Sparrows For Free

by Lila Felix

  Aysa

  Dawn peeks around the edges of my curtains and wakes me from a dead sleep. I cuddle in closer to Ezra, and he tightens his hold on me. What if he thinks I’m Gray? I can’t help the thought from strangling me—especially after yesterday.

  I don’t know Gray very well—but everything I did know about her has now been clouded over and muddied by her actions the day before. No, not actions—words.

  The word speech would be insulted by the spewing of ideas she vomited at me. Everything was choppy—it almost sounded like an outline for something that could’ve been halfway coherent. Somewhere in the middle of it all, I looked deep into her eyes and came out questioning her sanity and reality in general.

  Something is horribly wrong with that bitch.

  As she spoke to me, it felt like strikes of an axe. She wasn’t going to let him go that easily. I was a sneaky whore for thinking that I could ever make him forget what had happened between the three of them—and I didn’t know which three she was referring to—Ezra, Mara and the baby, or Ezra, Mara and her. If I thought bringing him home and getting him back into the drums was going to cure him I was an idiot. These were the things that made her sound derailed.

  Then there were the things that resonated truth.

  She’s been in love with Ezra, since before she can remember. She thinks if I got my claws out of him, he would fall in love with her—and apparently was making some great progress before I came along. That their bond was too deep for anyone to penetrate—even me.

  At the end, she was in my face, close enough to feel her spittle, speaking through a clenched jaw. That was when I knew some very grave madness was at play. Disastrous scenarios were whispered to me in those moments—about Ezra—and about Mara—things that sent cold chills down into my bones. Things that could shatter Ezra and everything he knew about those months in his history that shaped who he is today.

  I don’t even care about the idle threats—they came from a desperate woman.

  My conscience and my heart wrestled in my dreams about telling Ezra and how he would react. I need to let the shock wear off before I even attempt to inform him. So I let us have this day. I would try my damnedest to be happy—to show him happiness so that when he is confronted with the truth he would know the difference between friendship and co-dependency.

  At least that was my plan.

  I admired his features for a while as he slept. Those two, black, naughty curls ran amuck on his forehead. Eyelashes like soot fluttered a bit here and there as he dreamed of something or someone. Girls would kill for eyelashes like that. The taut line of his jaw fascinated me to the point where I couldn’t help but reach out and touch it. If outer features were the only thing a person fell in love with, then I would pledge allegiance to my love for him right there.

  I decide to let him sleep and wriggle from his hold as gingerly as possible. Coffee gets made first as I begin to pull all the ingredients for what I plan to be a breakfast he won’t forget. I set it all up on the table and giggle to myself as I set the plates and silverware on the table.

  “What are you giggling about this early in the morning?”

  Turning around to face the owner of the voice, I find sheer gorgeousness filling up the doorway. He’s shirtless and wearing only jeans. It’s a sight I never want to forget.

  “Um,” I say, fully blushing, “that table is like epic now. I won’t ever be able to look at it the same.”

  He flits his eyes over to the table; “No, the chairs are epic if you’re referring to that kiss. But we can make the table epic if you want to;” he winks.

  I cup my hands under my chin and dramatically bat my eyes at him, “Aww, honey, it’s our first sexual innuendo, how sweet.”

  Yes, fun. It is possible after all.

  He approaches me and wraps his arms around my shoulders, “If that’s our first innuendo, then I need to work harder.”

  “You really do. Those are pretty funny.”

  “Did you cook all this,” I look up at him in awe of the food on the table.

  “Yes. You eat a lot.”

  “You just want to sit at that table again.”

  “I do. Now, let’s eat.”

  We spend the rest of the day like that. Museums are visited, parks are played in, and swings are swung on. As the day turns to night, Ezra and I are at The Strand, after a half an hour drive, the most haunted place in Shreveport. The leaders of the ghost expedition is a wiry woman and her husband. And they take it all very seriously. Ezra has to turn his head every once in a while to laugh at something they say, trying pitifully to cover it with a cough.

  He spends the rest of the night mostly pretending to be awed by the pictures of ‘orbs’ which are really dust particles, vanishing lights and mysterious unidentified, disembodied voices.

  There’s also a good portion of the night that’s spent fake sulking because I call him the ghost whisperer.

  “I only whisper to one ghost, Ace.”

  “Well give it a damned break. The girl needs to rest.”

  “Don’t curse—it sounds weird.”

  “Aww, honey, I thought you liked weird.”

  Suddenly his front is plastered to my back. He’s bent over, mouth to my ear.

  “You know, that’s the second time today you’ve called me honey. Might not make a habit of that if you want me to keep my innuendos at bay. Does things to a man to have a woman like you call him honey.”

  A woman—hardly.

  “It just slipped out.”

  “That’s what she said.” He chuckles. I can feel the reverberation of it throughout my body.

  After that we were gently reprimanded by Mr. and Mrs. Ghost Hunter, so we duck out a side entrance and leave.

  I must’ve chickened out a thousand times on our way home. The day had driven the screw of the situation with Gray deeper and deeper into my gut.

  How did I ever expect to have a relationship with someone I couldn’t even talk to?

  “Hey,” I began. What a dumb way to start a conversation. But the smile he gives me falters my resolve and causes me to backtrack.

  “Um, I need to do laundry and stuff. Can you just drop me off at my apartment?”

  That’s not what I need to say.

  Idiot.

  “Yeah, that’s fine. I need to do some laundry myself. I think tomorrow I’m going to shop for new living room furniture. I’m tired of our apartment looking like a dorm room.”

  I chuckle into my fist, “It kinda does.”

  I never bring myself to tell him about Gray. He walks me up to my apartment.

  He smiles down at me, and I know what’s on his mind.

  “So, we had a good day today. I was—I am happy.” He says it like a question, he can’t believe happiness is actually tangible.

  “I had a good time being happy with you.”

  He shakes his head and curls a stray strand of hair behind my ear, “Are you gonna make me ask every time I want to kiss you?”

  “You’re the one who keeps asking. I never said you had to.”

  “Good.”

  I giggle, but it’s cut off by his lips. They’re almost bruising, moving with mine in a fervor that causes noises I didn’t know I could make come from somewhere deep inside me. It’s different than that first kiss—there’s a need in this joining. His hands tangle in my hair at the nape of my neck. He pins me to my front door. He pulls away slightly, running his tongue along my lower lip, asking permission for actions he doesn’t need permission to take. I answer with my own tongue, and our frenzy begins its spiral again.

  I fumble for the doorknob behind me, throwing my resolve to the wind and deciding to invite him in again. He stops me with one hand on the doorknob and one still planted on my neck.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he breathes onto the crown of my head.

  “Why,” I ask, deflated.

  “You’re so precious to me—I don’t want to ruin this—I want to do this right.”
/>   I scrunch my eyebrows in shock, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he kisses my temple. “I’m gonna go home.”

  “Yeah, call me when you get there, so I know you’re safe.”

  “You worry about me?”

  “Of course I do. Now go before I drag you in here.”

  “Yes Ma’am,” he jokes.

  Sunday morning, I wake up ready to tackle a week of getting a new job. I clean the entire apartment and do all my laundry all the while contemplating what I’m gonna get Ezra for Christmas. I can’t believe I actually have someone other than my parents and my aunt to give a gift to this year.

  Reaching for my cell phone, I try to dial her number, but it’s busy and I don’t have her home number in my phone, only her cell. I search everywhere for my purse until I remember Ezra sending me a text late in the night, telling me I’d left my purse in his truck.

  I drive over to his apartment carefully, not wanting to get stopped without my driver’s license. When I get there, I notice all the cars in their places, which means Ezra, Roman, and Gray are all there. My stomach flops as I think of having another confrontation with her, but I know that if I just stay in Ezra’s earshot, she won’t mess with me.

  I knock on the door gently, not wanting to wake the beast named Gray and Roman answers. He greets me with his signature bear hug and pulls me inside.

  “Hey, we haven’t hung out in a while. We need to,” he says, plopping on the couch. There’s something off about his voice, but I can’t place it.

  “We really do. Is Ezra up? I left my purse in his truck.”

  “Let me just sneak in there and grab his keys. That way you don’t have to wake him.”

  I wave him off; “No, that’s okay. I will do it. I might want to wake him up.”

  “Well, he stayed up pretty late. I can get in and out in seconds. I’m like a ninja.”

  “I got it,” I insist and wonder if Roman has had too much caffeine this morning.

  I sneak into the bedroom and immediately eye his pants on the floor from the night before. I reach into the pockets until I find the keys. I begin to make my way out when Ezra pops up from the bed and says, “Aysa, what are you doing here?”

  But it’s not Ezra I’m focused on. The scene before me turns my stomach, and I grab the dresser behind me in an attempt to stay upright. At first all I see is blonde hair, but as the form moves around, it’s attached to a body, long and lean—nothing like mine. And not only is the body now curling itself around Ezra, it’s naked. Spots form in my vision and blood vessels sprout to life on my face as raw realization kicks in.

  The bitch made good on her promise.

  “What the…” Ezra tries to scramble out of the bed as Gray clings to him.

  “What’s wrong, Ez,” she tries to curl her arm around his waist.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, not knowing why in the hell I’m apologizing. I bolt for the front door and stare at the keys. If I didn’t need everything contained in my purse, I’d abandon ship right there and just forget the damned thing even existed.

  Roman approaches me with a frown, and I guess that he knew all along and tried to protect me from it.

  “Here, I’ll get it for you.” He grabs my hands and pulls me out of the apartment. I can hear them screaming, Ezra and Gray, but I don’t want to listen. When I reach my car, Ezra is on my heels. I get in as quickly as possible, but I can hear him yelling at me through the window.

  Instead of trying to give me my purse, Roman gets in the passenger side, and I drive off. I can’t deal with this. I don’t really think I can even deal with Ezra. It feels like a roller coaster. I’m happy to ride the lows with him as long as I get to have the highs too, but this is too low. This is too much. I don’t think I can compete with Ezra’s ghosts and the girl who is obviously satisfied to help him wallow in them for the rest of his life as long as she’s included.

  I should’ve heeded what I thought were hollow warnings.

  I should’ve taken her advice and headed for the hills.

  I’m willing to fight for love, I’m willing to fight for him—but I won’t lose myself in the process. And I’m just beginning to know who I am for once.

  Gladly, I will help him from his quicksand, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let him pull me down into the spiraling sands with him.

  I cry so hard I have to pull over on the side of the road, unable to drive.

  “Here, let me,” Roman says from the passenger seat. It startles me. I’d almost forgotten he is there with me.

  “Okay,” I answer, relenting.

  He drives me home and when we get there, Ezra has somehow beaten us to the punch. He’s at my door, arms folded, in a stance that emanates, ‘I will have the last word.’

  Thank God for Roman. I think that maybe he’s had enough of all the bullshit too. And he proves it by pulling Ezra away from my door. As I shut it behind me, the last thing I see is Roman’s fist crushing into Ezra’s face.

  Ezra

  Roman pushes ice into my face, none too gently. He has given me nonstop shit from the time he clocked me in the eye until we got home. Then he started in on Gray.

  I think I hate her—Gray.

  No, I don’t hate her. I hate what she represents. Holding the ice to my eye, I listen to her words. They disgust me. She actually defends herself, claiming she’s been in love with me the whole time—begging me, looking around Roman’s shoulder, to believe that she had to do something drastic to finally get the attention she claims to have deserved from me all along.

  “Bullshit, Gray. You just couldn’t stand for me to be happy when you weren’t. You had to pull me down with you. I finally found someone to really help me.”

  “I am the only one who understands your pain.”

  I stand and chuck the ice to the side, “You’re right, Gray. But instead of moving past it, all I’ve done is drown in the dark water with you. I’m done.

  Roman moves away from her, grabbing his keys. I assume he’s going to check on Aysa. I’ve never been more thankful for him in my life. Pushing past Gray, I go to my room and slam the door behind me. I call Aysa, but her phone is off. That’s when I truly lose my shit. This is worse than any Mara meltdown, it trumps any wretched feelings of guilt and shame.

  The only thing I can picture is Aysa, the girl I’ve grown to love, cowering in her cabinet.

  I’ve called her all day and all afternoon—nothing. I get a text from Roman telling me he’s with her and she is fine. Jealousy rips through me knowing that he’s comforting her instead of me.

  A knock at my bedroom door makes me jump, but Gray enters instead of who I want to. I can’t even look her in the eye.

  “I get it, okay? She’s perfect. She’s everything Mara wasn’t. And I can’t compare. I won’t try to interfere again. I’m sorry. Shit, I’m so sorry, Ezra.”

  No way this guilt trip is gonna work. She’s isolated me from the one thing I’ve ever truly loved.

  “Ugh,” I groan and drag my hands through my hair, pulling it by the roots. I scream at her, “No, you don’t get it. It’s because she’s not perfect. It’s because she doesn’t even compare to Mara. I won’t do that to her. I won’t compare her to someone that’s dead. Hell, I won’t do that to me anymore. This has nothing to do with Mara. It really has nothing to do with you, other than the way you screwed everything up this morning. I’d love to even say she’s perfect for me, but she’s not. I can’t think of a single soul who is worthy of her. But she takes me at face value. She doesn’t wish I was someone else. She isn’t in love with the person she hopes I one day will be. She just loves me—I hope. God, I hope one day she can understand. I don’t know if she ever will now.”

  That was the most complete revelation I’ve had about the whole situation. The love I have for Aysa is completely and totally separate from Mara. That’s the best thing about it.

  I laugh at myself as I think about how absolutely imperfect Aysa is. Gray’s got it all wrong. It’s n
ot because she dresses perfectly or is always beautiful. It’s those moments when she lets me see her with pajamas on, no bra and make-up smudged under her eyes. She doesn’t always know what to say or how to say it. But everything that comes out of her mouth heals me. She doesn’t pretend to be strong and courageous. She lets me see her exposed, sensitive and hurting—not pretending that the world doesn’t faze her.

  She’s vulnerable.

  Her nose crinkles when I say something stupid.

  She makes her own Christmas merry.

  She gives thanks without anyone giving to her.

  She hides in churches and cabinets and sometimes, I’m lucky enough that she lets me join her.

  Honest to a fault, she never lies—even if it stings.

  She can’t cuss for shit.

  Yet, she lets people run over her.

  And in those faults I find heaven—those quirky idiosyncrasies equal fantasy come to life.

  “You’re in love with her;” Gray pulls me from my thoughts.

  “Yes.”

  She’s angry. The lines on her forehead have deepened. “The same way you loved Mara.”

  “I never loved Mara.”

  “You told her you did.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “You knocked her up, strung her along, and then killed her.”

  She gasps after saying it and slaps her hand over her mouth. My insides are trembling. I fist my fingers, trying not to let her see the complete impact.

  “Yes. I did that. I’m glad you finally admitted the truth. Thank you. All this time you’ve been feeding me that bullshit about it not being my fault. Thank you for finally saying it out loud. I lied to her. I told her I loved her, but that was after I slept with her. I bet Mara didn’t tell you that, did she? I told her that afterwards. But hours later, I realized my mistake. I was seventeen. I just thought that was what I was supposed to say after something like that. But you’re right about one thing. I did murder her. I was distracted and thinking about the adoption and whether or not I could somehow keep the baby since her parents wouldn’t let her. I didn’t want to be driving her to sign our baby over to someone else. I was weighing all the options, looking back and forth at her stomach. The road was slippery. And before I could react, they were gone.”