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TO LOVERS HELL
Rya
Miss Moola’s home was warm, with just enough light floating in through the windows. The front door had delivered me into a kitchen that was smaller than mine with red and white decor. Where there wasn’t wood, there was the cutest white wallpaper with strawberries and yellow flowers.
I gasped. I love yellow flowers.
There was an island in the middle of the kitchen. It had red and white tiles on it with a wood trim around the edges. My fingers grazed the top, soaking in all the love this woman had put into the meals she had cooked.
Gazing behind me, I saw Moola by the now closed door, watching me.
I quietly said, “It is you who cooks here.”
Her smile was … gracious and kind. “Yes.”
“I love ya curtains.”
They were made of lace. Delicate and pretty. There was even one on the door, tied in the center with a bow.
“Thank you.” Looking nervous, she glanced at the cozy dining table standing between the kitchen and a large window. “It needed a full remodel, so Diesel told me to decorate it. Demi is so young and sweet, I thought she would like the tender country feel of these colors.”
My heart bloomed with hope that who was watching over Demi was… “It’s perfect.”
Not moving from the door, she blew out a breath.
Across from the island where I stood was a counter, a sink, and a window facing trees. The counter continued to the right, along the corner of the kitchen and all the way to the refrigerator. There were magnets holding up cut-out pages from magazines.
Moola explained, “Those are pictures she picked to be hung.”
The chosen items were green ivy coming out of pretty pots, girly pink pillows, and throw blankets. Simple things that trafficked children don’t ever get to enjoy.
I gestured to an arched opening in the wall, next to the kitchen and to the right of the front door when entering the home.
“Of course,” Moola sweetly approved. “Anywhere you want.”
Heading for the opening, I stopped when seeing frames holding child-like drawings. One was of a man whose head was shaved on the sides and had an earring in his lip.
Moola held her chest. “He’s a friend, drawn by a boy who loved him.”
Barely touching it, I felt the love between the two. “Dio.”
Emotion shining in her eyes, she covered her mouth, nodding.
Another drawing that held me captive was a side view of Dio, staring out with red eyes. He protectively stood behind a young woman who was wearing a mask, also staring out of the picture.
I inhaled the love Thunder had for them both. “His Ani.”
Silent tears fell down Moola’s cheeks. “Yes. That drawing was titled The Demon and the Stripper.”
Speaking out loud, “What pleases you, eases me,” I swayed for a second, now understanding where Thunder had learned that phrase.
Wet lips trembled. “That is what Dio told Anita that very day. Their love was a rarity. I believe it was meant to show Thunder how to survive the next years.”
I nodded. “With the Titans.” With pure honesty, and feeling his love inside me, I added, “It worked. He is … a blessing.”
Through the opening of the wall to my right, there was a small upright piano. It was against a wall that was decorated with plants, several with long vines like the magazine pictures hanging on the refrigerator. There was also a drawing of a girl on a grand black horse in a field of yellow flowers.
I looked to Moola who was now standing in the opening. “How do you know about the yellow flowers?”
