Dead Flowers | H.S.

Chapter Six

The night was moonless and warm as I locked the door behind me. I was sweating almost immediately, welcomed into the high temperatures of June that always plagued Point Pleasant. Fanning myself, I ambled towards my bike, mouth already watering at the cool breeze that would soon blow through my hair and between my legs.

Main Street was silent, watching me with curtained windows and unlocked doors. Not a house or business had their lights on, not a sound in our sleepy town except for a party a few blocks over that echoed down the street.

Dalton emerged from the shadows, hands tucked deeply in his pockets. He was standing guard in front of my bike before I could reach it, arms crossed over his thick chest, eyes burning holes into my flushed cheeks as I approached him.

"Evenin'," I greeted unenthusiastically, reaching for my bike.

Dalton side-stepped and prevented me from grasping the handles. Craning my neck to stare up at him, I saw his face was stone-cold. I wished, then, that he was ugly. That instead of looking like a Greek sculpture, he looked like a gargoyle.

"Let's talk."

"No," I spat, "get out of my way, please."

Dalton's eyes were hard, hard like the brick wall behind us. I imagined him grabbing the back of my head and forcing my face into the wall over and over until I either said yes or died. I imagined kicking him in the shins, thought about spitting on him, thought about screaming on top of my lungs.

"Marry me, Jane. You were always tellin' me about wantin' to get out of here and this is your only chance. Marry me and I'll take you away from here."

Ice froze my veins with unexpected ease. The sweltering heat suddenly turned into arctic air and I wrapped my arms around myself protectively. He knew he'd made a point, a point that I could not immediately protest. It only made me hate him more; the smug smile tugging on his lips, the nearness of his body, the bleariness of his eyes.

"What makes you think you're my only out?"

He licked his lips and shrugged, coolly running his hand through his hair.

"Because it's the truth. You ain't goin' to college, you ain't gettin' married to anyone else. You think your mama and daddy will pay for you to leave? Or do you think Howie's is gonna bring home the bacon?"

He laughed richly, deeply. I wanted to punch him in his gut, wanted to slam him onto the concrete, wanted to be someone else's daughter, someone else's ex-person.

"Get outta my way."

He didn't budge.

How badly I wished to be the witch he wanted me to be, how badly I wanted to curse him, how badly I wanted January to come.

I stared into his eyes as hatefully as I could, as hatefully as I felt. I wanted him to feel the fire in my soul, the viciousness and contempt my heartfelt for him

"Move out of my way. I wanna go home."

He scoffed, crossing his arms, planting his feet into the concrete.

"I'll scream if you don't move."

His eyes widened at his, mouth parted, eyebrows raised. Finally, I'd gotten a rise out of him.

"Jane-!"

"I will!" I stepped forward and gazed up at him with unwavering eyes. His cheeks were hot with blood, his eyes were darkened, his breath was stained with whiskey.

"No, you won't!"

My scream was short-lived but effective. Only a few piercing seconds in and his hand clamped over my mouth. His skin was tough and salty, but still, I bit down hard and long until he jerked backward.