Lovely Darkness (Creeping Beautiful)

And that’s fine. She’s allowed to be who she is and I’m allowed to be who I am too.

But I need her to be a little more rebellious right now because I have a plan and I would like her to be my partner in crime.

I hook my arm around her elbow as we stroll. She has never pulled away from my physical contact and I have to say, if the situation were reversed, and I was the one being physically touched by her in a moment like this, I think I would pull away.

It just amazes me how different we are.

I’m pondering this when I hear myself ask a question. “Do you think they planned us this way?”

I feel Wendy pause. Then take a breath. “What do you mean?”

I stop walking, forcing her to stop with me. Then I cock my head at her and smile. “You know what I mean, Wendy. We’re… we were… made, ya know? And we’re so different. The differences between us. It’s like that bright glare on the car in front of you when you’re driving east in the early morning.”

This analogy makes her smile. It’s a road reference, which I admit wasn’t planned. But she likes it, so I’ll take credit anyway.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” she says. “Different, I mean. Your life is so…”

“Storybook?” I giggle.

“No.” She sucks in air, pausing.

I’m still smiling, but I’m starting to sense a change. “What do you mean, then? Different how?”

“You know. You’re so… settled. So… I don’t know how to explain it. So fixed. You know what I mean. You’re here and you have all this.” She pans her hands wide to encompass all of the gardens. The she turns towards the house, but I know she’s not looking at the house. “And I have… that.” She’s looking at her truck.

We spend a few moments staring at that truck. It’s an OK truck. Nicer than the one I’m driving right now. But I just don’t get it. “Why don’t you just buy a house, Wendy?”

“I already have a house. The house I grew up in. It’s a little cabin in Kentucky.”

“Then why don’t you live there?”

“Because Nick lives in Nebraska.”

I scoff a little. Because her reasoning is sorta ridiculous. “So why don’t you just live with him?”

“Because we can’t be together, Indie.” She looks me in the eye. No trace of a smile, now. “I’m dangerous.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Wendy, we’re both dangerous. Hell, even Maggie is dangerous. She’s the one who took the kill shot against Donovan when I simply couldn’t. But that doesn’t mean you can’t be with the ones you love. That you can’t have a proper home. I worry about you. I don’t like you on the road. If I had known that’s how you were livin’—”

“You’d have what?” She smirks. “Rescued me?”

“Yes! I would’ve. I would’ve hunted you down, tied you up, and brought you home. You can stay here. You can have the third floor. Nick can stay too.”

Wendy sighs as she shakes her head. “You just don’t get it.”

“What don’t I get? Tell me what I’m missing. You’re livin’ in your truck, Wendy. You own a house and you live in your truck. And I know you have money. Lots of it, probably. And even if you didn’t, I’d give you some of mine. I mean, for the love of Christ, why don’t you at least buy a fuckin’ motor home?”

She and I are face to face now. Her eyes are not storms the way mine are. They are speckled eggs. They are nature. They are woods. They are so much better than storms.

She says, “I can’t quite decide if you’re lying, or you’re delusional, or you’re just plain stupid, Indie Anna.”

“What?” I’m honestly aghast. “What the hell, Wendy?”

She deflates a little. I don’t think her outburst was meant as an insult. I truly think she’s frustrated with me. “You don’t get it. You’re living here, like this is normal, and you just don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“We’re not meant to have homes. We’re not meant to have stability, or friends, or God fucking forbid, children.”

“Well, why the hell not? We’re people, aren’t we? No different than anyone else in many respects.”

“See, this is where you’re wrong, Indie. We’re not actually people. We’re…” She gets frustrated again and scoffs. “We’re… I don’t even know what we are. Clones, or something.”

I am amused. I even laugh a little. “No. We’re not clones, Wendy. We’re the originals. The clones are those other girls. The two-point-oh or whatever. Where is this coming from?”

“How do you not understand what you are?” She points at me. “I think it’s delusional.”

“Don’t say that,” I snap. I don’t like that word because I am delusional. I conjured up an entire childhood over the past four years. A childhood that may or may not have anything to do with the one I really experienced. And not only that, I wrote it down. Like it really happened. Like I wanted to cement it into my brain and the act of writing did just that. I am literally unable to decipher fact from fiction when it comes to my past.