by S. Morayla
“Please don’t cry, baby.” He scoots over to me, but my hand comes up, stopping him. Call me stubborn, but my defenses are still up.
“I just need a minute,” I whisper, the faint glow of the TV radiating off his disappointed face.
Tick-tock
The clock clicks, second by second, as we sit, subdued. Boom-boom, boom-boom. Hearts pounding with intensity, waiting for the next words to be spoken. Shaking my head, I lift my somber eyes. He watches me through his grave stare.
“I’m just trying to see things from your point of view, but each time I try, I can’t seem to grasp how you could even believe her. You saw the kiss, but not the aftermath. What we shared as friends should have been enough for you to, at the very least, come to me. To ask if there was anything more—even if you were hurt or embarrassed.” I let go, unleashing my irritation on him, the tears still coming down. The torment in his eyes is undeniable, but I continue, not giving him a chance to act or speak.
“Why would I invite you to meet my family? If I wanted Chris, why would I spend so much of my free time with you? It makes no sense. If I wanted Chris, why would I have called and texted you, asking what was wrong? Do you think so little of me to believe I would lie to you? I told you I needed time and I did. If it was because my heart was conflicted over you and Chris, I would have told you that. I’m not Lexi, damn it. I don’t play games.” Pushing to my feet, I throw the pillow back on the couch.
Anger blazes through those last words.
My chest rising and falling in outrage.
I pace the floor, hoping to relieve the storm of emotions welling inside me.
I steady my ragged breaths before continuing.
“Was my heart conflicted? Yes, but not over you and Chris.” I stop right before him. His whiskey eyes dilate in disbelief. My body shakes, infuriated that we allowed this to happen to us. Him for not coming to me. Me for not seeing what everyone else saw sooner.
“My heart and soul were waging a war inside me. My heart clung to Rhys while my soul fought for you. That’s why I needed time. Now, how can I trust you?” I turn on a heel, not letting him see how broken I am. Walking over to the dining room, my unsteady hand grabs hold of the back of a chair.
Silent sobs consume my body.
Forgiveness can be given, but trust…
Once it is broken, it’s the hardest to repair.
While I realize Zayne is not fully at fault, how can I trust him to tell me how he’s feeling, or come to me when there is a misunderstanding?
Lexi will always be a hindrance, waiting in the shadows for her chance to stab her claws into any of the guys in the group. I want to forgive him, but I need assurance that she will not come between us when things go awry. I want to trust that he will always be open with me. Just like he told me, I never want him to be scared to tell me exactly how he feels. The truth can hurt, but it can also heal.
The air changes, electricity swirls, blanketing me. Goose bumps erupt, my hairs stand on end. My heart rate spikes, causing my throat to constrict. A pleasurable shiver runs down my spine. My eyes close, soaking up the heat emanating from his body.
I suppress a groan.
He stands behind me, so close, but never touching. “Natalee, when I first met you, I was drawn in. I wanted to know why your eyes were haunted, wanted to know what I could do to help you. Slowly, like a vine, you wrapped yourself around my heart. As time went on, that vine grew. Now, it’s entangled and woven into my soul. You are my other half. I fucked up, I know I did. I’m man enough to stand here and bear my soul to you to let you know there is no excuse for my actions. I played into their hands. I was blinded by my own anger.” I slowly turn, gulping down the anxiety. I look up at him, my hand twitching to touch his face.
“My pride and ego were bruised. I know what I should have done, but I hurt you, the one person in the world who means more to me than the next breath I take. To know I put those tears in your eyes is killing me.” A gasp escapes my lips as Zayne falls to his knees before me. My hands fly up to my mouth, air punched from my lungs. His head slumps forward, arms weightless at his side.
“I’m not above begging you, Shorty. With every fiber of my being, I know we belong together. I’m sorry I didn’t come to you. I’m sorry I let my pride get in the way. But most of all, I’m sorry for hurting you.” He lets out a strangled breath, his whole body sagging.
Vulnerable.
Exposed.
Naked.
Soft words spoken to me once by my Nona crawl to the forefront of my mind. Mistakes can be forgivable if you listen and the other has the courage to admit their wrongs.
How can I deny him this? I know he’s not perfect; neither am I. To see this man lay himself bare before me shows he’s willing to set aside his pride. Zayne called my uncle to admit he hurt me all because he wanted the chance to prove he values this relationship. I sink to my knees before him. I’m no better than he is.
I’ve tried to fight my feelings.
Ignored the spark that started the battle between my heart and soul. Knowing it was all in vain, he had me reeling. I am his. There is no more denying it, Zayne makes me whole.
“Zayne, look at me,” I urge, my voice low and gruff.
Ever so gradual, he lifts his eyes to mine.
Tears flow down my cheeks. I can’t hold back. I’ve had enough. Sadness, it’s the only emotion I know. I pull him into my arms, hugging him like he’s my lifeline. I have no idea what will happen next. All I know is here, in his arms, feels safe and secure—right where I need to be.
“What are we going to do, Shorty?” With my head on his shoulder, I inhale the smell of—wait, he smells like...me? I let out a long breath, sad he doesn’t smell like himself.
“First, let’s stand up. This is hurting my knees.” Without waiting for his response, I start to get up. Zayne follows my lead, never taking his hands off me.
“My head is still hurting, I’m hungry and hungover. Crying never helps with that, so how about we order food, I drink lots of water, then we talk—really talk. I...I’m still hurt, but I think I’m coming to understand why you did what you did. The more I think about it, if it had been you and Lexi kissing, I probably would have done the same thing. Eventually, I would have told you, but yes, I can see how that would make you feel like an idiot. With that all said, let’s just get food, eat, and then talk, deal?” Zayne’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips. His eyes still radiate sadness, making a pang of guilt pierce through me.
I swallow as he leans in closer to me. Pressing his lips against my ear, he whispers, “Deal,” making my weakened body melt into a puddle of goo. If he touches me anywhere else, this whole talk will end before it even begins. Turning out of his hold, I walk to the kitchen drawer to grab a menu. I fight my body for control. My hormones wage a war inside me. Instead of between my heart and soul, this time, it’s my brain and pussy.
My pussy is hot and wet, demanding attention. Doing everything in its power to dominate my brain into its pursuit of happiness, but my mind knows now is not the time.
I make the mistake of looking up at him over the island. His eyes devour me, burning with an intense hunger yearning to be unleashed. In that one instant, I’m stunned. My eyes skim down to his pouty lips, my body remembering how he used that mouth on it. I bite my lip, staring at that mouth, knowing the pleasure it can evoke.
He must sense what I’m feeling. The next thing I know, I’m being lifted onto the island and his mouth is crashing down on mine.
Ruined.
Consumed.
Incinerated.
Zayne steps in between my legs, running his hands up the back of my thighs. My arms shoot around his neck, pulling him closer to me. The kiss is frenzied. Lips, teeth, and tongues collide.
Zayne breaks the kiss, dropping his forehead to my own. His hands stay on my thighs, making my pussy clench in anticipation. Our breathing mingles together, hard and fast.
“You wanted to eat, Shorty, I won’t fuck
this up. If you’re hungry, I will feed you, and then I. Will. Feed. You.” A gasp rips from my throat as Zayne’s hand creeps up my shorts, finding my clit—easy access since I don’t have undergarments on. His palm pushes down as his finger glides into my wet pussy, shooting delicious sparks through my body.
Just as fast as he pushes his finger into me, he pulls it out, leaving me panting, my body yearning for more. A whimper leaves my lips. My eyes close, fingers clenching into his hair.
“Sorry, Shorty. We need to get you fed. We need to talk. I want to make you writhe, but only when you say you’re mine. Until then, this is your show. So, what are we eating?” His eyes twinkle in amusement as his hands leave my body. My eyes narrow at him as he backs away from me, licking his lips.
Bastard.
Cheeky bastard.
I can’t help but smile back at him.
“So, where do you want to talk?” The air grows thick around me. I know this is what I want, but it doesn’t make it any easier to open up this part of my life. For the past twenty-five minutes, we’ve sat at the dining table, laughing and talking about nothing in particular. We kept it light because I didn’t want to get into a big heartfelt discussion over dinner.
“I don’t know.” My voice wavers. Not because I’m confused, more because I don’t know how this is going to end. To have to open up my past scabs, letting my wounds air, bring them to the forefront...my mind whirls. How much do I tell him? Should I tell him everything, or just as things come up? I don’t want to look at him, for fear that he will see.
All the ghosts that rest in me.
“How about the bedroom? I have something to show you. I’ll deal with the dishes later.” Rounding the table, I take Zayne’s hand and pull him down the darkened halls to the room Uncle Vic has graciously given me.
“Sit there. Let me grab this box and I can start explaining.” Tears start to burn my eyes. Pulling out this box means I trust him enough to let him into my darkness, to see why I pushed and pulled for so long. Zayne sits on the bed, looking at me with patient eyes.
Gathering courage from deep within, I say a prayer, hoping the things I tell Zayne won’t push him away.
When I discovered this box had traveled with me to college, I kept the jacket, but sent everything else to my uncle’s. Now, it seems the universe is in fact in charge. Here we all are: the box, Zayne, and I.
I try to make my voice strong, but I know it will eventually be as weak as I am.
“You wanted to know how he hurt me, what he did to break me. You have asked me time and time again. I’ve given you vague answers. I also know you have asked others if I still talk to him. I’m going to answer everything for you. I just want you to know how hard this is, but I also want you to understand that I’m ready to share my world with you. I’m ready to open myself up to you. Please, be patient with me.” I feel the moisture of my tears as they track down my face.
The waterworks have begun.
Here Without You
Tears stream down her face and my heart aches, but I’m unsure of what to do. I follow her lead, getting on my knees before her and the mysterious box. I reach for her, but with sullen eyes, she shakes her head at me.
“No, I need to get this out.”
I can’t take my eyes away from her face. It twists in agony and I just want to take her pain, bottle it up, and throw it deep into the ocean.
“He’s dead,” is Natalee’s only response.
Shock rolls through me. Did she just say he’s dead? I swallow a few times in an attempt to speak, but before I can utter a word, she continues.
“We were together for a year and a half. He was the Jack to my Jill. He was funny, handsome, and made me feel like queen of the world. He was a gentleman: opened doors for me, gave me his jacket when I was cold. He just made me happy. When we were together, we would just laugh and laugh.” Her chin quivers as she gathers her thoughts. “Time would slip away from us. We’d get lost in making music and each other. My grandma said we both had old souls and that’s what drew us together. Kindred spirits. I know people say you don’t really know what love is that young, but what we had was beyond measure, and maybe people are right, but I know he was my first love. We could walk to each other’s houses; a huge field was all that separated us—or so, I thought. Rhys, he...he was…” She bites down on her bottom lip, worrying it. I grab her hand to give her the comfort she needs.
“It’s okay, Shorty, I think I get it now.” I try to pull her to me, but she refuses, shaking her head at me. “No, Zayne, I need you to hear all of this. I need you to know me, know why I refused for so long. I need you to see all my scars and decide if this mutilated girl is really who you want.”
“Nat—”
“No, Zayne. Please, just let me speak.” I wipe her tears with my thumbs and nod.
“Rhys…he was depressed,” she breaths out sadly. “Four months into our relationship, he told me about the darkness in him, how there were days he didn’t want to get out of bed, how he hurt physically. It was about this time that my uncle started utilizing my abilities. I was in the studio a lot and Rhys came with me. He already played the guitar…well, a little.” She smirks. She sits down on the hardwood floor picking at imaginary lint. Again, I follow her lead and sit across from her.
“Rhys would sit with me while I wrote songs, contributing words. The whole process fascinated him. He began writing things in a journal, so in a way, this was therapy for him. Rhys, finally went to his parents, who sought counseling for him. Medication was ordered, but it never dulled his spark. We were happy, but there were times when Rhys would slip back into this darkness, and it scared me.” She swallows, her face scrolling with emotions too fast for me to catch.
“I would sneak out at night sometimes, run across the field, and hold him when he was submerged and struggling. I was scared that if I didn’t go to him during those times, I wouldn’t see him the next day.” I look around the room for tissues. Spying a box on the nightstand, I reach over and grab it. I hand her a tissue and my own eyes water. Seeing her in this much pain hurts my heart. I don’t know if I could ever witness what she has with someone I love.
“The day Rhys died…it was an odd day. I woke up in a panic. Dreaming I was drowning and couldn’t reach the surface. My mom and Rhys were both in that dream. They sat in a lifeboat, looking over, watching me. My eyes locked with his. I remember it so vividly. His dark brown eyes were lifeless, there was no shine. I just wanted to get to him. It was frightening, but I didn’t think any more of it as I got dressed and ready for school. I went to Rhys’ house so we could walk the rest of the way to school together—it was our routine. When I got there, he wasn’t feeling well. He was nauseous and just needed the day to stay in bed. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay—God, I wanted to stay—but he insisted, saying our parents would ground us both. I knew he was right, but I was still unnerved from the dream. I told him about it and he just laughed it off, saying my imagination was too big for my little body. That made me feel a bit better, but when he kissed me, it was different. At the time, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, I just knew it was off. Now, I look back and I know he was kissing me goodbye, not ‘see you later’. His last words to me were: I love you, Natalee. I will always be with you. Make the world shine with your music. I’m eternally yours.
“Then, I left. I left not thinking he was about to do what he did. His eyes were shining with so much life. I was sitting in fifth period when I felt something like a chain or thread snap. It was a deep ache, like my soul was being sucked out of me. I ran out of class to the bathroom. The vomiting came out of nowhere. I was walking back to class a while later when I saw Ryan, Rhys’ older brother, and his dad with the principal in the hallway. His face was so pale. When he looked up, the moment I saw his eyes, I knew Rhys was gone. No air entered my lungs. I couldn’t catch a breath. I tried, but the pain was so horrible,” Natalee whispers before the sobs take over. I crawl over to her, pulling her into my lap. I h
old her, caress her. I knew she was hurt, but I never expected this.
When Nat told me he left her, I thought he’d betrayed her by cheating on her with her best friend or something like that. Never had I imagined she would tell me this.
This beautiful angel, my Shorty, has had to deal with a deeper suffering than most people could ever endure. Tragedy and pain encompass her every memory, tainting her, no matter how happy they may seem. I hold her, encouraging her grief. I want her to let it all out.
A large, calming breath leaves her as my hand circles her back in a soothing motion. She pulls back and looks at me, heartache and agony clear in her deep brown eyes.
“He hung himself. His mom found him.” Nat’s eyes are downcast, her body projecting her somber mood. Her eyes flick up to mine and I want to say something, anything, but my words catch in my throat. What can I really say to make her feel better?
“That day, a part of me died. I know I was young, but I never got to say goodbye. For a long time, I questioned everything about us. Was I not enough? Why would he leave me like this? Could I have saved him? Did I miss any warning signs? Any question you could think to ask, I asked myself. Prior to moving here, I was in therapy. I couldn’t for the life of me understand his decision. Everyone worried when I threw all I had worked so hard for away—my music. I couldn’t bear the thought of making music when my muse was gone. When he died, I became an empty shell, no real insight, didn’t care for a future. My dad and uncle pushed and pushed, when all I wanted was to give up and die, too.”