Tina POV

I smile a little as I hear the sound of something I learned to cherish a long time ago. I feel her moving, then asking “What?” in her sleepy voice. I lift my head and looking into her eyes my smile grows into a huge one.

“Nothing, I just love how your heart sounds”

Two years before

“What’s happening?” I said as I look at my child fighting to breathe. “Bette?!” I cried out to her and she quickly came closer.

“Shit, she’s congested”

“What?”

“She had been out there for too long, it’s freezing outside” she said as she touched Angelica’s forehead “and she’s burning up!”

I started panicking, “What are you doing?” I screaming as I watched her approaching the exit of the cave “Bette!! Where are you going?”

No response.

A couple of minutes later she came back holding a piece of garment full of snow “We need to keep her temperature down”

* * *

I saw as she caressed and took care of our child as if the time we lived apart hadn’t existed. The temperature had been kept a bay, but Angelica needed cures and we knew that. I could see it on her face: she was feeling helpless. Yet, she kept her eyes on her, her caring hands. Like a real mother would do and I was there, mesmerized. I couldn’t even understand how we managed to destroy something so simple. Our love. A love that found its continuation in our daughter. But we couldn’t see it when we had to and we failed.

“Mommy!!” Angie cried, she was hurting. Her lungs must have felt like hell.

“Baby, mommy is here. Your mommies are here” you would think those words came out from my mouth, but it was her. Bette. She uttered those words with the sweetest voice ever. They were coming from the deep of her heart. “Mommy is here” she kept saying. “I’m here”

* * *

“Kit!  Oh, thank God! We’re fine. We found repair in a cave, but Angelica is really sick. Listen, we need you to call for help. We don’t know exactly where we are…Kit? KIT?” the signal died again. She had been trying to make her phone work in the last hours but it was no help.

Chapter 5 (part 2)

Bette POV

 

I lived most of my life trying to please my father. I had to be the good girl he wanted me to be. I was Melvin Porter’s daughter and people had to see how well he raised me; how successful I was. I went to Yale – just like he asked – the place where I learned about my sexuality. I had a crush on my professor, Danika Palmer, but falling head over heels for Phoebe Cadlek was what had made me realize I was actually a lesbian.

He found out; I had to make things better for his sake, and I tried to achieve every goal putting in as much effort as I could. At least, that would have made up for the great grief I caused him. A grief I didn’t know I was also causing Tina every time I let him reject her… and our unborn child. I felt like shit that night. On one hand there was my father who wouldn’t have had a grandchild, since in his eyes it couldn’t be possible as there were no blood ties. On the other hand there was Tina who was dealing with the pregnancy, the fact that she was carrying an African-American child, and having a stubborn ass as a partner.

Then there was me… I couldn’t give my father a grandchild, I couldn’t be a good wife to my partner. I remember feeling helpless when we started looking for a donor. I would have given anything to just be able to get her pregnant and make them both proud. In the end we lost the baby, and the world came crushing down.

My only light, after living the Hell, was Angelica. A little human being I came to love as if she was my own flesh and blood. But just like my father said: there were no blood ties. And what little hope I had left in me disappeared as soon as I realized she couldn’t be mine…

Yet, the more I looked across the cave, the more I felt this pull towards her. She was so beautiful, so grown up. My little girl.

 

“Yes, Kit, don’t worry we’re fine. We’re gonna come back as soon as the storm calms down” I reassured my frantic sister.

Chapter 5

My lungs were burning; what little air I had in them was forcefully coming out as I was coughing so hard it brought a slight flavor of blood that provoked in me a persistent urge to throw up. I spent the last moments yelling and crying out Angie’s name, until I was left with my mouth agape, with no sound coming out – if I uttered one more word, I knew, my vocal chords were going to break. I could feel the cold blocking the air in my throat as I ran, trying to catch my breath. Exhausted, I walked along the little path that led to the river, after running everywhere from a tree to another. Finally, my legs failed me, and I found myself kneeling down helpless: I couldn’t find her. My baby, my life, disappeared out of nowhere, and it was all my fault. I would have given anything to be able to turn back time and did things differently. Starting with the way I dealt with things when she was only six months.  Bette would have been still here, and Angelica would have been with her other mother. A fucking hurricane… I destroyed everything.

The shiver that ran through my whole body made me realize only then that I wasn’t wearing a coat. As if on cue, I felt someone approaching me from behind tossing me a scarf and my jacket.

”Here. Put these on” she said in her usual flat tone.

“What are you doing here?” my eyes not leaving the ground.

“The girls, especially Kit, said it’s our fault, and we have to deal with the consequences… on our own”

I couldn’t help the scoff, “How nice of them. I’m here looking for Angelica and the only thing they think of is whose fault it is” I said as I rolled my eyes.

“I have my phone with me. If we don’t find her within thirty minutes I’m calling for help”

“I’ve been looking everywhere and she’s nowhere to be seen! Why not call for help already?” I said frantically without stopping, this close to fainting for the lack of oxygen.

“Maybe if you actually looked for her, instead of yelling/” the nerve she had!

“Are you fucking serious? My baby is out there! Alone! It’s fucking freezing/” I cut her off before she did the same.

“And we’re going to find her… if you stop yelling. See? We’re wasting time. I’m sure she’s not far from here” That’s how our ‘conversation’ ended.

She started walking while I was still sitting on my knees. She didn’t even bother to help me get up… and who was I kidding? It was obvious by then that no encouragements were going to come from her; not for my sake at least. I quickly got up, almost falling face first onto the snow-covered ground, and sheepishly wore my coat and scarf. I thanked God for the temporary relief and followed her.  She was a couple of feet ahead of me. She kept moving not even acknowledging me for the whole time. I don’t know why, but I had to turn around and look at our footprints: they were following a completely different path and pattern. I stopped and meditated. We were indeed following a different path; it had been like that for six years. It was like we had no recalling of the way back. I stared at Bette’s footprints and I noticed how they followed a very accurate and neat pattern. It was like a knitting work; every print was linked to the other one. A straight path. That’s how she’s always been: so sure of herself. Whenever she wanted something, she always would walk and take it. I wonder why she stopped fighting. Maybe she didn’t want it anymore. Maybe she wanted to pursue her real dream and go straight to New York, and be able to live again. Little did I know she was walking straight to hell.  Mine, on the other hand, traced a very confused path… just how I’ve been living, lately: in total confusion.

The cold wind hitting my face woke me from my reverie and I must have stood there for a while because Bette could be barely seen from where I stood. I sped up my steps and kept staring at her back while my mind drifted off to the old good times.

Chapter 4

“Are you scared of the storm?”
“Yes”
“You know you’re safe, here. The walls of our house are thick, they will protect us”
“Hold me and ask me again”
“Are you scared of the storm?”
“Not anymore”

• • •

Storms always scared the hell out of me since I was a kid. I would go on and on whining, crying, running back and forth across the hallway in my childhood’s home; my parents words did little to sooth me. It took years and years to find my real refuge. It was not a building bounded with thick walls, it was Bette’s arms. I haven’t been scared of a storm since then. She herself was a storm. One of those brilliant, wonderful storms. She could overwhelm me with the force of her winds, caressing me when we made love. Creating ripples that soon became waves of pleasure. We went, we came, our souls parting before crashing against each other, again, when our eyes met in a fulfilling calmness once the whirlwinds of our passion ceased. I learnt to love that storm, in that storm I found my refuge.

A shelter I couldn’t find any more when I looked in her eyes, now. I sat at the table, in the kitchen and the overwhelming feeling that crossed my body every time I was near her gave me everything but a soothing sensation and the fear came back. The fortress collapsed. I dropped the bomb that caused it to fall down. I started to panic as I heard the doors and windows slamming for the wind was too strong now it almost made the entire cabin rock. I stood up and ran toward my room.
In a matter of two seconds, I found myself hidden underneath a duvet, waiting for the end of it all. I didn’t know if the noise I was hearing was my breath or the winds outside. I needed to calm myself if I didn’t want to die like that. Dying because of a fucking snowstorm, how nice! I heard a loud noise. A thunder?
“Tina! What the hell happened?” Alice voice came through the closed door. I soon realized the noise was her fist banging against it.
“Storms scare me!” was my muffled reply.

Chapter 3

Cheating is not the ultimate betrayal, my mother once told me. The only true act of betrayal in her eyes was to share poetry with someone other than your beloved. Poetry. The most human of the arts.  An approach to the truth of feelings, the reflection of the most unreadable souls. Words, letters. A fluid dance, the one of two lovers in the act of lovemaking, merging, matching each other’s breath, a one being. Each word followed by another word, closely linked to the previous one. Rhymes produced by two hearts as they culminate in the same tune, their heartbeat the harmonic background, the sounds of their voices, the indistinguishable chant of two bodies binding to one another. Words, letters, rhymes, sounds. The essence of two lovers.

Angelica. Our daughter, the product of our love. The poetry we created together, I shared her with someone else. Words, letters. Their original meaning lost and the harmony our heartbeat produced was now a steady hum. The poet in the throes of a crisis ripped his book pulling everything into chaos as the words followed no pattern, creating an intricate, artfully designed maze. The map to the way out lost. My pair of waxwings helped me to escape Minos, but thrilled by the feeling of freedom and control I flew too high. I fell down as the sun softened the wax. A bright light, at first, then darkness.

Shadows of guilt, fear and sorrows closed up around me as I wandered through my realm of darkness. I kept on walking, landing in the middle of a hall. A mirror in front of me reflected the image of someone I could not recognize. Was that what Bette saw, now? A traitor. The one who destroyed everything that meant anything. I made my own maze; I was my own enemy. The love, the laughs, the happiness. Them all subsiding into a chasm as a tornado of mistakes sucked them all in. I could see a shadow standing behind me, surveying me, picturing the past that haunted me. My image, as visible as it might have been was blurry and unrecognizable, unlike the silhouette standing behind my back, it slowly started to take the shape of someone I knew: Bette.  She had been haunting me. Each day and each night, in the last six years. She was my past, and she was my present. A perpetual remembrance of the bigger mistake I’ve ever done, a mistake that opened the door to an even darker future. A smirk formed on her lips as she noticed my troubles and I felt my lungs constrict. I gasped for air, her eyes: they seemed to suck my soul up. Those black and hollow holes, darker than ever, were fixed on me, giving me the creeps, they stung, I could feel a sharp pain crossing my body. I was paralyzed; there was no way for me to turn around, to try to catch my past. It was too far away and that scared me. I looked at my reflection, my face showing the emotions I was going through; affected by the image of the one I loved and then hurt. The curve on her lips turned into an even more evil smile and a noise, something similar to a deafening white noise banging against my eardrums suddenly made me wince, and it was so unbearable I had to cover my ears. I don’t know what it was, or where it was coming from, for I was too preoccupied to try to make it stop. It was no use. The pain, I was screaming. I bent down as I was starting to feel my knees giving out, my body emptied of my strength. I gave another look in the mirror and I could see her laughing at my helplessness. My scream turned into a cry for help, seeking for some solace. Then the silence and the dark… again. A nightmare. I had been having that bad dream for years I could not remember when it started, it was, by now, a part of me. Little did I know that the true nightmare was about to happen and it wasn’t in my sleep. A nightmare within a nightmare, that’s what had become of my life.