Nightfall (Devil's Night 4)

No surprise here. It didn’t bother me.

It felt like Aydin wanted to say something, but it was time to put his lesson to the test. Nothing happened to me. I happened to everyone else. Et cetera, et cetera...

After he left, I put the brownies with walnuts in the oven, cleaned the dishes, and made myself a sandwich that I didn’t eat, because Micah and Rory walked back in, and I didn’t want to be around anyone.

“Brownies are on a timer,” I told them. “Take them out and turn off the oven when it’s done.”

They probably wondered why I’d had to make a second batch, but I was gone before they had a chance to ask.

Just put it out of your mind.

Him wanting me with him last night wasn’t about us. I’d let myself enjoy it and let it mean more than it did when he swept me into his arms.

I never fit with him. I always knew it, because Thunder Bay was Neverland and the Horsemen his tribe, and I hated to play. I didn’t do fun.

And leaving town hadn’t cured me of that.

I drifted into the ballroom, seeing the chandelier hanging high above, its lights illuminated and casting a soft glow over the floor. They’d cleaned up the glass, turned on the breaker again, and I kicked off my shoes, turning around in the big, open space with my head tipped back.

That was why I loved building and designing things. Making someone’s world theirs. It was a chance to fly, and all I needed was a dumb, happy thought.

And I’d had one. Just one that I hung on to all this time.

Spotting a record player near the fireplace, I walked over and dug inside the chest underneath it, seeing a few dozen records stacked together.

There was everything from Mozart to Bennie Goodman to the Eagles, but nothing from this century. It had probably been that long since this place had been inhabited by a family.

I picked one out and slipped it onto the turntable, deciding to embrace everything I hated, including this dumbass song. The stylus hit the record as it spun, and “If You Wanna Be Happy” by Jimmy Soul started playing, and I immediately smiled, remembering my mom and dad dancing to this in the kitchen when I was about seven or eight.

My body moved, and I bobbed my shoulders, hopping around as I sang along. I spun around the room, the music filling the air around me, and for a few precious moments, the guilt and everything faded away.

Fuck him for thinking I was supposed to have everything figured out at sixteen. Fuck him for demanding of me what I couldn’t even give myself. He and Aydin and Martin were all dictators, and I never heard my own voice.

Ever.

And it was my fault. I should’ve said it louder. I should’ve screamed. I hated that I had to, but it was my fault I fell quiet.

I wasn’t a grown-up. He was wrong. I never grew. I was always this pile of dead leaves, blowing in the wind and letting the seasons, whoever they were, come in and change me and walk on me, and I never fought for anything.

I spun and spun, the tears streaming down my face until someone swept me into his arms, and I opened my eyes to see Micah spinning me around as I wrapped my legs around his waist.

He planted his forehead to mine, smiling gently as I started laughing, the saxophone vibrating throughout the room.

“If you wanna be happy for the rest of your life,” we sang, “never make a pretty woman your wife…”

And he spun and spun, and I started laughing so hard as I hugged him to me, catching sight of everyone else by the door watching us.

They must’ve heard the music, too.

God, I didn’t care. I punched my fist in the air, both of us shouting the lyrics like complete idiots. No one was going to tell me how to feel. Not anymore.

No one could make me feel anything I didn’t allow. I was in control.

And I was ready for an adventure.

Emory

Nine Years Ago