“I’m not sure what you want me to say? I get that people do stupid things all the time. I get that people make mistakes. And I get that most of them get over it, that you think I’ll get over it, but that just isn’t me. I can’t seem to get through to you that you need to stay away from me, so I’m just going to have to hope somewhere in that brain of yours is common sense. Stay away, Kyle. Go back to your life, your friends, a girlfriend, I don’t care. Just don’t come around me anymore, okay?”
It’s a heart attack. Yep, definitely a heart attack. At least I hope it is. This hurts . . . bad. I don’t want to see him go, but I’ll only hurt him if he stays. I’m not trying to be a martyr, I swear, but sometimes it’s a position that has to be filled when a person is trying to do the right thing, and, for once, I want to do the right thing. I want at least one person I know to stay safe and be happy. The only way I know how to guarantee that is by staying as far away as possible.
“Come with me to the party tomorrow.”
Is he serious? Has he listened to anything I’ve been saying? God, I’m trying to do the right thing here and he’s inviting me to a party? “Is there something wrong with you?” I ask in an accusatory tone. I can’t help it. I think something is seriously wrong with this man.
Laughing, he says, “Of course not. I’m just not listening to your ridiculousness. Ya know, you have as much ridiculousness as I have awesomeness. While that should be impressive, really it’s just sad.” He’s smiling, shaking his head in disapproval.
Shoving his arm, I scold him, telling him he’s an idiot; not exactly kind words from someone who so recently was on the road to becoming a martyr. What can I say? The road took a turn.
“Come with me. Please . . .” he begs, his lower lip quivering over his top.
He’s pouting. He’s actually pouting! When was the last time a man was seen pouting? I imagine that would be never. I hate to admit it, but he looks pretty damn adorable right now.
This is all reminiscent of what I just went through with Bruce in this very spot, except I was doing the pouting. I don’t know what happened that I ended up on the receiving end, especially when I was trying to let him walk away with some dignity left before I blew that up in his face. Instead, he’s resorted to pouting; pouting and relentlessly begging me to go to the party with him.
“Kyle . . .”
He puts his hand to my face, officially silencing me. “Don’t you go off again, telling me I can’t see you or shouldn’t see you, or whatever else you keep trying to say. I’m not going away. Call me a masochist, but I’m sticking around whether you like it or not,” he finishes, crossing his arms over his chest as if this topic is settled.
“I don’t get you, I really don’t. I don’t know what you think you’re going to get out of this,” I gesture my hand back and forth between us. “God, I don’t even know what to call this, but whatever it is, I can assure you, you won’t.”
“Listen, I don’t know what kind of guy you think I am, but I’m not a bad one. I want to get to know you, hang out with you, that’s all. I’m not trying to hurt you. I don’t want anything from you. I like you. I’m sorry if that bothers you, but I’m afraid it’s true.” As if his pursed lips weren’t enough to tell me he wasn’t really sorry, the limp shrug confirms it.
Shaking my head, mentally scolding myself for the stupid choice I’m about to make, I agree to meet him at the party.
“No way,” he interrupts me before I finish my last syllable. “I’m picking you up. I’ll be here at 9:30 tomorrow night, and don’t even think about standing me up. I’ll find your bedroom window and haul you out myself if I have to. I’m not kidding either; I used to be on the wrestling team in high school, so I can do it. Besides, my backpack probably weighs more than you, so even without my awesome lifting capabilities,” he adds, while wiggling his eyebrows up and down at me, “I’d still be able to drag you out.”
Groaning, I roll my eyes at him and give a loud, exaggerated, “Fine.”
Standing, he pulls me quickly to his chest, resting his chin on my head. My body is stiff. I don’t know what to do. I hadn’t expected him to want to hold me ever again, regardless of the fact that he wants me to go to a party with him. I just assumed he was trying to be nice. I know he keeps saying he likes me and wants to get to know me, but what kind of person in their right mind would want to walk into this pile of unidentifiable goo that is my existence?
He’s not letting me go. It’s long past the typical length of a hug, but instead of his grip getting weaker, it’s only getting stronger. I must look like a tube of sausage right now, standing stiff as a board with my arms at my sides, so I let myself go. I let myself feel. I wrap my arms around his torso, snuggling close to his chest, my ear listening keenly to the thump, thump of his heart.
I breathe him in, a deep breath—a breath I don’t regret taking—and while I still don’t know what he sees in me or how he’ll fit into this life of mine, I make the decision not to care. I was happy once without really appreciating it, now I have a second chance, a chance to change that, and I’m happy. For this one moment in time, I’m happy being me.
All too soon, the moment is over. My eyes spring open when I hear a throat clearing behind Kyle. I don’t have to see to know it’s Bruce.
Kyle doesn’t react like a kid who was caught making out with his girlfriend by her father, unlike I just did. I’ve pushed Kyle so far away from me, if our positions were reversed he would be lying on the ground after flying over the porch railing. Way to remain cool. Bruce isn’t even my dad, yet I’m acting as if I did something I should be ashamed of. I was caught hugging someone I’m interested in: lock me up. That has to be a federal offense for sure!
Kyle turns us around so we’re both facing Bruce, who’s standing in an open doorway, Kyle’s arm hanging off my shoulder the whole time. Bruce isn’t looking at Kyle, just me. I wish he would look away. Kyle is the one taking a stance against Bruce, not me. Why should I suffer the consequences of this testosterone war?
As much as I want to look away, I can’t. This has been a night of firsts between Bruce and me. I made him worry more than ever, I made him madder than ever, I stepped away from his protective habits unlike ever before, and now I’m clearly doing something I haven’t done before—I just wish I knew what it was.
Does he not like Kyle? Is there something about him he knows that I don’t? Did I let him off the hook too soon over his possibly being the stalker? Although, I don’t think I’m wrong to do that. I made a mistake, overreacted in the heat of the moment; an overreaction that cost me my dignity, but an overreaction nonetheless.
So what is it?
“Jess, I’m leaving,” he snaps coldly at me.
Why is he so mad?
As the door is slamming shut and Bruce is walking away from me, I chase him. “Bruce! Bruce, wait!” I shout at his back, hoping he’ll turn around and talk to me.
Smashing directly into his hard chest, I stumble backwards, almost tripping on my own two feet. “God, did you have to stop like that?” I say loudly while smacking his shoulder in anger.
“You wanted to talk to me. Did you think I would just walk away from you? I would never do that, you should know that.”
I do know that. Of course, I know that, but still, he could have prepared me for his abrupt change of pace.
I straighten my hair and flatten my shirt, a nervous habit I’ve never seemed to be able to shake, and ask him straight out what’s the matter.
His eyes tell the answer. It’s as clear as day, but it’s as if they’re speaking Chinese while I still only understand English. I don’t seem to have the translation. This is beyond frustrating. What isn’t he telling me?
“Jess, I’m happy that you seem to have found someone nice, someone who seems willing to be there for you the way you deserve. I just worry, you know that,” he huffs with a half-smile, placing a hand on each of my shoulders. “If he tries anything with you that you don’t want, I’ll kill him myse
lf,” he states with absolute sincerity.
I wish I could cry; not because I want to cry or because I feel like I should cry, but because I need something to take away the dryness consuming my eyes. It hurts to blink. I feel like an advertisement for those Visine commercials. There’s a benefit to not being able to blink, though; my vision is unclouded as I stare at the man in front of me—the man who just threatened death on Kyle for no reason but my own safety. I know my safety seems like a valid enough reason, but honestly, I’ve never seen him like this, and apprehension is settling uncomfortably in my gut. I think this is the first time I’ve ever been afraid of Bruce. The look in his eye is murderous, and there’s absolutely no reason for it.
What have I done to him? He’s like this because he knows me. It took a while, but it still happened—I ruined him.
I close the small gap between us, wrapping my arms around him like I had done that very first day. I don’t cry this time, but I hold just as tight. I feel like I owe him this. “Bruce,” I mumble into his warm chest. “I’m going to be fine, I promise. But thank you for caring. Thank you for everything. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. You better not be planning to bail on me. I still need you. I’ll always need you in my life.” This feels like a goodbye, but I won’t let it be. I still need him in my life. I can’t lose him, too.
“Shh.” He breathes into my hair, soothing me as he has so many times before. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’ll always be a part of your life. I just want you safe, that’s all. I’m sorry if I scared you.”
His body tenses suddenly, trapping me to him. I’m beginning to feel like the rock in Bruce’s world and he the lichen in mine. I don’t know how to handle this role reversal. I don’t know how to be a caretaker to someone else. I would do anything for my family, but to be honest, I’ve never had to. I’ve never had to protect anyone. I can only hope that if I should have to take on that role, I’ll at least succeed better with others than I’ve done with myself.
I beg the Cosmos to keep me from having to take on that role. I don’t want to grow up yet. I like Bruce being here to take care of me. I’m so pathetic; I can’t have it both ways. I’m either an adult or not. Either I move away from the protective shield that is Bruce, or I cling to him like static on fleece.
Whether it’s luck or an answer from the Cosmos, I get a reprieve for today. Bruce frees me, turning me around by the shoulders, nudging me toward Kyle, who’s now standing a few feet in front of me. Has he been standing there this whole time? Was that why Bruce held so tightly to me? I push that thought out of my mind. Why would Bruce do that? His words echo in my head, If he tries anything with you that you don’t want, I’ll kill him myself. Maybe he’s trying to keep me from Kyle? Or maybe trying to keep me to himself?
I look between Kyle and Bruce, eyeing the two men who are in my life now, pondering how I got to this position. Bruce, I understand, but Kyle? How does he play into this?
I guess it doesn’t matter. He’s here now, looking at me in that way that makes my stomach feel as if it’s the host for some lively grasshoppers. I’m sure that sounds like an unnerving experience, or at least an unnerving analogy, but I can’t think of any better way to put into words the feeling that leads to that delicious burning that pulses, and, oh how it pulses, throughout my body.
Convent be damned. I think I’ve unleashed the metaphorical beast, and it’s starving.
Bruce clears his throat, making me look away from Kyle. Bruce’s mouth is raised into a knowing smirk, making my face flush from the heat. Whether it’s embarrassment over being caught by Bruce or desire from Kyle’s presence is an unsolved mystery, but my skin feels flushed just the same.
“I’m heading out now, okay?”
I don’t move from my spot, frozen like a Popsicle to its wrapper, as I nod—the only response I’m currently capable of at the moment. His seemingly unease at wanting to leave, the rumbles in my stomach at Kyle’s near proximity, and the questions both of those feelings draw out of me are all making me a prisoner inside my own thoughts.
I suddenly feel drained and mentally exhausted. This has been quite the day, quite the night as well. I think I need some alone time. I need not to think about Bruce making threats against Kyle. I need not to think about how confusing my feelings are for Kyle when I barely know him, and I need to sort out what I’m going to do about Alex and Rachel.
My brain is like a lab rat, my mind the maze it’s forced to find its way out of. I need sleep and space to work through all of this, and I only have until tomorrow night to take advantage of either.
Tomorrow night? Am I really going to that party with Kyle? I’m not going to lie; I’m scared to death to go: not because it’s a party, a social situation I haven’t been in since high school, but because Rachel will probably be there. What if she confronts me in front of a whole house full of people, people that last week I wouldn’t have cared much what they thought of me, but now I want to be liked, or at least not hated by my peers? I need to talk to her before that happens. I hope she’ll talk to me. I don’t deserve such luck, but I’m going to hope anyway.
Kyle hangs around for a little while after Bruce leaves, long enough to say goodbye to mom and Cass and to remind me repeatedly that he’ll be here at 9:30 tomorrow night. I have to give it to him, he’s the most persistent person I’ve ever met . . . and stubborn.
I promise him I won’t make him haul me out any windows, that I’ll be at the door waiting at 9:30, but if he’s even one minute late I won’t go with him. He walks out the front door with a huge victorious smile, calling over his shoulder that he’ll see me promptly at 9:30 tomorrow night.
What has happened to me? What have I agreed to? I need to talk to Rachel and settle the situation the best I can, if she’ll talk to me, that is. I need to talk to mom. Maybe she can help me figure out what to do.
Chapter Eight
Present day . . .
Mom is in the kitchen cooking dinner, alone, thank God. I don’t want Cass to hear any of this. I don’t need her hearing what a mess her older sister has made of her life. “Hey, mom, do you have a second to talk?” I start.
“Of course, honey. Could you hand me the cucumbers?”
She continues making a salad for dinner, waiting for me to spill my guts. She’s always done that with me, keep herself busy, but listen all the while. I’ve always found it easier to talk when I don’t feel like I’m in the spotlight.
“Well, okay,” I begin, suddenly nervous about what her reaction will be when she hears all that I’m going to tell her. Luckily, I’ve always been able to talk openly to her about anything and everything without judgment on her part. I’m stumped, though. Where do I begin?
I start talking, hoping it will come out in understandable English. “So, I met Kyle this week. I really like him, but so does my friend Rachel. I’ve tried to stay away, but whenever I’m around Rachel, so is Kyle, so it’s been hard to do. Then yesterday, when Rachel and I were getting ready to leave, I passed out. Kyle ended up helping Rachel out by taking me to his apartment. That’s where I woke up. Neither of them knew where I lived and I really did lose my phone.” I take a breath before continuing.
“Rachel was in class, so Kyle and I were by ourselves. One thing led to another and we started making out on his couch, that’s when Rachel walked in.”
“Oh, God,” she interjects.
“’Oh, God,’ indeed. She ran off before I could even try to apologize. Then Kyle said something that freaked me out and I ran. I thought maybe I left my phone at the coffee shop, so I took a chance and lucked out that there was someone inside who let me in. He had my phone, but it was dead. I thought about calling you, I swear I did, but I was so emotionally drained I didn’t think to ask him if I could use his phone.
“I kind of knew the guy working. He’s made coffee for me a bunch of times, but I never knew his name. We started talking and then,” I have to spit this out, but I’m so nervous what she’s going to think about m
e after she knows. I wipe my now sweaty hands on my lap and blurt it out. “We had sex! I don’t know why I did it, but I did. It was a huge mistake for so many reasons, but I can’t take it back now, believe me, I wish I could.
“After that, I was so messed up I just ran, ending up at Rogan’s grave, and that’s where I woke up. That’s where I came from this morning. I’m so sorry I put you through so much. I never meant to. The day was actually going well, too, which is why this is even more horrible.
“I don’t know what to do now, with anyone. How do I make this right? I’ve hurt Rachel. I’ve hurt Alex, and I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time before I hurt Kyle, too,” I confess.
Mom is silent for a while. I’m not sure what she’s going to say, but I’ll admit I’m nervous to hear it. I’ve never screwed up this bad before.
Placing the knife she was using, and the towel that’s on her shoulder, down on the island in front of where I’m sitting, she collects her thoughts before beginning. “That’s quite the night you had, isn’t it?” she asks in a comforting tone.
“Yeah,” I sigh.
“First things first. Did you use protection?”
I nod. I knew she would ask. I would be disappointed, if she hadn’t.
“Good, that’s good. Well, I don’t know what I can do for you, to help you, but I will say this, you have three people now who have been affected by your presence in one way or another, and you’re going to have to figure out how to handle them as individuals. From what you’ve told me about Rachel, she seems like a sweet girl, but this is one of those things that you two may never be able to get over. It cuts deep when a girlfriend does something like this.
“As for, Alex? I’m guessing that’s the boy from the café. I can’t say what to do about him. Maybe he’ll look at it for what it is and move on. But, maybe not. That will be something you’ll have to deal with if/when it happens. It’s possible you’ve hurt him, but you can’t change the past; just try not to hurt him in the present.
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