Crashing Souls

by Cynthia A. Rodriguez

  “I’m a little devastated,” I said slowly, working over my emotional hiccups. “I mean, I’ve been living this life here, and while some parts are uniquely satisfying, I’ve been lonely. It’s just me here. But you have this family, and I can’t compete with that.” I whirled around, trying to stamp down the one thing I desperately needed to say.

  “I know you have more to say. Say it.”

  I turned back to the defeated man in front of me and I said it.

  “I was supposed to be the one! I was supposed to have your children, and we were supposed to live happily ever after.” Tears tracked down my face despite my continuing to wipe them. “I feel like I was the only one who was in our fairytale. It was real for me, Dexter. Was it real for you?”

  Before he answered I waved my hands and took a deep breath.

  “I’m being an idiot. It isn’t fair for me to tell you these things.”

  “Stop it.” He took the few steps between us and gripped my upper arms, shaking me. “Stop being yourself and then fucking apologizing. You’re right. It was supposed to be you.”

  He leaned into me and I inhaled, smelling him. I wanted to push him away but his scent stopped me. After seven years, he still managed to smell like all of my favorite things: the sun on my face, falling both quickly and slowly in love with him, and spending my birthday at his lake house.

  “It can still be you,” he whispered.

  I didn’t have long enough to ponder it because then he was kissing me, scattering any coherent thought I might’ve tried to think. Although we played like we were strangers, our bodies proved us wrong. His hands knew where to spread on the slope of my waist and my mouth knew exactly how his would feel on mine.

  “I’ve been waiting to do that for a long time now,” he said when he pulled away.

  “You and these clichés, Dexter Andrews.” I grinned when he shook his head.

  “I meant I’ve been waiting a long time to shake you, you stubborn woman.”

  I stepped back and sat on the couch, my hands hanging between my legs. It still messed with my head a little—a lot—to be so close to him. I needed to think.

  “What do you think is going to happen?” I couldn’t look at him. It was part of his charm, his good looks were too much to want to fight him off. And when he smiled… he owned me. I was his.

  But aren’t you already? Haven’t you always been? I ignored the little voice in my head. Just because I longed for him for seven years didn’t mean I’d jump into his arms. I still had a voice, and I had my life here to think about.

  “What do you want to happen, Noa?”

  It was a small victory on my part that he’d stopped calling me Blue.

  “You’re evading,” I said, still keeping my head down.

  “And you’re fishing for reasons why this won’t work. I’ll court you. I’ll win you over, move to Seattle, and rebuild a life centered on you. You think I haven’t thought about this? Noa, I’m a planner by nature.”

  I looked up at his earnest expression. It was the damnedest thing, having the guy tell you exactly what you wanted to hear. But still….

  “What about Phoebe?”

  “I already have her part-time. I can adjust. Everything will be fine. She won’t suffer at all, I promise. I would never make things hard on her.”

  I threw my hands up.

  “But aren’t you? You’re uprooting your life and moving away to be with some woman. I’ll be no one’s evil stepmother. And what if she hates me?” I leaned back on the couch and when he sat next to me, I laid my head on his shoulder. “You want this to work so badly and a part of me does too. But I can’t snap my fingers and do this. I’m still very much damaged by our past. For God’s sake, it’s dictated my life for nearly a decade.”

  Dexter ran his hand up and down my arm. Was that the final round or were we entering a knock-down-drag-out soon? Had Dexter decided that this actually couldn’t work? Did he realize how crazy all of this was?

  “I’m going to head back to my hotel room. I’ll leave my contact information with you in case, but I think you need to think about everything I’ve laid out for you. I’ll be heading back to Everett tomorrow afternoon.” He sat up and looked at me. “Get out of your head, Blue. Get into your heart.”

  I watched as he gathered his things, slipped on his suit jacket, and walked back over to me. He kissed my forehead, placed a card with his information beside me and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.

  He thought I wasn’t in my heart. If only he knew that my heart was the one that was afraid of him.

  I flashed back to the day he left me at the hospital. I called out for him for hours. He hadn’t even looked back at me to see me crumble. Without a second thought, he’d ruined me. I warned him not to. I was here now, successful, and had built this wall around my little life to keep out the bad guys. Dexter was the wrecking ball to my wall.

  I missed being Blue. I missed him. I missed us.

  I looked down at the card he’d left and picked it up.

  I was tired of being this woman who was afraid of everything.

  Chapter 26

  Idecided, before leaving my apartment, to slide the red stain over my lips and try to be the woman I might’ve been. It made me feel sexier, despite the fact that red wasn’t the right color for us.

  My fist was poised over Dexter’s hotel room door, ready to knock. I was starting to think and I didn’t want to. So I screwed my eyes shut and rapped my knuckles against the cool surface. I opened my eyes and waited to hear any sounds of life inside. I knocked again. My mind was racing almost as quickly as my heart. They were in competition, as usual.

  He opened the door, wearing a towel. His body was wet and on full display.

  I pushed him back into the room and kissed him like I’d been missing him for seven years. I kissed him like I would miss him for another seven.

  I couldn’t breathe as I took off my jacket. What would normally have me spiraling back into a black abyss made me brave. The first time had been gentle, had been perfect. But if I was going to give it all again, one last time, I wanted to feel it in a real way. I wanted marks and bruises and a little pain. I couldn’t handle tenderness.

  His hands fisted my blouse, ripping it open, and buttons scattered all through the room. I arched my back, wishing he would touch me. Soft, hard, gentle, rough, I didn’t care. When his fingertips ran over my collarbone, I shuddered. I was drunk. But instead of numbing the pain, it gave me fire. Blue fire. It would kill me. Phoenix-like, maybe my ashes would turn into something beautiful. I felt everything. And it was amazing.

  It felt wrong to have my red lipstick all over us. It wasn’t hot enough. It wasn’t…enough. But the smudge of red on his stubble made my breath hitch. I’d worn him since the day I met him, in ways the naked eye couldn’t see.

  “On the pill. Please. Hurry,” I whispered. He lifted me and I felt the wall against my back.

  “Are you sure?” His voice was deep and frenzied, full of emotion.

  “Just go crazy, Dexter. I want you to.” I pressed a kiss to his mouth. “After all this time, I need it.” He needed it too. It was the desperation you watched in movies and read about in books. The kind no one knew actually existed. It existed in Dexter Andrews’ hotel room in the heart of Seattle.

  Mouths searching, hands groping, and cries of pleasure.

  I still couldn’t breathe. But as I leaned back against the wall, taking everything he gave me, I knew it was the best feeling in the world. The way his hands gripped me tightly, the slight discomfort of it…I thought the pain would make me feel disconnected. It would keep me from flying away into some distorted reality where the past never actually happened. Even in that moment, we were flying high on every moment we’d shared. When Dexter ran his thumb against my cheek, wiping away the tears that released under the pressure of us, I didn’t regret it. I wanted to save those thoughts, the ones where I questioned my actions, where I began to feel ashamed, for the mome
nts when I could leave them on a canvas. For now, I gave Dexter all of me, the way he gave me all of him.

  He could lie to me with his words, but I’d always find his truth in his touch. When he touched me, I knew everything I needed to know.

  •••

  “You still have your ring,” Dexter said, his chest rumbling with the words. I knew he was sleepy. I was feeling the lazy haze too as we lay wrapped up in the blanket and each other on the floor. His fingers rubbed against mine, especially the one that bore his small diamond infinity ring.

  I smiled. “I don’t think I ever took it off.”

  “It’s crazy to me,” he started, shifting so he could see my face better, “that I’m actually here with you. I was beginning to think I’d made you up.”

  I looked at our joined hands and further down to our naked entangled legs. The second time we made love, we’d actually gotten around to taking off all of my clothes. He brought his finger under my chin and turned my face in the direction of the window.

  “The city lights are bright, so I know you might not see them well, but the stars are out there. And somewhere, there are two stars that are so physically close to one another that they look like one massive star.”

  I laid flat on my back, spreading out my arms with a sigh. Some memories weren’t too hard on me. Some were pleasant, and even those tended to prick me like the thorns of a beautiful rose. But that particular one made me want to cry like I did earlier. All ugly and full of disjointed hope. It reminded me of the promises we’d made that he backed out on. It reminded me of that anger and sadness. Most of all, it made me want to get the hell out of that hotel room.

  I stood, crouching down to grab my panties. I slipped them on and was looking for my bra when I noticed he had it in his hands. I reached for it, and he pulled me back down beside him.

  “Don’t go.”

  Another trigger. I heard myself begging him as he walked out on me at the hospital. Sure, I knew I’d put Dexter through a hell of a lot of things. But when you promised someone to be there for them, no matter what, you stuck to it.

  “I have to go to my studio and get some work done.” I got up again and put on my bra, all the while watching him to make sure he didn’t snatch any of my other articles of clothing.

  “I’ve always admired how comfortable you are. You don’t feel uneasy when I stare at you. And you don’t cover your body when I look.” He tucked his arm under his head, still looking at me.

  “There are things in life that I would kill to see. I’d love to see the universe. Something miraculous. What’s another pair of breasts, another naked woman?” I shrugged, pulling on my jeans. My shirt was ruined, so I grabbed one of his white undershirts. “If you miss this too much, I’ll send it back.”

  “Keep it,” he said. I sat on the bed and put on my boots. I grabbed my coat from in front of the door and turned, surprised to see him walking toward me.

  “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t planning on seeing me again?”

  I looked down at my feet and back up at him.

  “Too much has happened, Dexter.”

  “Nothing has happened since the time you walked in that door to now. We had sex. We made love. I felt closer to any semblance of emotion in those few hours than I have in seven years.” He stepped in my space, backing me all the way up to the door. “I can’t not see you, Noa. Especially when I know you feel the same.”

  I pulled my card from my pocket and handed it to him.

  “Give me a few days. Then give me a call.” I let him kiss me goodbye, clinging to him more than I would’ve liked to. He walked back into the room, grabbing the phone beside his bed.

  “Let me call my car to take you wherever you’re going,” he said as I walked out. The door clicked and I strode to the elevators, not looking back. Once it started to descend, I let the tears fall. I heard the ping of the elevator and walked through the hotel lobby, my vision blurred. I hailed a cab and, to the driver’s dismay, ugly cried all the way back to my apartment.

  •••

  I was being a coward. A week later, I was hiding out in my studio, covered in paint. My phone was at my apartment, and I’d just stepped back from the canvas when I heard banging on the door. It could only be one person.

  “Open the door, Noa.”

  No hiding now.

  I wiped my hands off quickly before unlocking and sliding the massive door. She walked in, appraising my workspace like she hadn’t been in it a million times. Miranda was the owner of the gallery that showed all of my work. She’d been the first woman to take a chance on me, and as it turned out, it worked in both of our favors. Miranda and I had been working together since I landed in Washington. She’d found me selling my paintings for dirt cheap and insisted I come with her. She also launched an online site, specifically for any and all things Noa Cruz. While I tended to stick to paint, acrylic mostly, I gravitated toward creating in any form.

  “There was a man, a very handsome man, looking for you at the gallery. I didn’t tell him where you could be found, but I’m sure you’d want to know. Why are you hiding from good-looking men, Noa?” She finally turned to me, peering curiously at me from beneath blunt bangs. Her red-stained lips pursed thoughtfully when her eyes went to the canvas I’d been working on. “Different. Warm. I’m guessing this man has something to do with that.” I blushed, thinking back to that night. Miranda got it. That’s what made her so successful.

  “And I’m guessing he didn’t tell you his name.” I picked up my brushes and tossed them in the sink, leaving them for my cleaning lady before stripping out of my large sweater. I went to the fridge and pulled out a ginger ale, offering her one. She shook her head and I walked toward her, waiting for her to tell me.

  “Mr. Andrews.” She looked at me expectantly and when I tilted my head, her eyes grew so large I thought they might pop out of her skull. “Mr. Andrews. Dexter? No!”

  “Yes, Miranda. That is Dexter.” I snapped open the can of ginger ale and gulped, needing the sugar after a day of not eating. I tended to get too wrapped up in work.

  “And?” She waved her hands, telling me to continue. Being ten years older than me, it was easy to rely on her for comfort and advice, even if she was a little persnickety. Although usually we talked about art, one night, years ago, I was feeling particularly desperate and spilled my guts about everything. Miranda had always held out hope for Dexter, so this was like a wet dream for her.

  “And I ran into him a few days ago at the restaurant.” I set the can down and walked over to my closet, pulling out some clothes for me to jog back home in. I hadn’t gone for a run since I’d come here and hid like a wimp a week ago. My body craved the feeling of it.

  “Where I’m sure you were eating alone, of course. Go on.”

  I peeled off my clothes and turned on the shower, Miranda following me.

  “And…we had sex.” I shrugged. “Adults have sex all the time. You have sex all the time. It’s not that big of a deal.” I climbed into the shower, scrubbing viciously at the paint that had found its way all over my skin.

  “Then why are you running?” I pulled back the shower curtain and looked at her. The steam from the hot water couldn’t penetrate the black strands. They wouldn’t move and they wouldn’t frizz. She stood, her eyes knowing and her smile sad.

  “Oh, you and all of your wisdom.” I snapped the curtain back and turned the water off. I’d only wanted to wash off the paint. I was about to go on a run, after all. I grabbed the towel she held out and wrapped my body impatiently. “Miranda, I love you. But I can’t do this with him. I have too much baggage now. I had too much baggage then. He isn’t built for this stuff.”

  I pulled my hair up and put on my clothes. I was grabbing my running shoes when Miranda placed her hand on my arm.

  “You haven’t told him.”

  I looked up at her and shook my head. After a slight pause, I resumed getting ready, putting on my sneakers.

  “Why not?”
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  I stood, smoothing my hands over my running tights.

  “What’s the point in telling him now? He’s moved on. He has a family. I’m nothing. I’m his past.” I withheld on purpose, knowing Miranda would draw her own conclusion. I needed someone on my side.

  She placed her arm around my shoulders and walked me out.

  “Want a ride? My car is outside.” I locked the door and gestured to my clothes. She scoffed. “Oh, please. Get in the car, darling.”

  We made our way down the steps, and when I opened the front door, I was greeted by a gust of wind that immediately made me miss the warmth of my heated studio. Snow fell lightly, but as I looked at the slush on the pavement, I decided it was best to get in the sleek black BMW that purred at the corner.

  When we pulled off, Miranda directed him to the gallery. I looked at her quizzically, and she told me she had paperwork for me to look over.

  “So, your new work. Are we going to continue in that direction or is that a personal one? I mean, the thing people love most about you is your versatility. You can create beauty with almost anything. Should I start putting a showcase together?” She got out her tablet and scrolled while digging through her designer bag for her phone.

  “It’s too soon to tell,” I whispered, looking out of the window. Christmas was coming. December was usually a hard time for me because all I could think about were those first few moments with Dexter, before he knew my struggle with alcohol. Before he knew my mother and what I’d really come from. Before she embarrassed me, pushing me back into the sinking hole. I thought back on the night of my eighteenth birthday, how Dexter had shut down after I’d inadvertently insulted him. It was hard for me to see the best in people, to rely on people, when I knew only the worst. He’d turned away from me and fell asleep, leaving me to chase away my own demons. I went downstairs and…it felt like I’d been drawn to the liquor cabinet. I was already drunk and still going when Tim walked up, wrestling the bottle from me. I lashed out and ran out of the house, out to the dock. The water was beautiful, I thought to myself, and I loved the way the light from the moon bounced off it. Tim was standing behind me, telling me things that he thought I cared about. All I wanted to do was feel free. And then I heard Dexter calling me.