by S. R. Grey
“’Night, Flynn,” Jaynie whispers.
“Good night, Jaynie,” I whisper back, smiling as I fall asleep.
Jaynie
The next week flies by. The week after passes quickly, too, and before I know it I’ve lived in my new home for over a month.
I make a lot of progress, which fills me with pride. I’m comfortable with my new foster siblings, in a way that helps me heal. Every day, I draw a little closer to the girl I once was.
How do I know I’m getting better? One indication is when I feel comfortable enough to abandon my multi-layered attire. Hell, the weather alone sets me on that path. May is far too warm for wool leggings and sweaters. I throw longing glances daily at Mandy’s shorts, tees, and light summer dresses, wondering if she notices.
Well, she sure notices one Sunday morning when she walks into our bedroom—armed with a basket of freshly laundered clothes—and catches me holding up one of her dresses, admiring it wishfully. A simple cotton number, white as snow, with cute spaghetti straps and a scalloped hem, I love it.
I’m supposed to be dusting and cleaning, though, not gawking at Mandy’s apparel.
I stammer to explain. “Oh, uh, I’m sorry.” I swiftly lay the dress on Mandy’s bed. “I didn’t mean to be messing with your stuff. I just thought that particular dress was pretty.”
Setting the laundry basket on the floor and stretching out her back, Mandy says casually, “You can have it if you want. It’s too short on me, anyway.” She scans me from head to toe. “On you, though, I think it’d fit perfectly.”
I know I’d be far cooler in Mandy’s white dress than in the jeans and long-sleeved tees I’ve been wearing lately. Still, I am hesitant to accept her offer.
“I don’t know.” I rub my forehead. “I don’t want to take your clothes. None of us have all that much to begin with. I think I’ll be fine with my jeans and stuff.”
Mandy is folding Callie’s clothes and placing them in a drawer. She stops what she’s doing and comes over to where I’m standing. Picking up the dress, she holds it out in front of me.
“Look at the length, Jaynie. Like I said, it’d be perfect on you. No more discussion. The dress is yours.”
Before I can argue, she drapes the lightweight material over my arm.
“It is pretty,” I muse quietly as I peer down at the dress, not knowing whether I’ll ever be brave enough to put it on. “I just don’t want to take something of yours that I might never end up wearing.”
“You’ll wear it,” Mandy replies with a smile. “But until you do”—she turns to the dresser—“I have some other clothes you can have, too.”
I follow her, but before she can fully open a drawer, I place my hand on the edge to stop her.
“Wait, Mandy. I really shouldn’t take any more of your clothes. The dress is enough.”
She opens the drawer all the way, ignoring my hand as it moves along with it. So much for stopping this determined girl.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jaynie. I have way more clothes than you, especially summery things. And do you think I want to have to lug a bunch of clothes up with me to Morgantown?”
“Guess not,” I murmur, acquiescing.
“You’ll actually be doing me a favor,” she goes on.
“If you say so, Mandy.”
In the next few minutes, I become the proud new owner of two pairs of shorts, another dress, and four lightweight cotton tees.
“There, all set,” Mandy declares. Her hand brushes mine accidentally as she hands me the last article of clothing.
“Oh,” I blurt out, surprised at the direct skin-to-skin contact. But when I feel nothing but calm, I happily add, “Hey that was okay. I’m fine.”
Mandy pats my hand, and I remain fine. “See,” she says softly. “You’re getting better every day.”
And I am. It’s not just wishful thinking.
My progress is never more apparent than when more middle-of-the-night visits from the boys occur. I not only become more comfortable with their presence, I actually begin to look forward to the nights when all five of us are sleeping in one room. It’s like we’re the Waltons or some other famous TV family…in a twisted, mixed-up sort of way. One glaring difference is I sure don’t think of Flynn as a brother.
Speaking of Flynn, he sleeps on the floor next to my mattress all the time. And I always give him a blanket. Even when the nights become too warm for covers, he still takes it. Those nights he uses the blanket as a pillow.
When I can’t sleep, which is often, I watch Flynn. He remains careful around me, always sleeping on his back, or rolling away so he’s not facing me. Though he doesn’t come out and say it, I know he wants me to be as at ease as possible when he’s in our bedroom.
He needn’t worry so much. Not anymore. I see Flynn in a new light with each passing day. My initial crush on him has blossomed to genuine affection. And there’s something more, something I never thought possible, not after what I went through. But there it is, I can’t deny it. I am insanely attracted to Flynn.
His wide chest and muscular legs don’t bother me anymore. In fact, I secretly enjoy looking at him in just his boxers. I’m especially happy when he abandons the tees completely and sleeps sans shirt. Flynn’s half-bare body is amazing—so male and all strong and lean. While he sleeps I like to stare at his flat stomach, or admire how the muscles in his back move and bunch in the shadowy night when he stretches.
“Flynn,” I whisper one night when I feel a particularly strong urge to touch him. Just once, to know he’s real.
When he doesn’t respond, and I am sure he’s asleep, I reach down till I’m actually touching him.
Oh, God.
I’m committed now—and not having a meltdown—so I take a chance and trail my index finger, ever so slowly and softly, across his firm stomach.
Holy shit.
My newfound courage comes to a screeching halt, however, when I reach the fine trail of hair that disappears under the band of his boxers.
What in the hell am I doing?
With a start, I jerk my hand away. Not from an impending panic attack, but more due to all the confusing emotions overwhelming me.
My body wants things I know Flynn could give me. That’s the normal seventeen-year-old girl part of me talking. But the damaged part fears Flynn’s touch and what it might trigger.
A panic, the likes of which I haven’t felt in a long while, rises to the surface. Wincing, I scoot back until I am pressed up against the wall as tightly as I can be. Thankfully, Flynn remains asleep.
Oh, no. What if when I am finally ready to be touched by a man, I’m reminded of the abuse I suffered? I tell myself over and over that Flynn is not Mrs. Giessen’s son. He’s not a predator like that horrible man. Flynn is just a boy my age that cares for me. I shouldn’t allow myself to even associate the two. What was done to me was an act of violence. And what I crave from Flynn is affection.
I know this, I really do. So, why do I still feel culpable, like I should have somehow stopped Mrs. Giessen’s son? I mean, really, what good am I when I failed to protect myself?
Turning away from Flynn, I curl up against the wall and cry myself to sleep.
One week to the day from when Mandy gives me clothes I have yet to wear, an amazing thing happens. Mrs. Lowry and Allison leave for the day. Equally amazing is that we are given no chores, no Sunday tasks.
I soon find out this means we have a rare day off!
I can’t believe it, even as Mandy and I stand on the porch and watch Mrs. Lowry and Allison drive away in a sleek BMW, a car bought with our sweat and tears.
Turning to Mandy, I say, “You know what? We deserve a day off.”
Mandy laughs. “We sure as hell do.”
Curious, I ask, “How often does this happen?”
“Not often. I think the last time we had a day off was”—Mandy counts swiftly on her hand—“five months ago. It was sometime around Christmas, I remember that.”
“W
ow. That’s sad.”
“It is,” she says. “And who knows when the next one will come. That’s why we need to make sure we enjoy this one.”
I nod vigorously, agreeing. And then I ask, “Where are they heading to, anyway? How long do we have to ourselves?”
“They’re going shopping,” Mandy replies. “I overheard Allison mention something about outlets in Pennsylvania.”
I am cautiously optimistic. “That means we may have hours, then. Wow. Are you sure you heard her correctly? You’re definitely positive Allison said they were driving all the way up to Pennsylvania?”
“Yes, Jaynie,” Mandy says, laughing at my skepticism. “I’m sure.”
Mandy is happier than I’ve ever seen her, which in turn makes me happy. When Flynn steps outside with the kids, he doesn’t miss our grins.
“What’s going on?” he asks, leaning his jean-clad butt against the rail.
Flynn looks exceptionally good today, especially when he crosses his arms across his chest and the muscles in his arms bulge.
I mentally smack myself to get back on track so Mandy and I can get him up to speed. When we’re finished relaying the facts, Flynn frowns. Even wary and scowling, the guy is hot.
“Are you absolutely sure Allison said they’re driving all the way up to PA?” he asks, oblivious to my perusal of his body.
“Yes, yes.” Mandy nods emphatically, and then rolls her eyes. “God, you sound exactly like Jaynie.”
He smiles over at me and my heart flip-flops. Thankfully, he turns away quickly to address the twins, giving me time to put my nonchalant face back on.
“Hey, think you guys are up for having some fun today?” Flynn asks Cody and Callie.
“What kind of fun?” Callie is wary. “Today is Sunday. We have chores to do.”
“There are no chores today,” Flynn announces. “And as for your other question, you can have any kind of fun you want today.”
“Yay, yay, yay,” Cody starts yelling. Jumping up and down, he adds, “I want have fun, I want have fun.”
Callie’s little brow creases. “We can stay outside all day if we want?”
Flynn tugs her long ponytail lightly. “Yes, you sure can. In fact, that’s my plan, little miss.”
That makes Callie laugh.
So, outside all day it is. Sure, we’re relegated to the grounds, but it sure beats working.
“Let’s go play, Cody,” Callie says to her brother as she grabs his hand.
He’s all in agreement. But then the twins get no farther than the base of the porch steps before they are turning back to us. “Where we go play, Flynnie?” Cody asks, perplexed.
Callie gazes up at us, waiting for an answer right along with her brother.
“Anywhere you want,” Flynn tells them.
Callie’s brown eyes widen. “Anywhere?”
“Well, anywhere on the property,” Mandy interjects.
“Like there’s a choice in that matter,” I mutter.
No one hears me, and no one cares. The twins are simply glad to have some freedom for at least a day.
Callie suddenly says, “Hey, I have an idea.” She leans over and whispers to Cody, and then they’re off, running and shouting gleefully, in a way that should be allowed more than once every five months.
We allow the kids to play alone for a while. Flynn and Mandy sit on the top porch step, and I take a seat a couple of steps below. We talk about nothing important, just mundane shit, and when it gets too warm we head to the pump behind the craft barn and take turns drinking water. Finally, we decide to join the twins up in the expansive grassy fields. We find them near the old barn, playing close to the tree line.
Callie, spotting us first, runs over and asks if we want in on her and Cody’s game of Tag.
“We sure do,” Flynn tells her, feigning great excitement for her benefit.
The game commences, but it doesn’t take long for Cody to tag me out. Who knew the kid was so darn fast?
Ready for a break anyway, I head over to our designated sideline and plop down on the grass. But after a few minutes under the blazing sun, I am burning up. I start to wave my hand around, fanning myself.
“Ugh,” I grumble like a little old lady. “This heat is killing me.”
I’m wearing black leggings that feel as if they’ve been soaking up every single drop of sun. The black tee I pulled over my head this morning probably wasn’t the greatest idea, but since it has short sleeves, my top half feels relatively cool. The problem is definitely my covered legs. I really need to start wearing the shorts Mandy gave me.
I decide to head down to the house soon as the game is done. Leaning back on my elbows, I prop myself up and watch everyone running around.
Callie is on Flynn’s butt, and he slows down purposely so she can tag him out. The little girl is elated. “I got Flynn, I got Flynn,” she calls out.
I can’t help but smile at Flynn’s continued thoughtfulness and generosity. When he sees me hanging out in the grass, he jogs over to me.
Nodding immediately to my covered-up legs, he says, “Shit, Jaynie. All black. You have to be dying out here in those clothes.”
“Yeah.” I blow out a breath and pluck moist hair from my cheek. “I wasn’t planning on spending the whole day outside.”
“None of us were,” he says, dragging a hand through his own sweaty hair. “But it sure is a welcome development.”
“Sure is,” I agree. None of us can argue that.
As Flynn shifts from one foot to the other, I shade my eyes and peer up at him. The sun, behind where he’s standing, bathes him in a golden glow, making him look like an angel. Damn, I must be overheating.
Back to fanning myself, I say, “I think I need to put on some shorts.”
“Me, too,” Flynn replies.
I nod to his denim-covered legs. “Yeah, why are you wearing jeans?”
“Same reason as you. I never dreamed we’d be outside all day.” He points down to the house. “Let’s go change.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say, standing.
“Cool.”
Gesturing to Mandy and the twins, who are still running around having fun, I say, “Should we tell them we’re going down to the house?”
“No.” Flynn shakes his head. “We’ll only be gone a few minutes. They won’t miss us.”
Flynn breaks into a light jog, until I protest. “Hey, no more running, okay? Not till I lose these leggings.”
Flynn slows to a walk, and from there we stroll leisurely. Still, by the time we reach the front porch it’s like the temperature has shot up another ten degrees.
“Blech, it must be closing in on ninety,” I gripe as I lean next to the front door and mop my brow.
“I think it is ninety,” Flynn agrees, tugging on the handle of the screen door.
When the light screen swings back, I use my hip to keep it propped open so Flynn can open the front door without this one falling back on him.
“I think I’ll wash up a bit while we’re in there,” I muse to myself as I make the door bounce with my hip.
Flynn pauses, chuckles at my amusement. “No problem. I’ll wait for you.”
Pushing back a clump of moistened hair from my forehead, I make a face and add, “I feel so totally gross right now.”
Flynn gives me the ’ole once-over, and I cringe at how I must look to him.
To my surprise—and let’s face it, absolute delight—he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You look really pretty, Jaynie, as always.”
He turns back to the door.
Wow, wow, wow. I almost faint on the spot. “Thank you,” I whisper.
I feel like we may have just had a little moment, but that warm and fuzzy feeling dissipates rapidly when a breeze blows and I detect what feels suspiciously like the little legs of a bug on my cheek.
“Oh, God, what’s on me, Flynn?” I smack at my face. Lightly, since I sure as hell don’t want to get stung.
“Is i
t a bee?” I freeze and ask.
Flynn looks at me and starts to laugh. “It’s not a bee,” he assures me.
I go back to swishing my hands around my face, while the screen door smacks against my butt. “What is it, then?” I ask. “Something is definitely still there.”
“Hold on a minute.” Flynn’s still smiling, shaking his head. “Would you stop waving your hands around everywhere?”
“Okay, sure.” I lower my arms and stand completely still.
“It’s not a bee or a bug,” he reiterates, nodding reassuringly. “It’s just a long strand of your hair that’s stuck on your cheek. It’s kind of poking you, uh, right about…here.”
He starts to reach out—I’m sure to push away the wayward, feels-like-a-bug strand—but then he remembers my issues.
“Anyway…” He drops his hand to his side, sighing. “The hair’s stuck to your cheek. The breeze was making it move. That’s why it felt like a bug.”
Reaching up to my face, I ask. “Where is it, exactly? I can’t feel anything now.” I touch different places on my face and ask, “Here? Here?”
Flynn tries to point to the spot. “A little lower and to the right,” he says.
“Um…”
“Ah, fuck it.”
He reaches out, and I drop my hands to my sides. I can do this, I can do this.
Then again, maybe I can’t.
Just as Flynn’s hand is about to make contact with my cheek, I involuntarily flinch.
He freezes, hand suspended in the air. “Jaynie…?”
It’s a question. Should he stop, or do I want him to keep going?
Our eyes meet, and all the things Flynn doesn’t outright state are in those depths of gray. He wants to try again. He’s just waiting for permission.
Taking a deep breath, I give it to him. “Go ahead, Flynn. Touch me. I’ll be okay.”
I don’t know if what I’m so bravely stating will bear out to be true, but I sure as heck plan to try. I refuse to allow the monster who made me this way to win.