Emerge into Forever

by Andrea Michelle

  She's holding onto every word with understanding. "That's deep," she graces me with a coy smile.

  I smirk, "Yeah, well, I have my moments." I wink at her and her lips curl up. Just seeing it makes my breath hitch.

  Her eyes flick to my lips and her smile falters, a solemn look replaces it. I miss it instantly.

  "All I see lately is darkness. I really miss the beautiful colors. Don't you?" she asks.

  I reach out and twine a curl of her hair around my fingers. "Every damn day. But I see it now, and she's more beautiful than anything I've ever seen in my life."

  She reaches her hand up to mine and interlaces our fingers as she looks up into my eyes. "I'm a mess, Josh. I know you're here now and your words in your letter...God, they were so beautiful. I wish I had read them before…um, last night...but I hadn't."

  "I meant every word. Wait! What do you mean? You didn’t read it?” I ask curiously, still confused as to why she went out last night after everything I admitted, why she didn’t call me.

  She releases my hand and curls into herself, pulling her knees up. My heart sinks.

  “No, I know what you wrote, but I didn’t exactly read it. Um…Dean read it to me,” she whispers.

  My eyes grow wide and my jaw locks. She looks away from me.

  “What do you mean he read it to you?” My insides are both frozen cold and scorching hot. I’m beyond angry…again.

  She rests her head on her knees and looks at me nervously. “He had it somehow. I don’t know. He read it to me and I really don’t want to talk about it. Honestly, though, I understand why you pushed me away. You were protecting yourself."

  He had my fucking letter and he read it to her? I left that letter on her bed, which means he was in her bedroom. How? When? I must be radiating anger because she shrinks away from me toward the window. For a second I fear she is going to bolt out the door but she doesn’t.

  She relaxes and touches her lips like she's remembering our kiss. I watch her trace her lips with her index finger and softly sigh. Her hand falls to her heart and then says words I don’t want her to say.

  "That’s why I hope you understand why I feel like I need to do the same now. I don't know what else to do. You don't trust me, and I know I don't trust you right now. I did the very thing I feared, and I let myself fall. You caught me but you didn't keep me. I never lied to you. I kept some things hidden, but I thought I was doing it for you." She won’t even look at me.

  I turn my body to face her and rest my head against the seat, reaching over with my index finger to guide her face so I can look into her eyes, which I find are now shining with unshed tears.

  "I know that now and I know I hurt you. I promised to never hurt you and I did. It's my fault that last night happened...that you...and he..." I can't even form the words.

  She shakes her head and wipes away the tears that have fallen. "Please, don't. I don't want to talk about him. You did hurt me, but I hurt you, too. And last night was my fault. Not yours. I did that to myself. I'm my own worst enemy."

  The violet and amber colors in the sky create a gorgeous glow around her creating the illusion that all is beautiful in the world. Inside this truck, it’s not.

  "I'm so tired. Physically, emotionally...just tired. I tried to fight the darkness after you left me. I felt it more and more every day. I didn't want to be that girl anymore. I don't want to be her. She's weak and vulnerable."

  I grab her hand and squeeze it tight. "Don’t say things like that about yourself. You're not weak. You are one of the strongest people I know."

  She inhales really deep, her lip quivers and she sucks it into her teeth. I know she is fighting the tears. She hates crying and it's all she's done today.

  "Strong people don't wake up in the morning and pour liquor in their coffee just to get through classes. Strong people don't stare at themselves in the mirror and hate the person they see looking back at them. Strong people don't hide vodka in their bedroom and sip on it like water just to keep the shit at bay. All I see is darkness and all I feel is empty inside. That's not strong, Josh. That's pathetic. And that has been me for the past few months. That girl was the reason last night, even happened."

  I literally wince at her words, picturing her doing that to herself and imagining his hands on her.

  Her voice drops to a whisper and she squeezes her eyes shut. "She's not beautiful. She was once when she was with you, but not anymore. All she does is hurt you and herself."

  I reach forward and brush my knuckles across her cheek. "She will always be beautiful to me. She's a little lost right now. So am I. It breaks my heart that I put you through that, but baby I'm sorry, and I will do anything to fix it."

  The tears fall from her eyes and I can't take it anymore. I lift the center console, scoot to her side and pull her into my arms. If my words can't comfort her, hopefully my arms around her will. She holds me just as tight. If by the grace of God, she gives me another chance, I promise and this time I mean it, I will keep her forever. We stay like that with music playing on my stereo for what feels like hours. I’ve been humming along when she whispers so softly, “I’ve missed your music,” making my heart swell.

  I grip her chin and she looks up to me with the sweetest eyes. “I’ve missed everything about you, pretty girl.” She bites her lips, flicking those eyes that look dark blue today, to my mouth as she takes a deep breath. “I know I keep kissing you but…it feels right when I do,” I whisper leaning in just a little closer. She doesn’t lean away and maybe I imagine her inching closer, maybe I don’t.

  “Josh, I don’t know if we should. I think that—,”

  “Don’t think. Feel. How does it feel when I kiss you, when I’m holding you in my arms?” I ask feather light against her cheek. I place a gentle kiss there and she softly inhales.

  She grips my shirt with both of her hands tightly—maybe fighting the urge to reach out and touch me. I place a kiss to her shoulder.

  “It feels like hope,” she says with sincerity. My eyes dart to hers. “It feels right,” she says in a small voice. My heart is beating so fast.

  I tell her the only thing I think she can understand. "I feel that, too. Hopeful. I know you’re scared and you have every right to not trust me. But I’m here, and if I have to fight for us both, I will.”

  She reaches up and traces the lines on my jaw, my cheek and my eyes, which shut reveling in her gentle caress, missing it, savoring it. I feel her lean up and I let her do what she feels instead of forcing what I want. She kisses each of my eyelids softly like I’ve done her so many times before. She kisses my cheek, then the side of my mouth. I open my eyes wide when I feel her straddle my lap and begin kissing and nipping at my neck, less soft, more desperate. I place my hands on her hips and try to reign in how much she is turning me on right now, but I can’t. My hands slide under her sweatshirt, just needing to touch her skin. She lifts her head to look into my eyes. A war is brewing inside of her. I can feel it. So much is flying in those beautiful flecks of green in her eyes. She looks like a caged animal, skittish yet hungry. She bites her lip and looks embarrassed, so cutely bashful, yet full of desire.

  “What is it? Say what’s on your mind right now,” I ask. I can see many emotions hidden in her beautiful eyes and I want to know them all.

  She takes a deep breath and lets it pour out, “You um…I was thinking that maybe…if I let you…that you could erase his touch, make me forget,” she says tripping all over her words.

  I instantly tense beneath her, hard-on now gone. Erase his touch? Hurt flashes in her eyes and she climbs off my lap misunderstanding my reluctance for rejection.

  “Forget I said that. That was wrong of me to say. I’m sorry.” She begins wiping at her eyes and climbing back into her shell, curling up into her seat.

  I turn her back to me gently and let my thumbs wipe her tears. “Listen to me. When I touch you again, it’s going to be because that’s what you want, not to erase his touch.” I feverishly run my hand
s into my hair. “Jesus Christ, Riley. What did he do to you?” I ask.

  She squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m so sorry. I’m just, he…I hate him. I hate him so much.”

  Her body is trembling and I pull her back to me to hold her tight. My mind is going a million miles a minute with ways he touched her. I picture her in his bed, naked and begging him to stop. I picture his hands on her and I feel my own body begin to tremble. I hate him, too. I hate him. I fucking hate him.

  I kiss the side of her head. I kiss all over her face and then I peck her lips. She reaches for my face, shivering. Her tongue touches my lips softly, trying to deepen the kiss. I’m hesitant to give in, not knowing what this kiss means for her. I open and give her what she needs, hoping it means something significant. We kiss softly, sweetly and just damn…she’s killing me. I pull away and she whimpers in protest. I don’t want to stop, but this can’t happen like this. It’s not right.

  I put distance between us, climbing back to my side of the truck. She’s watching me closely. I see the insecurity left behind from me pulling away. I don’t want her to feel that way. “I love kissing you, babe. I’d kiss you forever, but you’re exhausted and this day has been…long.” And confusing as hell. “We should get you home and in bed…to sleep,” I clear my throat.

  She nods, retreats to her side and puts her seatbelt back on. The rest of the drive home is done in silence with the exception to the sounds in my head that are screaming loudly.

  CHAPTER 9

  A muddled mess of muck. Fuck the muck. I’m so tired. So very tired of things always pulling us apart, whether it is our own doing or not—it hurts. It hurts like a wound that won’t heal. I just wonder if that pain is a sign that we were never meant to travel this path.

  God, I’m a hot mess. I don’t even know if Josh and I can get back together when we are like this, or if I even want to believe in him again. Yet, I’m kissing him every time a memory haunts me. That’s something. We pull into the driveway of Josh's house and the color leaves my face when I see the lights are off at both homes.

  "Looks like everyone is still at the hospital. Do you want to come inside, or be alone?" he asks me nervously.

  This day has been the most bipolar fucking day of my entire life, and I have no idea what I want at all. Part of me wants to go inside, take one of my mom's sleeping pills and sleep for an eternity. It'd be lovely if I could wake up months ago and have all this shit not have happened at all. The other part of me wants to be with Josh, in his arms where I can hear his heartbeat—our music and know that I'm safe again. Am I safe with him? I'm barely hanging on by a thread.

  Realizing he is waiting for my answer and uncertain of how long I've been dazing off, I reply. "I don't want to be alone right now."

  He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes, almost like he forced it to make me feel welcome. I wonder if he wants to be alone. He might not want me around right now. I shake off the insecurity when he goes around the truck and opens my door for me, reaching for my hand. I take it.

  He unlocks the front door and as soon as he moves around to flip the lights on, all of the air leaves the room, leaving in its place awkwardness. We're alone. Completely alone. Normally, we would take this time to make out, or flirt. Right now we are in murky waters, unable to see the bottom, or maybe this is the bottom and all we need to do is reach for the other and just swim for our lives until we reach the shore. I don't know anymore.

  "Are you hungry?" he asks. As if on cue my stomach growls making him laugh. “I take that as a yes.”

  I nod, "Yes. Are you cooking for me?"

  He laughs again and I think it's a wonderful sound to my ears. I’ve missed it.

  "I can't cook worth a damn, but I can throw something together if you are hungry," he says, completely full of shit. He can cook. His mom taught him to cook well. She was a good mom like that.

  My mouth curves up at the corners. "We can cook something for everyone, if you want. I'm sure they would appreciate that."

  "We? You wanna help me, pretty girl?"

  "Sure, why not?" I shrug nonchalantly even though I am a jumble of nerves on the inside.

  We set about making something quick and easy, spaghetti. I boiled the noodles, and he made the sauce. We moved around the kitchen in perfect synchrony. It was a beautiful dance. We didn't speak much—it wasn't necessary. This was, ‘us’ just being together, and it was a perfect distraction from the hurricane we were living in.

  I remembered the time he helped my mom in the kitchen, the night I came back from the hospital after Dean pushed me. For a minute I'm back there, reliving that day all over again. Dean—I have to deal with that once and for all. His interference in my life is ruining it.

  Josh grabs the colander so I can drain the water from the pasta. I dump the noodles into his marinara sauce while he sets the table. Flashes of a future where Josh and I are in our own kitchen cooking for our family flickers sweetly in my mind. We are happy in that vision. I want that. Does he want that?

  He sends a text to his dad to see when they would be home. My stomach is in knots and I hate to admit that I don't have much of an appetite right now.

  "What did he say?" I ask him after his phone pings with an incoming message.

  "They won't be back for another hour or so. The girls made him go shopping at Babies R Us. He is letting them pick out the crib bedding. I think they are a little smitten with our baby sister."

  Our baby sister—sounds so weird. "That's cute. So, um…I guess we can eat then?"

  "Yeah," he says, picking up two plates and walking them to the stove. He spoons out spaghetti for both of us and we walk to the dining room table together. We begin eating in awkward silence, which is so weird for us. We’re always playful and now we’re so serious. When it becomes deafening, I break it. "When are you heading back to Louisiana?"

  He pauses with his spoon mid bite and frowns. "You eager to get rid of me?"

  I shake my head, "No, that's not what I meant. I just know tomorrow is Sunday and I didn't know if that meant you would be leaving then. I don't want you to go, but I know you can't stay. That's all." I trip all over my words, which I seem to keep doing with him. I’m so nervous right now.

  He laughs lightly. "It's okay. Collin is leaving tomorrow. I will probably head back Monday morning. I can't miss Tuesday's classes, so I need to be back by then."

  I hum a response and go back to picking at my spaghetti. He notices I haven't eaten much. "I thought you were hungry?" he asks.

  "Yeah, I um...I am, I just feel—,"

  "Uncomfortable?"

  My eyes lift to his, "A little bit. I'm okay," I lie. He studies my eyes and feeling like he's being too perceptive, I hide my anxious feeling with a forced smile.

  "I get it. Look, I'm done eating, and I need to take a shower anyway, so I'll give you some breathing room," he says dryly. He walks to the sink where he rinses his plate off. I watch him the entire time. My mouth grows dry because I feel like I hurt his feelings and that wasn't my intention.

  He turns and finds me staring at him. He walks over, leans down and kisses the top of my head—very much in the friend zone. "You can shower after me, if you like. I can walk you next door to get clothes, or you can borrow mine."

  "I'll borrow yours. Most of my clothes are back at my apartment," I admit.

  He touches my nose with his index finger before walking out of the kitchen taking my crazy heart with him. I push my plate away. I can't eat. I'm wound too tight. See, before all of this he would have made some flirty remark about showering together and now, he’s walking on eggshells.

  I pace the kitchen, then pace the living room and end up in his bedroom where I'm reminiscing of happier times between us. I touch different trophies of his from sports, read several of his old songs that he's written and find myself sitting on the edge of his bed looking out his window towards my own, feeling as if I am literally on the edge myself. I am so wrapped in memory land that I don’t hear him enter the room un
til he clears his throat. I jump off his bed as quickly as I can and literally quit breathing when I find him in the doorway…in nothing but a towel from the waist down. Oh, dear God. He's trying to kill me.

  "I um...didn't grab my clothes. I didn't expect to find you in my room," he admits nervously.

  My eyes begin exploring him as if this one sight alone is what they need. His wet hair tousled hot and sexy, his eyes that are now looking at me curiously, to his broad shoulder’s, across his chest and further down where the rest of him is hidden. I feel the heat travel up my neck, to my cheeks and spreading everywhere—my whole body grows warm and needy. His muscles are just sinful. He gets more and more defined and beautiful every time I see him and I haven’t seen him like this in so long.

  My mouth goes dry seeing his tattoos and just all of him...like that. I lick my lips just trying to wet them. Little droplets of water are falling down his neck from his hair and then down his chest. Jesus, I track the droplets of water like they are the last drops of water I will ever taste. Drops I can’t have and want to lick so badly. I fidget and fight the urge to moan, to pounce, to inhale because I can smell him from here and just...damn my traitorous body. I flick my eyes back up to his and find them dark, hooded and knowing. I look away.

  He clears his throat and walks to the dresser, which happens to be…directly in front of me, where his scent invades my nervous system, causing everything in me to short circuit. God, he smells amazing. I hold my breath as he pulls open a drawer, grabs boxers, then opens another drawer and grabs a t-shirt and sweatpants.

  "Be right back," he says quickly without looking at me. As soon as he leaves the room, I release the breath of air I had been holding on a whoosh. Damn.

  He’s in the bathroom now, removing that towel and placing clothes on his body. I turn to the window and place my all too warm cheek against the glass to help cool me. I shut my eyes and rewind the beautiful canvas that is him and draw it all again with my mind. "You okay?" he asks with amusement laced in his voice. My whole body buzzes.