Dream Bound
Chapter Nine
day four
Death. The severity of the word sent my mind reeling, but I could feel its relentless clutches nonetheless. I was dead. Or so I thought. I couldn’t vouch for myself, not until I had my hands on some solid proof that my existence had retired. A pregnant pause stained the air around me as I struggled to grapple onto...anything.
Beneath me, the pleasant feeling of warm leather kissed my skin. A sigh deflated my chest as my eyes opened, eyelids lifting heavily. Darkness. It wasn’t as terrifying as ‘death’ but it wasn’t much of an improvement. Then, I realized I had my inner arm pressed over face. I flung it aside, flinching at the sudden glare of light.
Sunlight tinged with silvery rays filled the car, making it hard to see much of anything. I forced myself to sit up, palms sticking to the seat. It was a relief to see that I was sprawled -- ungracefully -- across the back seat of the Mercedes. One thing led to another. Colton had brought me out here. When and why, those two questions remained out of reach. The only thing I could do now was fetch some answers.
Scrambling to my knees, I crawled across the seat -- dodging boxes and junk -- and fumbled with the locked door. The door popped open, spitting me out onto the asphalt. Straightening my shirt, I raised my head and glanced around. His lean figure was positioned against the Mercedes’ nose -- nonchalant and lazy.
As soon as my shoes scratched against the ground, he moved. He turned, gaze immediately landing on me. I stopped, then, feeling oddly cautious.
Wasting no time, he said, “What do you remember? Anything?”
Scrunching my nose, I struggled with a response.
“Should I remember anything?” My voice piqued with interest. I ruled out alcohol. I wasn’t hung over, and there was no way Colton would have allowed me to drink senselessly. Had I fallen and hit my head? Now, that was a strong possibility.
What appeared to be relief, a look painted across his face. It vanished as quickly as it formed, though. For a second, I wondered if I imagined the look.
“No,” he finally responded, jaw working. “You shouldn’t.”
“Um...” The corners of my lips deepened into a frown. “Let me guess. I fell off the roof of the bar, you failed to save me, which resulted in a thankfully minor concussion.” It was logical, to me, at least.
A hint of a smile pulled at his lips, but he shook his head. “Nope.”
Though I found it highly impossible, my earlier theory resurfaced. “Did we drink? Was it a lame duo party between just the two of us?”
Now, the smile was fully evident. “Not even close.”
Frustration swamped my emotions. “Tell me what happened.”
“Nothing happened.”
“Something did,” I countered. “We were up there--” I pointed to the bar’s roof, “and I woke up in here.” Lowering my hand, I patted the Mercedes’ glossy roof.
He dragged a hand down his face, inhaling slowly. “Ivy...” His voice was quiet, almost an undertone of a warning.
I crossed my arms, refusing to be shut out. “Colton, if you don’t tell me, I swear I’ll--”
“What?” He smirked. “What will you do?”
“I’ll...” I bit my lip, realizing he had the upperhand. I was fighting a losing battle. Turning, I dropped my armor and forced my feet to move.
“Wait.” It was the tone of his voice that stopped me.
My body turned a complete one-eighty. “You’ll tell me? You’ll tell me what happened?”
He hesitated, but the hesitation died before it could bloom. “Yes.” He nodded, a little unwillingly. “I’ll tell you.”
A small voice tickled the back of my mind. He won’t tell you the truth, it whispered harshly. I built a brick wall; blocking it entirely. I wanted to believe Colton wouldn’t tell me the truth, however a small part of me refused to think that he told me anything but the truth.
“The full truth and nothing but the truth?” I answered in a monotone voice, reciting the line from an old courthouse documentary I had watched once. Colton shifted his weight, drumming his fingers on the Mercedes thoughtfully.
Hesitation...he’s lying.
“The truth.” He nodded, motioning for me to follow him. “But first, I want to do something.” Though his back was to me, I looked on warily. With Colton, ‘something’ could be anything. The possibilities were endless, stretching all the way to the ends of the earth and back.
“Fine,” I sighed, figuring if he was going to explain what happened, he would beat around around the bush rather than outwardly expelling the story.
“Come on.” He tossed a smile back my way, waving his hand. He crossed the street, walking beside the sidewalk. He jammed his hands into his pockets, humming an unfamiliar tune to himself.
“Does this involve flying?” I inquired, jogging a bit to keep up with his fast-paced stride. His eyes traced the ground before him as he shook his head, tightening his lips into a thin line.
“You’re far from it.” He chuckled, appearing mildly amused. I frowned, mulling over my thoughts.
“I’m hungry,” I told him, hoping wherever he was taking me happened to have food involved.
“You can eat,” he assured me. “Just not yet.” Coming to a sudden stop, he reached around me and pulled open a door. Glancing over, I blinked at my reflection in the glassware.
Printed in simple, baby-blue letters were the words Clara’s Coffee. Ignoring the nagging sense to question why we were here, I stepped over the threshold and drank in the shop’s decor. It was cute, sensible and easy-going.
Colton maneuvered past me, taking the extra step to close door behind us. He beckoned me to follow him once more, weaving through the overturned tables. He shoved through the swinging kitchen door, leaving me to scramble through before it came back and whacked me in the face.
The air was dusty and grainy. I lifted the edge of my shirt up over my nose, pressing my hand flush against my face to keep the rancid odors out.
“What died in here?” I joked, eyes watering with the oncoming dust particles. Colton snorted and swallowed his laughter. Looking up, he examined the rotted wooden shelf nailed to the eggshell-colored wall.
The shelf swayed haphazardly, its contents teetering dangerously on the edge. Colton reached up, grabbing the nearest cardboard box he could reach. A moment later, he plunked it down on the counter to his right, passing his hands over the top and the sides of the box. The sounds of packaging tape fibers ripping filled the air.
He discarded the bundle of tape, tossing it aside. Reaching in, he retrieved shiny foil packets of coffee grounds.
“If you think I’m going to drink that--” I started, eyeing the age-old coffee grounds in disgust.
“No, we’re not drinking this! I’ll explain in a moment.” He disappeared back through the swinging door, without another word. I sighed inwardly, lowering my shirt as I entered the dining room once more.
Colton was sitting in a booth along the far wall, the packets of coffee splayed before him. He nudged the opposite seat with his foot, inviting me to join him. Slipping past hesitation, I plopped down into the seat, figuring I wasn’t going to get anywhere if I didn’t.
My thighs made an unpleasant sound as they smudged against the red vinyl seat. Flattening my palms on the sticky table, I leaned back.
I lifted an eyebrow. “So?”
“So,” he repeated, tearing open one of the foil packets. He dumped its contents directly in front of me, the coal-colored grounds spilling across the table. Unthinkingly, I scooped them into a neat little pile. He proceeded to rip open another one, expanding my pile.
I watched with curiosity as he gave himself a pile of coffee grounds as well.
“This is how it works.” He pivoted his body to face mine, leaning his arms on either side of the dark, grainy circle. “Since you know nothing about me and likewise for me, we’ll play a little game. We’ll take turns drawing pictures in these coffee grounds. The table top is white -- it’ll be very easy to distinguish the pictures. Before you draw, list one fact about you, the picture accompanying.”
I ignored his side comment about knowing nothing about me. “So now you’re allowing me to get to know you?” My question was unnecessary, but it slipped out on its own.
He brushed it off, completely ignoring it altogether. “I guess I’ll go first?” Sifting his finger through the coffee grounds laid out before him, he drew a few quick strokes. “I’m eighteen.”
Leaning forward, I examined his picture. It was a poorly drawn birthday cake -- candles burning heartily. A strange smile formed on my face. “That I already know,” I pointed out, settling back in my seat.
“Your turn.” He returned my smile.
I thought for a moment, before dragging my finger through the grounds. “I have a little sister.”
“What’s her name?” He smoothed his palm across the grains, a clean slate.
I did the same, brushing my hands free of debri afterward. “Layla. She’s two and a half.”
“So precise,” he murmured, lazily dragging his finger in a shape that didn’t seem to latch onto any one pattern. “I like to fight.”
Looking down, I saw that he had drawn a pair of raised fists.
“Really?”
He nodded, tapping the skin above his right eyebrow. “It’s how I got this.” The scar was tiny, faded to a pale white color. It was only half an inch in length. I studied it for a moment, before returning to my canvas.
After a moment, I said, “I run track.”
Colton peered at my drawing of a lame, sloppy football field, a track circled around it. A look of interest crossed his face. “Do you enjoy it?”
“Yeah, I suppose so.” I shrugged. “I enjoy running. Being screamed at by an overweight, corn dog-loving coach? Not so much.”
A full-fledged grin shot across his face.
“That’s quite the disturbing image.” He pulled his finger across the diameter of his circle, up and across. “Believe it or not, I’m very into religion.”
The cross was simple, yet empowering. The clash of the white, shiny table against the mixed colors of the coffee grounds made for a picturesque image.
“You’re into it, but do you practice a religion?” I asked, flattening the minuscule mountain in front of me. I carved yet another picture onto my canvas. “I’m afraid of what I don’t know.”
He shrugged. “Somewhat. I don’t put a lot of thought and opinion into it -- that causes arguments. I just go as I learn, and believe what I feel matches my soul best. What do you mean by that?” The question he tacked onto the end of his response was directed at my latest fact.
“What I don’t know is out of my reach,” I stated, rigidly. I couldn’t find another way to thoroughly explain this irrational fear living within me. As previously stated, I loathed being kept in the dark.
If I didn’t know, I was useless. I couldn’t help, couldn’t understand. What was the point of putting someone in the dark, only to explain things later on?
“Not always,” Colton said, but he seemed unconvinced. “Sometimes, it’s right there in front of you. It just takes the right moment to expose it.”
I set my jaw. “And sometimes, that right moment never comes along. Sometimes, life leaves you hanging.” The whole point of being in this coffee shop had taken a sharp, unexpected turn. Our mounds of coffee grains sat untouched, the discussion becoming heated.
Taking a deep breath, Colton pressed his fingers into his coffee grains.
“Relax, Ivy. I wasn’t trying to provoke an argument. I just wanted to open your mind to a few things; to let you know that even if you’re in the dark now, you won’t be for long.”
Was that his way of saying I would remember soon? That the last three years and two months of my life were really right in front of me?
If so, what could I do to get them back in my possession, I wondered.
* * *
As the morning dragged on, we continued playing the silly game. We drew endless images in the grains, smoothing them away after revealing something about ourselves. I learned more about Colton than I thought I would.
He liked to fight, and he fought a lot. Bar hopping was a common hobby of his -- just not for the alcohol. And despite his age, it turned out he was more mature than what met the eye. He drank, he smoked with his friends. Alongside fighting, he enjoyed surfing.
After he mentioned this, I was certain he had been kidding. The word ‘surf’ alone projected images of golden-haired boys with dazzling smiles, sun-kissed skin and a surfboard surgically attached to his hip.
Colton had discovered his passion for surfing, and other water activities alike, after he learned about his love for swimming. All things water -- that was Colton in a nutshell. It was ironic, really. Comparing his dark silver wings to the depths of lakes and oceans, it just didn’t click.
He had said that he ‘loved the powerful pull that the ocean gave off,’ and he liked the feel of fumbling his way through a strong wave. It expressed weakness, something Colton realized a lot of people believed he didn’t have. Myself included.
From the start, I’d thought he was indestructible. Unable to be torn down. My guesses were as good as nothing. Colton, with much uncertainty, explained to me that he wasn’t exactly what meets the eye. Looks aside, underneath, he is a different person.
The way he explained this, it frightened me. All I could picture was ‘danger.’ I didn’t want to look at him that way, but it was hard not to. He was my guardian angel. I was supposed to feel safe and secure, but as we played our game of ‘draw and tell,’ I began to see other sides of him.
He was more into telling than drawing. A few times, he skipped over drawing an accompanying picture, diving right into the fact itself. It was almost like he had to force himself to share these other sides of him, these ones that had went untold for so long.
The dark, never-ending depths in his eyes deepened. The strong appearance of his toned arms lodged a knife of fear in my heart. It was almost as if...he was warning me. I had to keep in mind that he wasn’t my guardian angel by choice.
It was only because the archangels assigned him to me. And that, was painfully hard to keep in check.
* * *
The shop door slammed shut behind Colton, following up on his abrupt exit. I left the mess on the table the way it was, hurrying after him.
“Hey!” I shouted, the door rebounding against my hip. It knocked me a little to the left and I quickly stepped out of harm’s way. “You owe me an explanation.”
He stopped, back turned toward me. “You’re right, I do. What I don’t think you’ve realized though, Ivy, is I’m not one to keep promises.” He turned then, a guarded look on his face.
My heart sunk in my chest. I should have known he wouldn’t tell me what happened. I shouldn’t have been so bent out of shape over waking up in the Mercedes, but it was the events that followed after that had me unsettled.
The main one was: I couldn’t remember. By now, I should’ve been used to this. Colton had some sort of memory-erasing trick up his sleeve, I knew that now. Something had happened. I hadn’t been tired, like he claimed.
I woke up in the Mercedes. When had I even fallen asleep? The only thing I could recall was the tender brush of the wind, and the heavy beat of his wings. An ache carved at my chest, creating a hollow hole.
He was hiding something from me. Perhaps it was for my own good, but I was only falling deeper into the abyss of not knowing. And yet, this wasn’t new news to me. Colton was an all-around mystery.
I let myself believe he would explain to me what happened between flying and waking up in the backseat of his car. The unsettled feeling left a sour taste in the back of my mouth. Unwanted butterflies swarmed in my stomach, making me wrenchingly uncomfortable.
I forced my arms to remain at my sides. Folding them over my chest would only cause me to look like an upset toddler who had been denied access to the cookie jar.
“Was this your plan all along? To trick me into believing you would actually stop playing these guessing games? I guess it’s true. You can lead a horse to water; but you can’t make it drink.” My tone was defiant, expressing pure irritation.
I wanted him to know he had played the wrong game.
“Not necessarily. I just decided at last minute, it wouldn’t be a good idea for me to tell you what happened back there.” He hooked his thumb toward the Mercedes. “Did you ever think, Ivy, that maybe nothing happened? That maybe you’re getting yourself worked up over nothing?”
My chest grew tight, and I found it hard to breathe. He’s lying, I thought. My mouth was dry. Even my head spun. He was only saying that to get me off his tail.
Before I could work up a response, he unleashed his wings. They spread fast, yet slow. The tips unfurled as they extended to their full length; already working up a steady motion. The words where are you going sprang to my lips, but I failed to voice them aloud.
In the next instant, he was gone.