by L. Duarte
The thick envelope, feels heavy and abrasive in my hand. I debate if I should open it. On the one hand, I want Will to believe I love him regardless of his past. On the other hand, I want him to share his obscure past with me. What do I do?
“Will, I see you for who you are, not where you are from and it fascinates me.”
He inhales. His silence hurts me, because I know he hurts. Glancing up, I meet his searching eyes. His desolated face crushes me, and I decide. My fingers tremble as I unravel the thread that secures the envelope.
I notice Will’s body stiffening. I want to take away the pain of his solitary spirit. I want to liberate him from his daunting past. My hope is that by sharing his past with me, he will rid himself some of the pain he carries. My eyes find a picture stapled to the first page, and my lips curve into a smile.
“Will, that’s you as a baby! You were so tiny.”
He notices the wonder in my voice, “Yeah, I was a preemie,” he whispers and I almost don’t hear him.
“We should frame this, when we get our place.”
“What?” Will frowns. I see his eyes examining the picture with me as if he is seeing it for the first time.
“Look at your eyes, already full of intensity.” My fingers slide across the photo of the swaddled, tiny baby.
“I’ve never really looked at the picture. To be honest, I have barely touched this file.”
I scan through the medical report of his birth, already knowing details from when Mel ambushed me in her room during the summer.
Silently, I flip the pages. My stomach roils. I am overwhelmed by details of the cruelty of the human race at its worst. Tears burn my eyes. At one point, I have the impression that the file sucked me inside a horror movie that lacks any emotional release. Only a sea of sadness with waves of pain pounding, pounding, pounding. My mind bends, spinning uncontrollably, at the core of a swirl of atrocious images.
I’ve never thought of myself as a strong person. I’ve fought my battles with a careless attitude afforded to me. Will’s file offered me glimpses of a life of suffering that, I truly believe, people were never meant to endure. My heart is so overwhelmed that I think I will lose control at any moment. You name it, Will endured it: incarceration, rape, physical and emotional abuse, and starvation.
When I am halfway through the file, my heart stops. Dressed in a hospital gown, I see a small, skinny Will. His face is so bruised that I can’t barely tell who it is. But it is Will. His wrists are a ring of cuts and bruises, probably from handcuffs.
“I went to live with that family when I was three.” He rakes his hair and his eyes look filled with fear and pain. “Shortly after, they brought Dominick in. He was two years older than I was.” Will smiles. “He had just entered kindergarten, and each day when he went to school he reassured me that when I was old enough, I too would go to school. And it was the most wonderful place because it had warm food and toys,” his voice falters. “Both of us lived locked inside a bedroom, without any toys or TV, hell without bathrooms privileges, only a pail in a corner. But we were happy, you know? We had each other.” He lets out a harsh breath of air. “Going to school was our escape, because it was the only time we got out of that gray bedroom.”
“One night, when I was about six years old, Dominick got very ill. I don’t think they noticed. If they did, they didn’t care,” he shrugs. “It was a very cold night, around Christmas time and we were off from school. I remember that Dominick didn’t eat his supper. I was happy, because I got to eat his share.” He shakes his head. “Late that night, he began to shiver and his whole bed shook. I didn’t know what to do, waking up our foster parents was asking for trouble, so I gathered my covers and lay next to him. His feverish body huddled against me. When I close my eyes, I still remember his whimpering, which was a constant and weak groan. I tried to warm his body, but he was still shivering and he just didn’t stop. His body was so hot.”
“ In the morning, when they left, I broke the lock to get an extra blanket. A few hours later when they got home , they noticed I had tampered with the lock. They beat me, and tied me to my bed.” Will’s eyes are unfocused. “When they saw how sick Dominick was, they panicked and abandoned the house. It took me too long to untie my wrists. I left the house and wandered, unsure of how to get help. An old man spotted me and called the police. But it was too late and Dominick died the following day from pneumonia.” Will looks at me. “I couldn’t save him Portia. He was the only person I had, and I couldn’t save him.”
For the first time in my life, I feel strong. I close the file because Will’s body shakes so much that, for a moment, I think he is having a seizure. I toss the file on the desk, spin on his lap, and straddle him. I offer my body as a cocoon and as a solace. I want to absorb all his pain. Will sobs as he buries his face in my neck, his arms lock around me, and he squeezes me too tight, though I don’t complain. This man has more strength than I ever thought possible but, in this moment, he is vulnerable and he needs me.
I don’t know if it is my need of him that makes me want him to need me. All I know is that I connect with him on a soul-to-soul basis. We are one, and the mutual feelings are so deep.
We stay united for so long that I lose any idea of time. Together, we forget about the outside world. It is just us, needing one another.
It is past midnight when I turn, restless in bed. Even with my body, mind, and emotions drained, I can’t sleep. The Will’s warmth is absent, and I have half a mind to scramble downstairs in search of him.
A quiet squeak from the door’s hinges alarms me. I squint my eyes. The yellow moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains illuminates the room. I smile recognizing Will sneaking into my room. He turns and carefully shuts the door. A shiver runs through me as Will pulls his shirt over his head and slides under the covers to join me.
My body instinctually seeks his warmth. My fingers skim across his hard chest. “What took you so long?” I smile, before his lips crush against mine.
“I wanted to make sure Dan was sleeping,” he moans when my hand glides to his ribs.
“I feel giddy, like a teenager,” I murmur against his lips.
“Tell me about it. It feels like when I used to run away, back when I lived in foster homes.”
My body tenses as I remember what Mel told me about Will’s phobia about bedrooms. I think of his Manhattan studio and his basement room, both open areas.
“What’s wrong, baby? You afraid we’ll get caught?” Will snakes his arms around my hips, drawing me closer to his body.
“Do you feel OK sleeping here?” I ask reluctantly.
“Of course. I promised Dan I wouldn’t violate his values inside his house. And I have every intention of honoring that.” I hear a smile in his voice. “There is no harm in sleeping together, but I will sneak out before they wake up,” he whispers in my ears and sends a wave of desire through my body.
“Will, I am referring to your discomfort of being in a bedroom,” I murmur, wondering if he knows about the conversation I’ve had with Mel. “Mel told me, about your past. But she didn’t go into the details, like those from your record.” I look up and try to see his face.
“When I moved in, it affected Mel’s life,” he sighs.
“You’re not mad at her for telling me about your origins, right? She was afraid that I would hurt you.” My hand runs through his hair.
“No, I suspected she would. She felt overprotective when I first met you,” he says. “And no, I don’t mind being in a bedroom as long as I am with you,” he adds quietly.
“Will, how do you do this?” I ask.
“Do what?” His hand cups my behind, and I have to concentrate to remember what I was saying.
“Push everything away, live in peace, I guess.”
“I remember the exact day I decided to change my attitude toward life, Portia. I had been living here for almost a year when Dan said in one of his sermons, ‘No one appreciates the value of freedom, as those who have ex
perienced bondage.’ That day I made a silent vow, to God, to Dan, and to myself, that I would never take the second chance I was given for granted. I have pretty much kept that promise.” His hand sweeps my hair out of my face. “I owe it to Dan and myself to be free.”
We lay quiet for a moment. My lids are heavy, but I struggle to keep them open. Getting to know this deep side of Will intrigues me, but is also draining.
“I have more reasons today to be thankful, than to be resentful.”
“You really are fortunate to have found yourself,” I muse.
“Yeah. It was combination of perfectly aligned circumstances.” He pauses. “Before Dan found me, I was a passer-by in life.” The loneliness in his voice is so tangible that I feel like I can touch it with my soul. “Suddenly I have a family and friends, and I discover a dormant skill inside me. The passion for painting is unquestionably the greatest gift God has given me. Through painting I began to heal, I discovered myself, and I found a way to connect to others around me.”
“You have an utterly fascinating story, Will.” But as I say that, insecurity crawls under my skin. I question what attracted him to me, and my stomach coils. I am shallow and superficial. My dramas seem like fairy tales compared to the rawness of his life story. But I don’t say anything. Tonight, I am not a resident of my egocentric land, where all things are about me, me, me. I am in the land with a man who I will do anything for to keep him happy.
“Hello.” A man answers the phone and I wonder if I have the right number.
“Uh, hi. May I speak with Georgia, please? This is Portia, her daughter.”
“Oh. Just a moment, she is by the pool.” As I wait, I stare out the window from the guest room at the Miller’s. The guy sounds like a very young man. I sigh. My own mother is a cougar.
“Hello,” Mom answers breathless.
“Hi, Mom, it’s me.” I hear a muffled voice, the sound of a smack, and Mom yelps. Yuck. I want to hang up.
“Hey hon’,” she says sweetly. I can hear it in her voice—she is buzzed.
“I, uh, I’m just calling to let you know I am getting married. This Friday. I was wondering if you, uh…Maybe you want to come.” It feels like my heart stops while I wait for her to say something.
“You divorced the musician already?”
“No, Mom. We talked about that, remember? Tarry and I never got married. He is my best friend, he lived across the street, and always was at our home,” I explain, again, though I don’t think Mom really listens to what I say. Earlier in the year, a copy of a fake marriage certificate went viral, but she probably registered that in her brain as a fact. Letting out an exasperated breath of air, I close my eyes and mentally curse myself for being so lame. Why did I bother?
“Oh, I swear I thought you were married already. Anyway, I can’t honey, Christian and I are going away. He has never been to Hawaii, so we decided yesterday to go. We leave tonight.” I hear the smile in her voice. “But honey, I wish you the best, for however long it lasts.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I mumble, aware of the huge emotional distance between us. I open my mouth to say good-bye, but before I have the chance she squeaks again—gross—and the line goes dead. I press my forehead against the cold windowpane.
I am startled when Will’s hands fasten around my waist. My head leans back and rests on his chest.
“Was that your mom? Is she coming?” His arms tighten around me.
“No, she is going away with her boyfriend.” I turn to face him.
“How about your dad, are you inviting him?”
“No, I’m not ready to have him rejecting me yet again.”
“How about if you give some thought before deciding. Don’t do anything you will regret in the future.”
“I suppose you are right. I’ll think about it.” I say inhaling deeply.
“You OK?” His fingers run through my hair and I shudder.
“Yeah, it just felt wrong not to invite mom, but I figured just as much. It is not a big deal.” I brush it off.
“It is a big deal. And I feel so sorry for her,” he mumbles in a low voice.
“What you mean?” I arch an eyebrow.
“One day, her career will fizzle out, and she will realize the mistakes she made. She will be consumed by regret and have a void where it should be filled with memories of the ones who matter the most in life.”
“I don’t wish that for her, Will,” I whisper.
“I know you don’t, darling, but it is the law of reaping what you sow. It works each time.”
“I am thrilled you are here, Nillie.” I hug Niki, again. Her small-framed body is skinnier than before, and I shudder at what that means.
“Oh, Portia, how can I not? You are the first one to cross off the first item on our list of fabulous things to do before you die.’ What an awful title. Who came up with it?” She grimaces.
“You.”
“Jeez, and you allowed that?” she says with an accusatory tone.
“So it is my fault?”
“Yeah, by not preventing a crime you become an accomplice.” She giggles.
My eyes fasten on her face. I remember the great moments we have shared together. Niki has always been taciturn. Her sweet and gentle nature, balanced my impulsive one. But I notice something different with her vibe. Though I can’t figure out why, I can sense that she is tense and jumpy.
“So, do you like the dress?” She spins, and I smile. The couture cobalt blue dress is simple and elegant, just like Niki. She looks stunning, but when she smiles, it seems forced.
“I love it,” I say.
Niki turns and I unfasten her back zipper.
“It’s so freaking awesome, that you are wearing Maritza’s dress.”
“I am happy Aunt May is such a great seamstress. Honestly, I was skeptical when I saw her; she must be in her eighties.” Her trembling fingers, however, altered the wedding dress to perfection.
“Can I see your ring again?” Niki asks wistfully. I raise my hand, and she gazes at the huge rock on my finger.
Will’s design, like everything he does, is thoughtful and gorgeous. The design is simple—two small stones set beside a large diamond—and the inscription on the inside reads, You are mine, and I am yours. Slowly, he placed the ring on my finger and whispered, “This precious stone is not nearly as valuable as the feelings I have for you. But the stone is eternal, as is my love for you.”
“That’s one beautiful ring,” Niki sighs, and then smiles broadly.
“Yeah, it represents a new era in my life.”
It is Thursday and I cannot believe that Saturday Will and I will be bedded. Mmm, I love the primitive sound of that. Pure fire and desire quickens my pulse.
Yesterday, Mel, Niki, and I bought plenty of lace and silk lingerie. Images of Will peeling them off me, one by one, floods my mind. I blush. Again, I tremble with expectation at the thought.
“How is Mr. CEO?” I ask nonchalantly.
“Huh?” I notice an expression that looks like fear cross Niki’s face.
“Is there a problem between you and Ray?” I ask.
“Oh, uh, Ray and I had a disagreement. He really wanted us to spend Thanksgiving with his family.” She slides out of the dress, and returns to her black slacks.
“I hope you can work things out with him. You know I am not Ray’s greatest fan. But I want you to be happy and if he makes you happy, then that’s all I need to hear.”
“We’ll work it out.” She forces a smile. “Enough of my soap opera drama. Today is about you, and Saturday is your big day. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be OK.”
“I am sorry for causing a fight between you.” I hang up her dress.
“It’s not your fault. Ray can be overbearing. I guess being away from each other will help us put things into perspective.” She applies an excessive amount of makeup, attempting to cover a fading yellow bruise on her left cheek.
“Pretty bad fall you had, huh?”
Her hand stills for
one second. “Yeah, you know me, I’m so clumsy.” She laughs, smoothing lip-gloss over her smile. “Do I look OK? I hope Tarry remembers to wear black slacks and a white shirt, I texted to remind him. He will hardly have time to change when he gets here,” she says.
“I will be happy if he makes it in time. It looks like his flight was late leaving Norway,” I say, buttoning the starched white shirt Mel lent me.
I observe Niki. For some reason, I can’t drop my feeling of uneasiness every time I think about her jerk of a boyfriend. Is he hitting her? She has sworn that the bruises on her face really are from a fall. Niki never has hidden anything from me, but I suspect there is more to her story. “Let’s go, Maritza will be happy to have you helping as well.”
Hand in hand, like when we were nine, we stroll toward the kitchen.
“Hey, babe,” Will is perched on the sofa. He gets up and moves toward me. My insides melt at the sight of my husband-to-be.
“Are you girls ready to go?” He turns to Niki. “Thanks for helping us, Nillie.” I gleam internally. I love that he refers to her with our group’s intimate nickname for Niki.
“You are welcome.” Niki beams.
“Where is everybody?” I ask.
“Oh, they headed to the shelter. Maritza wanted to organize some last-minute things.” He grabs his keys, and guides us outside.
“Argh, it’s cold,” I say as the wind bites against my skin.
“Yep, but tomorrow, will be a record high. Go figure.” Will shrugs and flashes me a secretive smile. A thousand butterflies flutter their wings in my stomach. He opens a door for Niki and for me, and then takes the driver’s seat.
The ride is brief. Once at the homeless shelter, I step into the cold wind and notice three hyperactive kids surrounding two women and a man. They loiter at the entrance, and I frown.