Grayson's Body

Garden

Chapter 30: Garden

garden gar·​den | \ ˈgär-dᵊn \Definition of garden

(Entry 1 of 3)

1a: a plot of ground where herbs, fruits, flowers, or vegetables are cultivated

b: a rich well-cultivated region

c: a container (such as a window box) planted with usually a variety of small plants

2a: a public recreation area or park usually ornamented with plants and trees

a botanical garden

b: an open-air eating or drinking place

c: a large hall for public entertainment

He stopped walking towards me. If anything, he froze stiffer than some statue left to rot in a foreign garden. There was that odd mix of emotions on his shining face. My eyes went over the dark circles under his eyes, and I clenched my teeth together. There was a mix of lust, and longing, but familiarity and caution there too. Now, it was shocked.

And then it was angry.

Somewhere there was a rumble. It was deep, and loud, and I could tell that rain was coming. I wondered for a moment what the students who went to the formal would do as they got out of the dance to be met by a downpour of rain. I wondered how many of them would complain with tight faces, and quick movements.

I pictured the girls in their high heels, feet sore from dancing, grabbing onto each other as they took the long black concrete walk to their vehicles; there hair would be soaking wet, and their makeup running.

"Excuse me?" He said, his eyebrows crinkling up, his head turning slightly to the side.

"You heard me," I said, and watched him shift his weight from his left leg to his right. Then, he did it again.

He left out a scoff, his face turning into that of smugness.

"You think I'm insecure? Shit. How can I be insecure? I think I am pretty fucking great, for your information, Ethan."

He shook his head as I stared at him, and crossed his arms tighter over his chest, and said, "I saved your life. You would be dead right now if it weren't for me."

I felt something shift in me. It was hot, like putting one's hands near a pot of boiling water on the stove and feeling the steam cling to one's hands. It felt wet, and hot, and angry. It was like a kettle full of burning hot tea screeching that it was done.

It was screeching against me.

It was inside of me.

I balled my hands into fists at my side as the first droplets of rain began to fall outside. I heard it on the roof, and it ping ping pinged in my ears. I let one fist go and raised my hand to my wet hair, running my palm through the strands.

"No, I wouldn't be," I said, "Us going to Melody Lane? That was your fault. You drinking my spiked drink? That was your fault. I didn't ask you to take my drink. I didn't ask to go there. I didn't ask for any of that shit."

"Wow, watch the French," he said with a laugh and took another small step closer, "You wouldn't have come back, Ethan," he said, his eyes never leaving my face, "I did. Do you even know what this feels like? I can feel literally everything."