Running Blind

23. A Talk

Happy Lent e'ryone!! I'm Catholic, so I give stuff up for lent in observance of when Jesus went out into the desert for 40 days without eating. Yeah, so I gave up Twitter and Facebook and BOY IS IT HARD! Anywho, enjoy this little chapter. I'm afraid we're coming to the last chapters of this story...

xoxoxo--dacerfreak

(Brie)

Something should have happened after I said that--I mean, something did happen, just nothing...romantic…

I sat up boltright and mentally smacked myself for forgetting the entire reason I came to find Callis.

“Your sister.” I said stupidly.

“What about her?” Callis’ voice seemed choked.

I racked my brain to stay focused on what I was trying to say. “Listen, Shawna called me for you, mostly because she doesn’t have your number and I told her you don’t have a phone, but that’s besides the poin--”

“Shawna? Who the heck is Shawna, Cowgirl?” Callis interrupted.

I clutched his arm tighter. “Callis, her dad’s a lawyer, and she said something about you looking for a lawyer free of charge and--”

Callis gripped my shoulders and shook me slightly, his voice increasing with intensity. “Where? Who? I need to meet him now.”

“Stop.” I said, desperate to grab a hold of this situation. “First tell me what is going on with Lani. You haven’t told me anything.”

A pause revealed his deep train of thought before he finally told me about his dad taking Lani, about the legal issues going on. About Callis trying to find lawyer help. He told me about the woman who wouldn’t help him because he couldn’t afford her help, and about the times when Lani would get the brunt of their drunk father’s rage.

When he finished, I thought of the despair he must be feeling; the stress pulling at him from all angles. I instantly felt ashamed of how I had been thinking and feeling towards his actions towards me.

Hugging my wet sweatshirt to my chest, I stood up and reached my hand own for him to take. “Come on,” I said. “You should call him.”

After Callis stood up, he led me away from the pond to where he had left his new steed.

“She’s nice.” he said when I asked about his new mount. “Won’t replace Hippo, but no horse could…”

He lifted me by my waist and sat me on the horse. “What’s her name?” I asked.

“Don’t have one. Ne’er will.”

I was about to protest when I realized why he decided this: his attachment to Hippo had made his death even worse. When I asked Callis what the mare looked like, he described her as a standard chestnut quarter horse 16 hands high. He explained that out of all her four legs, only one of them lacked a black stocking.

“C’mon, Callis. You have to name her!”

“No.” He said as the horse began moving under me.

“But,”

“No, Brianna.” he snapped. I decided to drop it after that. Clearly his mind was focused on Lani’s rescue and not a name for his horse.

As we rode, I absent mindedly massaged the horse’s neck. Most horses enjoy the sensation, a relaxation technique many trainers use to calm a horse. Callis didn’t utter a word as the sun dropped below the horizon and goosebumbs rose on my skin. I didn’t want to put my cold sweatshirt back on because it was still sopping wet, but the urge was too great. After locating the arm and head holes of my sweatshirt, I threw it over my head, shuddering as the stiffening arm holes hit my shoulders. I’m so gonna regret this… I thought.