Page 20 of Miserable Marionette

“He is so handsome, all grown up,” she whispers, in that old lady whisper that always seems to be loud as all hell.

I shake my head, waving my hands around like a lunatic trying to get her to quiet down.

And because screw this, I opt for begging. Her worn, calloused hands are icy in mine as I grab them, holding them hostage… gently. “Please tell Jim I got sick. Mrs. Johnson, please. I can’t go out there.”

“Oh hush, you two were inseparable! Be a big girl,” she whispers to me, removing her hands from mine to give me a pat on the cheek. And because I’ve just realized sweet ole Mrs. Johnson is quite possibly evil, she smirks, calling over her shoulder, “Audrey will be right out!”

The steady, low hum of the steely voice pauses. Mr. Johnson’s carrying on; he rarely requires two to have a conversation, anyway. I’m frozen, gaping at the place where the sweetest old lady to ever exist is standing before I’m all but shoved from the back. My high braided ponytail catches on the curtain as I stumble into the main room. My heart bottoms out, my chest heaving as I stare up at the boy who broke my heart. Who was as constant a figure by my side as my own shadow before he just… woke up one day and decided that had changed.

All of my make-believe worlds, my secrets, dreams and fears, hopes. My silly Krissy doll with all her hand-sewn dresses. He held it all.

Until he didn’t.

I was the focal point of his world, the single axis it rotated on.

Up until the exact second I wasn’t.

God, if he was handsome before, he’s devastating now. Crushingly so. Those deep oceanic eyes are turned on me and every bit as intense as before, lined in wire-rimmed glasses the same as they used to be, but finer, neater. Expensive. His black, wavy hair is groomed and shorter on the sides. Nothing like the messy, unkempt mop he had the last time I saw him. For a brief, cruel moment, everything stops. For a minute, I’m smaller, shorter, dumber, and he is too.

For a moment.

A fleeting, gut-wrenching moment… nothing has changed.

“Audrey.” The word is spoken like an accusation from his bowed lips, and it settles on my chest with a crushing force.

“You’re home,” I whisper, stating the obvious because what the hell else am I supposed to say?

His eyes narrow before they dip to my lips. My tongue darting out to wet them.

Suddenly, I can feel the weight of those lips again, given to me in anger. Brutally and in the pouring rain. Those violent ocean eyes devouring mine as his hand tightened on my neck. I can feel the terror and… need from that day like it happened moments ago. The blinding devastation that followed as I sat in the muddy gravel, still breathless and wobbly from our kiss. Gideon towers over me like he did that day, watching me, waiting for what?

I’ve never figured it out. Apparently, I’m every bit as clueless as I was then. Even after all this time, I don’t get it. It was our first kiss. We’d silently, reverently waited all that time. Saved it for each other.

“Go home, Audrey.”

That’s what he said, then he left. My best friend broke all his promises just as something bizarre and wonderful and divine had settled inside me with the rightness of a warm blanket on a cold, gloomy day.

I’d expected to feel so much if I ever saw him again, dreamed about it time and time again. I never thought in a million years I’d ever feel so… pissed.

Devastated, of course. Crushed beyond reason, surely. Giggly, desperate, indifferent.

Never angry.

My brows knit together, my eyes hardening at the sight of the gorgeous man I grew up adoring. He stops too, every bit as frozen as I am and as cynical, as cold as ever. No colder. My gaze slams to our feet, resentment choking me, pulling me under as I spin on my heel, giving him my back. The sight of his nice, polished shoes seared into my mind. He always said I’d be the one to make it out of here, to live the high life out in a big city. Somewhere where it was warm all year round.

But he left, and that was something we were supposed to do together. A taste far more bitter than the coffee settles on my tongue as I school my features. Jim fidgets uncomfortably, and I can feel Gideon’s stare peeling away my hardened outer layers until he exposes my goopy insides.

I flash Jim a smile. “This color suits you much better than the other.”

His homely, freckled cheeks flash pink as he chuckles. “As long as she’s happy, I’m happy. Heck, Al could stick me in pink with yellow polka dots, and I wouldn’t bat an eye.”

“Your mother-in-law might,” I giggle. It manages to sound only slightly forced. Remembering the way the strong-willed woman had to be skillfully distracted by Mrs. Johnson so I could show Ally the wedding dresses without her finding a reason to hate each one. She’s a downright terror at the best of times; I don’t envy her daughter, even if they are one of the better-off families in town. I certainly don’t envy Jim Kessler for marrying into them, money be dammed.

Mrs. Jonhson whirls out of the back like a tiny tornado headed straight for the man I’m nearly certain is still glaring at my back as I kneel in front of the platform, tacking up the hem on Jim’s pants.

“Audrey.” This one is less accusation, more… soft. A request, like he’s asking me to look at him. My stomach does something bizarre and entirely unfounded. I ignore it all the same. He moved away, got some big important job, it’s been years, and he never even—

Jim clears his throat, speaking under his breath, which does almost nothing to hide what he says in the cozy, cramped room. “Audrey, I think he’s trying to get your attention.”