The ritual of delay
1392 Words
She knows it’s not good.” The thought was a whisper of self-condemnation, a harsh truth that ricocheted through Kayla’s mind.
Why was she doing this? Why couldn't she simply summon the strength, the will, to speak the word 'no'? The devastating loss of her true love, Austin, had not only broken her heart but had also cracked the very foundation of her resolve, rendering her alarmingly soft and passive.
This vulnerability was a liability she desperately needed to shed. Her shame was immense. This is no way a clan leader should act.
The position demanded absolute control, a core of unyielding strength that had been utterly eroded by grief. Her spirit felt depleted, her protective shell dissolved.
It’s time to change, she vowed, a cold, desperate resolve hardening in her heart. She had a legacy to reclaim, and it began with regaining control of her own body and will.
The familiar sights and smells of the barn offered a temporary sanctuary. Once back at the main house, she sought comfort in the mundane.
She led Coda, her steady horse, from the stall and began the meticulous, slow process of brushing him. Each rhythmic sweep of the brush against his coat was a deliberate movement, a precious moment she stole to delay the inevitable return to Blake.
She took her time, savoring the quiet companionship of the animal, offering him a generous measure of sweet feed and watching him nuzzle her palm.
The quiet task brought the familiar wave of agonizing sorrow. Austin was so young—barely into his twenties, full of life, promise, and a devastatingly easy laugh.
Why would someone have killed him? The elders offered the vague, unsatisfactory explanation that it was a risk inherent in their world, the line of work they do.
Yet, the anomaly persisted: in their violent, accountable circle, we should have heard who did it by now. The silence surrounding his death felt heavier, more sinister, than any open threat.
She closed her eyes, running the tragic scene through her mind as she always did. She wished with all her being that they had never gone to the rocks that night, that single catastrophic decision that had unspooled her life.
If they hadn't, the truck’s brakes would still be working; Austin would still be alive; and the other vehicle would never have hit them.
The guilt was a stone perpetually pressing against her chest.
Finally, she resigned herself to the next encounter. Leaving Coda and the temporary solace of the barn, she made her slow way toward the decrepit structure known locally as “the creepy chicken house” where she was supposed to meet Blake.
As she topped the small, grassy hill overlooking the dirt drive, her breath hitched. Her heart seized in her chest. The sight was a visceral, horrifying echo of the past: Blake was doing reckless wheelies in the road on a powerful, roaring four-wheeler.
The front of the ATV rose high into the air, the engine’s frantic scream dangerously close to the sound of metal tearing and tires screeching.
“No! No! No!” The scream tore from her throat, a raw, involuntary cry of sheer terror before she could think to suppress it.
Blake, startled by her visceral reaction, abruptly cut the engine. He glanced up, his expression instantly shifting from boyish daring to smooth, practiced concern. He coasted the machine toward her,
dismounting effortlessly.
“What’s wrong, Kayla?” he asked, his voice low and soothing. He reached out and petted her head—a gesture that felt condescending, treating her like a distressed animal.
It did nothing to calm the earthquake of panic inside her. Nothing calmed her nowadays, except for Trevor.
“Don’t ever do that again!” she yelled, the intensity of her voice startling him, tears threatening to spill as she fought desperately to contain the flood of traumatic memories.
Blake’s smile tightened with mild irritation. He managed to force a sigh. “Kayla, I’m sorry. I shoul've thought first.
It’s okay, I promise. But, listen,” he added, his tone changing to one of firm, almost impatient counsel, “you should be over him already—it’s been almost two years. He is not coming back.” His annoyance, though slight, was unmistakable.
Kayla’s gaze searched his face, desperately trying to discern the truth. Had she made the annoyance up, projecting her own anxieties onto him? Or was he truly upset that her grief over Austin persisted?
The thought only made the fear in her gut twist into a sharper knot of suspicion. With legs that felt like jelly, shaky and weak, she slid onto the seat behind him.
The surrender felt humiliating. Blake was keenly aware of her tension; he could still tell that she was profoundly scared of any kind of ATV.
She should be over this s**t already, he thought to himself, the impatience in his private thoughts contrasting with the mask of care he wore.
Her persistent grief was a monumental inconvenience, slowing his carefully orchestrated pursuit. He put the machine into gear, deliberately accelerating faster than necessary.
He wanted to shake her out of this emotional paralysis. The wind immediately blew back her hair, stinging her cheeks, and the velocity only made her shaking get worse by the minute.
She closed her eyes briefly, then forced them open, watching the roadside trees go by in a dizzying, sickening blur. The speed, the vibration, the lack of control—it was all too much. It was making her sick to her stomach. It was such a bad idea, she lamented silently.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Blake sighed, signaling his decision to relent. He slowed down the four-wheeler, pulling to a stop under the bridge where the creek was at its shallowest.
He jumped off, immediately plastering a fake smile back onto his face, hoping the momentary flash of irritation hadn't been noticed.
He had to succeed. He was operating on strict orders: He's got to win her heart if Austin's parents’ plan is to work. Her love and, more importantly, her position were essential to their scheme.
He turned, his hand outstretched, his eyes locking onto hers with that same disturbing intensity. “Come with me. I’ll show you where I take all my play things,” Blake offered, the word choice unsettling, yet he released a booming, fake laugh as if it were the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
I’d rather not, she thought, the immediate, overwhelming impulse to flee nearly making her bolt. Yet, she forced a strained politeness. “Um, yeah, why not,” she replied, offering a weak, brittle laugh to match his attempt at a joke.
As she slid off the ATV, Blake reached out, intending to guide her, and lightly touched her lower back. The minor physical contact was electric with alarm.
She jumped, physically flinching away from his touch. Behind her, hidden from view, Blake’s face contorted. He balled his fist up, jaw tight with repressed fury, and punched a tree trunk near the base of the bridge with a muffled, frustrated thud.
He quickly regained composure, schooling his features before turning back.
With every step they took toward the secluded area, her body felt tighter, more resistant.
Her muscles were rigid, and the warning bells were ringing in her mind, a frantic, siren call urging her to run. Her skin felt hot, prickling with the oppressive sensation that she was being undressed by his stare—burning at every place she felt him staring at.
But the escalating tension was suddenly, gloriously broken. Just before they could round the bend, a screeching voice shattered the afternoon quiet, hailing them from a few feet behind them.
Unwanted guest is ruining everything, Blake thought, his irritation now a palpable thing, momentarily overshadowing his predatory focus.
Kayla, conversely, felt an enormous wave of relief crash over her. Though she and the person rarely got along, in that single, critical moment, the interruption was an act of divine intervention.
The person was her unexpected saving grace. She turned, the weariness momentarily forgotten, and a genuine, grateful smile finally broke through her façade. She was happy.
- Writer
