Reece's Haven

Prologue I

"She was torn between his love and her parents' trust..."
– Nautica

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~ R E E C E ~

September 1990

Age 11

Pain.

Out of all the feelings I have experienced, I am most familiar with pain.

Wincing, I limp towards the window from my bed and hastily grab onto the window sill for support. I desperately move the curtains away, illuminating my dusty room. With squinted eyes, I look at the view. Particularly, the neighbour's driveway.

The pale yellow Mercedes-Benz is resting on the driveway. I sigh in relief.

I am not late.

I see a man sitting on the driver's seat. His window is open. A puff of smoke escapes from his lips and then disperses into nothing. He rests the cigarette between his lips.

A few minutes later, the front door opens to reveal a ten year old girl. Her dark curly hair is pushed back by her plain red hairband. She is wearing a red checkered dress that reaches just below her knees and a pair of white cotton tights. Carrying a dark purple backpack, she makes her way to the yellow car where her stepfather is waiting for her inside. She opens the door but before she sits in, she turns to look at her house. Her cheeks and the tip of her button nose are tinged with pink.

She has been crying.

Her bright green eyes wander to my window and she freezes when she sees me. I hold my breath when she suddenly beams and waves at me.

How can she smile at me right now? Why can she not reveal that she feels just as broken as I do?

I feebly return her wave with a heavy heart, and her smile slowly fades away.

Don't cry, Reece. Please.

Her words from last night echo in my mind. I promised her I would not cry, but keeping that promise feels impossible right now.

Her smile is like a sunshine to my cloudy days. Her tears are a stab to my heart. Her laughs are a sweet melody; I can listen to them all day forever.

Only she is able to make me happy.

Something catches her attention - or rather, someone. She looks at her stepfather and nods her head before she opens the door and slides in, not sparing me a second glance. I guess she has reached her limit; one more second and her tough walls would have crippled, leaving her vulnerable.

The man tosses the burning white stick to the ground the very moment she shuts the door. The engine roars to life. A harsh sting envelops my eyes and nose. The car reverses before it begins to turn and move down the street. I place my right hand against the cool glass pane. My vision becomes blurry and hot tears run down my cheeks.

"Don't go," I sob, gasping for air. "Please."

My source of happiness is leaving.

Dorothy Sherman is leaving me.

*~*~*~*~*