The world erupted in heavy thuds at the front door, reverberating through the house and even into Alice’s sacred haven, her bedroom. I woke with a start, my heart racing, the sound pulling me out of a haze. Disoriented, I blinked at the dim, jewel-toned light that lingered faintly from the night before. This wasn’t my bed.
But then it dawned on me, and a small, sleepy smile began to curve my lips. I was here. With Alice.
Another loud thud shattered the moment. The smile froze, then slipped away entirely. I could hear Mr. Caldwell—Professor Caldwell stumbling downstairs, his shuffling footsteps accompanied by a loud crash.
“What the fuck, man,” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep and irritation. Another clatter. “Damn plant…”
He stubbed his toe, no doubt, but it wasn’t just the pain fueling his frustration. His voice carried the unmistakable edge of someone wrenched too early from a world of dreams.
“Yeah, hang on, dude! It’s friggin’ 5:30 in the morning!” he bellowed.
Next to me, Alice stirred, her red curls a fiery mess around her face. She opened her eyes slowly, blinking at me as though my presence was the most natural thing in the world. Her sleepy smile sent a jolt of calm through me, even as the commotion downstairs continued.
“What’s going on?” she murmured, her voice hoarse and cracking like salt on a winter highway.
I didn’t have time to answer. From below, we heard the familiar rasp of the security chain sliding back, followed by the heavy creak of the front door opening just a sliver.
“Yeah?” Mr. Caldwell’s gruff tone carried up the stairs.
Faint voices replied—the police. My heart sank.
“…missing boy…David Shepherd…blue eyes…”
Then, clear as day, her name.
“An Agnes Shepherd, the boy’s mother, was pretty adamant about him heading this way last night,” one of the officers said, his voice steady but firm.
“David?” Mr. Caldwell repeated, his tone shifting from irritation to mild curiosity. “Yeah, I think he showed up here last night. Visiting my daughter. Why?”
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. Beside me, Alice’s face lit with an unholy gleam. Her nose twitched, her eyes brightening as a mischievous grin spread across her lips.
“Come,” she whispered urgently, leaping out of bed. She moved with a chaotic grace, her bare body utterly unbothered by my presence.
“What are you—” I started, but she cut me off, tossing open a drawer with a soft thud and digging through its contents.
“Here.” She threw a set of pajamas onto the bed—a pair of flannel pants and an oversized shirt that smelled faintly of lavender and weed. “Put them on.”
Still dazed, I obeyed, slipping into the loose clothing. The fabric was soft against my skin, swallowing me whole. Alice darted over as soon as my head popped through the neckline, shoving a toothbrush into my mouth with a gleeful smile.
“Brush,” she commanded, and I did as she said, though my hands shook slightly.
She stepped back, surveying me like an artist admiring their canvas. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pursing as she adjusted my hair with quick, efficient fingers.
“There,” she said with a satisfied nod. “Perfect.”
“Alice…” I began, my voice muffled around the toothbrush. “What are we doing?”
“Saving your ass, obviously,” she replied, her grin widening.
Her confidence was infectious, even as panic simmered beneath the surface of my skin. She grabbed her toothbrush, plaid pajama shorts, and tank top from the floor and slipped them on in record time.
“Follow my lead,” she said, her voice low and steady, her green eyes locking onto mine.
Before I could respond, she grabbed my hand and led me out of the room.
We crept down the stairs as quietly as possible, the soft creak of the old wood beneath our feet threatening to betray us. At the bottom of the stairs, Mr. Caldwell’s looming figure stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the porch.
“Are you sure you saw him leave, Professor Caldwell?” one of the officers asked, his tone tinged with irritation and the faintest edge of impatience.
“Sure?” Mr. Caldwell repeated, almost chewing on the word like it was a piece of tough meat. “This entire town is sure there’s an almighty fairy with a wand of doom sitting in the skies watching us, all while disbelieving the shit on their own noses. As far as I know, this is my house, and I’m sure my daughter hasn’t spent the night with some boy.”
There was a brief pause, then, with a less than impressed voice, “Do you mind if we take a look around?”
“Unless you have a warrant, officer, I mind,” Mr. Caldwell shot back. His voice was calm but firm, with an undercurrent of annoyance that was impossible to miss. “Like I mind being woken up in the middle of the night, like I mind being accused of kidnapping, and like I mind being called a liar.”
It was a textbook performance of righteous indignation, and I couldn’t help but marvel at how naturally it came to him. Truth be told, Henry Caldwell had more reasons to keep the police out of his house than he had to solve their missing person case.
The sweet, unmistakable scent of weed lingered faintly in the air—a minor offense, maybe. But the bag of stash sitting in plain sight on the living room table and the seedlings growing under carefully rigged lights in the basement were another matter entirely. This year’s crop was his supplemental pension plan, and he wasn’t about to let some early-morning knock disrupt that.
Henry Caldwell had retired early from academia, not by choice but by mutual agreement with the university board. His lectures, while brilliant, had strayed too often into the realm of controversy, particularly his scathing critiques of organized religion. His favorite phrase, “the almighty fairy with a wand of doom,” had earned him more than a few complaints from parents and alumni alike. Eventually, the board decided his unique brand of irreverence was no longer “a good fit,” and Henry, for his part, seemed more than happy to take their severance package and walk away.
Alice’s nose twitched, and she shot me a sly smile. Before I could stop her, she sprung up, her untamed cascade of red curls bouncing as she bounded down the stairs with deliberate, sleepy innocence.
“What’s going on, Dad? Why are the police here?”
Oh, Alice was good. Her voice carried just the right mix of worry and insecurity, cracking slightly, and her toothbrush dangling from her hand was a masterstroke.
Henry looked over his shoulder, his irritation easing at seeing his daughter. “Oh, hi, pumpkin,” he said casually. “They’re looking for David. Thought he might be here.”
He opened the door a little wider and introduced her to the officers with a nonchalant hand sweep.
“David? Why would he be here?” Alice asked, her tone perfectly pitched between confusion and concern. “He left as soon as we finished our homework.” She paused, adding a little giggle, her green eyes sparkling with feigned amusement. “David? Seriously? He’s not exactly boyfriend material.”
It was masterful. A subtle deflection wrapped in a joke, disarming and dismissive all at once. Then, with a slight frown, she composed herself. “I hope he’s okay, though.”
And then, she did something so bold, so absurdly risky, it left me frozen.
“Besides, officer,” she continued, her tone casual but tinged with the slightest exasperation, “Veronica, my cousin from out of state, came in late last night, and we’ve been chatting about boys all night.”
She didn’t just say it—she sold it, turning her gaze toward me with the casual ease of someone entirely unbothered by the web of lies she’d just spun.
I felt their stares before I looked up, my heart hammering in my chest as frothy toothpaste dripped onto the steps. Mr. Caldwell’s calm, bleary expression shifted subtly, his eyes narrowing as if trying to fit together the jagged edges of a shattered puzzle.
For a split second, I thought we were doomed. But then, his gaze flicked to Alice, steady and confident, and something clicked.
“Yes,” he said smoothly, his voice steady as a rock. “My niece Veronica came by late last night.”
The officers exchanged glances, their suspicion melting into something closer to mild confusion. One of them scribbled something into his notebook, the faint scratch of the pen breaking the silence.
“All right, Professor Caldwell,” the taller one said, at last, clearing his throat. “If you see him or have any other useful information…” His gaze flickered to Alice and me before settling back on the professor. “Be sure to give us a call.”
Alice’s dad arched a brow, his stance relaxed but radiating authority. “And?”
The officers hesitated, glancing at each other. The air grew awkward, the weight of Henry’s unyielding gaze pinning them in place.
“Sorry to have troubled you,” the taller officer muttered at last, his voice low.
“Sorry to have troubled you, what?” Henry prompted, his tone sharper now.
“Sorry to have troubled you, sir,” the officer corrected quickly, his discomfort palpable.
“Professor,” Henry said with finality, his voice smooth as he eased the door shut. The sound of the latch clicking punctuated the moment like a period at the end of a sentence.
There was a silence, partly as we waited for the cruiser to leave the driveway but mostly to let this new reality settle.
Mr. Caldwell’s gaze drifted slowly, moving from me to Alice, then back again. His eyes held a softness I hadn’t noticed before, a quiet acceptance that tightened my chest.
“Veronica,” he said finally, the name rolling off his tongue, particularly lingering on the r as if savoring it. “It suits you, kiddo.”
Alice grinned and stood on her toes to kiss her father’s bearded cheek. Her fiery curls tumbled over her shoulder in sharp contrast to his unruly mop of graying hair and wild, untamed beard. They were in odd harmony, her youth and vibrancy dancing against his quiet, weathered presence.
“I’ll put on the coffee,” she said, her voice light as if this was just another morning. She glanced over her shoulder, her green eyes sparkling with warmth. “Come join us, Veronica.”
We sat around the kitchen table, the scent of strong coffee mingling with the faint traces of lavender and smoke from upstairs. Mr. Caldwell’s calm eyes lingered on me, his fingers cradling his mug as if he were dissecting a puzzle he’d already solved but enjoyed keeping to himself. He must have noticed something in my eyes.
“Veronica,” he said, “I may not be much of a father, but Alice has found a way to forgive me for that. And fear not, for all my shortcomings, this house is love. It’s always been love, and you—truly you—have a home here for as long as you need one.”
A tear trailed from the corner of my eye, “Thank you, Mr. Caldwell.”
“Henry,” he said, “But we have a conundrum here, a puzzle to solve. David has to get to school today.”
My heart raced at the sound of that name, so far removed from what I’d felt just hours before. Henry didn’t miss a beat, his gaze flickering between Alice and me as if waiting to see how we’d handle the tension.
Always a step ahead, Alice leaned back in her chair, brushing her hair out of her face. “Of course, he does,” she said nonchalantly, though I caught the twitch of her nose as she calculated our next move.
She tilted her head, her green eyes locking onto me. “You’ve got to graduate, babe. That’s the deal. Veronica can’t exist without that diploma.”
Henry smirked slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he was holding back a laugh. “Smart girl,” he said, raising his mug to Alice in a silent toast.
“Eat,” Alice said, nudging my plate toward me. “You’ll need the energy.”
After breakfast, Alice led me back upstairs, her pace brisk but her tone gentle.
“We’ve got to make sure you’re ready,” she said, rummaging for my clothes.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, the oversized pajamas clinging to me like a remnant of the night before. Veronica lingered in my reflection, her presence undeniable. But then Alice handed me the familiar hoodie and jeans, the fabric rough and foreign in my hands.
“You know the drill,” she said, her voice softer now. “School is David’s world. But after that? And in between? You’re my honey-laced queen.”
She helped clean off the smudged makeup and brushed my hair out, tying it back into its usual messy style, her fingers quick and efficient. Her eyes met mine in the mirror, and her smile softened. “She’s still in there,” she whispered. “This is just a mask we need for a few more months. We’re playing the long game, babe.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. The transformation felt like a betrayal as if I was erasing everything we’d built together. But I knew she was right. David had to finish this one last chapter.
By the time I was ready, or as prepared as I could manage, Alice was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, her wild curls framing her freckled face. “Remember,” she said, calm and steady, “you’re almost there. Just a few more months, and you’re out.”
Out. Yes, out and lost, and Alice would ride into her new world, her new adventures, and her new life. Where would I go? Where do you go when the only destination is the determination to get away?
Henry appeared at the bottom of the stairs, holding his mug of coffee like it was an extension of himself. He looked at me, his eyes warm but piercing. “Don’t let them get to you,” he said. “You’ve got this, kiddo.”
The walk back to my house to catch the bus felt heavy, the hoodie pulling at my shoulders like a physical weight. Images of Alice, her hair, and her unwavering smile played inside my head, and then suddenly, Veronica’s blue eyes and her whisper.
“You got this. For me. You got this.”
And there, hiding from view from my kitchen window and my mother’s judgmental, staring eye, I made her a promise: For her, and her alone. I got this.
The bus arrived, and as I stepped on, I felt the stares of my classmates already settled in their seats. The air felt suffocating, the noise overwhelming, and the hurling insults started immediately. But I reminded myself of Alice’s words—of her unwavering belief in me. I’d get through today, tomorrow, and every day after that until I could leave David behind for good.
Every bump, crack, foul stench of diesel, and relentless taunts were familiar, but today, they seemed to brush off, not penetrating as deeply. I studied my hand, its delicate elegance unmistakable, and for a moment, I saw only her—her strength, beauty, and grace. My chest tightened as a wave of fear struck: what if someone else saw her, saw me? The thought of their prejudice weighed on me like a vice. Then, a reassuring thought slipped in—no one had truly seen me a single day through high school. That truth made a small smile creep to my lips, a quiet comfort washing over me.
That comfort shattered the moment the bus rounded the corner of High Street. The sight of police cruisers outside the school made it crash around me.
There was an immediate buzz of hushed voices and frantic whispers: What are the police doing at school? Who or what are they looking for? The air on the bus thickened with unease as the students craned their necks, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening outside.
A police officer stepped forward, waving the bus through. The driver obeyed, pulling into the lot. As the bus hissed to a stop, the doors creaked open with a metallic groan. The officer climbed aboard, his boots heavy against the bus floor.
His gaze swept over the seated students before he spoke, his voice steady but authoritative.
“Is there a David Shepherd on board?”
My name cracked like a whip across my back, and the laughter from the back of the bus rose in waves, their taunts echoing like a chorus of mockery.
“What’d you do, Tiny? Steal from the collection plate?”
“Oh, little Shepherd’s in trouble! Bet he finally took his freak act too far!”
“Did you swipe from the cookie jar, Tiny? Oh, wait—never mind, you couldn’t reach that high!”
“Dwight Elrond Wright?” the officer barked, his voice booming through the bus, cutting through the chaos. “Unless you want me to have a little chat with you about your stunt outside the liquor store the other day, I suggest you shut your yap and take your little entourage out of here. And do it quietly.”
The bus fell into dead silence, the air thick with tension, before everyone began to scuttle out, heads down and murmuring.
The officer turned his gaze to me. “Are you David?” he asked, his tone now calm but firm.
I nodded, my throat tight.
“You’d better come with me,” he said. “Your family’s filed a missing person report.”
The police cruiser felt like an open space and a summer breeze compared to the bus. Their questions came quickly, spoken with practiced care:
“Where have you been staying?”
“Has anyone prevented you from leaving or held you against your will?”
“Are you hurt or in any danger?”
I shook my head or nodded where it felt right, my voice catching in my throat. The officer studying me had kind eyes but a sharp tone. He glanced at my clothes, my messy hair, and the dark circles under my eyes.
“Do you feel safe at home?” he asked, his voice softening slightly.
He must have seen the hesitation in my eyes but accepted my whispered “yes.”
“Do you need us to contact anyone for you?”
“What about food? Have you been eating regularly?”
His partner scribbled notes, the pen scratching against the clipboard like a metronome, while the other officer kept his eyes on me, waiting. He was not pressuring, but he was not letting up either. After a moment, he exchanged looks with his partner, got out, and slid into the back seat beside me.
“Look, kid,” he said, his tone low and steady, “I—we—get it. It’s a small town. God knows Anthony and I have been trying to transfer from here for years.” He paused, glancing toward his partner before lowering his voice. “Growing up ain’t easy as it is, but… for guys like us? Towns like this are a smoldering death trap.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pressed a small card into my hand. “I’m Adam. If you ever get in trouble, here’s my number. Don’t call the office—just me.” His lips quirked into a faint, knowing smile. “Now, get outta here.”
School was unbearable on any given day, but I had turned disappearing into an almost perfect art. It’s hard to vanish when you’re suddenly the main attraction. The stares were glaring, the whispers sharp, and the pointing fingers everywhere. Worse still, the attention meant Alice kept her distance. I only caught fleeting glimpses of her fiery crimson aura and one brief look from her eyes that seemed to say, “You’ve got this.”
At lunch, heading to my locker, I found her note. It was nonsensical and utterly Alice—a printed card that read, “Why did the mares fear the unicorn? Because he was horny!” It wasn’t the joke that got me through the day; it was the handwritten reminder scrawled beneath: “You got this, babe.” And taped to the card was a lock of her red hair.
A whiff of lavender and the sweet scent of weed brushed my nostrils, and I felt grounded for the first time that day.
I thought about walking home from school; the bus ride seemed less inviting than usual. The thought of the stares, the whispers, and the snide remarks made my stomach twist. Walking felt like it might offer some solace, a chance to breathe, even if it meant trudging through the biting chill of March, winter refusing to let go of its icy grip.
I’d be late for dinner, but considering I had ignored my curfew entirely and my parents had already issued a missing person report, I wasn’t sure how much more trouble I could be in. The tension was a noose waiting at the end of the day, and the thought of walking delayed the inevitable.
Still, I was drained. My body ached like it was carrying the weight of the day—and everything else I couldn’t say aloud. I wasn’t even sure my feet would carry me the whole way. Sitting on that bus, surrounded by the suffocating noise and judgment, felt impossible.
Yet, I endured it. And somehow, I can’t recall any of it. All I could feel was the weight of what awaited me at home. I dreaded it—dreaded it like the wrathful visions from The Book of Revelation.
“But the cowardly, the unbelieving, the vile, the murderers, the sexually immoral, those who practice magic arts, the idolaters, and all liars—they will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death.”
I was a coward and unbeliever, most certainly vile in my mother’s eyes…sexually immoral, undoubtedly. But I was already enduring the fiery lake of sulfur every second of being in that house, and then I realized. Veronica could never survive there.
My feet felt heavy as I stepped out of the bus. More so than usual. I didn’t have time to reflect; she was already standing on the porch, arms crossed, and that stare she had reserved for when she needed to strike down with the wrath of God.
She said nothing as I walked up the driveway and stayed in silence as I set foot on the cobblestone path, but she started as soon as I set foot on the stairs.
“Where have you been, David,” the words wheezing out of her like steam from a kettle left too long, sharp, hissing, and ready to blow.
My foot had barely landed; now, I needed the strength to raise the other one and convince myself to take the next step.
“Do you even hear me!” she shrieked as if the entire world needed to know of my impending doom.
I managed to land my foot with a heavy thud, but I could move no more. I looked up, and behind her, Dad’s looming figure, as if backing up her every word.
“I…I can’t do this,” I hissed back.
“Oh, you are doing this, young man, and you are doing this right now!”
For years, I had swallowed her venom, endured their shadows, and made myself small enough to disappear. But something inside me snapped, a dam breaking wide open, flooding me with everything I had held back for so long.
“No, Mother,” I yelled, making sure not only the Franklins next door heard me, but everyone between there and Church Street and across Tumblers Lake knew. We’re not doing this now, not tomorrow, never again. Calling the police? How about at least dialing my number to see if I’m okay first?”
My foot climbed another step.
“Where do you think you’re coming from? Where did your life take such a horrible turn, twisting you into this? Who are you to take all that is beautiful in this world and turn it into something ugly?”
My stare shifted to Dad.
“And you? A fucking puppet in her hands, when did you ever carry a single thought, a single fragment of reflection that was your own and not hers?”
I managed another step, standing on the porch.
“Why do you hate all that is good, Mother?”
“God is good!” she hissed, as if cruelty were divine justice, “You are vile!”
Dad took a step out from her shadow.
“See what he’s doing to us, Alfred? It’s him, bringing down the curse for…for that night. Surely, I was sinful at birth—sinful from the time I conceived him. He should have stayed unborn!”
“I fucking wish I had stayed unborn!” I yelled.
Then, Dad stepped forward, his face twisted into something I had never seen before—rage—rage mixed with unforgivable amounts of shame. His hand was on my neck before I could react, and I tumbled down the stairs like discarded garbage, like unwanted trash.
“Get Out of My House!” he screamed, “And stay out!”
My head hit the cobblestone pathway, but the front door slamming rang louder in my ears. As I lay there, something in me lifted—escaped—and as I stumbled to my feet, I felt…lighter. Empty?
I pressed my hand to my head—a small bump, a scratch. Nothing that mattered. My feet moved before I could decide where to go, carrying me halfway around Tumblers Lake before my phone buzzed in my pocket.
“How’d it go?”
The text blurred on the screen as I started laughing—hysterical, gasping laughter that tore out of me like I’d been holding it forever. It didn’t last. The sobs swallowed it whole as I dropped to my knees, my body shaking under the weight of everything I couldn’t bear.
I don’t know how I stood again, but somehow, I stumbled toward the dam. It held the lake afloat, its still surface feeding the fertile fields below. It was everything I wasn’t—stable, strong…sustaining life.
“He should have stayed unborn.”
The words echoed in my head as I stared down at the waterfall. It roared beneath the dam, a surging invitation, hissing, “It can all end here. Right now.”
I paced back and forth between the calm surface of the lake and the raging water below, my mind as unsteady as my feet. The stillness mocked me, and the roar of the falls taunted me. I found nothing to hold on to, nothing to ground me.
Then, my phone rang. Not a buzz—a ring.
I froze.
She never rang.
“Are you okay?” The words spilled out of her before I could even clear my throat.
“Where are you?” Her voice wavered, raw with despair.
“Veronica, I hear thunder. Are you there?”
Her words shattered the roaring in my head, cutting through the noise like a lifeline. For a moment, I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. My grip on the railing tightened, the cold metal grounding me as I blinked back the tears clouding my vision.
In the stillness of the lake, her reflection stared back at me. She was frightened—no, terrified—but there was something else, a flicker of strength I didn’t know I possessed. And she was beautiful. Stunningly beautiful, with so much to live for.
I cleared my throat, my voice raw. “They kicked me out.”
The words hung in the air, fragile and heavy. Alice didn’t say anything at first, but I could hear her breathing, steady and sure. It was enough.
“Stay,” she said in a half whisper as my knees gave in, and I buckled to the concrete.
I sobbed. The icy wind picked up, and I sobbed. As the wet flurries started drifting across the lake and whipping across my back, I sobbed.
Then I heard her running footsteps, quick and urgent, her boots crunching against the path. She crouched next to me, wrapping her arms around me, holding me like she feared I’d slip away if she let go. She sobbed with me, her warmth battling the cold that threatened to consume me.
When Henry finally caught up with her, he didn’t say a word. He just wrapped us in his wool blanket, pulling it tight around our shivering bodies, and then embraced us both. His arms trembled as he held us, and soon, his sobs joined ours.
The drive back was quiet. Alice sat in the backseat with me, her arms never leaving my shoulders, her silence speaking louder than words. Henry said nothing either, his hands steady on the wheel of the Citroën as if the sound of the engine alone could guide us home.
Now, as I lay in the hot water of Alice’s tub, scented with lavender but mostly with love, the earth finally started to settle within me again. Alice sat by my side, her presence steady, but the stars in her eyes had disappeared. I hated myself for making them go out.
That bump…” she started, her voice barely above a whisper.
“My father,” I said, my voice heavier than I expected.
The truth hung between us, unspoken but understood. The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it carried everything neither of us knew how to say.
“Let’s get you dressed, babe,” she whispered, handing me the towel.
As I got up, she turned her gaze—not for her own comfort, but as a quiet courtesy to mine. As I took the towel, her hand brushed mine with that touch only Alice could manage, soft and grounding in a way that felt like home. She turned to leave, then hesitated, stopping in her tracks.
“Are you okay, babe?”
“No,” I said, my lip trembling. “Stay?”
I heard her exhale—not out of impatience or annoyance, but as if a deep shadow had lifted from her. When she turned back, the tears on her cheeks didn’t bother me. All I saw was the sparkle returning to her eyes like the stars I thought I’d extinguished. She stepped closer and wrapped me in her arms.
“Did I do this to you?” she sobbed, her voice breaking, “Did I push you too hard? Take you somewhere you didn’t want to go?”
“No,” I whispered, the words carrying the weight of everything I’d felt over the last few days, everything that had unraveled since Alice found Veronica, “You haven’t taken me far enough.”
Alice gently took the towel from my hands and softly patted me dry.
“Well, then,” she whispered, her voice soft and steady. “We should start piecing you back together, starting right here.”
She leaned in and gently kissed the bump on my brow, her lips lingering as if to heal it with her touch. Then she kissed my cheek, warm and comforting, before moving to my mouth—a grounding kiss filled with quiet love. Her lips trailed to my neck, where her breath sent shivers down my spine, and finally, she rested her hand over my heart.
“And here,” she murmured, pressing a kiss just above it. “Right here, where you’ve always been whole.”
Her giggles bubbled up, spreading through her entire body as her hand slid lower.
“But obviously not down here,” she teased, her voice dripping with mischief. “She’s already excited.”
She kissed me again, slow and deliberate, then pulled me into the bedroom, where she carefully wrapped my hair in a towel. The tenderness of the gesture warmed me, her hands steady and gentle, as if I were something precious.
Then she rummaged through the dresser, pulling out a pair of pajamas that were, thankfully, a better fit than the ones I had worn that morning. Once I was dressed, she tended to the bruise on my forehead with the focus of a nurse before smearing what could only be described as gunk all over my face.
“What are you doing?” I asked, more than a little confused.
“This,” she said, a grin spreading across her lips, “is called a face mask. My aunt gave it to me for Christmas. I have no idea what it’s supposed to do, but apparently, it’s what we girls put on our faces when we need comfort.”
Her giggles were intoxicating, the sound spilling over and filling the room like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Finally, she spun my chair around, and I stared into the mirror.
“This,” she said softly, her voice filled with warmth, “is also Veronica. This is Veronica, centered and indulgent.”
She placed her hands gently on my shoulders, letting the moment linger before flashing a mischievous grin. “Come on, let’s go downstairs. Dad swears by chicken noodle soup in times like this. And, let me tell you, he makes a wicked soup.”
The kitchen lay bathed in a cozy ember, the soft glow of a single kerosene lamp hanging above the round table. That morning’s hurried breakfast chaos felt like a distant memory as if it had happened in another lifetime.
Henry stood by the stove, humming a tune only he seemed to know. His voice was low and tuneless, filling the room with a soothing presence. The unmistakable aroma of garlic and basil wafted through the air, wrapping around us like a warm embrace.
“Oh, there you are,” he began, turning around mid-sentence. When his eyes landed on me, he froze briefly before exclaiming, “Oi, good grief! You should come with a warning label!”
“So should your sense of humor, Dad,” Alice quipped, kissing his cheek as she breezed past him.
Me? I giggled nervously. Girlishly nervously, the kind of sound girls make in front of their friend’s father. A strange but oddly comforting sound that settled me in a calm peace. A much-needed peace.
Alice was right. Henry made a wicked chicken noodle soup, served with perfectly toasted bread, his signature dish. But something else about this meal felt strangely out of place for me. There was no prayer, no waiting on Dad, no sacred ceremony to transform a simple meal into something it wasn’t.
Instead, there was chatter and laughter. There were burps and casual comments. There was unity. And it was all new to me.
“It’s been a hell of a day,” Henry said, lowering the bowl from his mouth with a satisfied sigh. “Let’s try to pace ourselves the next few days, okay?”
He brushed his hand through his beard, rubbing his belly contentedly. “Just put the dishes in the sink. I’ll get to them tomorrow—I should be able to squeeze it in between breakfast and a nap. You girls scuttle off to bed.”
“What about you, Dad?” Alice asked, her tone teasing.
“You know me. There’s this book I can’t put down and…”
“And a joint you haven’t quite finished and a bottle of fine brandy just waiting for the right occasion, am I right?” she quipped, grinning.
“Yeah. You know me,” he said, his grin breaking into a warm, hearty laugh.
Alice collected the plates, rinsed them, and carefully stacked them in the sink. Then, she leaned in to kiss her father’s cheek once more.
“Goodnight, Dad. I love you. Don’t stay up too late—I want pancakes in the morning.”
With that, she grabbed my arm, her red curls flying in every direction as her excitement pulled me along. Halfway through the doorway, she suddenly stopped, causing me to crash into her back. She turned to her dad with an exaggerated pout.
“Oh, and I’m running low on weed. Fix me up, pretty please?”
The ease of Alice’s room was a welcome retreat. I got it now, the lavender. It had a way of finding, smoothing, and winding you down.
“Let’s get this gunk off your pretty face,” Alice said with a smile as she ushered me into the bathroom. I was sure I could wash my own face, but her hands on me—her tender care—was an indulgence I wasn’t about to deny myself.
“There you go. Pretty little you again,” she said softly as she picked up her toothbrush.
I stood there, listening to the cascading water in the sink. It started as a gentle trickle, harmless and soothing, but as it continued, the sound grew louder in my mind, twisting into the hurried roar of a waterfall. My breath caught as the memory tugged at me, sharp and unrelenting—the spray of icy water, the deafening rush, the pull of the dam whispering its invitation.
I gripped the edge of the counter, grounding myself. It’s just the sink, I told myself, forcing my eyes back to the present and the soft glow of Alice’s bathroom. I focused on the sound of my breathing, on the steady rhythm of my pounding heart. Slowly, the menace faded, leaving only the faint gurgle of water swirling down the drain.
She finished brushing and gave me one of her twitching stares, assessing me in that way only she could. She must have decided the answer was yes—I was okay.
“I’m off to bed,” she said, her voice softer now. “I’m truly knackered. I’ll be waiting. I might be sleeping, but I’m waiting.”
She closed the door behind her, and I missed her presence the moment she was gone. I stood there, still stuck in the kitchen in my mind, replaying the laughter, the casual chatter, and the unity I had felt. Is that what a family meal is all about? Is that what family is about?
I undid the towel around my head, and David’s messy locks tumbled into my face. I ran my fingers through it, trying to figure out what Alice did to make it… wonderful. I traced my fingers through it, trying to replicate her touch and her care, but eventually, I gave up.
I brushed my teeth and tiptoed into the bedroom. It had taken me too long to process and catch up with her; she was already asleep.
I could have stared at her for hours. I wondered how long it took her to charge—to become that fireball of life, that steady pillar of undying confidence, that well of wisdom and love. Now, her gentle breathing, cute little nose, and wild curls were perfectly still. I hadn’t seen it before, her beauty. I had known her for sixteen years, and she had always been just Alice. And, no, she wasn’t just beautiful. She was stunning.
I pulled the covers gently to the side and paused as I realized Alice always slept nude. It didn’t feel like prying, like I was invading her—it felt natural. Her curves, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the way her skin seemed to glow even in the dim light… I studied her every line, wondering if I could ever possess such grace, such elegance.
I was about to slip under the covers with her, but something didn’t feel right.
Slowly, I pulled my pajama top over my head, folding it like a cherished treasure, and placed it neatly on the dresser. I undid the tie at the front of my bottoms, letting them slide to the floor like silk over my thighs. Bending down, deliberately, catlike, I picked them up. I wished she could have seen me in that moment.
Even so, I hesitated. The weight of my skin still felt unfamiliar. My gaze fell to the pile of her clothes on the floor beside the bed. I picked up each garment one by one, breathing in her scent as I folded them carefully and placed them on the dresser.
Her panties? They were all I needed. The comfort of her against my skin was grounding and reassuring.
I slipped under the covers, feeling her warmth against me. Skin on skin, I let myself melt into the sensation, the quiet peace of belonging.
***
Morning woke us up to the smell of pancakes. Pancakes and bacon, and the scent of Alice’s hair tickling my nose. I smiled. My entire body smiled. I brushed a lock of curls from her brow, and her green eyes slid open, greeting me in a way that assured me it was indeed a good morning.
She rolled over on her side, facing me, then pulled me close.
“Your skin on mine,” she sighed, her voice low and heavy, “is a brutal temptation in the morning.”
Soft yet insistent, her words hung in the air as her body pressed against mine. I could feel the heat radiating from her, the subtle shift in her breathing as it deepened, her chest rising and falling against me. Her fingertips brushed along my back, light as whispers, and her thighs tangled with mine, the weight of her leg draped over me like an invitation.
I smiled, the warmth of her kiss spreading through me as she pressed her lips to mine. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a slow, deliberate pull, drawing me into her orbit, her need unmistakable. Her breath was hot against my skin, her fingers finding delicate patterns along my spine, coaxing a shiver from deep within me.
It would have been so easy to surrender, lose myself in her touch’s rhythm and the magnetic pull of her desire. Every inch of me ached to stay in that moment, to drown in her.
But something tugged at me, pulling me back.
It took strength to let her go, to pull myself from her warmth, her fire. I pressed my forehead to hers, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I want to have breakfast with you before…”
“Before David,” she sighed, her lips brushing against mine as the words fell between us like a quiet surrender.
She stole one more kiss before sitting up, not finding her clothes where she left them. I pointed at the dresser, and she blushed slightly.
“See?” she said, “We complement each other. I’m a mess, and you’re tidy to a fault.”
Henry’s pancakes were as soothing as his soup, and his coffee bit like an angry pit bull. But it wasn’t the meal or the coffee that wrapped me in such warm comfort; it was the comfort itself. The easy rhythm of Alice’s friendly banter with her dad, their playful jokes, and the way his warm presence filled the room. His undying support for her, even when she was wrong, though that rarely happened—felt like something out of another world.
Alice yawned, stretching lazily, her fiery curls catching the light. Her gaze found mine, those same eyes that had seen through the boy I used to be and into the girl I was becoming.
“It’s time, babe,” she whispered, her voice soft but laced with the kind of quiet determination only Alice could pull off.
“Thank you, Henry,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected, “not just for breakfast, but…for everything.”
I hesitated, but not for long, unsure if it was too much. When I kissed his cheek, it felt natural and even grounding.
He squeezed my hand softly, his eyes crinkling with warmth. “Sure thing, kiddo.”
Alice’s hand slid into mine, her grip firm but gentle. “Come on,” she said, pulling me up from the chair. “We’ve got to get David ready.”
I groaned softly, the weight of what that meant settling back onto my shoulders. Alice didn’t let me dwell. She tugged me along, her voice light as she teased, “Don’t give me that look. You’re halfway through this, babe. Just a few more months, and then David’s out for good.”
Her words sparked something in me—hope, maybe, or the faintest flicker of relief. But they also brought back the weight of the morning ahead. When I’d unlayered myself and wrestled back into David’s clothes, trading softness for sharp angles and oversized fabric, Alice stood by the door, arms crossed, watching me with an encouraging smile.
“You’ve got this,” she said simply, and for a moment, I believed her.
The walk to the bus stop was as heavy as the day before, each step a reminder of the mask I wore, of the role I had to play. But behind me, I could still feel Alice’s presence, her gaze steady and unyielding, even as I boarded the bus.
Not today,” I whispered inside my head as I slid into the cracked seat, letting their hurled insults break against my back. I didn’t hear them; I only heard Alice’s comforting voice: a few more months.
I let my gaze fall to my hand, its soft elegance catching the dim light. I allowed myself to imagine it brushing against her skin—no, not hers. A more rugged, muscular skin. The slight growth of hair on his shoulders as he pushed me up against the steamy tiles of the shower wall, the water cascading over us, hot and relentless…
I gasped as the bus jolted to a stop outside the school, yanking me crudely back to reality. The taunts and jeers hit my ears, but they buckled and fell away like paper thrown into the wind.
Just a few more months.
The thought pulled me through the day, like a lifeline tethering me to something brighter ahead. And then I found Alice’s note tucked into my locker—a small square of paper reaffirming everything.
I saw you smile!
A cutely scribbled heart followed, its ink slightly smudged as if she’d rushed to fold it.
P.S. Still horny.
I couldn’t help but smile, her words tugging at the corners of my lips even as the weight of the day clung to me. By the time I reached the front steps of the Caldwell house, the warmth of Alice’s note was still lingering, but uncertainty crept in.
Should I ring the doorbell or walk in? It wasn’t my house—not really. And yet, it was the only place where I felt I could breathe. My hand hovered over the bell, hesitation thick in the cold air. Before I could decide, the door swung open. Henry stood there, his easy smile as warm and steady as a lighthouse beacon.
“Hey, David,” he said, like he’d been expecting me, like he could see straight into my thoughts. “This is your house, too. You don’t need to knock. Just come in.”
The knot in my chest loosened, and I let out a shaky sigh. “Thank you, Mr. Caldwell.”
“Alice should be home any minute. Want to wait in the kitchen, or…”
Before he could finish, I scuttled past him, taking the stairs two at a time. I slipped into Alice’s bedroom and shut the door behind me.
I stood there, trembling, my breath coming in short bursts. The weight of the day pressed down on me like a vice. Slowly, methodically, I started pulling off the layers of David—peeling him away like a skin that never fit—discarding the pieces in a crumpled pile in the darkest corner of the room—my shirt, my jeans, the suffocating remnants of who I could no longer stand to be.
I turned to the mirror, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, and there I was. Me.
By the time Alice entered, I was sitting cross-legged and bare feet on her bed, a silk blouse I had found at the very back of her closet, the price tag still on, and a pair of smooth tights that hugged me so right, and a cute little skirt adorned with unicorns with small signs reading “Unicorns for world peace.”
Alice paused in the doorway, her arms crossed, a smirk already tugging at her lips. “Well,” she said, tilting her head as her eyes scanned me. “You may be beautiful, but your fashion sense…” She trailed off, raising an eyebrow, “…is an absolute crime.”
I glanced down at the unicorns on the skirt, their tiny signs of peace mocking me in pastel perfection, and felt a flush creep up my neck.
“I-I thought it was cute,” I stammered, tugging at the hem.
Alice stepped closer, her smirk softening into something warmer, her nose twitching just slightly. “Relax, babe,” she said, plopping down on the bed beside me. “It’s adorable. But next time, we’re adding heels.”
Dinner was smooth and delightful, filled with easy conversation and the quiet comfort of belonging. As I thanked Henry, leaning in to kiss his cheek, it felt natural, heartfelt, and sincere.
“Ready for homework?” Alice teased as we headed back upstairs, her voice light but with a glint of encouragement in her eyes. “You’ve got this, babe. And I’ve got you.”
Alice found new ways to approach each assignment, each little question on the pages, and helped me attack them from different angles, but still, I struggled.
“I’m trying!” I yelled, my frustration boiling over. “It just doesn’t compute. It doesn’t make sense. My mind isn’t built like yours, but believe me, I’m trying!”
Alice leaned back in her chair, unfazed by my outburst. Her expression softened, but when she spoke, her voice rasped and clipped, each word twisting strangely like she was gargling gravel and imitating some long-forgotten sage with a questionable grasp of grammar.
“No. Try not. Do… or do not. There is no try.”
I stared at her, stunned into silence. Then, I giggled. “What was that?”
Her look was a mix of utter disbelief and mild offense. “Yoda? Star Wars? No?”
“Yoda? Star Wars? No…” I echoed, still trying to process what I’d just heard. “I mean, I’ve heard of Star Wars, but…”
Her jaw dropped slightly as she stared at me like I’d just confessed I was from another planet. “One hasn’t just heard of Star Wars,” she said, incredulous. “It’s Star Wars. It’s… life. Well, aside from the sequels, the prequels… ugh… and Disney.”
“Look…” I said, quieter now, “I’ve never been to a movie theater. We never had a TV. I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
Alice froze, her jaw dropping as if I’d declared the earth flat. “You mean, that little boy my dad fondly remembers me dragging by the hair down at the playground… has no memory of The Force?”
“I have memories of a force…” I muttered.
“No Sam to Frodo?” she pressed, her voice rising in disbelief.
“No…” I hesitated.
“No tears for Snape? No Luke yelling, ‘That’s impossible!’? No Gandalf bellowing, ‘You shall not pass’?”
My silence must have been deafening because she gasped, clutching at her chest like she’d just witnessed a great tragedy. “You’re telling me you’ve missed out on Aslan’s wisdom, Aragorn’s speeches, and Vader’s breathing?!”
Her expression was so pained I almost felt sorry for her.
“What did you guys do for fun?” she asked, utterly sincere.
“Bible study,” I sighed.
Alice threw her hands up dramatically. “Okay, that’s it. Close your books. We’re doing Netflix and chill!”
I had heard the kids at school use the phrase before, and I had a vague idea of Netflix. But it was the way she emphasized the word “chill” that sent a curious thrill through me, leaving my heart racing.
“We need popcorn and drinks,” she declared, already moving into action. “Ugh… I need to find my TV behind this disaster of clothes. And can you take a look under the bed? The remote usually hides there.”
She became a whirlwind, rummaging through drawers and closets, tossing clothes into a growing pile. At one point, she flung the door open and yelled, “Dad! Popcorn!” before grabbing a stack of blankets and throwing them onto the bed with theatrical flair.
When she finally stopped, her cheeks were flushed, her hair slightly mussed from the chaos. She stood before me with that familiar glint in her eyes—the one that always meant trouble.
“But most importantly,” she said, her tone dropping to something playfully suggestive, “we need to slip into some really loose-fitting clothes… you know, for comfort and access.”
The knock on the door momentarily saved me as Henry brought the popcorn, but it was only a brief reprieve before I was swept back into Alice’s world.
I still had no idea how The Fellowship of the Ring ended. The details of the film had blurred into nothingness as I lay now in her embrace, our bodies slick with sweat, her fingers idly tracing patterns across my chest. Somehow, Aragorn had stirred something in her—something primal, something unstoppable—and I couldn’t blame her.
Her kisses, the way they lingered on my skin, the heat of her breath, the electricity in her touch had all consumed me. Her fingers, her perfect, knowing fingers, had found every place that made me gasp, trembling beneath her. I could still feel the ghost of her movements, slow and deliberate, as she pressed herself against me, rubbing her wetness against my thigh, her fingers sliding in and out of me in that same maddening rhythm until the world shattered in waves of pleasure.
Even now, as we lay in the quiet aftermath, her body curled against mine, her breath soft against my shoulder, I felt weightless. Carried away. Changed.
She shifted slightly, her fingers drifting lower, brushing against herself. A deep, satisfied moan escaped her lips, vibrating through the quiet room.
“I taste wild berries and sweet nectar,” she purred, lifting her glistening fingers just an inch from her mouth. “With a slight hint of weed.”
Her tongue spilled out, the tip teasing her finger before she sucked it into her mouth with a kind of greed that left me breathless.
Without thinking, I took her soaked hand and guided it slowly to my lips. I kissed it first, softly, as if stealing a taste, before taking her in fully, letting her aroma fill me from the inside out. The warmth, the sweetness, the essence of her—it consumed me, leaving me drunk on her.
She giggled delightfully, rolled over, and fished her joint off the nightstand. I watched her light it, inhale and exhale, her movements effortless and unhurried. She was just perfect—Alice.
“You never fully answered my question,” I said, soft and hesitant. The moment’s warmth wrapped around us like a cocoon, and the faint haze of smoke lingered in the dim light.
She took a lazy drag of her joint, her nose wiggling slightly as she exhaled. Her curls framed her freckled face in a wild halo, and for a moment, her gaze drifted somewhere far away, that familiar, thoughtful look clouding her eyes.
“Refresh me, babe,” she said, her lips quirking into a smirk. “I’m tired. Cannot compute.”
“Your type,” I said, leaning in just a little closer, my knee brushing hers. “How do I fit in?”
That woke her up. Her eyes snapped to mine, sharp and suddenly alive with that unique Alice energy—the kind that always made me feel like she was the only person who truly saw me. She sat up, crossing her legs as the joint dangled lazily between her fingers. Her gaze softened, though her smile stayed a little wicked, a little knowing.
“Babe,” she began, dragging the word out with a teasing lilt, “we were talking about boys. Girls are so much easier.” She leaned back on one arm, crimson lips quirking into a grin. “There’s the ones you don’t want to be around, hear, or smell—but you’d still fuck them if the mood struck. Because, well, you’re a girl, and sometimes it’s just like that.” She shrugged, unapologetic, her words landing with the casual honesty only Alice could manage.
Her fingers tapped rhythmically on the edge of the bed as she tilted her head, studying me. “Then there are the ones you just want to fuck. No strings, no complications… you know, good times.” She chuckled, the sound warm and low, a soft hum in the quiet room.
She took another slow drag and exhaled through her nose, the smoke curling upward as her eyes locked with mine again. Her voice dropped, her grin softening into something deeper. “And then,” she said, her tone quieter now, “there’s the complicated ones. The ones that steal your heart and make you feel like making love is the only thing you’ll ever want to do with them.”
She paused, letting her words hang heavy and electric in the air. Her free hand reached out, fingers brushing against mine as her expression grew tender.
“That’s you, babe,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re the one who stole my heart. And you’re the only one I want to make love to.”
I felt my throat tighten, my chest swelling with a warmth I didn’t know how to describe. For a moment, I couldn’t speak, move, or even breathe. But I didn’t have to. Alice’s fingers tightened around mine, her presence grounding me in that moment, her words echoing in my head like a song I never wanted to forget.
