Page 12 of Beautiful Ascension

If I’m honest with myself, I’m glad I decided to return to my natural color. It’s symbolic. I’m taking my power back. The reason I dyed my hair in the first place was to hide, and I’m done hiding.

“Save the tattoos for college,” Shay jokes. “Speaking of college. Have you looked at any schools out there yet?”

I groan. She’s been pestering me about what school I’m attending, and I refuse to answer her. Because I’ll be at Lincoln-Wood University this fall. I just haven’t told anyone about my plans. “I still have time to decide,” I lie. I don’t like lying to her, but I know she’d try to convince me to stay. She’s been pushing the ‘anywhere but Edgewood’ angle for weeks now. Finally, when I confronted her about it, she said it was not worth returning and seeing the guys fawning over Samantha. I cried for days after that revelation.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was holding out hope that it was some ploy. Every time I dissect that day in Mr. Edgewood’s office, I swear I see the confused looks of shock on everyone but Wes’s and Samantha’s faces. I beat myself up for days after we arrived, questioning whether I should reach out and get answers. Only, when I finally did, I discovered everyone but Owen had me blocked, and that fucker didn’t pick up. So, I was devastated when Shay dropped that bomb after I finally built up enough confidence to ask. It takes a lot to swallow your pride, but I’m glad I did because the “what ifs” would have eaten me alive.

“Ry,” she calls, and by how loud she is, I know she’s been trying to get my attention.

“Sorry, I spaced. What did you say?”

“I said, what about Groveton?”

Sighing, I reply, “I have no interest in going to Texas for school, even if Eva’s going to be there.”

Shay’s lips thin before she responds, “Well, just remember it’s an option.”

“Don’t you go home today?” I inquire, hoping to change the subject. I don’t want to lie any more than I already am. Luckily, she takes the bait.

Nodding, she says, “My parents should be here soon. I just wanted to check in on you before I head home. They have some big welcome home cookout brewing.”

My heart aches. I should be there for that. I open my mouth to apologize, but it’s like she knows what I’m about to say, and it’s her turn to cut me off.

“None of that. You need to take care of yourself. I’ll be okay.

“Fine,” I concede. “Have you heard anything from Brendan?” I know this is a sore subject for her. He disappeared after she was shot, but I need to see if I have to hunt him down and kill him for breaking my best friend’s heart.

She shakes her head, and I can see the hurt in her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything. I’m about to tell her it’s his loss when her room door opens, and Mrs. Warren walks in. “Ariah, Baby, is dat yuh?” she greets, her accent more pronounced than usual.

I wave to her, happy my phone is angled so you can only see me from the neck up. There’s no need to give her mom a free show. “Hi, Mrs. Warren.” I wave. “Take care of our girl for me.”

“Yuh dun know. I would have it no other way,” Shay’s mom says, walking over to her and fussing.

Shay rolls her eyes before we say our goodbyes, promising to send me pictures later.

I drop my phone on my bed and finally hop in the shower.

“You should never leave home without a weapon,” she instructs, holding the fake weapon to my throat, and I groan.

We’ve been at this for hours, and I’m hungry and sore.

This woman has outmaneuvered me at every turn, and I don’t even know her name. When we met a month ago at dinner, I asked her once I was able to get a moment alone with her, and her exact words were, ‘Names give people power over you, Ariah. Never give anyone power over you. It could be the difference between life and death.’ Then she proceeded to hand me my ass as she trained me. If I weren’t learning some new techniques, I’d fight my grandfather for making me do this shit.

As I try to suck in a lung full of air, I plant myself on the floor. “I need a timeout. Better yet, I need replacement lungs,” I wheeze.

“What you need is to keep conditioning. Who’s been training you? They’ve been taking it easy on you.”

Sitting up, I reply, “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m a bit rusty.”

She quirks her lip as she sizes me up. “You don’t strike me as the rusty type.”

She’s got me there. I’ve been training even on the days I wanted to cry. Especially on those days. There’s nothing like picturing your exes’ faces on a punching bag to motivate you.

“Let’s go again,” she demands.

My heart is still thudding in my chest, so I stall. “Have you heard about the latest murder?”

She arches her perfectly shaped black brow. “Murder?” she questions.

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