and over again, leaving me mesmerized.

The curve of her hip would be lovely, shot in black and white, up close, and you wouldn't know if it were a mountain or a body until you looked at it long enough. I could envision the photo her neck and the bottom of her chin would make, with a hint of a smile on her bottom lip, partially hidden by brown, silky tresses. A shoulder, her hand reaching tentatively to stroke it, would be breathtaking blown up and displayed on a gallery wall. The dip and curve where her thigh met her pelvis, a sloping valley you would want to touch and feel.

She was no girl.

I had the strongest urge to be under that water, her hands skimming my face as they dipped and gathered. Her fingers ghosting over my hair as I lay my head on slippery skin, thighs that were hidden from me. She just seemed so… pure.

And I was anything but.

I was back at it the next day, after two trips to town to haul four cans of paint from Sam's Hardware. My legs ached from peddling the rusty bike, and I realized it was going to take many trips, but honestly, I had nothing else to do, so whatever.

As I prepped my new paint, I didn't think of Deer Girl in the water. I didn't think about how beautiful she looked or how innocent. I didn't think about that sheer dress hung over the branch, teasingly removed from her. Didn't think about what her eyes would look like if they were ever to fall on mine.

I didn't think of any of those things as the sun beat down, making my sweat mix with the melange of paint drippings on my hands and arms.

There was a crappy porch chair I was using to stand on, trying to avoid the fourth slat, rotted and broken, as I reached up above the stripes I'd painted the day before. I was still happy about my choice, trying not to question it, as the old-school radio sang about feeling crazy. Crazy for feeling so lonely.

I wasn't lonely, but I thought a call to Rose wouldn't be out of the question. She had to be wondering how I was making out. We'd agreed that she'd let me have this time, time to do fuck knows, but I didn't want her to worry. She'd had enough of that with him… and now me.

The slap of the brush against the house did nothing to stop my thoughts of the past from consuming all others, and my movements grew angrier with each pass. I felt frantic to just get something done. Get something right. I took my frustration out on that brush and color, not caring that I was going about this the wrong way as I watched the paint splatter onto the freshly painted boards below. I should've started at the top, should've worked my way down so there were no dribbles. Should've, would've, could've. It didn't matter. Life was imperfect, life was bloody, and this house would wear my blood and sweat like a badge I wasn't going to regret. I'd done enough of that, she had said.

Rose had said that. Rose had forgiven me.

My hand paused, and my chest seized with guilt, thinking of the why of it all—why she needed to, why she shouldn't— and I could feel the hot tears that hadn't been shed, even through the aftermath and funeral. They were coming; they were brewing like the storm that circled the other day. I could only hope that it would be as insignificant as that had turned out to be when it finally came to the surface.

I longed to feel wetness pool under the patch that I wore to remind myself every fucking day as I looked at that flag, another reminder of why I was here. The ribbon hung limp, still tied, still uninvited, and I could feel the festering, crippling sadness edging in.

Anger was so much better than sorrow.

Jumping off the chair, I stormed over to the flagpole, and with sweaty hands, I untied that what? Welcome? Warning? It came off quickly, the satin slipping easily through its knots. When I turned, I was startled to see the fawn, her fawn, standing at the opening of the lane that nature made. Upon seeing me, it jumped and pranced away, moving towards exactly where I was going.

The disturbing house loomed closer as I trailed the deer and marched over the flat grasses in that diagonal path, and I didn't stop when I saw her in a chaotic garden. As she saw me storming nearer, she stood straight up, one eye widening, and her mouth clamping tight. I was three steps beyond her sagging gate as she was ripping off a scarf that mocked me by hanging low over one eye, revealing both as brown when they blinked and stared at me. Without the deception of her beauty in the fairy pond, my eye took her in from her bare feet to her purple, flower-laden hair, landing on that same strange dress, even more transparent from the sun beating down. My eye made one quick pass over her face, and before I knew what I was doing, her wrist was in my hand.

My paint-covered fingers tied that ribbon around her like she'd done to the pole. Tight, too tight I knew, but she didn't protest as I did it, finally dropping her hand down from my own with a satisfied push.

Mad love to LayAtHomeMom, Hadley Hemingway, and CarrieZM for making us pretty.

Enjoy, and leave us your thoughts!

HB&PB