Glass Hearts

by Lisa De Jong

Page 19

  Author: Lisa De Jong

  Her head snaps in my direction like I’ve shocked her, or said something she wasn’t expecting. “I feel responsible for everything my boys have gone through, don’t you get that?” she yells, her lower lip quivering.

  I replay everything that happened in my head as Dane rushes out of the kitchen. “Hey, what’s going on in here?” His brows are furrowed as he glances between the two of us.

  The last few minutes replay in my head. I asked about Nolan, and it led to this. I feel frustration rushing through my body as I start pacing back and forth, trying to think of something to say that will move us forward and not push us another step back.

  “I need to go,” Janet says, walking toward Dane. “Thank you for dinner. ” She doesn’t bother looking at me again as she quickly walks out the door.

  “Wait, Mom-” Dane rushes after her, but she’s gone. My heart is breaking for him, for her, for all of them. I thought I was helping by talking to her, but I think I made it worse. Dane can’t hold the whole family up forever; someday he has to see that.

  Dane is standing in front of the door, lightly tapping his head against it with his hands fisted at his sides. I don’t know if I should go to him, or leave him for a few minutes.

  “Dane,” I say softly. “Are you okay?” I hold my breath as I wait for him to say something. Anything.

  “I think you did enough tonight. Can you just leave me alone for a few minutes?” he spits. His voice is full of venom and tears instantly sting my eyes. I’m not used to this side of Dane and his words hit me like a slap on the face.

  I back up toward the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind me. I lean my head against the door as the first tear rolls down my cheek. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to help him when I don’t know how to fix all of my own family problems.

  I quietly change into a t-shirt and brush my teeth before crawling into bed. I haven’t fallen asleep in Dane’s bed without Dane since I moved into his apartment. It feels cold in here without his arms wrapped around me, and I feel hollow inside without his lips near my ear, whispering “I love you” right before I fall asleep. I sob quietly into my pillow, thinking about what I should have done differently. I either seem to let things go, or I push too far. I just want to make things better, for both of us.

  My body is still shaking, and my pillow is soaked when I feel a hand on my hip. I glance up through the darkness to see Dane’s outline, perched above me. He face contorts in pain. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” he says, reaching up to wipe my tear stained cheeks.

  “I didn’t mean for her to leave. I didn’t. I was just trying to help. ”

  “I know. I just lost it,” he says, placing his finger under my chin to tilt my head toward his. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. I can see in his eyes that he means it

  “I asked her about Nolan,” I admit. “I just want her to be there for him, you know?”

  He sighs, pulling me close to his body. “I know. I want that too, but it’s hard for her. She sees our failures as her own. ”

  “Will your family dinners always be like this?” I ask.

  I feel his chest move against my back as a soft laugh escapes his body. “God, I hope not. ”

  We lay quietly and eventually I hear Dane’s breathing even out. I’m tired too, but I can’t stop thinking about how messed up our families are. Some people use their childhoods as an excuse to become nothing, to live on the edge of morality, but Dane uses it as motivation to excel. He’s a better man because of the scars he wears on his heart.

  Chapter Twelve

  One really quick way to make yourself feel like shit is to make the woman you love cry. I didn’t mean to snap at her last night, but I was frustrated when my mom left and took it out on her. My mom always runs away, but Alex proved that she would stay by my side even when things get tough. Why should she be punished for that?

  Truth is, I’m used to being left alone. I’m used to facing everything myself. But now I have Alex, and for whatever reason, she sticks with me even when I push her away. God, I don’t deserve her.

  When I calmed down enough to go to bed last night, I didn’t expect to see her body shaking under the covers. She was there, on my bed, head resting on a tear stained pillow. It felt like I had two hands wrapped around my heart squeezing the life out of me when I climbed in as close as I thought she would let me get. I hated myself; I’m just lucky her love runs deeper than my anger.

  Today I want to do something fun to wash away the memory of last night. Art became a way for me to express myself after I cleaned myself up and got my shit together. Drugs were a way for me to bury my emotions, and those emotions didn’t go away just because I was sober. My counselor at rehab used to tell me over and over that I needed to find a way to express my feelings so that I wouldn’t be tempted to go back to drugs every time something pissed me off. He asked what I was good at, and I told him I can see the beauty in things that other people can’t.

  One day as part of my therapy, he brought me to an art show in the city…coincidently in the same park that Alex had her first art show. There was a guy who was doing some sculpting with a crowd surrounding him. I watched him work, sweeping over the metal with tools in his hands. I was obsessed and immediately asked him if he could show me how to do it when he took his next break. I haven’t stopped since. It defines, cleanses and centers me. It’s who I am.

  Tattoos are a form of art in my eyes. Some people see them as an act of defiance or rebellion, but to those who get them, they’re a form of expression and remembrance. All of mine mean something to me. Some are there to remind me of things, or people who I never want to forget. Some are there to fill up the space between, but I picked them because of their design and beauty.

  I want to take the certificate Alex gave me for Valentines and permanently bind myself to her. Even if we aren’t together forever, which I’m damn well going to make sure we are, she’ll always mean something to me, and I’ll always carry her with me.

  The door clicks open, and I turn my attention away from the window to watch her walk in. She just got back from a run and is wearing only tight running pants and a tank top; practical running wear, but it doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Not that I need one. Her forehead is lined in sweat and a few loose stands from her ponytail curl around her face. She’s sexy as hell right now.

  “How was your run?” I ask, stepping toward her.

  “It’s brutal out there. I can’t believe this humidity,” she replies, bending down to stretch her legs. She has the most toned, sexy legs; it’s hard not to just stand here and stare at them all day. I could run my hands up and down them all night long.

  “I want to do something different today. Are you up for it?” I ask. My eyes move up from her legs to watch lines of sweat roll down her face.

  Her lips turn up, and I know she’s thinking all the things I would be thinking if she said those exact words to me. “And what do you want to do?” she asks, smiling at me.

  “Probably not what you’re thinking…I want to get some new ink. I haven’t used the gift certificate you gave me for Valentines yet. ”

  “I want to get one too,” she says, biting her lower lip. I’m a little taken back by her comment. Don’t get me wrong, I think my girl would look smoking hot with a tattoo, but I never imagined she would actually get one.

  “Seriously?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at her.

  She shrugs. “Yeah, why not?

  “I think it’s a great idea, actually. ”

  “I’m going to go jump in the shower, and then we can go,” she says before skipping off to the bedroom.

  I know exactly what I’m going to get, and I hope it doesn’t freak her out. I want it someplace where everyone can see how much she means to me. She belongs to me, and I belong to her.

  We stop at a little café to grab some lunch before headi
ng to the tattoo shop. She kept picking at her food and I could tell she was nervous about our next stop by the way her knee kept bouncing up and hitting the table. I was about to tell her she didn’t have to get one if she didn’t want to, but then I remembered that it was completely her idea. I’m not going to try to sway Alex the way she was for so many years by her parents. She’s a big girl who can make her own decisions.

  She grips my hand tightly as we make our way from the café to the tattoo shop. At one point, I use our joined hands to pull her toward me and kiss her temple. She finally shoots me the smile I’ve been missing since we left the apartment, but she doesn’t ease up on my hand.

  When we reach the door, she releases me just long enough to open the door. The two guys that work here are like soft teddy bears on the inside, but on the outside, they look a little intimidating. Each of them is completely covered in tattoos, and when I say completely, I mean up to their necks. The place is clean with the chairs set up in the back and a sitting area in the front. The walls are covered in images of tattoos, and I watch as Alex takes it all in, eyes widening. I can tell by the way her free hand is fingering her necklace that she is scared shitless, but I keep quiet, determined to let her make her own decisions.

  “Yo, Dane, what can we do for you today?” Joe yells from the back. Yeah, I’ve been here a few times.

  “Hey, Joe, what’s up? I’m here for some new ink,” I yell back. I watch his eyes lock on Alex and he smiles. I know exactly what he’s thinking: tattoo virgin. I swear these guys get off on that. They think they can addict them and they’ll keep coming back for more…usually it’s true.

  “Who’s the little lady?”

  “This is my girlfriend, Alex. She’s looking to get her first piece of ink today,” I reply. Joe’s still drinking in my girl in her little cutoff shorts. I wish she wouldn’t wear them out of the house, but he’s harmless.

  “Well, go tell Tammy over there what you want and we’ll call you in just a few minutes,” he smiles. He nods at Alex who just stands there with her mouth half hanging open. I follow the path of her eyes and realize she’s watching Mike, the other artist, work on some guy’s arm. It looks pretty painful because he’s getting the whole thing filled in with color. That shit hurts.