Aubrey (Axis Rising)

050:

******050:

I didn't hear, but rather felt Aubrey's presence, and even though I was sitting on my butt with my knees drawn up and my head falling over my elbows, my feet dug into the cooler sand at the top of the tide line, I felt sweat drip down between my shoulder blades. I barely acknowledged her.

Her bare feet came into view off to the right. I was drawn to stare at them, slender, white, and slightly tan, with a faint sandal mark between her toes and across the arched upper part. She wore turquoise nail polish with a pretty sapphire on the fourth toe, along with a tiny silver toe ring. I reached out without moving my body and ran a hand over her ankle, as if examining it for flaws.

The flowy material of her sundress, high in the front and trailing in the back whipped in the hazy breeze. I turned my face, not looking up, and pulled her closer. She took that step.

"You want to talk about it?" Of course, they'd called her, even with strict orders not to bother her, they'd called her. Even Ben knew better than to disturb me in a rage. I hadn't been in one for years.

I didn't answer, knowing she would be worried, and the stress levels could endanger our miracle children inside her. I shook my head, kept massaging her ankle. Looking at it through slanted eyes.

I felt the fury dissipating. I'd learned to control it. No one saw me lose control these days. Ever. It was a matter of pride and a coming of age for me. I'd been there, done that. I was over it. I didn't pitch fits, or throw tantrums. I didn't lose control.

But I had. Today.

The trigger had not been Eli, or his news. It was not even the fact that I resented being involved in their illegal shit anyway.

It was that he had played on my weaknesses. He'd tapped into a side of me that I felt was unresolved. The part of me that did things to get attention, that was a cocksure---- douche bag, uncaring, unsympathetic----

It wasn't even like the interview where I'd been accused of it, or the explanation demanded of me over the camping trip.

This had pointed at evidence. Did you adopt three kids to get attention? To get accolades? To be noticed?

Was I doing it for the fans? The public? Or Aubrey?

Which made me question other things. Church membership--- why? Me? God, or to spite my mother?

And changing views about gays. Had I really ever felt strongly about it all? Or had I done what I did, support who I did, just to get attention? Had I used my voice--- my real voice, the moral voice I'd been gifted with---

Not the talent voice, I mean, the voice that spoke to and influenced people--- that voice. Was I using my voice and being true to myself? To God? To what mattered?

Did bringing the hateful people who had killed Jake and Tim and the others to justice, exposing them for the scumbags they really are, was that number one: in my power, and number two: was it my responsibility?

If I didn't make a more concerted effort, would I be betraying all they lived for and therefore, betraying my image of myself?

Aubrey had lowered herself to the sand. I let my eyes open and squinted at her. The breeze was cooler than it had been for days, and yet it was scorching in its inconsistency. Her skin glistened. She'd taken off all underclothes, I could see that her thin dress--- white light weight linen with golden pinstripes threaded through, and a second more cream color flowing around her--- it covered her like a stream. And it revealed, to one whose eye was trained to see. The misshapen belly, lower, protruding painfully on the left. Her lovely breasts now tipped in a darker, richer coral, and constantly hardened, ready to nurse and nurture our babies. I reached out and finger stroked the area I was looking at, not callously, not in distraction, and not to arouse. Just because she was mine and I could.