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Chapter 2: Bleak
Raegen's Point of View
I've always felt things deeply. Too deeply, perhaps. But the world, it seemed, wasn't built for souls like mine. So I built up a wall of apathy, angst, and biting sarcasm.
It was my armour, my shield against the vulnerability that threatened to drown me. It was a mask, expertly crafted and meticulously maintained, that hid the cracks beneath the surface, the tremors of hurt and the quiet, looming pools of sadness.
And, It worked. People saw the aloofness, the cool detachment, and they kept their distance. It was a bargain I'd struck with the world – emotional solitude in exchange for a semblance of control.
I got up from my bed, the rain drumming a melancholic rhythm against the window pane. My bedroom was shrouded in a dim, muted light, the sunlight held captive by the grey, heavy clouds. It was a mirror to my mood, a perfect reflection of the muted emotions I constantly suppressed. I walked to the washroom to take a shower, grabbing a towel on my way. I undressed, turned the shower tap on and then my eyes suddenly danced to the mirror above the sink and I halted in my steps as I decided to quickly study my appearance.
I never considered myself pretty or beautiful, but because of the countless times I've been told I was, I knew I had to be at least a little of both. My mother had always told me that I was above-averagely beautiful and boys at my old school had been known to stare at me, but I was always discrediting and disbelieving the rumours that I was worthy of worship for my looks or stares from the male or female gaze.
My green irises stared back at me through the mirror above the sink in the washroom. My freckles danced upon my face, across my cheeks and up on my nose. My dark brown hair flowed just past my armpits, not incredibly long but not short either. My pale skin gleamed in the muted light. I felt average, boring, unappealing, but I knew I was probably just depressed, insecure and short-sighted. I sighed as I turned towards the steamy tub.
I took a quick, boiling hot shower, the water a fleeting reprieve from the internal storm I carried. Then, I dressed in my usual uniform of emotional detachment: a long-sleeved black cotton shirt, soft and concealing, and a pair of baggy blue jeans, comfortable and unremarkable.
The clothes were a physical manifestation of my persona, a tangible representation of the carefully constructed façade. Black, the colour of mystery and negation, blue, the colour of melancholy, both reflecting the carefully curated image of indifference I presented to the world.
As I walked out of my room and into the hallway, the mask was already firmly in place. The practiced smirk, the slightly cynical tilt of my lips, the nonchalant slouch, all fell into place with the ease of a well-rehearsed play. I was ready to face the world, the world that didn't need or want to see the real, fragile me.
I walked into the living room, where my grandma was making tea. She offered me some, the steam curling in the air like a wisp of comfort. Then she told me that she enrolled me into the high school in LaPush, and I'd start tomorrow.
"So today you have the day off, to explore." She said, her voice warm and laced with a hint of excitement.
"Go see LaPush, my dear." She smiled at me, a genuine, crinkled-eyed smile that somehow managed to pierce through the wall I'd built around my heart.
It was raining and I didn't feel like going out, exploring LaPush. The thought of facing a new place, a reservation I hadn't been to in years, and new faces, in this dreary weather felt suffocating. I also didn't want to be cooped up in the house all day, feeling trapped in my own head, the silence amplifying the unspoken emotions I usually buried.
So I went back to my room, grabbed my raincoat – a faded, navy blue thing that had seen better days – and pulled on my Doc Martens, a familiar comfort in their sturdy, worn leather. I trudged out into the rainy town of LaPush, the gray sky mirroring the muted colours of my mood.
The streets were deserted, the rain pattering a melancholic rhythm against the pavement. The air smelled of damp earth and salt, a scent both unfamiliar and intriguing. I walked aimlessly, the hood of my raincoat pulled low over my head, hiding my face from the world. My usual sarcastic quips remained unspoken, the mask of indifference felt heavy on my face, but a part of me, a small, vulnerable part, felt a flicker of curiosity.
I found myself drawn to the beach, the relentless waves crashing against the shore a comforting roar in the otherwise quiet town. The gray sky and the churning sea matched the greyness inside me, but somehow, it felt less oppressive here, in the presence of the raw, untamed power of the ocean.
As I stood there, the wind whipping my hair around my face, I felt a strange sense of release. The mask, for the first time in a long time, felt a little looser. The rain washed over me, cold and cleansing, like tears I couldn't allow myself to shed. Oddly enough, despite being sent here, despite feeling like this was my prison, I'd never more free than in this moment.
I kept walking along the beach, the grey sky mirroring the muted colours of the sand and the churning sea. I walked for what felt like an hour until I reached the edge of the beach, where the sand started to form into rocks, until massive cliffs formed the horizon, their dark surfaces slick with rain.
I stared up in awe, my facades leaving me, momentarily forgotten in the face of such raw, untamed beauty. The grey sky seemed to press down, a heavy blanket of quiet intensity, and the ceaseless roar of the sea filled my ears. And then I saw them - a group of men standing atop the cliffs in the distance, their figures silhouetted against the stormy sky. They seemed to be shirtless, and heavily muscular. They were laughing, their voices carried on the wind, and then, one by one, they leaped, plunging into the freezing water below.
A gasp escaped my lips, a sound I hadn't made in years. It was a sound of wonder, of a raw, visceral reaction to something beautiful and terrifying at the same time. The sight of these men, so unafraid, so connected to the wild power of the ocean, stirred something within me. A feeling of yearning, longing— for an escape.
A realization hit me. If I didn't have a drug dealer in LaPush, yet…I could cliff-dive until my dark thoughts floated away into the ocean, leaving bubbles in their wake and an empty mind in my head.
But then I looked up into the sky. The LaPush sky was a bruised purple, the rain lashing down like a vengeful spirit. Storm clouds raged. And down in the water, waves were violent and rough. I couldn't go cliff diving today.
I sulked, full of surrender and despair as I made my way back to my grandma's house. My Doc Martens dragged against the sand as I pushed my feet forward in a slow, protest on my walk back home. This was my home now. The scenery around me included only trees, the ocean, the beach and more trees. I groaned.
I missed the cacophony of voices, car horns, and people. I missed walking just two minutes away to have access to multiple burger joints and sandwich shops. I missed my friends. And, I missed drugs, the oblivion they offered, the escape from the harsh realities of my existence.
Here, there was nothing. Just trees. Vast, endless amounts of greenery and ocean. It was beautiful, undeniably, but also suffocating in its serenity. It was a stark reminder of my own internal chaos.
The rain was relentless, each drop a tiny hammer blow against my already dampened spirits. As I walked, dripping wet, looking down at my feet, sulking, my raincoat's hood pulled low over my head, I felt like a drowned rat. The beach, which should be a place of solace, felt vast and unforgiving under the dreary sky. Then, I heard something. Loud, booming laughs erupted from my left, shattering the sullen silence of the rainy beach. Curiosity, that annoying little imp, got the better of me. I peeked over, my gaze drawn to the spectacle.
Three large men were swimming towards the shore while laughing loudly, their powerful strokes sending arcs of water flying. They emerged onto the sandy beach like sea gods, chests heaving, water streaming down their tanned skin. My eyes locked with one of them – the one closest to me, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. He had a devilish smirk playing on his lips, a knowing glint in his dark eyes. It made me stop dead in my tracks.
They stood there, a trio of sculpted perfection, for just a moment. Then, the smirking one said something to his friends, a quick, muttered exchange followed by more laughter. He started loping towards me, that infuriatingly charming smirk still plastered on his face. My cheeks flushed, a pathetic betrayal of my carefully cultivated gloom.
He crossed the distance in three long strides, his movements fluid and powerful.
"Hey," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine, despite the damp chill in the air. "I'm Paul. You must be new here, I've never seen you around LaPush before." He leaned closer, the scent of salt and something vaguely spicy filling my senses.
"And you are?"
His gaze was intense, predatory, and undeniably hot. He was shirtless, just like his friends, wearing low-slung, cutoff denim shorts. Raindrops traced paths down his muscled arms and washboard abs, making him look like he'd emerged straight from a steamy romance novel. He was breathlessly hot, a walking, talking embodiment of rugged masculinity, but I stubbornly maintained a cool façade.
"I'm… just me," I mumbled, trying to keep my voice even. I could feel the tips of my ears heating up.
"Just you, huh?" He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest.
"Well, 'just you' is looking awfully alluring under that soggy hood." He reached out, his fingers brushing against the brim of my raincoat.
"Maybe I should help you see the sun again?"
He was brazen, ridiculously so, and under different circumstances, I might've swooned. The way he was looking at me, like I was some rare and precious thing, was doing things to my resolve. I knew he was flirting, he was practically dripping with sex, and for a wild second, I almost believed him. But I just couldn't let him see me falter. I pulled back, my shoulders stiffening.
"I'm fine," I said, my tone clipped.
"And the rain's stopping anyway." I glanced pointedly at the sky, where the clouds were, admittedly, starting to thin a little.
Paul's smirk widened, a flash of white teeth against his tanned skin. He wasn't deterred, not one bit.
"Alright, 'just you', we'll see about that. Maybe I'll just come and make sure you are properly dry…" He said pulling up his devilish smirk.
"Gah!" I said as my mouth popped wide open at his words, my lips forming an "o" shape as I stared up at him, aghast at his confidence.
He chuckled as he took another step closer, his eyes dancing with mischief. He was playing with me, I knew it, and yet... I couldn't deny the flutter in the pit of my stomach. This unexpected encounter, this god of a man emerging from the sea, had completely thrown me off balance. And deep down, no matter how hard I tried to resist, I was intrigued.
Paul chuckled to himself as he stood just an inch away from me in the dripping rain, his biceps and abs tingling under the rain.
"So are you just visiting our little rez?"
"No, I just moved here. In with my grandma, Rose, you might know her, she's lived here forever." I told him with a gentle smile.
"And. I'm. Not. Interested. In. You." I enunciated each word despite the lust in the air, that seemed to cling to his provocative body.
Paul chuckled. "Yeah, I know Miss Rose. She lives near Second Beach. Wow, I guess you'll be going to the high school here now and me and my friends are on the beach a lot, so I guess I'll see you around, 'just you'," he said as he stepped away towards his friends, chuckling to himself as he loped away.
"Mmhmm." I let out, my lips pressing into one another as I shook my head in amusement and embarrassment as continued my walking again, towards my grandma's house.
…
I trudged up the porch steps to my grandma's house and opened her front door quietly. My grandma was taking a nap on the living room couch with a worn book still in her hands. I grabbed the throw blanket that sat on the arm of the couch and gently laid in over my grandma, then I headed to my bedroom, my wet Doc Martens quietly squeaking against the wood.
I went to my bedroom, stripped myself of my wet clothes that had gotten soaked in the rain, put them in the washing machine and then climbed into my bed. I wrapped my blankets around myself as my dark thoughts consumed me.
Rain lashed against the window, mimicking the relentless rhythm of my frustrated heartbeat. I burrowed deeper into my blankets, the damp chill of the LaPush air seeping through the thin fabric. New York City. The words echoed in my mind, a vibrant counterpoint to the muted grey of my surroundings. The bustling streets, the towering buildings, the endless possibilities – all a world away from this quiet, rainy reservation.
LaPush, once a haven of childhood summers spent with family, now felt like a cage. The familiar scent of pine and damp earth, once comforting, now suffocated me. I missed the electric energy of New York, the thrill of its constant motion, the vibrant tapestry of faces and sounds. I missed my friends, the late-night talks, the shared laughter that filled the air with a life LaPush seemed to lack.
Tomorrow, high school. The thought was a lead weight in my stomach. High school in LaPush. A stark contrast to the diverse, sprawling schools I'd attended in New York. A wave of loneliness washed over me, and a desperate craving for escape welled up inside. Maybe, just maybe, I could find a dealer here, someone who could offer a temporary escape. Weed or pills, a familiar comfort, a distraction from the incessant thoughts that plagued me.
I didn't want to be consumed by these relentless yearnings for a life that felt impossibly distant. I fumbled for my earbuds around the blankets that cascaded around me and felt for the familiar cold plastic, a grounding force in the swirling chaos of my mind. Slipping them into my ears, I plugged my iPod into the jack and let the music wash over me.
(Lyrics are Escapism, by 070 Shake and Raye)
'Cause I don't wanna feel how I did last night
I don't wanna feel how I did last night
Doctor, doctor, anything, please
Doctor, doctor, have mercy on me, take this pain away
So, you'll run, yeah, but you'll never escape
Sunset in the maze
you're asking me my symptoms, doctor, I don't wanna feel
I don't wanna feel how I did last night
I don't wanna feel how I did last night, oh
Doctor, doctor, anything, please
Doctor, doctor, have mercy on me
You're asking me my symptoms, doctor, I don't wanna feel
You're asking me my symptoms, doctor, I don't wanna feel
The pounding bass, the soaring melodies, the lyrics that spoke of longing, escape and pain, were a balm to my aching heart. Slowly, the relentless thoughts faded, replaced by the soothing rhythm of the music. And as the rain continued its steady patter, I finally drifted off to sleep, finding a temporary haven in the sounds that transported me, if only in my dreams, back to the bright lights of New York City.
But that night, I could've sworn I'd heard a howl. The howl swam into my dreamland of the city I loved and longed for and my dreamy escape suddenly turned into a haunting, eerie trance that I was stuck in as I slept.
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