by J. R. Rogue
"Can we go out again this weekend?" he asked, reaching for my hand. He rubbed my bare ring finger.
"Yes," I replied to the window, watching my breath cloud it. "What do you want to do?"
"I really would like to take you skating," he said timidly. "I know you're scared but I promise I won't let anything bad happen to you."
I'd heard lies like that before. "Where would we skate anyway?" I asked, warming to the idea.
"I know a place.” He laughed.
I wasn't sure what was so funny but I didn't press. Instead, I leaned forward and looked at my trailer, at the broken blinds in the living room. I felt a little less high from the touch of him. I was coming down.
I didn't like to linger out in front of the trailer, especially with a guy who was infatuated with me. I was afraid his feelings for me would fall away. It didn't matter how nice he was. He would start to wonder why he was infatuated with the girl who lived in a dirty trailer and worked at a department store.
A girl who had never been to college.
A girl with shitty poetry stashed under her mattress.
A girl who never thought she would amount to much.
The night of our second date we showed up at the ice rink late, after ten. Connor walked to a plain looking door like he owned the place. He still had his car keys in his hand. He opened the door and turned to me, his eyes more predatory than they had been on our first date, more like the last night I saw him. I felt a shiver, and a blush formed, just at the base of my neck. I wanted him this way.
I didn’t want to be treated like a delicate flower, like broken glass, though I was often that fragile. I needed to be treated like an object of desire. I wanted to be possessed and I wanted to possess someone. Avery had been so sure in his pursuit. I needed that again.
I walked through the door, shoving aside wants and pulls for my ex. He was lacking. I wondered where he had sold his soul. If his new wife wounded others the way he did.
I stopped just inside the door, my eyes adjusting to the dark hallway I was standing in. “How do you have a key again?” I agreed, reluctantly, to let Connor take me ice skating. I expected him to take me to a rink in town, not the St. Louis Blues Stadium.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, taking my hand. He didn’t sound dismissive. He sounded like a storyteller who wasn’t ready to give his secrets away.
I followed him in the dark, his hand in mine, watching the ice skates slung over his shoulders sway with his gait. I loved his walk. Shoulder back, head high, the sway of his narrow hips almost like a dance.
I reached with my other hand up to my opposite shoulder, giving my center a half hug. The air was chilling; we were getting closer to the ice.
When we made it to our destination, I let out a sigh. The stadium was dark, the ice lit by a dim overhead light. Connor dropped my hand and walked into the dark. “Where are you going?” I hissed, hugging myself fully.
“Getting us some light,” he called over his shoulder.
I looked down at the skates he left behind. He bought me a pair before our first date. I still remember the text, asking for my shoe size, and the way he dodged my questioning. It was a strange thing to ask a girl you were about to take on a date.
I found a bench and started to take off my boots. I squeezed my feet, covered by a double layer of socks, into the first skate. When I was done, I ran my hand up my calf. I felt like a live wire, my senses more heightened. I was being pulled apart. Being pushed closer and closer into a deeper attraction to Connor.
When my date returned, he found me staring at my skate-clad feet, creating a light show with the silver of the blade onto the short wall in front of me.
“Don’t be nervous,” he said, sitting down next to me with his skates in hand.
“I don’t like doing things like this,” I confessed, dropping the mask. I didn’t like driving fast, climbing rock walls, skating across ice.
I lived my life with my feet firmly planted on the ground. My anxious heart kept me from doing things other people found thrilling. This was our second date, and traditionally, this is where I would lie, keep playing the part of the cool girl. The girl up for anything. But that wasn’t me. I’d sooner drop to my knees and take him into my mouth than dance my way across the ice. I didn’t think he would protest but he was on to my tricks already.
He wanted to get to know me, and I wanted to distract him, with my body, with the things I could do. It was better to show a man what you wanted to see, convince yourself it was what you wanted, than to have him root you out, then discard you.
Connor finished with his skates, then dropped to his knees in front of me, his large hands inspecting my own feet, undoing the laces. “These aren’t tight enough. You don’t want your ankles to get hurt. They need to be strong and secure.”
I liked watching him there, fixing my mess, his full bottom lip pulled in, secured by his teeth, in concentration. I wanted to reach out, run my hands through his dark hair, but I didn’t. Instead, I wrapped my arms right around myself again.
When he was finished, he stood, his hand outstretching to me. I grasped it, let him pull my weight up. He kept his grip tight as we made our way out onto the ice. His arm was solid under my frantic pull. I pulled him close, my heart thudding. I was only 5’2”. The ice below me wasn’t a steep drop, but I feared falling. I feared being unbalanced.
Connor pulled my chest to his. “It’s okay. I won’t let you fall.”
“You underestimate my ability to pull others down.” There was a heaviness to my words. I’ll pull you down. I’ll watch that smile leave your eyes.
“You underestimate my ability to lift people up,” he said, into my hair. God, I liked him. Why did he have to be so airy? So much like the spring on the horizon? The air around us tasted like me. Cold, biting.
“Can you imagine if we had done this on our first date.” I laughed, pushing out just a bit so I could see Connor’s brown eyes. He locked his forearms with mine, our hands wrapped tightly around each other’s.
“It would have been great,” he smiled, genuinely enjoying the sight of me off balance.
Maybe that was the appeal. This power struggle, that's all dating was, right? I wanted a drink in my hand, my fingertips grazing him lightly. There was my power. I needed it.
“Think you can stand on your own?” he arched his eyebrow and my face fell.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t let me fall?”
“That’s just because it was the nice-guy thing to say,” he laughed. “You underestimate yourself. I know you can do it. I'm not asking you to move. Just to stand on your own, test your weight, test your movements.”
I hated him a little then. I glared to show him how pissed I was, and he showed me more of his teeth. I dropped his arms in protest, willed myself not to breathe. I couldn’t fall over in my act of defiance. Connor skated backward, away from me, his eyes never leaving mine. “Good. You’re fine. I know you can stay on your feet.”
My fists were clenched. I slowly tapped them on my hips, needing to feel my weight, my steady base, when nothing felt steady. I watched Connor skate away, it was a dance, he was walking on water, ice cold permanence. I wouldn’t dare move, and here he was, skating in circles before me.
It wasn’t an act of showing off, nothing to shame me, but to draw me in. I wondered who he knew, who gave him access to the rink; I didn't know the truth yet. How often did he skate? His walk was art, but seeing him on ice made me breathless. It was as if I wasn’t there, he was lost to the cold, at home.
When he came back to me, I hadn’t moved, his approach was from behind. He wrapped his arms around me, his fingers sliding over my clenched fists. “Show off,” I muttered in a quiet reverence.
“Gotta impress you somehow. It’s not easy.” He skated around me, threading his fingers into mine. “I need you to move, move with me.”
I grimaced, my earlobes bright red. The next hour was an excruciating dance of desire and fear. I fell once
but didn’t hit the ice; Connor immediately pulled me back to a standing position.
He kissed my hair later that night after he walked me to my door when he dropped me off at my trailer. I didn't want to fall. I felt it there, in my belly. So I built my walls up, higher.
13
Less Like A Lie, More Like A Fade
"It didn't last long. That thrilling phase. Where we were feeling each other out. Learning each other's quirks." I barely remember those first few weeks of dating. The beginning is too marred by my words, my mistakes, and the way I maimed his heart.
"When was the first hurt?"
“Barely a month in. I told another man I loved him, while I was at a party with Connor." What a wonderful way to start a relationship. With your heart so far removed from your chest, still stuck in the fantasy of the last love you had.
"Do you still carry guilt there?"
I drum my fingers on the table, on the wood in front of me, glance at my journal. “I never think about it, but now, bringing it up, yes. He should have left me then. It was just a prelude, to all the hurt I would cause him. He should have branded me unfaithful then. He should have seen what was coming."
“What’s it like to watch you pull away?” she says it like she is blind, feeling me out. As if she can’t see it right now, in front of her own eyes.
I indulge her. “It’s slow, less like a lie, more like a fade.” Sometimes I speak in poetry. Connor was never a fan. Logan loved it. He spoke the same way. He loved the same way. In a broken way.
14
You Are Mine, I Am Yours
I've never fucked up so royally in my life. I doubt I'll ever hear from Connor again, not after Saturday night. He didn’t text me after he left yesterday morning. And he said we should probably cool it when he woke up in the morning. We had only been hanging out for around three weeks. It shouldn’t hurt this much. He shouldn't be that hurt. I know he is though. I could tell by the way he looked at me when we were together. The way he laughed. He was the kind of guy who kept his laughs inside. He would smirk when you told him a joke. His sense of humor was so dry, so unlike mine. Mine was juvenile, idiotic. I like his humor more than mine. Maybe I am too much like a sponge. Avery’s humor was crass, lazy. I had absorbed too much of him. Lost myself in his personality, so loud and colorful. He left me grey and desolate, and I let him ruin what Connor and I had started. No way am I hearing from him again. And I don’t deserve to. You can’t help how you feel but you can help how you act. I want to stop acting like a god damn train wreck.
Santiago Bar and Grille was our group’s go-to destination for birthday parties. I heard the whispers in our group weeks before the night of the party. Avery had been invited.
Lesley said his name around me casually at work. As if it wasn’t a knife in my gut. My semi-relationship with Connor was her green light.
Since I was sort of dating someone, I should be okay with hearing his name thrown around like confetti. I shouldn’t be pissed that she was talking about her boyfriend’s best friend in front of me, but I knew her. We were too alike. She was never skilled at being fake, at hiding her intent. She wanted to wound me.
I questioned our friendship more often than I would have liked, but I was stuck. Ending a friendship with a coworker was just a pain in the ass. I hated my shitty job as it was, why piss off someone who was clearly on the fast track to management? Better to grin and bear it.
I did one better. I planned the party with her. I even told Lesley what I would be wearing that night. And she showed up wearing the exact same thing. I chalked it up to the fact that she had a twin and her other half was going to college out of state. Maybe she needed that crutch. It still made my skin crawl.
Santiago’s had a reserved space for parties. Lesley and I arrived an hour earlier to decorate for her boyfriend and his brother, also a twin.
Connor had to work late and would be showing up a few hours after the party had started, most likely when things were picking up. Lesley told everyone to show up at seven. A little early, in my opinion, but it was her boyfriend’s shindig. I didn’t protest. Instead, I started drinking.
Avery showed up with his new wife, Wendy. She was eight months pregnant, all belly and long legs, spindly arms. He picked a woman completely opposite of me. I stayed clear of them while she was there. My laughs were embarrassing, louder in decimal than normal. A little desperate.
After an hour Wendy left, and Avery was on his own. I had forgotten how loud he was. He was a damn peacock. His walk wasn’t like other men’s. He strutted, demanded attention.
I saw Lesley beaming at him from across the space reserved for the party. His hands waved in the air as he told his story. She reached out and touched his arm, and I had to look away. Sometimes I felt sorry for Lesley. I couldn’t imagine being in a relationship with someone and wanting to fuck every other guy in sight.
The hair on the back of my neck prickled as I looked away. I felt fingertips on my elbow and turned to find Connor smiling at me. I reached for him, going up on tiptoe, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” His voice was warm, inviting. The greeting wasn’t normal for us. We weren’t quite that familiar with each other yet, but I had two glasses of cranberry and vodka in my belly. I was warm and tingly, sadness filled my lungs like a poison. I wanted to feel good. I wanted Connor to make me feel good. When I pulled away, I looked into his eyes. His energy was nervous and it fed into mine. An evening of lies and pretending wasn’t promising; we both knew what was in store. Or maybe it was just me, and I was desperate for the mirror.
“Do you need another drink?” He motioned to my hand, an empty glass clutched in my fingers.
“Yeah. Sure.” I should probably slow down, but I needed a numbness. I caught his eyes again, the feeling of fret I had seen before was gone, maybe never there. I walked to the railing that separated our area from the dance floor. Everyone I knew at the party was surrounding Avery. I watched Connor’s figure disappear into the crowd. The bar was packed, the hour nearly ten. I spun around and stared at my platform wedges, my legs crossed at the ankle.
I never wore skirts. A lifetime of hating my legs made me hide them. When I was twelve, a kid on the bus made fun of the fact that I wasn’t shaving yet. My mom had been strict about when I was allowed to use a razor. So I started wearing pants even on the hottest days. Then I started to become curvy, a new obstacle was thrown at me. The most popular girls were tall and leggy, like Wendy.
I was 5’2”. Stumpy. When Avery and I were together, we both started going to the gym one year, after the new year. Like many, we were caught up in the frenzy of fitness. I was proud of myself for sticking to our routine. One day I texted him to let him know I had lost a few pounds, dropping down to 106. He told me that was great but I still had work to do. 106 pounds and I still had work to do.
I stared down at my knees. Always something I hid, now out in clear view. I was 101 pounds now. When Avery kicked me out, I stopped eating. I dropped down to ninety-five pounds. Some part of me wondered if he would have wanted me like that. Lesley told me Wendy had confessed that Avery told her she had a schedule to stick to after the baby came. One for losing the weight. All I saw was belly and baby when I looked at her earlier. It was pretty inconvenient to feel sorry for someone you hated.
I glanced at the crowd surrounding Avery, finally reunited with the friends I had supposedly stolen from him. His eyes flickered my way, skittering across my legs, my cleavage, my red cheeks. I pushed off the railing and walked to a vacant table, out of view. I wanted his stare but burned beneath it.
Connor came back with my drink and his a few minutes later. He was smiling again. I loved the beauty of it. The simplicity of his desire for me. I rose from my seat, took my drink, kissed him. It was a brand. You are mine, I am yours. It was false, for show maybe, but I wanted it to be real.
15
Metaphors And Lies
"And you couldn't be his? Why w
ouldn't you let yourself?"
"I was a twenty-five-year-old fool. I loved drama more than anything, but I was in denial about that. I like to think that was why I lied to myself so often, and why I kept so much truth to myself. I didn't want to be the liar. I hated liars and suddenly I couldn't look at myself in the mirror. Are you truthful if the only way you can tell your truth is through poetry? I hid behind it. I would later boast of my honesty there. Honesty hidden in metaphors and lies, disguised as fiction."
"Were you honest when you drank?"
"Some version of honest. The liquor could no longer mask the fact that I didn't love myself. That I drove away the ones who did love me, for what was inside, the mangled mess. I say ones, but it was one. Connor and his undying devotion. The kind of devotion that survived on scraps. Maybe that's why some people have children. To grow someone who would love them unconditionally. But the problem with broken people pouring broken love into humans molded from their own flesh was you could see all of your lacking in their eyes. I would rather pour my love onto the page, into a bottle, into a one-night stand. I'd rather not see that reflected tragedy. Connor always told me he knew I would be a wonderful mother. I saw it, at times. The way I would cry over the small tragedies. An opossum on the side of the road, no one to mourn it, because it was vermin. I wept when animals died on screen. He told me my love for animals showed me all he needed to know about what kind of mother I would be. Humans were such vengeful, ugly things. The purity of animals moved me. How could a flawed woman like me create a human made of good things? Were we born good? Was my stepfather born good? Or was he born a monster? Who made him the way he was? Who made him with breaking hands and words like knives? Maybe this is why Connor loved me. We love our abusers, right? I made a decision that night. I broke the heart of a man who may have been falling for me, at a party. I broke his heart because I was foolish and still in love with the man who broke my heart at a party. I had become all that I once hated. All that once broke me."