Page 4 of Roxy's Independence
“They’re cowards, Roxy, every damn one of them,” he growled through gritted teeth, frustration and disappointment written all over his face.
“Everyone has their limit,” I reminded him. “We’re forced to suffer if we don’t want to be separated, they don’t.”
“They could still stop him. No excuses you make for them will change my mind, Roxy. They’re grown assed men and women, we aren’t, yet we stand up to him. Wrong is wrong no matter how you spin it.”
I don’t pay attention to the audience surrounding me, I’m lost in the past, watching it unfold in real time. Tears streak down my face as I recall the fear and anxiety that plagued me, worried that this would be the day our foster father decided we weren’t worth the trouble and sent us back into the system where Weston and I would live in different facilities.
“I love you, Roxy, and there’s no way I can stand back and watch you be treated no better than he treats a dog. He’s an abusive fuck who gets his rocks off by making those smaller than him hurt.”
This wasn’t the first day he told me he loved me, but it had a different meaning. We deeply cared for one another, but we hadn’t turned our love into a relationship. Back then, it was about survival. Unity. Nobody cared about us the way we did when it came to the other. We were throwaways, tossed into a home and never checked on afterward. As far as the socialworker was concerned, we had food in our bellies and a roof over our heads, nothing else mattered. We were a case closed for him.
“I love you too, Weston,” I said, my breath hitched as I sobbed. I’ve always hated seeing him in this state. It seemed to be a common occurrence for him. He always stood up for the underdog, and in this case, that was me—as well were many others that came before it and ones that followed. “I still don’t like seeing you bleed.”
“And I don’t like hearing you cry and seeing you being led around by your hair like it’s a leash,” he condemned. “Six more years, Roxy, and we’re outta here.”
“Unless we find a way to graduate early,” I stated.I smile to myself because that’s exactly what we did. We dug deep and worked our asses off to get out of that house. In the meantime, several bones were broken and skin was split, but we made it through.
“Why are we here?” Canyon asks, it’s a question I don’t have the answer to so I shrug my shoulders.
“There’s a lesson here, somewhere,” Butcher reasons. “We don’t always understand them at the time, but someday, you will.”
In the wind, an iridescent, phantom-type voice whispers,“Pay attention to the signs of abuse. They’ll come in handy.”
“Did anyone else hear that?” Canyon asks as he glances around, searching for another person.
“That was Jericho,” Harper informs us.
“Wicked,” Canyon muses. “He really is everywhere, isn’t he?”
“You have no idea,” Wrecker mumbles. Underneath his breath, I hear him tack on,“Cockblocking asshole.”
The pair have told us stories involving their spiritual advisor. Weston even told me once that he’s not only here for them, but for everyone with a specialty. Itisfreaky that he has the ability to speak to us inside of our heads whenever he wants, no matter what you happen to be doing at the time—which explains the cockblocking comment that slipped free from Wrecker’s mouth.
The setting around us shifts again, and this time, we’re thrust back through the cosmos and end up in the present time. We’re all panting from the exertion of being tossed through a wormhole like rag dolls.
“That’s gonna take some getting used to,” I murmur, raising my hands and rubbing the throbbing ache at my temples.
“Everyone alright?” Wrecker asks, scanning us all to make sure we arrived back intact.
“Other than some queasiness and an incoming headache, I’m good,” I answer.
“A little out of breath, but every part of me came back whole,” Canyon tells him, patting himself down.
“Good here,” Harper insists.
“Dammit, I hate time travel, it makes me dizzy as fuck,” Butcher complains. “But I don’t have any lasting effects that won’t go away without a beer.”
Weston crouches behind me and Canyon, his warm, comforting palm landing on each of our shoulders. “I wish I could take this away from you two and take it on for myself. It’s a heavy burden for y’all to carry.”
“I can handle it,” Canyon adamantly asserts. “You told me we aren’t given anything that we can’t.”
“I wish you two would stop using my words against me,” Weston mutters. “Where did y’all go?”
“The old thicket behind the grand’s house,” I explain. “It was that time when you earned a split lip because you didn’t like me being yanked around by my roots.”
“Ah. The day we decided to go balls to the walls and graduate early,” he reminisces.
“Yeah, that day,” I state. “Always my hero.”
