MY EYES SPRING OPEN, and I’m met with darkness. Not the pitch-black of the dream I just woke from, but the usual darkness at night in my room. I stare up at the ceiling while my racing heart has a chance to calm down.
In my dream, I was back in the black nothingness filled with those tiny specks of light. This time when she appeared, I called her by her name. The sad look in her eyes disappeared for a fraction of a moment and something light and beautiful lit her face. It was the first time I had seen anything other than darkness in her expression. She was beautiful before, but when the misery wasn’t present, she was absolutely stunning.
I was surprised when I moved forward and her translucent form stayed in place. Her amber eyes watched me as I took the steps separating us. Her wildflower scent assailed me when I stopped only inches from her.
She didn’t speak, but she didn’t need to. The ever-present torment in her eyes spoke for her. It told tales of unspoken pain and unbearable sadness. The need to reach out to her, to pull her into my arms and care for her was crippling. The moment I lifted my hand and tried to grab hers, it slipped through her form, leaving behind a chill rushing through my body and a pain so sharp in my chest it had me sucking back a hiss.
“Jules.” My voice broke saying her name.
Her eyes closed as if she was relishing the sound of my voice saying her name. When she opened them a moment later, they grew wide, right before she threw back her head and screamed so loud it pierced my ears. Her back bowed backward, her arms thrown out beside her. I felt completely fucking helpless as agony tore through her.
Almost as fast as it started, the screaming stopped, and she burst into thousands of pieces. She left me feeling broken along with her.
Back in my room, the darkness gives way to the slowly rising sun. I rub the spot on my chest that hurts and pull in a deep breath.
Last night at the hospital, I stayed for hours watching over her, until I knew I had to leave before a different nurse entered the room. They may not be as susceptible to having me there, and I’d prefer to not get caught because I’m not done visiting Jules. I need to stay off radar.
Rubbing my hands down my face, I get out of bed and throw on a pair of jogging pants and a white T-shirt before going to the bathroom. After taking a piss, brushing my teeth, and splashing cold water on my face, I grab my phone from the nightstand and head out to the front door.
My morning routine usually consists of a workout session, but today I need fresh air, so I opt to go for a run instead.
My feet pound the pavement as I take the broken down and neglected streets of southside Silver Hills. Sweat beads my forehead and slides down my cheeks, and I welcome the new ache forming in my chest. This burning pain I can handle, and even welcome.
I pass by old abandoned buildings barely standing, along with a few shops that still manage to stay open. The sorry excuse for an elementary school the city refuses to remodel flies by. There’s a couple of cars in the empty lot, parked driver window to driver window. Drug dealers making a deal, no doubt. School doesn’t start for another hour, so there’s no kids present, but the sight still disgusts me.
I round a corner and the tracks that separate one side of town from the other loom ahead. When I get within a few feet of them, I stop. Bending over, I rest my hands on my knees to give myself a few minutes to catch my breath.
When I stand back up, I use the bottom of my shirt to wipe away the sweat coating my face. I look past the railroad tracks to the north side and notice the differences. The other side has solid roads with no cracks or potholes. They don’t have trash littering the ground. Even the fucking grass is greener on the other side. I roll my eyes at the stupid pun. It’s like the city council has forgotten this part of town even exists.
I’m not bitter about the place I live or how I grew up. Mom and Dad did the best they could with what they had. What pisses me off is there are good families that live on the south side. Good families that have bad shit happen to them because of the piss-poor way the city takes care of this side.
I turn on my heel and start back t
oward home. Five miles seems like a long way, especially after already running the same distance, but the strain on my muscles and the pang in my ribs feel good. Better than the pain I feel every time I wake from a dream.
I’m halfway home when I spot a familiar car coming toward me. It pulls to a stop on the opposite side of the road, and I walk over. Beck, a good friend of mine, throws his fist out the window and I bump mine against it.
“Hey, man. How’s it going?”
“Same shit,” I grunt.
He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, sticks one in his mouth, then lights it. Through a puff of smoke, he asks, “How’s Ella?”
My jaw tightens at the mention of my sister.
“She’s good. Bruises and scrapes will be there for a while, and she’s sore, but you know how tough she is.”
“That I do,” he says with a nod.
In our teens, Beck was over at the house a lot. Theo and I weren’t like most teens with younger siblings. We never cared if Ella was around when friends were over. Our way of thinking, it was better she was with us than out on the streets with her own friends. With Theo and me around, we knew she was protected. That included Beck’s protection. He’s one of the good guys.
“You take care of Chase?”
I give him a look that portrays my answer.
“Shouldn’t have even asked,” he mutters.
“I need you to do me a favor. If you see Cora or Chase on the south side, call me. And pass that shit around.”