Redeeming Rhys (19 page)

“Gone.”

That was all Wren could muster. Rhys stood quickly, peering down at her like a statue that was put forth to fear. He wrapped his hands around her neck until she passed out hard.

“I WANT TO TELL YOU
another bedtime story, Wren,” Rhys said before he pushed the covers off his bed in their shared room.

Wren’s stomach turned in knots and she felt the bile rise high up in her throat, threatening her breaths. If it wasn’t bad enough that she had begun to enjoy the moments that they shared, though terror always held the upper hand, she had missed her period for four cycles. She didn’t know much about how things like that worked, but her body felt different. Her breasts had gotten bigger and her belly was no longer flat. It started to pudge out a little. She threw up most mornings, and knew that she had become pregnant.

Like most times, Wren didn’t offer Rhys a return. It was their secret little ritual when their parents fell asleep at night. He would offer her protection through his actions, with the movements of a sinner. She was shameful for enjoying it. She found her mind wandering through the day while at school to moments that they shared, looking forward to more times with him. But she wouldn’t let him know that. She had to remain mute and at his mercy, because as much as she hated to admit it, it is where she loved to be.

Rhys tiptoed across their hardwood floor, knowing again, exactly where to step so that his movements would not cause creaking of the aged ground. His blonde hair hung slightly over his head and his eyes shone like blue diamonds in the full moonlight that sparkled through their one window. The breeze wafted perfectly through the open window, making his hair muss across his forehead. Wren admired his look. He always knew what he wanted. Her. He wanted her and how could she deny him that?

She couldn’t because she wanted him too. But she was not able to verbalize that. Things were different. She had to tell him that she was pregnant. Wren gulped hard when Rhys’ hand pulled the covers to her small twin-sized bed back, exposing her in nothing more than a white gown that hung just above her knees. Wren was not allowed to shave her legs yet, so a small amount of peach fuzz still clung onto her legs. Rhys liked it. It made him understand her innocence that much more. He wanted it, and liked her just the way she was. She wasn’t finished developing, her small A-cup breasts pert and barely fit into his hands. The sweet fruit between her thighs had started to grow hair on it, showing more evidence of her reaching womanhood. But that would only belong to him.

Forever.

But, like all things in their lives, forever was destined to change.

Rhys climbed into bed with her, letting his hands move along her neck. He wasn’t sure why he became aroused more when he felt the beating from the vein in her neck, pulsing blood fervently through her body. It sped up as he grasped his hand around her neck. Her big brown eyes locked on his blue ones as his body melded with hers, the warmth of them both creating a disastrous concoction that would soon be discovered.

Rhys removed his hand from her neck and pushed his underwear down to his ankles. He moved her nightgown up to her neck, leaving her exposed, vulnerable, and at his mercy. Next, he pulled her underwear down until they were off. He pushed her legs apart and started to play with her, flicking her folds like he knew she enjoyed. He stared deep into her brown pools, promising himself that he wouldn’t let her be part of the secrets he would soon unveil. He wanted her to be with him. He wanted their stories to end different. Rhys was certain that his crazy would always cling on just a little, but she was his Zen. Wren could make it possible to survive. In that second as Rhys played with her like his favorite toy, he did something he never thought possible.

He believed in hope. Wren, like always, didn’t offer any words. She stared at him as they shared that moment of understanding. Her chest heaved up and down and Rhys knew she was close to the part that made her come undone. Her eyes started to water and she placed her hand over that mouth of hers. Her hips moved up for more. More of him. More of that dysfunctional release that made her reprehensible and disgusting. More that she was sure that she couldn’t live without.

Rhys did steal from her, but Wren thought at that second in time that, perhaps, that was how it was supposed to work. Maybe that was how she was destined to be loved. Her body succumbed to his touch and she let go, reaching the heaven that she often prayed for. It was a mystery to her, how she would often pray for heaven and only get glimpses of it when she was with him.

Rhys climbed on top of her, pushing himself deep inside of her. The hope that he hated stared at him in the face. Hope never stays. It hurts. It tantalizes with a life that can never be delivered.

He hilted his hips deeper inside of her, desperate to hold onto it for just a little longer. Then, a blast of euphoria filled him. It was evil, though. He would be put back in the place where he belonged. Rhys would be made to understand that he was just a bad little boy.

He bent his lips down to hers, kissing her like that moment would be their last. His tongue brushed hers and she kissed him back, also hoping that the seconds of heaven she felt while in his embrace were real. She wanted to tell him, finally, that she knew he wasn’t a bad boy. She knew that incident near the swing-set had to be an accident. His scary aura had to be a survival mechanism. Wren was making excuses and Rhys was fighting his will not to hope for her. He hated it, but she was catapulting him into an unknown zone where he would soon realize what destiny meant.

“I-I-…” Wren stuttered.

Rhys sat there, still inside of her, waiting for the words to spill from her tongue. Would it be an ‘I love you’ or ‘I know you aren’t a bad boy?’ But neither would come. A rush of darkness came through the room as the door opened quickly.

“What are you doing to my little girl you worthless piece of shit?” Charlie yelled, running across the room until he reached Rhys.

Wren wanted to tell her father that he wasn’t hurting her, but she was mute. She covered her naked body quickly by pulling down her white nightgown and cuddling in the corner of her bed. She drew her knees to her chest and started to cry, moving back and forth.

Hard fists met skin over and over again. She should have saved him. Wren knew she should have said something to make her father see that she was just as much to blame for their interaction, even though the first time wasn’t at all what she expected, but as their encounters passed, she grew to enjoy them. Wren was a betrayer to the God that she prayed to. The truths that she sought were nothing but lies. The hope that she had recently clung onto when he ached delightfully so inside of her was gone. She was vacant and nothing. She screamed out in fury, pleading to the heavens above to make the madness stop. Wren wanted to make sense of it all, but she couldn’t. There was no going back. Her secrets didn’t belong to her anymore as she wandered the gates of hell. So much for heaven.

She looked up to see Rhys getting beaten by her father. He tried, but failed, to shield himself from his strong punches. The light from the hallway showed a shadow lurking in the depths. Wren heard the sound of ice hitting glass, and Julianne emerged. Her eyes were half-open as she stumbled in a less-than-straight line in a drunken stupor. She plopped down on Rhys’ bed like she was watching a boxing match, betting on the winner. She was a zombie who showed no emotion. Wren thought at that time that if she didn’t know better, Julianne was hoping for her son to be killed.

She brought the glass of liquor, a change up from her usual wine, up to her lips and took the rest down her throat. She rested back on both hands, turning her head slightly as her son continued to get beat by Wren’s father.

“Stop!” Wren cried, clutching onto her bed sheets. The tears were welling from her eyes, yet no one paid her any attention.

“I’m pregnant!” Wren yelled.

Wren’s father stopped hitting Rhys and stood erect. Rhys’ hard blues met Wren’s crying eyes, but their time for salvation was over. Hell had merely begun.

“What did you just say?” Wren’s father demanded, walking towards her.

“I’m pregnant, Daddy.”

Wren’s father stared at her, for what seemed like years, before opening his mouth to speak.

“So, you are a whore like your mother.”

Wren’s biological mother left shortly after she was born, pregnant again, and not by her father. He had been gone and working at another mine two counties away for two months. He came home, only to discover that the math didn’t add up when she told him she was pregnant again. Wren was told she left. She wasn’t so convinced after that night.

Wren’s father brought his closed fist high above his head. Rhys stood up quickly, screaming, “No!”

His hard hand made its way to her temple and she passed out hard. Blackness was better than the real life hell she was surrounded by.

WREN AWOKE IN
the kitchen, the cheap chandelier that was hanging above broken and flickering on and off. There was an unfamiliar smell heavy in the air and it instantly made her sick. It smelled like liquid metal. She was lying on the hard ground, her skin was as cold as ice and her head ached terribly. She turned over to see splatters of red on the wall. Fear, once again, twined its way around her heart and made all sense of reason leave her. He had to have done this. The boy, who just hours ago, gave her a look into something so sublime, she couldn’t put it into words. The same boy who stole from her, manipulated her, making her think that it was love or some other cynical sentiment.

Wren continued to be still, terrified to move. She looked down to the adjoining living area to see two sets of unmoving feet. Him. For years, he had tried to convince her that he wasn’t a bad boy. He was. He was terrible. He was a killer. He killed them as she was sprawled out on the kitchen floor coming to terms with things that she couldn’t ever imagine. She knew there was always something dark and mysterious about Rhys, especially the way he handled things that day when they were little, but she never thought he would be capable of taking lives.

Taps of footsteps threatened her thinking and she turned over to sit up. The steps turned into running and she cried out. Rhys ran into the kitchen, covered in blood as death hung profoundly in the air. She looked over and saw a bloodied kitchen knife, suddenly feeling the cooling hit her skin. She was covered in blood, too. She didn’t feel pain anywhere besides the area on her temple where her father had hit her. Wren tried hard in that second to see if she was injured, but everything happened too quickly for her to decipher.

Rhys tackled her to the ground, pinning her arms above her head.

“Therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign: Behold, a virgin will be with child and bear a son, and she will call His name Immanuel.”

Rhys smiled. Wren was distraught as she stared into those eyes of his. He was wooing her in with his ways, but she couldn’t let him. He had killed. That was not worthy of forgiveness. She thrashed her head back and forth, crying out in utter terror.

“No!” Wren yelled, trying her best to be released from his death grip.

Rhys took both of her wrists in his hand and reached for the bloodied knife. He gazed at the metal, admiring it for its ability to take things away so dreadful and disturbing. It was at that moment that he understood that something as simple and horrendous was the only kind of trust he could keep. As much as he wanted to hold onto her, he knew that she wouldn’t understand. Others wouldn’t understand. He was already portrayed as the outcast boy with bad intentions. He belonged to no one except the demons that crept their way into his fucked up thoughts. During that moment, he set them free. He knew, no matter what, there was no chance for him. There would be no life for him and her. He had to give her one of two things.