by C P Harris
That’s where Damon and Ash lived. That’s where I felt more myself. Everything less grand but still beautiful. The people were hardworking and real. More of what I was used to.
Sitting in the driveway of our modest home, I took a few moments to appreciate how much Blake had taken great care of it. Improved it in many ways too. He watched over it in the same way he watched over me. Knowing I would one day need to come back to it.
I gave him the okay to make some renovations last summer. “Maintenance,” he’d called it. But I had my suspicions he wanted to change it just enough so it’d be less of a reminder of my pain but kept the parts that reminded me of home.
The gable roofing and dormer windows were now gray, and so were the shed windows along the first and second floors of the white Victorian. I’m sure that had everything to do with gray being Blake’s favorite color on me. The small reminders of how much he cared were the hardest to contend with. Made it harder to hate him.
The front door remained red, and the basketball hoop my dad got me still hung over the garage door.
I got out of the car. Going up the four steps leading to the porch, I ran my hand along the balustrade that extended the whole length of the house. Stopping to run a light finger over the carved words Justin and Mom, forever.
I eyed the porch, smiling at the memory of my dad declaring, “All that’s needed is a couple rocking chairs.” And a garden. Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the front door. My heart galloped. Telling myself to get over myself, I entered.
I couldn’t say I was shocked to see that the floor plan had changed to open space. Blake hated walls.
I walked through the dining room and into the living room. The kitchen overlooked them both. The all glass rear wall showed off the spacious backyard.
The washed gray wood floors and the furniture, all a matching hue, gave the place a rustic vibe. But the family photos and heirlooms that littered the place kept me from feeling like a stranger.
Stepping through the sliding doors, I allowed myself a centering breath and tried to work through my feelings at that moment. I missed my father. He did his best with me, but when Mom died, something in him died as well. Many somethings.
I harbored an unvisited hurt that I wasn’t enough for him to live for. An unfair hurt, but sometimes, we couldn’t help how we felt. Even when we knew that those feelings were based on small lies we told ourselves.
A row of waist-high shrubs separated our backyard from the neighboring one. It appeared our home wasn’t the only one that had work done. The back of that house wasn’t made of glass the last time I was there.
A structure to my right snagged my attention. Approaching the all-glass enclosed space, I refused to acknowledge what I was seeing. I didn’t want to believe it.
When close enough to touch, my denial left just as fast as it came.
A dance studio.
I can’t believe he did this. Stepping inside, I gripped and leaned into the oak barre running horizontal along the mirrored wall and tapped my foot on the cream-colored Marley flooring. The glassed walls making up the other side were set on retractable sliders. I could let in fresh air and rain, if I wanted to.
I spied a surround sound system in one corner and rushed over to see what the playlist looked like. He’d gotten all my favorites. I pressed play and closed my eyes as the soft classical notes came to life. Sinking to the floor, I couldn’t have been more grateful that I’d come alone. No one needed to see me cry.
Sounds of heavy panting and something wet dragging over my face brought me back to awareness. But I couldn’t locate the strength to care.
“Pluto, down boy.”
That got my attention. Opening my eyes at those hushed words, I came face to face with a… hound dog? A bloodhound, it would seem. He did oddly enough resemble Pluto. I took in its owner.
“Sorry about that. He’s really affectionate. Too affectionate.” He leveled Pluto with a reproachful glare, but the dog didn’t take it seriously. “I’m Max. I live in the house right behind yours,” he said, pointing behind me to the house with the see-through back wall. “Ah…” His cheeks colored, and he cleared his throat while looking away quickly.
He’s an odd one flitted through my mind. Then I figured I might appear to be missing a few screws myself, having obviously been asleep on the floor.
“I, ah, was playing catch with Pluto out back, and I heard you... umm…”
Closing my eyes and groaning in embarrassment, I responded, “Please don’t say it.” Getting a fence between our yards would be my first order of business.
“Yeah, well, you’ve been laying here for quite some time. He started to get worried.” Max kneeled on the floor, rubbing behind the dog’s ear. “I came over to obtain proof of life for him.” That earned him a lick from chin to ear. Max pushed Pluto away and peered at me expectantly.
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you, both. It’s been a long week.” Standing up, I brushed myself off.
“Well, I can understand that,” he said, getting to both feet. “And your name is?”
“Justin. How long have you lived there?” My head turned in the direction he’d pointed in. The house he now occupied used to be Mrs. Larson’s.
“Not long, about three weeks.” After an awkward moment of silence, Max realized he’d been staring at me. His eyes darted away. “I rented a place near the high school until the work on the house was done.” He shoved both hands in his front pockets.
My height, so about six feet. In good shape, from what I could tell through his jacket. Something told me his strength came from long hours of hard labor and good genetics. Max didn’t strike me as someone who tried to look good. He just did.
“My aunt owned the house. She left it to me before she passed. I thought about selling it, seemed like too much house for one person. Couldn’t bring myself to do it. I fixed it up, made it my own, and here I am.” He crossed his arms over his chest and then decided he preferred the hand in pocket look better.
“I’m sorry to hear that she passed. Can’t say that I knew her well, but she seemed like a sweet lady.”
Max’s smile held sentiment. “Yeah, she was.”
Now I stared at him. His smile his best feature. It reached his chocolate brown eyes. Max looked amused, and I quickly caught on to the reason. “You―you asked me a question, didn’t you?” I asked, pointing a finger to my chest.
Max laughed, the sound and texture reminded me of coffee. Rich, dark, and soothing. What the hell is happening here?
“I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “Like I said, it’s been a long week, a shitty birthday, and I haven’t been back here―to this town or house―in years. I get back here, and the house looks different in some ways than when I left. Then I fell asleep in the sun for God knows how many hours―”
“Two.”
“Only to be licked awake by a greyhound―”
“Bloodhound.”
“And now this annoying guy named Max won’t stop interrupting me―”
“Heyyyy―”
“Kidding,” I said, palms up, smirking. Warm brown eyes framed by thick, dark lashes glinted with a childlike mirth. “So what was your question?”
“Oh, you answered it,” he said. “I’m assuming you grew up here?”
“I moved here right before high school and eventually left for the city. I still own the house, but my... someone else has been handling the upkeep.” Needing a distraction to keep my mind off Blake, I turned to walk out of the studio. “Do you want to come in for a bit?”
Is that the normal thing to ask someone you’ve only just met? Why would he want to come in for a bit? To do what? He doesn’t even know me. I have got to be the most socially handicapped person in the world―
“I’d love to, but I need to get going to the community center. I teach a carpentry class there a few evenings a week.” Max ran his hand through his shaggy chestnut hair. He easily deciphered the look on my face as surprise. “What? Did y
ou think I would say no?” he asked with a touch of amusement.
“I... umm... maybe. I mean, I figured people don’t typically ask someone they only met minutes prior to come into their home for no reason. I’m thinking I should’ve asked if you wanted to come in for a drink?” I asked dubiously.
He laughed. “I must say, you’re a breath of fresh air, Justin.”
“Huh?” Was secretly laughing at me?
“And you don’t even know it. That’s perfect.” Silence… “Well, I’ll definitely take a raincheck on that ‘bit’ or ‘drink’―either works for me.”
Max gathered Pluto’s leash, and I narrowed my eyes on him, catching a hint of a smirk. Definitely making fun of me.
Walking backwards, he said, “Oh, and happy birthday.”
“Thanks.” Looking at my watch, I groaned at how much time remained of this weird and exhausting day.
After hunting down my phone and responding to Sam’s missed calls with a text letting her know I was okay, I read the messages from Blake.
Happy Birthday. You said not to call, but you didn’t say anything about texting, so I decided to take advantage of the loophole. We’ve been a wreck without you. I woke up Tuesday to find the condo trashed. I’m assuming Damon was trying to find details on your new apartment―don’t worry, there was nothing to be found.
Blake strikes again. Always thinking ahead. I’m sure he got rid of anything that could trace back to the apartment long before we went to our session on Monday. Predicting what the outcome would be. The knowledge irrationally angered me.
We’ve been to see Julie every day since you left. Surprisingly, Damon is more motivated than ever to give integration a shot. I’m not sure what’s motivating it. He won’t allow me access to his thoughts. Have you started reading the memoir yet? It’s enlightening.
Blake’s attempts at sparking conversation were obvious. As if he didn’t want to hang up. As absurd as that sounded.
I love you. Don’t forget your promise to me.
I dug through my memories. “Promise you’ll always find your way back to me?” he’d asked. How dare he try and hold me to that. I moved on to the next text, time stamped an hour after the first.
Where the fuck are you? I’ve been to the Chadwick house twice, and no sign of you. What’s the address to your apartment? When I find you…
Damon.
Tossing the phone on the cushion beside me, I let my hair down and speared my fingers through it, gripping tightly. The pain gave me something else to concentrate on. Shower, food, and booze. I shuffled to the car to collect my things.
Searching through my bag from the weekend trip to Seattle, I found the book that Blake was referring to. The one written by another patient of Julie’s. I read the cover: All of Us.
Book, shower, food, and booze. I amended my previous schedule.
I bookmarked my page and glanced through the patio doors. The sun had set, and I’d made it more than halfway through All of Us.
Twelve alters. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. The host’s name was Phillip. If one of his alters—Jason—thought his wife so much as looked at another man too long, he would emerge once Phillip went to sleep and become physically or emotionally abusive toward her. With Philip’s agreement, she started handcuffing him to the headboard before bed.
Sometimes a glimpse into someone else's havoc brought a sense of appreciation to your own. Things could always be worse.
Phillip’s wife never left him. Not even when Jason caused her to miscarry.
I stretched, looking toward the stairs. Picking up my phone, I placed an order for something quick and simple to eat and then stripped on my way to the bathroom.
My pizza arrived just as I dressed from my shower. The sensible thing would’ve been to take my food and libations to the front porch. It offered better covering against the rain. But I wanted to sit in the backyard, and it had nothing to do with the fact that my backyard faced Max’s.
With my mouth stuffed with pizza, I situated myself in the chair right outside the sliding doors. The roof extended slightly, keeping me dry.
Two beers in I’d just talked myself into going inside when his lights came on. Max entered his kitchen, obviously soaking wet, and set about removing his top layer of clothing before situating Pluto’s food in his doggy bowl. Max didn’t come off as pretentious, and he exuded a kindness I’d never come across before.
I let out a long yawn and raised my head to the stars. “You’re not interested in him, Justin.” Talking to myself was becoming a fast habit. You’re lonely, and you’ve never had a male friend.
So when I came across a male I liked, as a possible friend, I didn’t know how to distinguish something platonic from something romantic. Because romantic was the only type of relationship I’d ever had with a man. Although you couldn't call what I had with Damon “romantic.”
Peering out across our yards, I caught sight of Max making his way over to me. I sat up straighter. “Where’s your umbrella?” I asked for lack of anything else to say.
He came under the measly roof covering to take the seat next to me, “Eh, I was wet anyway. I’ve still got a lot of stuff piled in the garage, so I park in the driveway. Then it took me an hour to figure out which pocket I had my keys in. So... yeah, a little more wet won’t hurt.” He accepted the beer I passed him. “Why are you sitting out here in the rain is the better question?”
Taking another sip, I clued him in on a fun fact. “I love the rain.” Maybe it was the effects of the beer or because I’d decided to simply relax and be myself around him, but I followed that up with, “My mom was diagnosed with bone cancer when I was a kid. She would get intense pain in her back, arms, and legs. Especially when the weather was cold or rainy. So the sunny days were spent at doctor’s appointments or at the hospital getting chemo. Places I wasn’t allowed to go.
“The rainy days were reserved for cuddling under blankets, eating snacks, and watching movies. My job was to keep her as warm as possible. Dad would even let me skip school sometimes to be home with her.” Looking away from Max and into the night, I said wistfully, “I would pray before bed for more rainy days.” I met his intense brown eyes. “And it already rains so much in Oregon. I feel close to her when it rains.” Shrugging as if to say, I know it’s weird, I drained the last of my beer and pulled out another.
Max gave me a look I couldn’t decipher. “It’s not weird at all.”
Guess I said that out loud.
We talked for hours. I learned he was raised on a farm in Kentucky, and when his granddad died, his father sold it to a family friend. He and his dad owned a construction company in Louisville, and Max opened up a branch in Chadwick.
I enjoyed forgetting about my problems for a while. A welcomed distraction. I wanted to know more. I wanted to share more too.
Not many people knew about the day I came home senior year, after my dad missed my final show, to find him still in bed. Autopsy reports showed he died of natural causes. He was forty-seven. “I think he died of a broken heart,” I said.
Max listened, never once saying I’m sorry. I didn’t need him to be.
The rain eventually tapered off. “I should get going.” He used the arms of the chair as leverage to stand, and then stretched his arms above his head. His shirt rode up, and I could just make out his six-pack. I turned my head quickly in the opposite direction.
“Well, all right. Good luck with your garden.”
Yeah, I’d told him about that too.
Max took a step and then stopped. Like leaving was the last thing he wanted to do, but he didn’t have an excuse to stay. “Hey, you should stop by the community center one day. It’s an initiative of Chadwick High School. We have a greenhouse. The guy who runs it, Mr. Jack, has his own landscaping company. You could pick his brain.”
“Yeah, I’d like that. I’ll tag along with you the next time you go.”
He walked away, then spun back around, snapping his fingers. “Oh, and I did ha
ng out for a bit, and I did have a drink, but I still haven’t gone inside. My raincheck still stands.” He winked at me.
“Max, you little manipulator,” I gasped, scandalized. His laughter faded the further away he got. My joy faded as well.
Chapter Fourteen
I had the new bed set up in my dad’s room, and I almost chickened out of sleeping in there. Afraid of being plagued with memories of him.
Slipping under the cool sheets, I inwardly exhaled at the feel of the silkiness against my bare skin.
I lost the battle of ignoring my phone’s alerts. With a shaky hand, I reached out and grabbed it off the nightstand. I immediately knew who’d sent the messages.
Damon never said what he truly meant. Not when it came to the affairs of the heart. The rare moments when he attempted to always led to a shift. No different now, but I was a pro at reading between his lines.
This isn’t a fucking game, Just.
Translation: I’m miserable without you. Please, talk to me.
For your sake, you’d better be in one piece when I find you.
His way of saying I hope you’re okay. I hope you’re safe. I dropped my head back on the pillow and placed the phone face down on my chest. Unsure if I was strong enough to read more. I raised the phone halfway, like a peek would do less damage to my willpower.
Julie insists on us sticking to therapy, with or without you, but what’s the fucking point?
What he really meant: I’m trying, but I’m scared it’ll all be for nothing if you leave.
That made the two of us. One couldn’t ignore the amount of years invested in a relationship simply because they’d been hurt. Walking away would mean that a significant amount of my time had been wasted. A hard pill to swallow. Starting over didn’t provide much appeal.
I need to hurt you.
That one stole my air. He needed to dominate me to reaffirm our connection. Damon needed to regain control.
Well, I needed to be dominated, to surrender to his authority.