Heathens & Hand Grenades (Book 1 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 59- Callie

The dress might as well be a prison jumpsuit. Cotton blend, nothing special, but I feel every fiber against my skin like fingers reaching, touching my skin and the urge to scratch and itch until the feeling is gone is overwhelming. It's partly the color, so bright and happy, but tainted by the memories he's touched. The rest is just the fact that I'm dressed up exactly how he wants me, like his perfect little doll.

         Floral scents assault my nose from the body wash and shampoo he picked, completely erasing the sage that was allowing me an ounce of comfort. I never want to smell honeysuckle and apple blossom again.

         I place my discarded clothes in a neatly folded pile and busy myself with using the provided supplies to make up my face, cover the bruising on my neck, and brush out the tangles in my hair from walking in the southern humidity and rolling around in a trunk. These items, an exact copy of the ones I own at home, should be a comfort given how I lacked them in the bunker. I would trade them in a heartbeat to be back with Dario and Jaxson. God and Rave made their choice. They never even gave me their names, so all I can do is curse at names that are nothing but another mask.

         With my hair brushed into submission and my face devoid of any imperfections, I don my own mask. She looks similar to me, but without any of the autonomy. I know my time to myself is coming to close. Three years and all it took was a selfless act to save my only friend. I will always be grateful to Nicole for seeing a quiet, skittish new teller and adopting her into friendship. She brought me back to life with the help of my aunt. Though now that I've gotten to know the guys, I doubt she was ever in any real danger. Still, I would do it all over again to be given the past few days with the guys. I've lived more the past few days than I have in the past few years.

         A firm knock at the door brings me out of my thoughts. "Calista! Almost done in there? Dinner should be ready shortly."

         "Just a moment," I call out. Dinner? We must've been driving for much longer than I thought. With no chance of calming my racing thoughts at that realization, the best I can do is stuff them in a box to examine later as I plaster a brittle smile that I hope to death is convincing as I open the door.

         Whatever he's cooked smells delicious and he'll fully expect me to fawn over the hard work he's put in. My stomach rolls at the thought of trying to swallow down anything, at pretending that this is just like any normal dinner. Walking out into the living room, I can see him puttering around in the kitchen, humming to himself. He's changed out of his uniform and into something more casual if he were starring on some daytime sitcom. Pressed chinos and a polo would look good on most men and I suppose, to the outside world, he is a handsome well-dressed man. Not a hair out of place, perfectly styled to look casual, but I remember how long it used to take him to master the art of that carefree, tousled, windswept look. It reminds me of a pale imitation of Jaxson if I'm honest. Pieces of the guys are everywhere I look and while I try to cling to them for my own piece of mind, it stings to know that I'll never see them again. Colt will never let me go again.

         "I'd like it if you would set the table for dinner," he calls out. The words may be gentle, but the steely thread of command in them is unmistakable.

         "Of course." I move into his space as quickly as I can and look around the cabinets for the silverware and plates. I find plastic everything and hope it's what he wants. He used to be so particular about the dining settings, preferring that we used his mother's old china set and having the full place settings out for every meal no matter what it was. I spent hours learning the proper forks, spoons, glasses, and multiple ways to fold a napkin to keep that smile on his face. It was worth it until he would smile while striking me and I could never follow his moods.