When he doesn’t move or speak for a long time, I relax a little, enjoying the prickly grass through the blanket, the rich damp of the night air. In the distance an owl calls and another answers. I inhale deeply, smell some distant flowers.
‘You like it?’ he says.
‘Yes. Very much so.’
It’s a grudging answer, because I like it too much. It’s achingly beautiful, maybe more so because he’s being nice. Which probably only means that later he will do something worse than usual.
But mostly, it’s because I’m praying to a god I don’t believe in. To karma that I’ve messed over a thousand times in my life through the bad things I’ve done. Or to whatever deity may listen to a worthless crazy girl that I can walk away from Shepherd and never go back to him. That I can survive, keep my heart safe. Because I’m unsure if I can live in a world without that slight quirk of lips that is a crooked smile, those black eyes I can drown in, a world without calloused hands and a scarred body. A world that Shepherd doesn’t exist in.
And then it returns, like it always does. That slow, creeping guilt crawling back into every dark corner of my life.
You don’t deserve this.
Elizabeth is half dead, buried alive in a coffin.
Your fault. Your guilt. Your sin. Your secret.
‘Are we alone out here?’ I say.
‘As alone as we can be. Why?’
‘Just wondered. Why are you doing this?’
He rises on his elbow, looks into my face, and I know he can see it. Because I’m feeling it too much. My eyes sparkle, my skin buzzes. Under the stars, I glow with happiness. I’m not that Walking Dead Amy I’ve been for so long.
Somehow, somewhere across the hurt and sorrow, Shepherd’s made me less afraid of the dark.
‘You don't like romantic starlit nights?’ he says.
‘Not this. Everything else. Why come back to a town that did nothing for you? Neglected you. Why do you want to save me so much?’
I glimpse something in his dark marble eyes that looks a lot like respect. ‘I’m returning the favour.’
I’m at a complete loss. ‘What favour?’
I feel Shepherd get close in this moment, unnecessarily close. He brushes his cheek against mine for the smallest of seconds. Lets his nose drag across it to my lips as he pulls away. I look into his eyes as I fight to regain the ability to breathe. My heart is all scar tissue but it can still hurt, still feel, and with just one look, Shepherd rips it to shreds once again.
‘You got a good heart, Amy. Too good. It kills me how you want to help other people and not yourself. The world hasn’t done shit for you, has put you in my crushing hands, and you want to save others like Daisy.’
‘Daisy . . . She’s lost and in a lot of pain.’
‘What will you give me to let them stay?’
‘Anything.’ It’s as quick as my answer to protect Max from the big, toothy monsters.
‘Anything?’
‘Whatever I have that's worth anything, I’ll give that to save them.’
He’s the Devil here, and he’s making a kind of deal with me.
‘You really want to help them, huh?’
I can’t look the Devil in the eye. I’ll lose.
‘Yes.’ I say.
He kisses the little shell of my ear. I shiver.
‘As long as you keep getting better,’ he says. ‘You're the only one who stands between them and me. You keep your promise and I keep mine.’
His words are a black mirror reflecting what kind of monster he is. That he has the power to tear me to pieces, and I’ll crumble like a butterfly losing its wings.
I sit up, pulling away from the warmth of his solid arm against my neck. I manage to look into the Devil’s eyes, and ensure I hide my true emotions when I say, ‘I don't want to be the one who stands between you and anything.’
I hate that this love I keep for him is immortal. I’m twisted into his soul like a Cat’s Cradle.
Emotion sweeps me like a tornado and I reach up to wipe my eyes. But he catches my wrist in his hand and stops me. The tears run out of the corners instead.
‘Let them fall, Amy. Those tears mean I’m doing something right. It means you’re finally feeling something.’
34
ME
I thumb out a text to Amy.
Mine, 8pm, S
I’m still waiting for the urge for Amy to burn out or dwindle. But when I see her in the distance, while I stand hidden in the alcove, it’s more powerful than before.
She wears that same pretty white dress that shows off her slender neck. The way she moves is angelic. I’ve watched her sitting on the love seat in the garden, reading her novels. I’ve memorized the way she tilts her head down and moves her fingers over her books.
Memorized the way she looks at people who aren’t me.
She comes closer, down the dark path, while I stand below the building, brooding like a troll under a bridge, waiting for my little goat to come tripping across.
Sometimes I worry she’s turned me into a lap dog. But no, I’m half guard dog, half pit-fight dog. She’s done that to me.
When she goes inside the estate, I wait until she’s done her checks. Then I walk in the air she passed through a few minutes before. There’s still a faint ghost of her smell lingering there
