Breaking Through
Chapter One
Heavy rain drops dropped, more pounded, against my dark haired head. Tears streamed from my pale complexion, staining as they cascaded from my azure eyes. I crossed my arms over their opposite shoulders, struggling to keep my gray cardigan from flowing openly behind me. Cold wind blew into my face in huge gusts, blowing my hair in all kinds of directions. The noise around me seemed never-ending. Continuous blasts of lightning crackled above, followed by roars of thunder. The dark clouds split when the blinding white bolt struck land miles from where I was. I hoped the deafening booms would soon turn into soft rumbles that soothed the rigged edge of my fear.
Familiar shutters calmed my terrified gaze. They were bright pink, standing out against the mildew-stained white that colored the rest of the house. I pushed myself to run faster and then quickly opened the depressing gray door. Suddenly it felt like everything was gone. The supreme weight on my shoulders, the welling tension in the world I was living in, it had all disappeared. I was home. I was safe. The smell of warm cinnamon wafted into my nose. I took a generous sniff, knowing that Ofelia was just burning a candle.
Footsteps paraded down the creaky wooden stairs, sounding more like an avalanche. I kicked off my tattered white Converse, ready to meet the person halfway up the second unit of the small house.
“You’re back! I was so worried. I mean, you being scared of storms and all.” Tanned arms wrapped around me in a loving hug. I returned the kind hug and then pulled back, balancing on the wooden staircase. “Thanks for the concern, Colette, but I’m okay.” Across my face, an embarrassing smile came to be. Being afraid of weather was childish, but the raging winds and thunderous bursts scared me as a kid. Eager to change the subject I asked, “Is Ofelia cooking? The smell of the candle is so -”
“- What do you mean ‘candle’? You mean the cinnamon. She is actually melting some right now. She claims she’s going to put it on toast for us.”
Something fluttered deep inside my chest, whether it be a pang of my lost childhood or a pang of hunger, I was not sure. “I’ll talk to her later. Where’s Dallas?”
Colette stifled a giggle, angling her pointer finger to the top right room next to the stairwell. “Thanks.” I replied quickly, running up the steps, two at a time. I followed her directions and paused at the red spray-painted door, debating whether to knock or leave him in peace. A muffled voice came from the room, “come on in, Tawne. I know you’re there.” I released my breath. Not to be known as a stranger in his eyes, I was relieved. My hand clasped around the brass knob of the door, absentmindedly twisting it.
The room was a mess.
Clothes were strewn over the stained carpet, also overflowing from the laundry baskets that were shoved in corners. A moldy, musty smell filled my nostrils, but that was nothing new. Dallas lied on the bed, his dark hair a messy mop on his head. Stray strands of hair proceeded to hang loosely over his content emerald gaze. “What’s up?” He asked, breaking the silence that filled the small bedroom. I took a seat next to him, cringing at the sound of another thunder-boom outside his water-spotted glass window. “Nothing‘s wrong. Why assume something’s wrong?”
Dallas aimed his glare straight at me, “you just admitted it. I asked what was up, not what was wrong. Is it ‘cause the storm? It will pass, Tawne. Do not worry ‘bout it. It ain’t anything dangerous.” His smooth, slick country accent reminded me of my southern home way back when. I had unfortunately lost the accent of my own, but having Dallas as a reminder was good enough. I breathed shakily, resting the back of my head on the huge pillow behind us. “I know it isn’t, but …”
