Credence

by Penelope Douglas

“It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake.” -Frederick Douglass

I raise my eyes, letting them slowly drift around the barren room I’ve barely ever slept in. Shelves filled with books I never finished reading. A desk piled with pretty journals I liked buying but hardly wrote in.

My room.

Besides, they’re not your type.” “How do you know?” “Because I’m telling you they’re not your type,” he shoots back. “I will let you know when one is.”

Oh yeah? :1

“You’re ours,” he states plainly. “We pay for what you need.”

Yes sir daddy SIR OOHRAH

Shhhhh…ut the fuck up.

Mood XD

Everyone contemplates suicide at some point, even if it’s just for a minute. And one thing is usually the root cause. Loneliness.

“I’m not feeding you until the stalls are done and Shawnee’s had her work-out!” she yells as she climbs the stairs. “Let’s go!” My dad’s eyes go wide and he pops out of his chair, stuffing the last piece of bacon in his mouth as I laugh, downing a huge gulp of orange juice before rushing out of the kitchen. Yes, ma’am.

Screaming!!!

“That was your dinner, honey,”

You can be my dinnerf shoooooot

“Lust, learn, and love,” she says, placing the condiments and touching her finger to the ketchup. “My mother said the first boy—or man—is a crush. You think you love them, but what you really love is how they make you feel. It’s not love. It’s lust. Lust for attention. Lust for danger. Lust to feel special.” She looks between us. “You’re needy with number one. Needy for someone to love you.”

“The second is to learn about yourself.” She touches the Heinz. “Your first crush has been crushed. You’re sad, but most of all, you’re angry. Angry enough to not let it happen again,” she explains. “To not give yourself over so much this time. To not give up your power to be his booty call at midnight and there waiting whenever he decides to show up.”

“Number two is where you finally learn what you’re capable of,” she continues, tucking a loose strand from her ponytail behind her ear. “You start getting demanding. You grow bold, not afraid to start calling some shots. You’re also not afraid to be greedier in the bedroom, because it’s about what you want and not what he wants. Number two is to be used. In a way.”

“Love.” She snatches the bottle away. “When the lessons of your weakness with number one and your selfishness with number two sink in, and you find a medium. When you know who you are and you’re ready to welcome everything he is, and you’re not afraid anymore.” She puts the bottle back in its place. “You still might not have a happy ending, but you’ll engage in a healthy relationship and handle yourself in a way you’re proud of.”

“The notches go all the way to the buckle,” I point out. “I’m flattered, but my waist isn’t that small.” Noah leans in, whispering, “But your wrists are.”

“Come here,” he instructs. “Over my lap, princess.”

“Everything you do pleases me.”

“I hate you,” she gasps, hitting me. “I hate you. You’re a fucking joke.” I snarl, trying to catch her flailing fists. You little bitch.

Say it again. Please

“But that’s it. It stops now.” “Gotcha.” Bitch.

Snowfall isn’t like rainfall. Rain is passion. It’s a scream. It’s my hair sticking to my face as I wrap my arms around him. It’s spontaneous, and it’s loud. Snowfall is like a secret. It’s whispers and firelight and searching for his warmth between the sheets at two a.m. when the rest of the house is asleep. It’s holding him tightly and loving him slowly.

We all acclimate. We learn, we resolve, we come around—it’s not that anything really gets easier or harder. We just get better at rolling with it.

“Open,” Noah growls under his breath. “Your fucking shirt, princess.”

“I love you. You’re so fucking ours. We love you.”

I want to be outside, he goes on. I want to be in a tree. I want to be wet. I want to be on the forest floor as the rain hits the leaves above. I like that sound. I want to be warm. I want to hold something. I want to talk to my dad. I want to be tired, so I can sleep more, and I want to walk. I want to be in love. I want to be safe. I want to be over. I want things in my head to be gone.

They’re such deep sleepers, they don’t hear you at night. Just me. When I touched your face, you quieted. When I tried to leave, the nightmare started again. So I stayed. I come in every night. You tuck your cold feet between my legs, and I hug you to me, resting my hand on your back and feeling your body calm as it nestles into me. Do I make you feel safe? I like taking care of you.

Let’s not be friends. Let’s fight and laugh and make babies someday and go insane, because I’m fucking in love with you.

Credence. I’m close enough to read it now. It means ‘belief as to the truth of something’.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” I tell him just above a whisper. “You actually left Colorado.” “It was time,” he says. I suck in a breath, his words hitting me like truck. What? I slide off the tire and turn to face him not believing what I just heard. Deep but soft. Clear and strong. He spoke. Kaleb spoke. Walking around the tire, he steps toward me. “My home is where you are,” he says quietly.