Smoke
Your hands trembled violently. You room looked like it had been ransacked. Had you been robbed?
Clothes, jewelry, even bedding strewn across the floor in a haphazard jumble. Drawers upturned, spewing assorted puddles of junk over your bare mattress. A fallen lamp laying like a corpse over your nightstand.
All this, only to have your suitcase filled with a fistful of panties. The empty space in your luggage stared up at you, resentful, taunting. Now that the moment had passed, you wondered if you’d been too hasty with pulling the vacation card and shutting down the investigation. Sure, things had been stressful lately, but were they that bad?
A hearty rap on the door made your shoulder seize up like watered chocolate.
Ok, maybe things were that bad.
“Who is it?” you called as you rushed to the door.
“Ma’am? It’s me.”
“Dustin?” Your hand fumbled with the deadbolt.
There was a sigh on the other side of the door.
“Yeah,” he said. As the door opened, you noticed him scratching his head, lips pursed in annoyance. “Look, I didn’t come to visit. I know you’re not going to change your mind.”
“You think I should stay?”
“I do, but frankly, why would my opinion matter when you can’t even remember my name?”
Your mouth fell open in genuine surprise.
“Did I get it wrong again?! God dang it, I’m sorry.”
“It’s Darren. Doesn’t matter. All I came to say was that if you’re going to go, I want you to keep practicing those moves we worked on. It won’t be the same if I can’t be there to correct your form, but you could at least develop some muscle memory. Then, if something were to happen—”
“Nothing’s going to happen.” You shook your head, trying to reassure him. “I’m sorry about everything Stark said. He shouldn’t have put any of us in that situation… I know we got off on the wrong foot but I want you to know that accusation didn’t come from me. I trust you and I think you’re going to be a great intern.”
He pursed his lips to the side, shoulders drooping almost imperceptibly.
“Thanks…It’s just…” Darren rolled his eyes and cracked his knuckles. “I know nothing’s going to happen, but, if it did, those moves I showed you could save your life.” His brows were knit together, imploring you to agree with him.
You placed your hand on his cheek. Despite his baby-like features, stubble grated your palm.
“You’re sweet,” you said, giving him a warm smile before chuckling. “But…I’m not in need of a savior. I’ll be alright.”
“Promise me,” Darren said, his face unusually stern. “Promise me you’ll practice while you’re on vacation. We could even do a video call if you want extra help.”
“Okay, okay! Fine, you have my word,” you laughed, sliding your hand from his cheek to pat his chest. You were smiling wide as you pulled him into a hug, hoping to wipe away the look of a kicked puppy that was plastered on Darren’s face. He nuzzled his cheek against the top of your head as he hugged you back and you were surprised at the way that simple move made your heart stutter in your chest. “You must be really passionate about that self-defense stuff…Your dad must be so proud. Are you guys close?”
“Um, my dad is dead,” he said. Your breath caught and throat tightened. Darren swallowed thickly before pulling himself from your embrace. Your hand came over your mouth in shame.
“Can, uh, can I help you with anything before you go…? Packing? Reservations?”
“No, no it’s okay. I think Loki’s got me covered. Thank you, Darren. You’re really sweet to drop by. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, shit…” You ran a hand back through your hair, nails scraping at the scalp.
“Please don’t worry about it. It’s no problem, really,” he said, taking a step back with a sheepish smile. He squeezed your shoulder. “You be safe.”
“I will,” you said. Your hand was on your neck, subconsciously trying to will away the lump in your throat. He gave a small wave before turning from you and walking off.
Your phone dinged a small symphony as you returned to packing. After the lock on your luggage zipper clicked into place, you checked the texts that waited for you. Three were from Loki: one with the details for your flight, one with a selection of hotels to choose from, and one begging you not to go. Two were from Stephen, offering to drive you down and pay for lodging. No pressure either way, he’d said, I hope you have a good time and get the rest you deserve. You thanked him for the offer but emphasized that this was a journey you needed to take alone, offering to tell him all about it over dinner when you came back. You didn’t respond to Loki’s message but read it over and over again as you waited to board your flight.
3:08 PM Loki: You cannot fathom the agony that is wrecking my body and soul at the thought of you being so far away. Please don’t do this. You’ve allowed yourself to submit to me, to bear my marks, to come undone at my touch. I beseech you to remember how safe you were under the guidance of my hand. I told you that you belonged to me. I meant it. I kept quiet when you announced you’d be leaving to keep you happy, but you must know how utterly distraught I am to imagine you being so far away that I could not protect you if something were to go wrong. I would never lead you astray, and I certainly would not try to keep you from being happy, so I beg you to reconsider. Submit to me again by taking this advice. You will not regret it as I know you don’t regret any time you’ve submitted to me so far. Perhaps you can secretly take your vacation at home or in my quarters? I will spend every waking hour tending to your needs. You will want for nothing. I will spare no expense to make it worth it. Tell me anything I must do to keep you from leaving here. I feel as though my spirit might claw its way through my flesh just to stay near you…For the love of all that is sacred and holy, do not go.
His words flashed through your mind like a song stuck in your head, looping ceaselessly as the passengers were corralled into the air bridge. Please don’t do this. Your head peered down the aisle, eyes locking on your seat as everyone trudged forward. I could not protect you if something were to go wrong. You hoisted your carry-on into the cubby above your seat. Submit to me. You buckled your seatbelt into place, sighing softly as you watched the world roll away, the plane plunging forward to prepare for liftoff. For the love of all that is sacred and holy… Your forehead greased up the window when the tops of clouds, like an endless, plush field of snow, were visible… do not go.
You’d inadvertently fell asleep on the flight, only waking when a flight attended with brilliant green eyes shook you awake and gently ushered you out into the muggy, thick Florida air. None of your family waited for you at the airport, though, how could they wait when they didn’t know you were coming?
As you shuffled along, dragging your suitcase behind you, your free hand was busy hailing an Uber. Your hair fell in your face, sticking to dewy sweat that crowned your hairline, and you nearly wrenched your neck out of alignment trying to flick the pesky locks behind your shoulder.
The car that came for you was nondescript but relatively nice. You didn’t catch the driver’s face but noticed his large hands, long fingers wrapped around a steering wheel that looked puny under his grip. Your suitcase filled the footwell, locked between your knees. The drive was all but silent up until the last 15 minutes.
“Umatilla, was it? That’s uhh…Nice. Very nice area,” he offered, his voice gravelly.
“Ahh, I know it’s bumpkin-town, you don’t have to pretend,” you said with a laugh, wiping some perspiration from your forehead.
“No hotel, huh? Are you staying with family?”
You weren’t a huge fan of the prying questions. The driver seemed well-intentioned, but you weren’t naïve enough to be honest with him.
“I live here with my husband, actually,” you said. You saw the driver’s head recoil in shock, though he tried to cover it up. His fingers drummed over the steering wheel as he processed this (apparently scandalous) information.
“A husband…nice guy?”
“Very nice, yes.”
“Of course,” he said. “Good, good. How long have you been married?”
“Six years,” you said. It was easy to lie when you didn’t think too hard about your answers, letting them spill forth naturally like a spring. For a moment, his eyes caught yours in the rear-view mirror. They were a stunning shade of green, much like the flight attendant’s, and you were instantly tense, like an antelope who realized a leopard was sniffing its ankle.
“Do you have anyone special in your life?” Your nostrils flared and you shifted in your seat.
“One woman,” he said. “Only one. She lives very far away, though. Flighty, snippy little bird, but she’s softer than custard when she relaxes enough to trust.”
Your heartrate had skyrocketed into your temples. No, your skull…Your hands. No… It was everywhere. You were stone-still.
“What do you do when she asks for space?” Your voice had gone cold.
“I’m not so good with that,” he admitted, green eyes flashing in the mirror to yours again. “I’m very protective. I don’t like her out of my sight.” His hands tightened around the wheel, a low squeak erupting from the leather cover.
“It sounds like you both may need a day off. You can drop me here, I’ll walk the rest of the way,” you rushed as he reached the stop sign that intersected with your old street. Before he could lock the door, you jumped out, yanking your luggage and slamming the door behind you. You ducked your head, walking fast as his car sat there, as if he was thinking about following you before he thought better of it and drove off smoothly.
As you walked, feeling a bit uneasy from that interaction, you called Stephen. Your home was about a mile down the road, so you had plenty of time to talk. The wheels of the suitcase roared against the lumpy gravel as you hauled it along. You told him everything, even reading out Loki’s text line by desperate line.
“—right, and then he had the nerve to call me ‘flighty.’ Me! I mean, come on, what a prick. Can you believe he followed me out here?! What was he thinking? I thought someone was supposed to keep track of him. How the fuck did he make it out of New York?!”
Stephen was laughing lightly. You could hear the disbelief and amazement in his breath.
“That’s only at night, but I wouldn’t put it past him if he told Stark he was coming with to keep the alarm bells from going off. He…Wow. He certainly knows what he wants.”
“But not how to get it,” you said.
“No, apparently not. Wow… Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I guess. Honestly, part of me is flattered, but I never knew he could be so obtuse and possessive like that.”
Stephen barked a laugh.
“Have you met him?!” he said, now cackling. “Little Patient. Come on. You’re smarter than that.”
You scowled and hoped Stephen couldn’t hear how your feet were suddenly stamping against the ground much harder than before. Your old mailbox was just a few yards ahead of you with it’s slanted, rotting wood pole topped with a faded yellow box mottled with rust spots. It once had a bluebird painted on it and the phrase “Welcome Home,” but now these just looked like blue smudges, worn with time.
“I made it. Have to go now.”
“Don’t be mad,” he said. “If you need me, I’m a portal away, alright?” You could hear the smile in his voice and it made your heart stir.
“How about a smoke signal?” You started your way up the unpaved driveway, doing your best to stick to the center where a narrow strip of grass grew. Occasionally, you’d stumble and step in the powdery dirt, feeling like you might slip. There was once a time that you’d run up and down this dirt path and even the gravel road, back and forth, all day, shoeless, but that was years ago.
“My nose will be tuned in for the first puff of smoke, how about that?” Stephen said warmly.
“Perfect. Alright, I really do have to go.” You passed the wooden post-and-rail fence, with pieces warped and discolored from years of weathering. Many of the boards were rotting, some were entirely missing, and others, closer to the ground, had a green layer of mold filling in. Half of the fence was falling away, as if the next rain would send it all tumbling down. You remembered helping your father build that fence when you were a teenager, how bright the fresh wood was. The depth of time you’d been away for was settling in like an anvil on your chest. “I lo—ahem, bye, Stephen.”
“Please call, honey,” he said, before the phone chimed in your ear to tell you he’d hung up.
The trailer was just ahead. It hadn’t changed much, admittedly, because you couldn’t remember a time when it looked new. Still the same distorted plastic windows that didn’t lock. The thin, dented metal front door that no longer latched into place, thanks to the knob busting loose and barely holding itself together by a thread. The lattice skirt around the bottom of the double wide was also slick with algae and riddled with holes, some with duct tape over them, others without. You were overcome with the memory of the time your foot had gone through a loose tile in the kitchen, screaming out of fear that some creepy-crawly hiding behind that lattice would come bite you. Mom said it was your fault, of course, because you should’ve known where not to walk in the house. You winced and shook your leg out, trying to forget the residual feeling. No matter which way you wanted to cut it, you couldn’t remember a time when this home wasn’t falling into itself.
You grit your teeth as you reached the front door, wondering to yourself yet again why you’d chosen to come here of all places. Your knuckles hit the chipped paint on the front door unceremoniously. Instantly, some dog that you didn’t know they owned started screeching and you flinched, shoving yourself against the door to keep it closed as the dog launched itself at the opening. Its weight pounding against the door almost knocked you back, so you re-planted your heel on the porch to maintain leverage. Thank goodness you knew the door didn’t latch. The poor missionaries that came around from time to time probably had to learn the hard way.
Your mom hollered for the dog to hush as the heavy vibrations of her stomping came closer. You lifted yourself from the door, still keeping one firm hand against the edge in case Fido decided to come for you again, but dropped it when your mom came into view through the window. She squinted at you, pushed the door open, and tilted her head. She leaned on the doorframe with her forearm, giving the same intimidating look she’d scared off a number of door-to-door salesmen with. You offered her a shy, tight-lipped smile, and her eyes went wide. Clarity washed over her face.
“Ho-ly shit, if it isn’t the princess,” she said, laughing brusquely. She looked over her shoulder, calling to your father. “Todd! The snot-nosed brat you raised lost her fancy New York job!” She turned back to you, sneering. “Bed’s made but you know momma don’t do hand-outs, girl. One month tops and you’re out. Good Lord almighty, I always knew you’d fuck it up and come crawling back. How’d you do it?”
Your jaw tightened as you followed your mother inside, suddenly overwhelmed with the smell of smoke.