by Leddy Harper
“You don’t understand.” I angrily pulled my hand from his grasp and used it to wipe the stubborn tears that wouldn’t stop coming now that they’d found a way out. “Have you ever lost anyone? Anyone really close to you?”
He shook his head, yet the softness in his gaze told me something else. “But I don’t think I should be punished for that. I don’t think it’s fair for you to tell me how I don’t understand life, how I don’t understand tragedy. That’s not a fair assessment. Just because I’ve never lost a loved one doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two about death and loss.”
“How can you sit here and tell me what my mom would want, or how she’d feel? You didn’t know her. You don’t know me.”
“Does anyone? Really, does anyone know you?”
I thought about his question—which felt more like a burning accusation. I hated how he’d been able to dive into my life and get to me like that, make me question things I didn’t want to. Make me think about things I didn’t want to talk about, and I certainly didn’t want to discuss my mother. When I made the bold decision to get in his truck, I’d only sought sex. Yet I’d somehow gotten so much more than I bargained for. Instead of filling me sexually, he filled me with unforgiving emotions. Instead of making me cry out in ecstasy, he had me crying real tears of pain and sorrow. I wanted none of it, and now I didn’t even want the sex.
“My sisters know me.” I set my chin defiantly, daring him to say they didn’t.
“Do they really? I’m not going to pretend that I know you, or that I know your life and family. But I’m capable of putting pieces together. I think it’s a safe assumption to say you’ve changed since your mom died—most people do to some degree. I think your outlook on life is vastly different than it once was when you had your mom around. So, let me ask you again…does anyone really know you? The person brought about from the death of your mother.”
The answer was easy. No. No one knew me. Hell, I didn’t even know myself. But I wasn’t about to tell him that. He’d already gotten enough honesty out of me, and I wouldn’t offer him more. Being truthful with him had already made him see me as a weak person, a broken individual. I didn’t need to reiterate that to him.
“I’m the same person now that I was before she died. The only thing that’s changed is my view on love. I no longer want it. I don’t need it or see a reason for it. But that doesn’t change who I am.”
“Of course it does.” He never once lowered his intense stare, his eyes drilling into mine the entire time he spoke. Or should I say, lectured. “It changes everything. You can’t harden your heart and be the same person you once were. You can’t destroy the desire for love without killing the part of you that cares. If you don’t care about people, you’re not the same person anymore.”
“How would you know? You…don’t…know…me.”
“I know people, though. And if you didn’t care about others before your mom passed away, then none of this would be relevant. You’ve admitted that you don’t want love because of what your mom’s death did to you. Which proves that you loved before that. You cared before that. I don’t need to know you to understand the kind of person you must’ve been when your mom was alive.”
I hated how he could read me so easily, and that was a big reason why I never allowed my Saturday nights to become personal. I didn’t want anyone to deduce who I was then or who I am now. It was none of their business. How dare he sit here and critique me? What gave him the right to list off my personal traits and diagnose me?
Fiery heat consumed my body as I shifted beneath his fierce gaze. I cracked my knuckles, hoping it would ease the aching sensation in my hands, but it didn’t help. The tightness in my muscles grew painful as it climbed up my arms, stiffened my neck, and settled in my jaw as my teeth clenched tight. My entire body became rigid.
“I’m done with this conversation.” My voice shook as I angrily wiped the tears from my face. “You don’t know me, you never knew me, and you never will. I stupidly opened up to you, even though I knew better. I don’t need your judgmental thoughts, your passive-aggressive tone. I don’t need you. I’ve been perfectly fine for the last five months, doing what I’m doing, and I don’t need someone like you—who obviously has a God complex—coming in and making me feel bad about myself.”
The vinyl seating creaked as I slid out of the booth. I stomped toward the door, growing angrier with every thump of my boots on the linoleum flooring. I didn’t know where I was headed, nor did I care. I would walk back to my car if I had to. But I couldn’t take another minute under the crucifying eyes of Bentley, the stranger who somehow knew me better than I knew myself.
He chased after me once I made it outside, and grabbed my arm to stop me. He spun me around and held me in front of him with his strong grip on my upper arms. My anger had been so intense it burned the back of my throat and left an ache in my chest like I’d just gone ten rounds with Muhammad Ali himself. Yet standing in front of Bentley, studying his creased brow and soft eyes, cooled the fire inside me. It eased the ache and relieved the tension. But it didn’t make me feel better. Instead, it left me vulnerable, scared, and fragile. Lost and confused.
“That’s not what I meant. I’m not judging you. And I most definitely don’t want you to feel bad about anything.”
“Then why are you trying to convince me that there’s nothing wrong with love? Or that my mom would be disappointed in my actions?” I’d thought the tears were done falling, but one look in his compassionate eyes, seeing the way they narrowed as he studied me with an emotion I wasn’t ready to understand, made them fall again, faster than before.
“That’s not at all what I meant. Please, don’t cry.” He released one hand but brought it to my face, tracing the lines of my pain with his calloused fingertip. “I understand you’re hurting. I may not know exactly how you feel, but I understand it. All I want to do is help make it go away.”
“Why? Why do you want to make it go away? It never goes away.” My voice came out in a hoarse whisper, pain evident in every airy word. I felt so naked, so raw in front of him as he dried my tears, seeing me like no one ever had before. No man had ever looked at me the way he did at that moment. And no one had touched me that way before, both inside and out.
“It does, though. Pain and grief don’t last forever. But you can’t ignore it. You can’t rush the process. You have to take your time.”
I nodded and fell forward, too tired to hold myself up any longer. I pressed my head against his chest, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. There was something soothing about it, about the way he enfolded me in his arms, the sound of his heart beating rhythmically in his chest. It calmed me down the moment my ear pressed against his shirt, his body heat consuming me.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you back to your car.”
“What about the bill?” I asked, pulling away from him.
“It was a few bucks. I left money on the table. We’re fine. Let’s go.”
I nodded and followed his lead, letting him assist me in climbing into the monstrous truck’s passenger seat. We both remained silent as he drove me back to the bar where we’d met just a couple hours ago. It felt as if an entire lifetime had passed by. I wanted to say so much, but at the same time, I didn’t want to ruin the mood. I didn’t want to chance breaking whatever easiness we had going on between us. And I definitely didn’t want to start blubbering again. I just wanted to keep things the way they were now until he took me back to my car.
Bentley hopped out of the truck once we were parked and came over to help me out. And then he stood in front of me with my hands in his, my back pressed against the truck, acting as if he didn’t want to let me go.
I took the opportunity and went for it. Keeping our hands joined, I wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling our bodies together. The heat I’d felt earlier from his touch intensified now that the entire length of his body was pressed against mine. I tilted my head up, offering my lips for hi
m to kiss. But instead, he moved his mouth to my ear and whispered, “Goodnight, Sarah.”
His words made me freeze, reeling from the sting of rejection.
He kissed my cheek and pulled his head back to look into my eyes.
“I’m not ready to end this night yet,” I begged desperately, my words thick in the humid June air. I sounded frantic and I hated that feeling. I’d lost all control of my emotions; this man had sucked them from me so easily. He’d put me under a spell and made me reveal things that I kept under lock and key. I didn’t want him to leave now. I wanted answers. What answers, who knows. But things felt unfinished.
“You should go home, Sarah. Get some sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep.” My voice came out in eager, ragged pants. I didn’t want him to leave me like this. And for the first time, I didn’t mean sex. For the first time, I wanted to feel close to someone…even for just a little while longer. Maybe it’s because he wouldn’t kiss me. The challenge was there. No, that wasn’t it. It was so much more than that. I felt an unexplained connection to him and didn’t want him to leave.
“And I don’t want to be used.” That was enough to snap me out of my haze.
Without another word, I let go of his hands and backed away, breaking his hold around my waist. I spun and headed to my car, not bothering to glance back at him. I didn’t want to see the look of revulsion on his face, and I didn’t want him to see the devastation on mine.
At least I knew what he really thought of me.
And I wouldn’t have to see him again.
Bentley
The house was normally quiet on Saturday nights, so I thought I’d be able to come home and have some time to myself after seeing Sarah for the first time. I’d thought about that moment for so long, and now it had happened. We’d met. But the silence I yearned for wasn’t going to happen. My cousin, Luke, was sprawled out in the living room when I came through the door, and by the look on his face, he knew what I’d been up to. I ignored him and headed back to the room he’d let me use for the last eight months. I hoped he’d stay where he was.
“Please tell me you decided to go out for a drive by yourself tonight, and not out looking for her,” Luke said as he followed me down the dark hallway. Had he not sounded so condescending, I might’ve answered him.
But instead, I kept my thoughts to myself.
“Dude, seriously. I told you it was a bad idea.”
I spun around and got in his face. He was smaller than me, but not by much. I used to be a lot bigger than him, but over the span of my time here, I’d lost some muscle mass, and was no longer as fit as I once was. “Dude,” I said, throwing back the same attitude he’d given me, “it’s none of your business what I do or who I see.”
“Must’ve gone wrong if you’re this bent out of shape.”
“I figured I’d find a sad girl, not…that.”
“What did you find? How was she?”
I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around the girl I’d found tonight at the bar. “Lonely, desolate…like she’s afraid of life and on the verge of giving up. She wasn’t wasted, and she only cried when I pushed too far about her mom. I can’t explain it…almost as if she hates life but doesn’t really because she doesn’t understand hate. That vindictiveness isn’t in her. She’s bitter, sure, but she’s buried her real feelings so deep, only the lies are reflecting back at people. Blinding them to the truth. She’s playing a part, masquerading as the ‘I don’t give a shit’ girl when, in fact, she’s not anywhere near that carefree, and it’s smothering her. Killing off the real her.”
“She lost her mom a little over five months ago. What did you expect her to be like?” He made his way into my room and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. His demeanor clearly stated “I told you so.”
I sat on the edge of the bed and cradled my head in my hands, feeling completely defeated. “I honestly didn’t know what to expect. I mean, you told me about her weekends at the bars, the rumors about her hooking up with guys, but…”
“You didn’t want it to be true,” Luke said with such sympathy it hurt my ears.
“I didn’t. But it is.”
“Well…” He pushed off the wall and headed toward the door. “There’s not much you can do about it now.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re leaving tomorrow. You’re going back home. Kinda hard to keep an eye on her from there.”
I watched in silence as Luke walked out of the room, and then my gaze fell to my packed bags in the corner. I studied them as if they’d tell me what to do, as if they held all my answers.
“No.” Luke’s rumbling voice interrupted my concentration. “That’s a stupid idea, man.”
“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about, cousin.” Except, I did. I knew exactly what he meant, because he knew exactly where my mind had gone. And the smirk on my face gave it all away.
“This can’t possibly end well.”
“I’ve heard that a time or two before. I beat the odds before. I’ll do it again.”
Sarah
The rest of Saturday night sucked. After going home—alone—I’d taken a shower and gotten ready for bed. But sleep refused to come. I ended up tossing and turning for hours, thinking of nothing but Bentley. His words filled my head, his voice echoed throughout the dark room, and the memory of his touch lit my entire body on fire. It was different, though. I didn’t find myself turned on as I thought of him. Sure, he was gorgeous, and if I’d thought about his body or fantasized about what he could’ve done to me with those hands of his, it would’ve led to me taking care of my own needs. But those weren’t the thoughts that crossed my mind as I fought sleep that night. Instead, I berated myself for not asking where he was from, where he was going back to. Not that I would go visit him or anything, but because I’d felt a connection to him. The first connection to another living person since Christmas, and he was gone. I thought that was what I wanted—no relationship with anyone—but realizing what I’d lost made me sad. Made me question if I’d ever find it again. Made me worry about my desire to have it again. And then left me feeling even more alone and empty inside without it.
Take your time was the advice he’d given me. I didn’t know how to do that. He told me I couldn’t ignore the grief. I didn’t think that’s what I’d been doing. I was grieving. I did feel pain…that’s all I felt and why I sought out the men to give me a reprieve. I didn’t want to live this way forever. I wanted to move past it, but fear of feeling too much kept me at a standstill. I didn’t know how to move forward, and I felt he held those answers. But he was gone and I’d never be able to ask him what he meant by that statement.
It was just another example of people leaving, taking with them the answers I’d never be able to find. It happened with my mom first. So many things I wish I’d asked before she laid down that day. So many things I wish I’d been able to say. But I’d never have that opportunity. And now with Bentley…more questions I’d never have answers to. Only this time, it was different. He wasn’t dead. He was just out of reach.
By the time I woke up on Sunday, I seemed to have gotten over the whole Bentley thing. He’d come out of nowhere, took me by surprise, and dug up old feelings I wished would’ve stayed buried. But after sleeping it off, I realized that’s all it was. I hadn’t felt anything for him other than annoyance that he’d somehow gotten me to open up to him. He’d hypnotized me and had me believing in things I knew would never happen. In the light of day, I saw reality.
I moped around most of the day, barely listening to Bree lecture me about my carelessness from the night before. Just as I suspected, she’d called me and immediately began her interrogation as to the text I’d sent. I told her I went out with a guy I’d met and wanted to be safe in case something happened to me. I thought that would settle her, but no such luck. I eventually gave up and let her rattle on about the dangers of getting into vehicles with strangers and how my d
ownward spiral would one day get me hurt—if I was lucky. She always had to add that, reminding me without words that my actions ran the risk of being far more damaging than just getting hurt. Like I needed her to tell me that.
I loved Bree; honestly, I did. We’d been so close ever since she moved in with my family. I’d connected with her better than I did my biological sister. And after the first month of having her in my life, it was almost as if we’d known each other forever. I was there for her during her pregnancy, and then even after that when she had to raise her daughter, Ayla, all by herself. After she graduated high school, she felt she needed to be out on her own since she was a mom, and I offered to find a place with her. I knew she wouldn’t have been able to handle the finances on her own fresh out of school with a baby, so I helped in every way I could. I’d just finished cosmetology school, and started cutting hair at a local salon. It wasn’t much money, but it was more than the sleazy motel had paid her. We were sisters—best friends—learning about life as we went. But we always had each other.
Things changed after my mom died. I’d spent an entire month holed up in my house, crying to myself because I had no one to lean on. Bree had her new fiancé, Axel. Clari had her husband, Joel. Dad and I were the only ones left without anyone, but it became difficult to rely on him. Ever since he married my mom, she’d become his entire existence. His whole world. Everything revolved around her, and he never showed an ounce of regret about it. My mom deserved that. She’d spent ten years being the single parent, raising my sister and me. And she’d done a fantastic job at it. But she deserved to have someone take care of her the way she did us. We were just too young to do it—not that she would’ve ever let us be the parent and care for her. So when Wayne came into her life, she finally had someone to depend on. And I think she was made for him, too.