Kristen Ashley - Creed

But Creed didn’t show.

The next day I went back to the pier and waited again.

I didn’t know what to do.

No one knew about us and Creed wanted to keep it that way just in case Daddy sent someone out looking for us, so I couldn’t ask his friends. I told Daddy I was leaving but, as Creed told me to do, I didn’t tell him I was leaving with Creed.

Creed had worked out his notice the week before to get ready to leave but he would also be angry if I went by to the factory, so I couldn’t go there either.

So I got in my car and drove around, drove everywhere, went into the stores and diners and swung by gas stations to check and see if he was around, even if his truck wasn’t outside.

He wasn’t in the stores or diners.

He wasn’t anywhere.

Worried, scared, feeling truly alone for the first time since I was six, I did the only thing I could do.

When it got late, I went to the bar. I stood outside until someone showed and asked if they’d go in, find Winona Creed and send her out to talk to me. I found someone, they went in and she teetered out and proved what I knew. She paid absolutely no attention at all to her son and she cared about him even less.

When I asked her if she knew where he was, she threw out an unsteady hand which made her list to the side before she righted herself and she stated, “He lef’. Goin’ somewheres. Doan know wheres. Just know he sold the house an’ he gone.” Then she squinted her eyes to focus on me and she asked, “Whas’ a Bissenette doin’ askin’ after a Creed?”

I didn’t answer that. I asked, “He left?”

She nodded unsteadily. “He gone.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Sure I’m sure, gurl. He’s my boy, ain’t he?”

No, he was my boy.

And he wouldn’t leave without me.

Would he?

Would he take my virginity then take off without me?

No.

No.

No way.

Creed wasn’t like that. Creed wasn’t like other guys.

Not Creed.

Not my Creed.

“Thanks, Mrs. Creed,” I mumbled, moving away.

“Whatever,” she mumbled back and lurched into the bar.

I went to his house, I drove around town and then I went to the pier.

No Creed.

I sat on the end, my feet in the water and my head spinning. I didn’t know what to do. How could he disappear? No one just disappeared. Should I talk to the police? Should I risk Creed getting mad at me and talk to his friends?

Oh God, I didn’t know what to do. Not only didn’t I know what to do to find Creed, I didn’t know what to do without him.

There didn’t seem a time when he wasn’t there.

I didn’t want there to be a time when he wasn’t there.

And I was terrified. Two days, no Creed. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. I felt it in my bones. He’d never leave me. Never disappear. Never make me wait to start our new lives.

Never.

Something was very, very wrong and that something had to do with taking Creed away from me.

I stared at the lake, our lake, the place we met, laughed, swam, ate, necked and made love.

“Come back to me,” I whispered.

I closed my eyes tight, using everything I had, praying hard, hoping, when I opened my eyes, I’d feel Creed moving toward me.

I opened my eyes and saw lake.

I twisted around and saw the dark grass, wood and pasture, all empty.

I twisted to the other side.

More empty.

No Creed.

I twisted back to the lake, my lips trembling, my nostrils quivering.

“Come back to me,” I begged, the tear slipping over my eye and gliding down my cheek.

* * *

I fell asleep on that pier.

Creed never came back to me.

*****

Three days later…

I paced the room.

How did this happen?

How was this happening?

And where was Creed?

He had to be out there. Maybe he’d heard something was wrong. Maybe he knew Daddy knew about us. Maybe he was working to save me.

He had to save me.

There was noise outside. My heart jumped and my gaze swung to the locked door of the room I’d been held in since Daddy found me.

The door opened and my father and a man walked in.

Daddy led the man to me. He couldn’t meet my eyes.

The man was looking at me.

I stared into his eyes and I did not like what I saw. Not at all.

Not at all.

My stomach clenched so hard, I thought I would throw up and I backed up, up, up, up until my body was in the corner.

“Sylvie, I’d like you to meet Richard Scott,” Daddy said to my shoulder.

Richard Scott smiled at me and I did not like that smile. Not at all.

Not at all.

He came toward me. Daddy looked to the floor and I pressed myself into the corner.

Oh God.

Oh God!

Where was Creed?

Present day, eighteen days later…

I sat on a tall stool at the bar in a swank restaurant staring at myself in the mirror behind the bar and not much liking what I saw.

My hair was three times its normal volume and I had five times as much makeup on. I was wearing a skintight black dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. It had a straight bodice that sat low and tight making my not altogether spectacular cleavage nearly spill out and thus, exposed cleavage, as everyone knew, miraculously became spectacular. It also had spaghetti straps and the little ruffle (yes! a ruffle!) at the hem was the only thing that, when I was standing, saved me from having my ass cheeks hanging out. Sitting, it was a disaster. In other words, near-to crotch shot. Last, on my feet were spike-heeled, bronze sandals that I had to admit where hot but they fucking killed, even when I was sitting.

Serious yuck.

So not me.

Suffice it to say there was nowhere, as in no-freaking-where, to stash a weapon.

This meant I felt exposed in more ways than one and it sucked.

The only good thing was, I’d had my mani/pedi done the day before and in that getup they looked awesome.

My eyes slid to the art deco clock behind the cash register and I dipped my chin and muttered into the microphone taped between my shoved together and pushed up tits, “He’s half an hour late.”

In the transparent ear bud receiver tucked in my ear, I heard Hawk Delgado’s deep voice reply, “He’ll show.”

It was go time on Hawk’s job and I was meeting the contact to set up the principals in order to bring them down.

I was antsy for action.

This was partly because I hadn’t had a drink or cigarette in two weeks. I didn’t know if I was pregnant but the amount of effort Creed and I were putting into making me that way meant that undoubtedly would happen (I hoped) and I wasn’t taking any chances. As the days went by, it was getting better but I wasn’t there yet.

This meant I was in a bad mood.

Further, shit was falling into place and I wanted this job done.

I put my house on the market and, miracle of miracles, I got an offer that was acceptable within a week. This, I figured, was because I didn’t really give a shit what it sold for, so the buyers got a screaming deal but, whatever.

Money didn’t mean anything to me.

Starting my life with Creed did.

I’d set up an estate auction to sell everything even though most my shit was junk. Still, there were people who liked junk and I needed to unload it, so they were going to get their chance to have mine. Lucky me, this gave me my chance to kiss that crap good-bye.

As for Charlene, she’d made the decision to move back to her hometown. She had a brother and parents there that were concerned about her and too far away to help out. Her Mom was semi-retired so she could help take care of the kids and her brother owned some asphalt company and he needed an office manager. All she had to do was sell her house, pack up and go. When she unloaded the house, Creed, me and the kids were going to come up and help. Then his kids would go back to Phoenix and Creed and I were going to help drive her down to New Mexico.

I was ecstatic about this decision. First, she’d be close to a number of people who would have her back. Second, her family lived in a burg that was a good haul from Phoenix but it was a fuckuva lot closer than Denver.

Douchebag Dan was not ecstatic (which made me more ecstatic). He’d quit his job to start his new life and now was struggling. He wanted his piece of the house and he was balking at child support. On the flipside of that, Knight’s piranha attorney wanted to assist him in finding a way where he could fuck himself and the man was a master at this task.

Douchebag Dan was screwed. Knight’s attorney was already eating him alive, taking his time, making it tortuous and enjoying every second.

So was I.

Charlene hated it being ugly and the kids were subdued in response to their Mom trying but not exactly succeeding in hiding her heartbreak. So I hid the fact I thought it was the fucking bomb that Dan was squirming. It would be over soon, she and the kids would be with people who cared about them, she had a job, the extra income from Creed’s work and Dan would be forced to bend over and grab his ankles.

All was right with that world.

It was also right in mine. Chelle had immediately agreed to Creed getting the kids more when he returned to Phoenix. He’d have them every other weekend and Tuesday night through Thursday after school each week. When we went down there last weekend, it was clear the kids were thrilled with this.

I had been right. Chelle reported to Creed that when she told Kara and Brand that she and Creed had decided they’d spend more time with their Dad, Kara thawed toward her mother. She just wanted more Creed time. Chelle giving it to her and Creed sitting them down and making it clear that was a decision he and Chelle made because he wanted to spend more time with them and Chelle wanted them to have more of their Dad made her the good guy for once.

Further, Creed finally accepting that Chelle held some guilt for the collapse of their marriage and letting go of the burden he held meant that their relationship had also changed. They didn’t phone each other every day to have a gab but the baggage weighing on them was gone. It wasn’t hard to feel the ease that generated not only between those two but the kids sensed it too.

What made really fucking good infinitely better was that Creed was, in his badass way, over the fucking moon about all of this. He’d see his kids more, shit was sorted with his ex and he was going to have me.

Never, not in my life, not once, had I seen him this relaxed and happy. I knew why but that didn’t mean he didn’t tell me that he not only had it all but he seriously got off on the fact that, for the first time in sixteen years, our future was bright.

I loved that, fucking adored that he finally had that. He was a good man. He deserved it.

So, outside the occasional nic-fit, life was good.

As for me, Creed being pushy as well as bossy meant that, twice a week, I was seeing a therapist. I’d had five appointments and the first three didn’t go so well because I thought it was hogwash. I felt that all I really needed was Creed and eventually I’d work through my shit and get on with life.

At the end of my third appointment, my therapist told me he sensed I thought it was hogwash and suggested I didn’t trust him, thus he couldn’t help me and asked me if I’d like him to refer me to someone else.

I dug his honesty and the fact that he wasn’t willing to take my money even if I was shutting him out so he’d never help me but still get paid for it.

In other words, he broke through.

The next two appointments weren’t great either but only because reliving that shit sucked.

That said, there was something about unloading it on someone objective, watching the expressions on his face mirror some of the shit I felt bottled inside, not having to worry about what I said or how I reacted hurting him or affecting him like I would if I shared it with Creed or even Knight or Charlene that was such a massive relief, it was hard to express.

What it was, was instantaneous.

After the first appointment where I shared, I left feeling almost fucking giddy. The next, the same. My doctor warned me that when I began to dig further into what happened in order to move past it, I would have times when I would not feel giddy. Where it would be difficult, draining and even painful. I got that. It was just good to know that therapy actually worked. I was in the hands of someone who knew what he was doing and it was about me and only me, unloading a huge wad of crap and I didn’t have to drag anyone I loved into it.