Page 89 of Watercolor Skulls

He smiles bright, making me feel like all is right with the world. It’s not. Everything feels wonky and uncertain but that smile, it’s my bright spot. Jenny used to tell me that I was hers. She had definitely been mine. As long as I have one I think I’ll be okay. No, I know I’ll be okay.

We follow Dirk and Raffe out of the parking lot back towards the hotel. When we get close I see the others waiting for us on their bikes. We don’t pull in but as we pass they file out one by one behind us. This will never get old, being part of a group like this. It makes me feel warm and safe.

Long hours pass before we finally arrive back at the warehouse. Some of the guys broke off earlier, headed to their homes. Soon there are just a small group of us, those who live at the warehouse. Dan helps me off the bike. Everyone else heads inside, excited to hit their beds.

He tilts his head, studying me. “What’s wrong?”

“I…I thought maybe we would go to my house,” I admit, wrapping my arms around myself.

He cradles the side of my face in his big palm. “I’ll get you home eventually. I promise. But, for now I think it’s safer if we stay here.”

My gaze roams over the building. It’s not that I don’t like it here, it’s just…my dad is still controlling my damn life.

Dan reads the emotions I’m battling in my head.

“The security here is probably better than what your dad has set up at his estate. We had some shit go down a few years ago. Raffe was hurt badly. I’m telling you we are safer here than anywhere. Dirk spared no expense.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, I do. It’s just…I simply wanted to go home but I understand. I trust you.”

He leans in and kisses me on my forehead, letting his lips linger there for a moment before pulling away. “We’ll go back to your place as soon as I’m sure it’s safe.”

I nod as he takes my hand, ushering us inside. The warehouse is quiet. Again, I’m struck by the beauty of the place. That warm, cabin in the woods, feel makes me sigh in relief. He steers us to the kitchen, loading my arms with snacks and drinks, it makes me giggle.

“I’m sorry but I’m hungry.”

“Me too,” I admit.

When we get to his room we shower, washing away the dust from our travels. He inspects every inch of me, looking for more bruising. When he doesn’t find anything other than the one on my face he drops his shoulders. Tension eases from his muscles.

He gives me one of his white t-shirts to sleep in. It smells like him and it’s soft and warm. I smile to myself as I slip it over my head. Dan watches with an appreciative glint in his eye.

“I promised myself no funny business tonight,” he says, biting his knuckle. “Jesus, help me.”

I laugh, plopping down on his bed. It’s nice to have a man who appreciates my body. “I don’t mind your funny business,” I say shyly, hiding behind my hair.

He chuckles as he begins unpacking his bag. “I don’t mind it either, but I think we need to talk, then we should get some sleep.”

Collapsing back on the bed, I roll to my side to pick through the snacks we brought up. “All we’ve done today is talk,” I pout.

The bed dips as he sits down beside me. Dan lays the journals in front of me. “Out of everything in that house you could have taken, you chose these. Why?”

My gaze flits across them, landing on the two that have doodles all over the covers. I sit up and pull them to my lap. “These two were Jenny’s.” My finger traces over a smiley face she drew.

Dan pulls his legs up on the bed, sitting cross legged in front of me.

“The rest are mine. I’ve journaled for as long as I can remember.” I pick one up and hand it to him.

He flips it over in his big hands. I break out in a sweat, seeing someone else hold my thoughts, my dreams. His eyes roll up to mine. Slowly he hands it back.

I don’t accept it, pushing it away from me. “I want you to know everything.”

“Lily, you don’t have to do this,” he says, tapping the book on my knee.

Setting Jenny’s journal in front of me, I pull my legs up to hug them. “I know I don’t have to. I want to share them with you. That is the first one. My mother gave it to me on my tenth birthday. I want you to know me. The good, the bad, the ugly. You said you wanted me to help you understand. This is how I can do that.” I motion a hand over the journals.

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” I nod.

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