by Vera Hollins
“I won’t work with her, so you can forget about it.”
He passed by her, and I watched his slightly hunched form retreat. I felt uncomfortable in front of Carmen, and it hurt that Hayden still treated me this way.
I rushed to him, more anxious with each step. “I also came to see if you’re okay. You didn’t come to school today so I was worried about you.” My cheeks flared. I could feel Mrs. Black’s inquisitive stare on me.
Hayden slowly turned around. His wide eyes showed disbelief and surprise, and I wanted to tell him so many things. If only we could talk honestly and put our issues to bed... I glanced at Mrs. Black. How long was she going to stand there?
“You came because you were worried about me?”
I played with my fingers, feeling very vulnerable. “That’s another reason, yes.” That’s the real reason, Sarah. Why can’t you just admit it to him?
He stayed quiet as he searched for something in my eyes, and it gave me hope. Maybe he wouldn’t push me away this time.
His face went blank, nipping my hope in the bud. He hid behind his mask once more. “I’m completely fine. You don’t have to worry about me at all. You can go now.”
“Hayden—”
“I don’t want you in my house,” he retorted sharply, creating a heavy pressure that threatened to conquer me. “I clearly proved this the last time you were here.” I recoiled at his reminder, which seemed to affect him as well. His eyes shimmered with sorrow and regret, showing that he was troubled by what he’d done to me, but it didn’t matter much when he was pushing me away again.
Ignoring Carmen’s look of pity and concern, I said firmly, “I’m not going anywhere. I want to work with you on our project, so I’m here to stay.”
I stood my ground, holding his incredulous stare. He remained silent, flexing and relaxing his fists as he weathered his inner storm. I didn’t even blink, astonished with myself but also proud. We needed to build trust in each other, and I had to show him I wasn’t going away. I was definitely here to stay.
“Are you deaf?” he gritted out at last. “I don’t want you—”
“Are you?” I raised my eyebrows. “I’m not going anywhere.”
We stared each other down, both of us unmoving as seconds rolled on, and I could only imagine how strange we looked to Mrs. Black.
A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Fine,” he growled, and delight pumped through my veins. “We’ll work on the stupid project. Come with me.”
Yes! I wanted to jump for joy, watching him with a smile as he climbed the stairs. Carmen’s face was a mix of surprise, sympathy, and worry, and I wished she didn’t have to witness all of this. She looked like she wanted to say something, but I just smiled at her and darted after Hayden.
He moved slowly, hissing after almost each step, and my hands itched to support him so he didn’t have to struggle.
“Does it hurt much?” I asked.
“Try bruising your ribs and you’ll know,” he replied sarcastically and heaved a long sigh when he finally reached the last tread.
He was half-way to his room when Breaking Benjamin’s “You” started playing. I stopped to take a look around the all too familiar hallway, and something heavy pressed my insides. The memory of the last time here along with the day of Kayden’s funeral replayed in front of my eyes, gluing me to the spot.
Hayden turned around when he reached his door, unaware that I wasn’t following him. He was about to say something, but then he took me in and frowned. I stood too close to where I was when I rushed down the stairs to escape Natalie and fell.
“Sarah?”
I swallowed hard. I couldn’t hide the distress on my face. As much as I wanted to, I wasn’t able to prevent an unpleasant sensation from taking over me. He took a step toward me, and I tensed. His eyes narrowed, and pain flashed through them.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said bitterly. I didn’t even move. His gaze darkened with despair, and he moved his hand down his face. “If you’re afraid of me, why the fuck did you come here?”
“I—” I honestly didn’t know what had gotten into me. I wanted to trust him, but some scars were just too deep. I was never able to forget that vacant look in his eyes when I fell. “Did you feel anything at all when I fell down the stairs?”
His face went taut, and he looked sideways, his eyebrows knit together in embarrassment. “I can’t believe this. You’re asking me this now?” He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Since you obviously came here to attack me, you can turn around and—”
“I want to trust you, Hayden. And I’m not saying this to attack you, or criticize you, or anything, but you hurt me so much. You made me terrified of you, and you did some things...” My throat constricted, and I sucked in a long breath. “This hallway reminds me of those ugly memories, that’s all.”
His hard gaze pierced through me. “I won’t hurt you now,” he said through clenched teeth. “Either you come to my room, or you go home. I don’t care.” He turned around and strode into his room, leaving his door open.
I balled my hands and headed toward it, but then I glanced at Kayden’s door, and a twirl of longing settled deep in me. I yearned to get inside his room so I could feel closer to him again, but I knew that would be a torture. Just like the last time. It would never fill the permanent hole that resided in my chest. I missed Kayden so much.
Shaking my head, I pushed these thoughts away and entered Hayden’s room, but I stopped abruptly when I took in his space. Many CDs lay scattered around, covering his desk, floor, and shelves, along with a few open books gathered near a few piles of books in the corner of his room, next to his stereo system. Empty beer cans littered his desk and window sill, and one unopened can stood next to an ashtray filled with cigarette butts on his nightstand. The strong smell of cigarettes indicated he smoked very recently.
His walls were still black, but this time, lyrics and poems written in red were taped on all of them. There was barely any free space left. In the parts that weren’t covered with papers, I found the heartbreaking words written in white marker.
INSTABILITY, VULNERABILITY, UNCERTAINTY, DISORDER, HUMILIATION, WEAKNESS, INSIGNIFICANCE, ABANDONMENT, CONTRADICTION.
My eyes stopped on the lines above his double bed, which were also written in large letters.
“I’M PAINED, LOSING MY SOUL,
UNTIL DARKNESS SWALLOWS ME WHOLE.”
My heart took a dive. I pressed my hand against my mouth and read those lines again.
“I’M PAINED, LOSING MY SOUL,
UNTIL DARKNESS SWALLOWS ME WHOLE.”
Something tore through me. Even though I was aware of his darkness and pain, it always shocked me to get even a glimpse of it. I looked at other lines.
“Pained. Alone. Lost.
I need this the most.
Hatred. Destruction. Pain.
I’m fighting in vain.
On the edge of crazy and sane,
Because I want it again and again.”
“These words...” I surveyed each wall again, trying to absorb everything, but it was impossible. There were so many lines, words, emotions. “It’s so deep. It’s... It’s beautiful. Painfully beautiful.”
He sat on his bed and pushed his MacBook aside, avoiding looking at me. He picked up the remote and turned off the music, and the atmosphere in the room turned more somber. More intimate.
“Those are just words,” he said quietly.
“No. These are not just words.” He poured his whole soul into them. They were fueled by his emotions. By him.
This was who he was, and he was allowing me to see it. I took a shaky breath. I wished I could hug him and kiss him breathless. I felt proud. He was capable of creating such beautiful, pure things.
I looked at him. “How do you do this?”
He cocked his head to the side, eyeing me warily. “Do what?” I motioned with my hand at all the papers containing his precious words. He looked away again, shifting his w
eight on the bed. “I take a pen, write on a paper, and tape that paper on a wall. It’s not that hard to guess.”
He avoided the real question with sarcasm, but I understood why. I didn’t need to read the embarrassment on his face to see these lines meant a lot more to him than he would ever admit.
“Where do you get your inspiration?” I asked directly and stepped closer to the nearest wall, trying to read every poem on it.
“I just pour my heart out on that paper. It’s all based on how I feel in that moment. It’s more like...”
I turned to look at him. “It’s more like what?”
Our gazes locked. “It’s more like my diary.”
My chest imploded. His diary. The door to his deepest fears, feelings, wishes...
He’s letting me see everything.
His eyes were soft, so soft, and my body grew warm. I just wanted to take him in my arms and hold him.
My gaze flickered to the poem written above his Mac.
“I’m walking on a thin line.
Still searching for any sign.
How do you love and hate?
It sounds like a twisted fate.
You make me want to run.
You’re a cloud that hides the sun.
You consume me and bring me undone.
And still, you’re my hope when there is none.
You’re the knife that stabs my heart.
You’re the one who makes me fall apart.
And still, I want you to be forever mine.”
“Why are you crying?” he asked me, and I winced. I touched my cheek and felt the tears on my fingertips. When did I start crying?
I wiped them off, ashamed. “I just got emotional. Sorry.”
He didn’t answer right away, his eyes holding me captive. I blushed. “It seems I can always make you cry easily.” His tone was rich with pain and reproach.
I stepped closer to him. I didn’t want him to be suppressed by guilt. I knew well what it was like to live with guilt—it was a prison like no other—and I didn’t want that for him.
“No. I’m just touched,” I replied honestly.
We couldn’t take our eyes off of each other, and I wondered if he could also feel that powerful pull between us, which pulsed fiercely, intoxicating me.
“What makes you cry?”
I blinked a few times. I didn’t expect him to ask something like this so suddenly.
I glanced at the spots on the wall that were a home to single words and read those that represented my reasons, adding some of my own. “Uncertainty. Vulnerability. Humiliation. Weakness. Insignificance. Injustice. Sadness. Loneliness. Self-doubt. Mistrust. Exposure.”
I looked back at him and inhaled sharply. His burning eyes were eating me alive.
“Why are you still standing?” he asked me, his voice raspy.
Color rose to my cheeks again. “Um. Right.” I went to his computer chair.
“No. Come here.” He patted the place next to him, and I froze, realizing how close we would be. On his bed.
I bit into the side of my lip. “Are you sure?” Great. My voice was incredibly husky. Calm yourself.
“No. I’m joking,” he replied sarcastically and rolled his eyes. “Come here,” he commanded me, and my body moved on its own, responding to the pull of him.
I sat down on the other side and placed my notebook in front of me stiffly. Only several inches separated us. I stared at his MacBook’s desktop background, which was a black and white picture of a river flowing through a valley, too aware of his eyes on me.
I’m on Hayden’s bed. My breathing increased. He shifted a bit closer to me, his alluring scent stirring everything in me. Relax, Sarah. Act natural.
I erupted in giggles, too nervous and unable to relax. I glanced at him and found him looking at me like I’d gone crazy.
“Um. Nice background.” I pointed my finger at it, staring at the river’s mesmerizing surface, when I felt his hot breath on my neck. I stilled.
“Why are you so nervous?” he whispered into my ear, his lips almost touching my earlobe. I shuddered, feeling goosebumps all over my skin.
I counted breaths silently, staring intently at the background. “I’m not.”
“Mhm.” His lips brushed my earlobe, which sent a shiver down my spine. I closed my eyes, unable to move. “Do you want me to touch you?” he said sensually and pressed a small kiss on my earlobe. I was already a mess; desire pooled low in my stomach.
Yes. I want you to touch me.
I stayed silent, trembling in burning anticipation...
He left an open-mouthed kiss below my ear, and a moan escaped my lips...
“Do you know what I want?” His voice was hoarse, deep.
I licked my lips and looked at his screen, all of me flushed. My hands were curled into fists as I waited for his next move...
“I want you to take that pen drive out and start working on the fucking project already,” he said, the traces of his sensual tone almost completely gone. He leaned away from me. “I don’t have all day.”
What?
I slowly looked at him, all warmth and desire in me extinguished. His face mocked me. He knew exactly how he’d made me feel, and he was doing this on purpose.
“Why do you always do this? Why do you twist everything?”
He drew his MacBook closer to him. “From the moment you came here I feel like I’m in a psychotherapy session. It feels like we’re opening up, and it’s suffocating me. Now let’s start that stupid project before I lose my patience.” He grabbed the beer can from his nightstand, opened it, and took a big gulp.
He was withdrawing into himself, as if us getting closer overwhelmed him. Was my presence here that difficult for him?
I’d known it would be hard and the progress between us would be slow, but it still hold sway over my emotions, delivering pain in spades.
I fished the pen drive out of my pocket and handed it to him. “I’ve already built a website and placed some text and photos, but I still struggle with the HTML codes and tags.”
He put the pen drive into a USB adapter and lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply as he opened the folder with the files, scanning the contents. He opened them in his HTML editor software and took another drag of his cigarette.
“I can’t place the text, photos, and widgets where I want them to be. Their alignments are just not right, and the content doesn’t appear in the right columns,” I added.
He didn’t say a word as he studied the script and then took a look at the website in his browser, working in silence for a couple of minutes.
“You really suck at this,” he said.
“Thank you for enlightening me about something I knew from the very start.”
His eyes narrowed. “Some things did change.”
“Like what?”
“Like you being sarcastic with me.”
Oh. “Well, you started it first. You never choose your words when you’re speaking to me.”
He half-smiled at me, but it held a hint of sadness. “On the contrary. You have no idea how much I choose my words when I’m next to you.”
I straightened up, my pulse speeding up. “What do you mean?”
He focused on his screen again. “Nothing,” he muttered and drew in smoke, exhaling it moments later.
I watched the smoke twirl in the air and disappear as he typed something in the program, changing some codes.
“You messed up some tags, which was why you couldn’t place your widgets in the right places. Also, you made a mistake with your menus. Some of them are missing complete URLs. Here”—he pointed at the width, height, and border numbers—“You need double quotes here and”—he pointed at another place—“You didn’t use angle brackets.” He looked at me. “You should have used plugins instead. Everything would be much easier for you.”
Huh? I gaped at him, completely lost. I didn’t understand a word he’d said.
“You have no clue what I’ve just said.” His voice
was flat.
“Not at all.”
He sighed. “We have a long way to go.”
Chapter 17
TWO HOURS LATER, HAYDEN saved the final version of our website on my flash drive and offered it to me. “Here you go.”
Our hands met for a split second, and a sizzling sensation coursed through me. I tried to hide my strong reaction to him, pretending I was unfazed, but it was hard when his eyes lingered on my hand, his lips parting. With a small frown, he brought his attention back to his screen. I exhaled the breath I’d been holding slowly, feeling flustered.
We completed the project. He’d corrected the codes with errors and rearranged the artwork I added to our blog, and the end result was way better than anything I could’ve achieved on my own. I smiled, thrilled that we’d finally managed to work together on this project and finish it.
But then again, this meant I had no reason to stay here any longer. I felt a pang of loneliness, and my smile dropped. I wanted to stay here and talk with him more, desperate to reach for him and touch him.
“Thank you, Hayden. You did a great job.”
He raised his head from his screen to look at me. “It’s really nothing.” He took another cigarette and lit it, drawing a long drag. “But an art blog is so lame.”
I shrugged. “Just like you love poetry, I love drawings and paintings. Nothing about them is lame for me.”
He didn’t take his eyes off of me as he inhaled and expelled smoke in a quick puff. “Yeah, I noticed that. Your room is like an art sanctuary, all covered with your drawings.”
“I could say the same for your room. It’s all covered with your words.”
He smirked, his eyes heating. “Our rooms are very similar.”
That was true. Not only our walls were covered with the layers of our souls, but my room was also messy, so many papers, sticky notes, and art supplies lying all around. I wouldn’t change a single thing about it.
“You’re right.”
“That was why I felt...” He stopped mid-sentence, taking another drag of his cigarette.