penance. a love story (The Böhme Series)

by Sarah Buhl

  He looked at me as he let go of my hand and ran his finger across the tattoo on his neck. “I get that,” he said, looking toward his window, going deeper into his thoughts. I leaned against the counter next to him and we both stared out the window together in silence. Our shoulders were the only part that touched now. It was the most peaceful I felt in years.

  “My walls are dropping around you Wynn,” I said without looking toward him. He responded with a simple nod.

  Time continued to pass that way until Blake and a red haired girl stepped out of the elevator. A loud giggle came from her and as she stepped farther into the room, she grabbed onto Blake’s arm, noticing my presence. She gave me a huge smile, but her eyes held the opposite expression. They took me in and made me uncomfortable as she assessed me. Most girls gave the false excitement while they checked the vaginal threat level of the other female. I laughed to myself as I imagined this girl weighing in on me as if we were preparing to box. I had more important things to occupy my thoughts with today.

  My quiet laughter brought Blake’s attention to me. His surprise at seeing me slammed the memory of the last time I saw him to the forefront of my mind making my cheeks and neck inflame.

  “Hannah? I didn’t realize you’d be here.” He looked toward Wynn with a questioning raise of an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, I invited her,” Wynn said as he looked at me with a smile, dismissing his friend’s shock. “I should have asked her a long time ago.”

  Blake gave him a huge smile and pulled Wynn in for a quick man-hug before turning to me. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other,” he said as he pulled me in for a hug as well. It was uncomfortable and awkward. The act itself was enough, but my lack of memory as to what my dumb ass said to him compounded it. How much of my story did I share? He held me at arm's length and smiled before turning to the girl with him.

  “This is Abby.” He took her hand and pulled her further into the room, she gave me a questioning eye as Blake continued. “I can’t wait for you guys to meet her. She’s awesome.”

  She gave a false, shy smile. “Hello. I’m not that awesome, just enough to be memorable,” she said.

  I thought relating with her was going to be difficult before, but it reached a new level. I could tell the realization was mutual by the stink eye she kept giving me. Hers was from seeing me as a threat; mine was because I found her to be shallow. I never understood shallowness. It's a waste of our precious time here.

  “I’m Hannah,” I said as I put my hand toward her, trying to avoid unneeded looks from her. She had a firm handshake and a pleasant enough smile when it was real. She had eyes showing no pain and I envied her for it. This girl had her shit together despite her bitchiness.

  Blake wrapped his arm around her shoulders to guide her toward the fridge for drinks. I stood next to Wynn by his counter as we both observed the newcomers. We were two forces, standing shoulder to shoulder against the invaders of our moment. I was unsure of the situation and smiled at him and he met my smile with one of his own that calmed me. He put a hand over mine that clutched the top of the counter. His touch was tender and warmth invaded the cold depth inside me from the attachment that started in that simple touch. It wasn't the touch itself, but the reassurance it held.

  “Can I have another shot?” I needed the alcohol to further the conversation with more people. I also hoped it would put a stop to my wallowing. I needed to get past this lingering anxiety that came with my warring emotions, but not too much to make it even worse.

  “Of course, I found Tequila if you want something different.” He stepped away from the counter and looked under the island in his kitchen.

  I scrunched my nose. “Ugh, you don’t want me to drink Tequila. I need to stick to whiskey.” He poured me a shot and after taking it, I tapped my glass asking him for more. He raised his eyebrow and I nodded with a smile as he gave me my next shot. “You need to take one with me.”

  He laughed, “Well to be hospitable, I guess I should.”

  “Don't forget us,” Blake said as he looked at Abby. She nodded as she glared at me.

  Wynn poured four shots and handed them to us. As we raised them he asked, “What’ll we toast?”

  Abby’s eyes went to my tattooed wrist. She sneered at me before saying, “Absolution.”

  I looked at Wynn and he was giving her the same confused expression I held on my face. She made us both uneasy with her abruptness.

  “Absolution.” Blake raised an eyebrow in question, as he shrugged his shoulders and touched his glass with ours. “Okay, to absolution.”

  We swallowed our shots as my eyes remained on Wynn. The understanding smile he passed to me caused the frozen numbness and burning pain to form a bearable truce. I felt normal and it was the first time in years that I did.

  13

  Wynn

  The last few weeks I let my own insecurities and fear rule me. Stinson made it simple to understand. He asked what I was afraid of and I knew what I was afraid of the most. I was afraid of failing her. I was afraid of being vulnerable. And now, as I stood here in my kitchen and watching her take shot after shot, I knew I had been an ass.

  Friendship is all she wants, but the more time I spend with her, I realize I want more than friendship. I want her. I never wanted anything or anyone. It scared me more that I clung to this need to protect her. When Abby said absolution, I wanted to stand in front of Hannah and shield her as if it wasn’t just a word, but daggers flung at her.

  I could tell she was holding back with me and I respected that. But I decided that tonight, I needed to explain myself. I knew before I stepped in the bookstore today and she came up with the fucking idea to just be friends. I went all those weeks at war with myself and now I need to surrender to the inevitable. Hannah Anderson is important to me and I need to tell her.

  “So what’s for dinner?” Hannah asked with a smile as she caught me staring at her, lost to my thoughts.

  “Meatloaf. I’m not adventurous when it comes to what I eat, but what I know how to make, I make well.” My smile wavered at my arrogance. Stinson's words echoed in my mind, 'It isn't wrong to acknowledge your strengths.'

  “It sounds perfect, Wynn,” she said with a smile. She didn’t think I was bragging. Good. I wondered if the easy way she let the smile form was from the alcohol or because she was becoming more comfortable with me.

  “Okay, then. You guys can hang out while I work if you want,” I said as Blake and Abby left to look at my photos. Hannah remained with me and pride filled me as she gave me her attention.

  “You don’t have to stay and watch me,” I said. But she gave me a look like I was being an idiot as she leaned on the island with her cheek resting in her palm. Her butt was sticking out and I realized how alluring she was in those damn overalls she wore. They were the ugliest fucking things and every other day of my life I hated them, but today, seeing how she wore them, made me start to question my hate of them.

  “So what’s the trick to your meatloaf, Wynn?” she asked as she made circles on the countertop with her finger. “What makes yours better than anyone else’s?” I couldn’t help but wonder if more weighed in her question. But instead of reading into it, I decided to simply answer.

  “Well, Hannah. It’s all in the crackers and eggs I add to it. I also use tomato soup for extra flavor.” I continued to line up bowls on the island, facing her as I mixed everything together.

  “First you take the meat and put it in the bowl like dis,” I said with an Italian accent that could never pass as real. “Then you add-a the egg and crackers. Den last you add-da soup.”

  She watched me with a flat look that made me pause. “That has to be the lamest thing I have seen in at least six months,” she said, her mouth shifting to a smile as she tilted her head to study me and nodded. “Yup. I’m right. Six months ago, Maggie got it in her head that she was going to draw the designs for work. She tried to draw a dog and it looked like a pig, so she gave up before she even began. Tha
t was lame. But yours takes the cake,” she said as she winked at me and laughed. I loved the sound of her laugh. The laugh she shared was genuine and the pride that filled me grew from knowing I was the cause of it.

  “What you don’t realize is that lame was what I was going for.” I gave her a grin before turning my attention back to the ingredients.

  “So all lameness aside, tell me about you and Blake,” she said as she pulled a stool over to the island.

  “About Blake and me?” I continued rolling the ingredients together as I thought of our story. “Well, we’ve known each other since we were toddlers. His family lived behind my mom and me. If she was going out and Sid was busy, they watched me. In a way, his parents were like an aunt and uncle. We have always seen each other as brothers. We even became blood brothers. He was a wuss about it though. He cried when he cut his palm.” I turned my hand toward her to show the scar on my right palm. She winced at the sight of it. “It was horrible. I needed twelve stitches. He passed out in the ER.”

  I laughed as I looked at Blake and memories came of all the nights spent in his backyard dreaming of one day standing on the moon together. We told each other that we would never go unless the other went too. Founded in vivid imaginations and dreams, it was our pact with each other. As I looked at him with his latest fling, I knew we still held our pact because it didn't look like either of us was in a hurry to get there. I nodded my head toward him, “He brings a new girl around every few months. He dates more than that, but on occasion, he wants me to meet one of them. I don’t understand the need though. We are close, but who he dates is his decision.”

  “Why wouldn't he? He values your opinion. What about you?” She grabbed a cracker from the box of saltines and waited for my response.

  “What about me?” She tilted her head in a mock annoyed raise of her eyebrow as if to say she could see through my false ignorance. I was not ignorant to her question and I dreaded it. I lifted an eyebrow as I weighed my response. “I have gone on six first dates over the last five years, and that’s it.” I met her eyes expecting a shocked expression but she kept eating her cracker and watching me.

  “Yeah, I hear that,” she said as she pulled one knee up under her chin. “I don’t technically date either. The bullshit annoys me. I don’t want false impressions, I want the real person, but we already touched on that before, didn’t we? Seriously, though, show me skeletons in the closet, nuances, craziness, issues, and all that comes with it. I don’t want a facade.” She grabbed another cracker. “Don’t get me wrong. I have shit I don’t want to put out there, but at least I’m real with people. I tell guys up front that I don’t want forever. Forever is bullshit. No one can have forever.” She toyed with the cracker and broke little pieces off, crumbling them into her hand.

  “So nothing serious?” I asked. She looked at the crumbs in her palm before she turned her hand to her mouth and ate them. She chewed in quiet contemplation as she thought of her response, and then swiped her hands across her legs to clean the remaining crumbs.

  “Well I had a boyfriend for a few years. After that there were a few dates,” she said as she raised her hands to quote, “with number Two. The others never made it past a first date. You could say.” I had the suspicion that our definitions of first dates were different.

  “Your one boyfriend… what happened with that?” I asked and turned to put the meatloaf in the oven.

  “We broke up when I was eighteen because we didn’t want the same future. The big part was, I was young, and I needed to experience more. He wanted the happily ever after and I didn’t, yet. He was a bullshitter who believed that as teenagers we knew what forever was. Romeo and Juliet were teenagers look where it got them. I don't want their definition of forever,” she said with a shrug.

  I nodded as she sipped her coffee. “Where did you grow up?” I asked.

  She rolled her eyes and smiled, “A small ass town an hour outside the city. A land filled with milk and honey. Like literal, milk, and honey,” she said as she nodded her head. “My family has a dairy and pig farm and they also raised bees. My graduating class had forty people in it. I was the black sheep and happy to leave it all behind me.” She gave the short, edited version of her history, holding back the parts that caused the shadows in her expressions.

  “Do you talk to your family?” I asked as I began to peel potatoes.

  “Wow, you are on a roll Wynn.” She lifted her mug and pointed her finger at me. “Remember, I will get my turn to ask the questions soon. And no, I don't talk to family other than Maggie and her parents. She’s my cousin by the way in case you didn’t realize.”

  “Yes, she told me the day I picked you up from your apartment. You don’t even talk to your sister?” I asked as I dropped two potatoes into a colander.

  “My sister died two years ago,” she said and sadness washed over her face and I regretted asking her that question. There was light conversation between us for the last hour that was now blocked by the return of her walls. “She died two years ago today,” she said with stoically. Fuck. She set her mug down and met my eyes with defiance. She was fighting her sadness and dared me to pity her.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said and clenched my fists at my side. I wanted to hug her, but I could see that she was dealing with her pain in much the same way I did. Holding her wasn’t what she wanted right now. She looked toward the others as she fought the tears begging to fall from her now filled eyes. No one wants to have a break down in front of people who couldn’t comprehend that depth of pain. “Do you like kale?” I changed the subject and if I could have kicked myself for asking such a stupid question, I would.

  It seemed to work though as her defiant expression slid away and a huge smile, though fake, spread across her face. “Yes, I do like kale.”

  I set out kale chips for her and she let out a little squeal. “Oh my god, I love kale chips.”

  And just like that, the pain went back into hiding and I was a little less of an ass as I was a few minutes ago.

  After dinner, Blake and Abby left with a palpable tension between them. It wasn’t unusual behavior with Blake and a girl, he wasn't one to baby or coddle.

  “So why do you think she chose absolution as the toast?” Hannah asked as she handed me a plate.

  “I’m not sure, but it was pretty random.”

  “I don’t know if it was that random. She looked at my wrist before she said it,” Hannah said. Both our eyes went to her wrist and her tattoo.

  “Maybe she’s catholic,” I deadpanned. She laughed at my comment and it made life fill me. Her laughter had the ability to awaken stillness that encased the most silent heart. It was a genuine laugh and I wanted to pull it from her again.

  “That’s funny, Wynn.” She looked at her tattoo and ran her finger over it.

  “Do you have more tattoos?” I asked as we finished the dishes and went to sit on the couch.

  She leaned back into the couch without a response and lifted her knee and pulled the leg of her overalls up on her right ankle. There was a butterfly tattoo on the outside part and I could tell a professional didn’t do it and she gave me a shy smile. “That was my first. I wanted to piss my parents off and a friend wanted to be a tattoo artist. It’s freaking horrible isn’t it?”

  I pulled my lips in, trying not to smile. “Well, I don’t know if I would use the word artist to describe them. But yeah that is pretty bad.” I let out a long breath of air and lifted an eyebrow to examine how bad it was. She laughed at me again and hit me with a pillow.

  “Thanks for your honesty, Wynn.”

  “No problem. Sid could cover that for you. He does an awesome job.”

  Grabbing my wrist, she turned my arm to examine my tattoos. Every one of the quotes covering my arm held meaning. They intertwined with the design Sid had done to work with my scars.

  “He does do a good job,” she said. “I love that you have words.” She began to run her finger across every word on my forearm as if she could read
it through her touch. “I love words. Sometimes words fill every part of my chest to the point that I could combust in on myself if I don't continue listening or get them out of me."

  She closed her eyes as her thoughts consumed her. "They wrap themselves around me and I’m left lying in a nice comfortable hammock, just waiting for the day to end. It’s like being surrounded by crickets chirping, but not just a single one,” she said and a joyful smile formed as she put her thoughts together. “But the choruses of ones that create a rhythm on a summer breeze and lull you into a deep sleep. Words are home to me. Quotes, lyrics, and even single words on their own—they hold something in them that can make your heart bleed or soar. Sometimes the absence of them can hold as much meaning.” Her voice trailed off as she lost to her own words.

  Her thoughts began to drift away in the rhythm of her touch passing over my skin. She moved her hand toward mine and without hesitation, she wrapped our fingers together. “I remember why I first started loving words. My dad and I watched Wheel of Fortune and raced to guess the words first. I was five and tried like crazy to figure the word out before him. I never could, he was always faster.” She looked off with a distant expression. “It is one of the few happy memories with my dad.”

  She lifted my hand up to her lips and kissed my knuckles before resting our hands in her lap. She cradled my arm with her other arm and leaned back, closing her eyes. We sat there for a while and I watched her breathing as her shoulders rose and fell. Her heart beat through my arm that pressed against her and with every twitch of her arm, I felt my own heart. With every breath, we were sharing part of ourselves.