by Brown, Tara
Well, not until a tall guy in a light-blue shirt and dark-gray slacks walks up to me. He's dressed fancy for a bar in a college town. His face is handsome in a way that commands my instant respect. He looks like he should have supermodels on either arm, or be in a music video. He doesn't look older, just confident and dangerous.
He smiles at me and it's scary and cold. "Want to dance?"
I can barely hear him over the music. I shake my head, "No, thank you."
He smiles at me and looks down. He has dark hair in a faux hawk and a dimple in his left cheek. I know him. I swear it. It almost scares me. His icy-blue eyes are so familiar, but like they're locked behind a haze.
"Do I know you?" I ask, almost like I'm in a dream. He looks at me with confusion mixed with a subtle hint of severity.
"I don't think so." He looks around. His cool demeanor and stylish clothes are catching the eyes of the girls around us.
It hits me when I look at the other guys in the bar. He is controlling himself and moody compared to the other guys. He looks severe and harsh. I can't help but wonder why he's talking to me. The girl who looks like she might be the janitor, not the girls who are almost naked and grinding up against each other.
It hits me like a ton of bricks and I know why he's talking to me. I grin sarcastically, "Are you him? Are you my guardian?" I am smarter than he gives me credit for being.
His cold blue eyes harden and he instantly looks more confused and less interested in me. "Him who? What?" He takes a step back and laughs, like he's confused but also mocking me. He rolls his icy eyes, "I just wanted a dance."
I frown. He turns and walks away. It stings a bit, he rejected me and somehow I feel like a head case from it. Like I'm crazy for thinking he could be the man helping me. I've never felt rejection. People are usually overly kind to me. Except the nuns and fathers. Growing up, we were always made to work hard and respect people. We were treated based on how we acted. I learned that quickly.
I reach into my back pocket and pour the hand sanitizer into my palm. I rub and close my eyes. The smell is therapy.
Shell must have seen it. Her icy cold hands grip my arm and shock me. I spin wide eyed, "What?"
She looks over to where the guy disappears into the crowd, "Was he bugging you?"
I shake my head. But she eyeballs the hand sanitizer and makes her own conclusions.
"This was a mistake. We should go." She looks worried.
I shake my head, "No. It's fine. I like it here. It's so intense and busy, I actually feel lost in the crowd. Like I blend."
Her face splits, "Oh man." She sighs, "I'm so glad. I was stressed about bringing you here dude. I know it's my job to push the New Leaf thing, but I was scared."
I shake my head, "Let's dance."
She arches an eyebrow, "Wanna drink?"
I almost say no. I pause and give the question the moment it deserves. I nod. I'm not scared of the bar. I don't hate it. I wanted a normal college life. One drink is definitely normal. If it's not normal, it's New Leaf for sure.
She comes back after a minute with a bottle of beer. She passes it to me and squeals, "The bartender thought I was twenty-one. He sold these to me." She widens her eyes in excitement and drinks. She brings it down and clinks it against mine, "To a New Leaf." She shouts, grinning and looking around.
She is having so much fun. I love it. I can't help but wonder, if I can suck some of the fun off of her and force myself to be more outgoing like her. If I can force myself to not look to closely at the people around us, or the fact I am teetering on the edge of something bad.
I stand closer and compel myself to loosen up. I drink a gulp of beer. It isn’t a big thing to her, but I've never drunk beer. It tastes sick, but I force myself to drink it. It's freedom and adulthood and a New Leaf. Okay, it's a lot to place on one beer.
"Emalyn."
I look to where I've heard my name. My face instantly becomes happiness in a look. My breath is caught in my chest. The pounding beat of the music and the pair of hazel eyes looking at me, are making me happy. Divinely happy. It's a new feeling.
"Sebastian." I had no idea how hot he actually was. Seeing him dressed up, not casual at all, is impressive. I forget my name momentarily.
His smile is bright. He looks at my beer confusedly, "Never saw you as a bar and a beer kind of girl."
I shake my head, "First beer and first bar."
He steps in closer, so he doesn’t have to shout. He smells so good my palms sweat, probably for hand sanitizer, he's pretty close. I fight off the urge. He leans down into my neck and speaks close to my ear, "You doing okay?"
I could love this guy. If my heart ever decided to open up to anyone, it would be him I choose. I nod.
His breath tickles my neck, "If you need out of here you just let me know, okay."
I smile into his shoulder and sigh, "Yup."
He stands back up. It makes some kind of cross breeze and his cologne, that I must have missed when I smelled him, is wafted back at me. It takes up all the sweaty air around me. In that moment, I feel it. The wall. The beer almost slips from my hands. I pass it to him, "Can you just hold this. I need to go to the ladies."
He nods. I point to Shell, who I realize is watching me like a hawk, and point between them. "Michelle, my roommate, Sebastian, the guy from the gym." I turn and run to the bathroom. The sea of people is thick and heady. I shove my way through. The cold air of the bathroom is a comfort. I take in gulps of it.
My shirt is soaked. I slip into a stall and pull it off.
I'm trembling.
His cologne made me freak out?
Shit is wrong with me.
Somehow cologne made the air dirty. It made a wall of sin and sick twisted desires. It hurt deep in my belly.
Tears are flooding my eyes and I'm standing in the stall, waving my shirt back and forth, trying to dry it out.
With shaking hands and blinding tears that won't leave my eyes, I pull my cell from my pants. I can't text. The words don’t make sense. I fat finger the buttons in a panic. I delete the messages and hold the phone to my chest.
I start my affirmations in a breathy whisper, "You are alive. You aren’t fighting the whole world. It's just a few people in a bar. They don’t see you. Frig the bar. This is a tiny stall. It's a small room with a door and protection." I take a deep breath. My words feel thick with saliva and the distraught fear that cripples me.
My legs become heavy. I need to run before my legs become cement blocks. I pull the shirt on and storm from the bathroom. I slip along the back wall. In the corner of my eyes I see them.
He's laughing.
She pushes his chest.
He shakes his head, gripping my beer still.
They don't see me.
I slip outside. I am about to run, but I see the car. I race across the street. I need the car. I need Stuart.
My lungs are getting thick. The air isn’t coming the way I need it to. His face is stoic as he opens the door, barely registering me. He's so used to it all.
I'm breathless when I leap into the seat. The smell is like my hand sani. It's therapy. I take huge, lung-filling breaths. I hold my trembling hands out. Stuart gets in and squirts the cold alcohol on me.
"Where is Michelle?"
"Inside."
He sighs, "Okay. Home or drive?"
I don’t look at him. I can't. I'm so ashamed. "Drive." My voice is weak and hollow. He doesn’t say anything. He drives.
I open my eyes when I start to feel nauseous. My heartbeat is crazed still. The vibration of my phone brings me back.
I glance at it.
'Where u go?' from Shell.
'Home'
'K. Tell Stuart I said hi.'
'Tell Sebastian I said bye.'
'K. Sorry Em.'
I shake my head and work at not feeling sorry for myself, 'No. I am.'
I can't help but wonder if there was ever love and peace inside of me? Was I always so filled with fear and pain?
Was there ever a time when someone held me in their arms and made me feel safe? Was I always scared of cologne and touching?
I look out the window at the dark city streets and see nothing but places to hide.
When Stuart drops me off, I climb the stairs and fight the defeated feeling.
"Look at it this way. You left the house, you went to a bar, you didn’t run out after a second. You were in there for almost an hour."
I smile back at him, "Thanks Stuart."
He shrugs, "It's cool. Tell Michelle to text me later."
I nod, "Night." I turn and climb the rest of the stairs. I let him be the one who's right, not the voice in my head that calls me a freak.
Michelle doesn’t come home right away. It makes me wonder. Is she kissing his lips? The lips I've caught myself staring at. Staring and wondering if they feel the way they look. At least if they get together I can hear the details of what he looks like naked or feels like kissing. I can live through her, like always.
I'm almost insane by the time she comes strolling in the door. She shakes her head, "Sorry. Did I wake you up?"
I watch her. She pulls her phone out and sends a message.
"No. Did you have fun?" I ask. My tone is shitty. I know it is. I'm not sorry.
She shakes her head, "Not so much. It was alright. That Sebastian guy is strung out on you though. Oh my god. He yakked my ear off. Like questions and trying to get your number and sweet fricken god."
A smile forces its way across my lips, "Really? He didn’t hit on you?"
"Uhhh, no. Dude. Ho's before bro's. You saw him first." She sighs, "But he did stop every other guy from hitting on me. He's huge and smoking hot. No one even spoke to me all night. But Stuart was texting me." That puts a grin on her lips.
Sebastian likes me? Even after he saw it? He gets it? I almost pinch myself but decide against it. Better to live in a dream world than no world. I roll over and fall asleep. I'm safe from the lonely and crazy excited for the gym tomorrow.
I wake the next day and race to the gym. I try to act casual, strolling in. I saunter over to the wipes and the up to a machine and pull my hair up into a ponytail. I clean and start at a walk, looking around, wondering if he's coming. Suddenly he bounds in and hops on the machine next to me. "Hey. How's it going?"
I shrug and grin like a fool. "Good. Sorry I bailed last night."
He shakes his head, "No. I get it."
I sigh. He looks yummy and he gets it. Seeing him makes me happy. He starts his machine, "Wanna get breakfast after this?"
I nod, "Sure. Can we get pancakes? I love pancakes."
He winks, "I know a place."
I melt. I can't stop watching him and his form when he runs. I start my speed increases and constantly have to bring my eyes around. The way his pecs bounce and flex when he runs is horribly distracting.
I wonder what he looks like without the shirt. I laugh at myself. When it comes to boys and anything dirty, I'm all bark and no bite. I want to bite but I shut it down before I even let myself entertain the thoughts. It's all I ever let boys be, thoughts, ideas, and dirty stories from Shell.
I finish my run early and get us both wipes. I'm grinning and waiting when he's finally done. He's sweaty and in that moment, I realize I'm seeing another person's sweat differently. It dawns on me that I don’t consider him other people. That’s huge for me.
It turns out watching him eat pancakes is better than eating pancakes, or watching him run. I barely touch my food, watching his jaw move and his eyes light up when he speaks is better than eating.
It's official.
He's my favorite person in the world. I've known him for a week and it feels like a lifetime.
Meeting for workouts and breakfast becomes an instant tradition.
Two weeks later he asks me out on a date again. Finally. I do the butt hop thingy that Shell does. But then I glance at my phone and shudder. My fingers twitch when I drag them over the buttons sending the text I have been dreading all day, 'I'm going out'
'Him again?'
I'm grinning when I send the next word, 'Yup'
'Yup isn't a word. Where?'
'I don't know, it's a surprise'
'You know how I feel about surprises' I make duck lips and think about that. I don’t like them either.
I text, 'I don’t like them either, but I'm trying to be a normal girl and he makes me feel that way'
'I want to know where you're going when you do'
'K'
'K is a letter not a word!'
'O.K.'
His reply of '…' makes me smile. He's such a crotchety bastard.
My smile grows when I see Sebastian standing at the bottom of the stairs by my dorm, looking dressier than normal. He's leaned against the railing in dark-grey dress pants and a matching dress shirt. His hair is styled with product and his face is completely clean-shaven. He smiles when he sees me coming through the door. He doesn’t look like a college boy. It's like the night at the bar, only I don’t feel like throwing up and sweating. Not yet.
"You look beautiful."
I smirk. I know I don’t. I'm wearing black dress pants and a pale green sweater. I look casual. I always look this way.
"Where are we going?" I take the steps slowly.
He shrugs, "You are going to have to trust me."
I don’t like that feeling, but I nod and take his arm. Touching his shirt feels nice. His bicep is strong. He natters on about business and I ignore him. He is very intense with his courses. He's always talking about business, like he's working already. He manages to keep the details on the light side but still tells me tons. I watch his jaw move and the way his lips form the words starting with a w. They stick out, plump and kissable. Wednesday, water, workforce, watchdog. They all become my new favorite words. I sigh.
"So what do you think?" He's watching me. I've missed something crucial in the long-ass story. I have ignored a question of sorts and instead spent the long-ass time watching him.
I wince, "No."
He laughs, "No, you don’t think it's smart to get a hybrid car for running around the city with?"
I am confused-when did we start talking about cars? I shake my head sarcastically, "No?" So glad I told him about the earth sciences articles I wrote.
He laughs, "Sorry. Was I boring you?"
I laugh, because if he knew what he was doing to me, he would think I wanted something other than dinner. Of course, my being all bark and no bite means we would both be disappointed.
We walk for a long time. He tries to pry things from me. I answer with the skill and precision I always do.
"So how many brothers and sisters do you have?" He nudges me as we walk up a hill, past some office buildings.
"Lots. I was raised in a huge family. Where are we going?"
He laughs, "We are there." He points to a glass door in an office building. He opens it casually, laughing about something.
I don’t hear him. I just see the inside of it is a huge foyer with wide windows and a front desk. It's a new place. I twitch. My stomach starts to clench.
I never realized where we might have been heading.
I assumed a safe place in the public, a place like the OCD restaurant.
He walks to an elevator and pushes the button. He's still laughing and joking. He doesn’t see that my hands are sweating. I force myself onto the elevator. When it starts moving, the walls slowly inch their way toward me. My heart rate is skyrocketing. My arms are sweating now. The elevator stops and my knees almost buckle.
He's nattering on about things I don’t hear. He points for me to step off.
His hand is on the small of my back.
I'm almost hyperventilating.
I'm frozen.
He steps off, pushing me forward.
We walk down a hallway that I swear is getting narrower. He opens a dark-colored door. Inside is a glow, like there's candles or firelight. It's a huge space with high ceilings and walls that only go halfway u
p. Like each room has no ceiling.
The door closes with a click that sounds like a hammer pounding inside of my head. I jump and look around. It's a house. A penthouse apartment. It's got a view of the whole city.
I see another man in the corner of my eye and I'm gone. I've bolted for the door and raced down the hall. He's calling me. He's running after me but I get to the stairs, ignoring his shouts and heavy footsteps that slap the hallway and echo all around me. I run as hard as I can. My legs have trained for this moment. I jump and run until I get to the bottom floor. I bust through into the foyer. I can hear the elevator, but I crash through the front door and out onto the street.
I am lost. I run hard until I reach an alley. I lean my back against the wall of the building and make a call with trembling fingers.
Chapter Four
My feet pound the treadmill with savagery. They're clawing at it. My heart is racing and my fingers are almost reaching for the handlebars. They don’t, because I never touch the handles.
I don’t know how long I've been running at this pace. I just am, until I can't. I need to feel something and exhaustion seems like a harmless thing.
I hate the way I am. I hate the pity and understanding in Shell's eyes when I bail on her New Leaf trips and adventures. I hate the way Stuart notices my psychotic-ness and yet justifies my actions and makes my excuses for me. He lets me do it. They all let me get away with it.
So I do.
I get away with not improving or changing.
The worst is that I see it. I ride on their understanding and the pathetic way they see me. I'm technically doing well. For people like me, breathing and eating and showering, is doing well. I hate doing well. I just want to be normal. I want to be his.
I push it back angrily and drive my feet harder.
A flash of something takes me out of my raging run. The treadmill slows right down and stops. I'm gasping and heaving for air. I bend forward immediately.
"Wh-wh-what are you doing?" I ask in between panting and coughing.
Sebastian is in my face, "You trying to die?" He's angry.