by Ava Alise
“So, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done to someone?” Ros asks Chris, as she brings a cup to her lips.
Ty and Chris lock eyes, and they both begin to chuckle.
“What is it?” I ask, with smiling eyes.
Ty continues to laugh, and shakes his head, pointing to Chris. Chris sighs.
“Last year, on Paul’s birthday, the boys and I had this huge party planned for him at the club. I mean we had food, women, everything. He was dating this girl named Nora at the time, they had just broken up, and all he wanted to do was stay home and fuck strippers. We were pissed. Right as Ty and I were leaving, Paul’s mom was walking up to the house. She asked if he was inside, and we told her that he was in his room.”
“Y’all let her walk in on him,” I laugh. “That’s evil.”
Ros makes a laughing, squealing sound.
“No, no no,” Ty says, laughing and waving both hands in front of him, “it gets worse.”
Chris continues, “See, that’s what we thought. His mom would catch him fucking a girl and that would be it, but, instead his mother had planned to surprise him that day. His father, younger sister, and his fucking grandma from California had come along with her. His grandmother baked his favorite cake, and they waltz right into his room with a video camera, right as he was in the middle of a threesome.”
I gasp, while the other three fall over laughing.
“His entire family watched, as he fucked a girl doggy style, while she made out with the other girl he had blindfolded and handcuffed to the bed!” Chris says, laughing so hard that he barely gets it out.
“That’s horrible,” Ros says, laughing.
We continue playing for a while, but eventually fall silent and become captivated once again by the stars. Gently, I run my fingers along the bandages on his hands, still curious about what happened.
Did he get into a fight? I make a mental note to ask him about it later when we are alone. Now that he’s starting to perk up a bit, he may be willing to share. I look from Chris’ bandages to Ros and catch her smiling at me, seconds before Ty announces that they are going to the kitchen to get chips.
It’s been an hour, and I’m beginning to realize that those chips are never coming.
Chris and I decide to switch positions when the air grows chilly and, now under a blanket, I lay against him. It isn’t long before my eyes grow heavy, as I become hypnotized by his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the gentle sway of our hammock.
“What’s the best thing you’ve ever done?” Chris asks. His voice startles me, because I thought he had fallen asleep.
“Well,” I clear my throat, “when I was a kid, I got to pet a lion.”
“Really?”
“Yup. My mom had taken my sister and me to the circus, and for a little extra money, they allowed people to pet a lion cub. I remember telling Della that it looked just like our kitten at home. She wouldn’t pet it though, she was too scared, kept saying it would remember her scent and come for her when it got older,” I smile at the memory. “She always hated to see animals in cages. When she was six and I was four, she concocted a master plan to free all the animals in the Atlanta zoo, I was supposed to have been the lookout,” I laugh.
Chris stays silent, as he listens intently, rubbing my shoulders.
“The lion cub, it was so beautiful, Chris. I never forgot it.”
“Wow,” he says.
It hits me that this is the first time I’ve mentioned Della to him, and I tense as I wait for the questions. Surprisingly, they don’t come, and I take a deep breath. It felt good to talk about her. I’m learning quickly that Chris is easy to talk to, to share with. He doesn’t pressure me, even after this morning, marking the third time I’ve woke up in his arms crying, and he still hasn’t asked me about it. It makes me want to share. Which is weird, but I feel like it’s time to give him something.
“She died,” I somehow find the courage to say.
The rise and fall of his chest, that had been luring me to sleep moments ago, ceases. Actually, everything ceases. He’s no longer rubbing my shoulders, and it even feels like the hammock is frozen in place.
“Damn,” he says solemnly, and he somehow pulls me tighter against him.
“I was there,” I say, voice coming out barely audible.
He’s chest hollows as he exhales and I sink further into him. Chris wraps his arms around me and he kisses the side of my head.
“Fuck,” he says.
“I’m so sorry, Red. I hate that you went through that.”
“Yeah,” I sigh.
I lay my head back on his shoulder as we fall silent again, taken over by rocking, as we float above the earth.
“Is that… your dreams?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer.
Chris holds me tight, and I feel his hurt for me in every muscle of his body.
I exhale a large breath and feel a release inside of me, as if something that was lodged deep has been knocked loose. My lips are moving, I’m speaking words, words to him I didn’t plan to share. Words that explain my pain, my heartache, my wounds. He listens as I become transparent to him, pouring out all of my experiences, from Sean breaking my barely mended heart to what happened that night with Grayson and Della. When I’m done, and it’s too painful to continue. Chris speaks up sharing his own pain wrapped by a deep love for his son, MJ. Instead of spending the night in bliss with him like I have so many nights before, we fall asleep in that hammock, after talking until the sun bled through the trees.
CHRIS
Red and I lay sprawled across my bed in a heap of covers. I can tell it’s afternoon by the way the sunlight burns through the windows at such a high angle. She sleeps peacefully against my chest and, by the way it’s making me feel, I know I’m in trouble. I should have known yesterday when I showed up at her house and then lied about breaking my phone.
What is this girl doing to me? How in the fuck did I let it happen? She’s not available, fuck, I’M NOT AVAILABLE.
After Shayla and her father leave the meeting, and it’s just me and Mitch. I ask him if Shayla can legally take my son to Florida, and he said she can. I make him explain to me how in the fuck that’s possible, and he said that he was confident that the judge will sort it out in a fair arrangement during the hearing, but there is nothing I can do until then.
I go home and text Shayla, asking her if she will bring MJ home tonight and that I know by now that he has to be running out of clothes. She says they are headed to Florida in the morning, and she’ll be by in a bit.
She walks in with my son and a large suitcase, like she’s be packing my entire world and taking it away.
“Hey, Daddy!”
“Hi, Frog.”
“Mom and me are going to Disney World!!!” he bellows.
Shayla snakes her way inside my home and goes straight to his room without making eye contact with me once. After he’s packed, she gives him an additional bag to pack a few of his favorite toys, and once he’s out of earshot, I speak up.
“Disney? Really? Great way to buy love, Shayla!” I whisper angrily.
“My mother is taking us to Disney since his school is on spring break. I was only going to Florida to look for an apartment!” she whispers back, harshly.
“Apartments? This shit is not going to happen. Look around you. This is his home, you know that!”
“Well, I got a job offer in Tampa, so it is going to happen. You’re welcome to come, but please, don’t move too close. I couldn’t deal with having to see you every day!”
I laugh, and just as I’m about to respond, MJ walks into the room. I hug and kiss my son goodbye as she tells me that I won’t see him for the next ten days.
I hate how much power she has right now, though only temporary, it still guts me.
My house is completely silent as I pace my living room, reminding myself to breathe.
Three weeks. I have to wait three fucking weeks until the hearing and this fu
ckery is over, and once that realization settles in, I lose it. Crashing and sounds of breaking glass echo through the house as I try to make everything I can get my hands on feel the anger and pain I’m experiencing. After I tire myself out, I grab my phone and keys and jump in my car. I know that I need to leave before I completely ruin everything I own.
I push my car to its limits down winding roads and empty midnight highways. It doesn’t help. I could go to my parents’ house, or to hang out with the boys, but I don’t want to see any of them. I want her and it pisses me off that I want her. I have more important shit going on; the last thing I want is the need to be with Red, so instead, I drive. When I land back home the next morning, I don’t leave again. I decide not to respond to Red’s text, and I tell myself to ignore my thoughts of her and focus on getting through this hell.
By yesterday afternoon, I had convinced myself that maybe I just needed to get laid. It had been how I worked off frustration in the past, and maybe that was why I wanted to see Red so badly. Deep down, I knew it was bullshit, it was just a weak excuse. If I had any doubt, the moment I saw her standing in the door I knew it for sure, it wasn’t just the sex.
Red stirs, eyes fluttering open, and she catches me watching her sleep, like some sort of creep.
“Good morning.” She smiles.
“Morning. Sleep well?”
She sits up, stretching, and yawns.
“Yes, hey, no nightmare this morning.” She smiles again.
I’m happy that she brought it up because, after that conversation in the hammock last night, the nightmares of her past are what kept me from sleeping.
“Can I ask you a question, Red?”
“Sure.” She shrugs.
“Why do you think Della wanted you to be with Sean?”
Her face scrunches. “I don’t know. I guess because he was more focused on life, not floating through it. Grayson was just so unhinged. The wild bad boy type, and she knew that I would’ve done anything for him. I put off going to Emory for him.”
And now I feel bad for bringing it up.
“I’m sorry, sexy. Grayson and Sean dropped the damn ball big time by losing you. I’d have your ass locked up somewhere,” I laugh, and after I say it, I realize I’m only halfway joking.
One code: No Lying. Two code: No Falling.
I watch the smile spread across her lips, as she leans forward and kisses me. We fall back onto the bed, and I melt into her, steadily reminding my heart that I’m not breaking two code.
LIZ
Ros sits across from me at the dinner table, buried under a stack of mostly completed homework and piles of books. Sean will be here in twenty minutes for our dinner date, and Ros has plans, so we got homework knocked out early.
“Can you believe we are only one summer away from officially starting at Emory?” she says, looking up from her notes.
“I know, it’s crazy. I can’t believe we’ll be juniors.” I beam.
We are six weeks from finals, which means we are in the thick of ‘suck’ as we finalize all of our projects and begin exam preparations. Ros had to do an externship at the local hospital as a requirement to enter Emory’s nursing program, and she’s finally on her last week.
“Do you think we can request to be put in the same dorm room?” I ask.
“You actually want to live in the dorms?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“I don’t know, after having my own space for so long, I don’t think I could stay crammed in a dorm,” she says.
My brows crease as I consider her words.
“Come on, Liz. Will you be my roommate in Atlanta?” She grins.
I pretend to think it over, as she holds her grin. She knows that I won’t room with anyone but her, it’s always been our plan.
“Of course, I will,” I squeal, and we dance in our seats, as the excitement of our pending journey settles in.
A few minutes later, Ros receives a text and I watch as a flood of emotions roll over her face. At first her eyes bug out of her head, she stops breathing, then she exhales deep, and bites her bottom lip holding back a smile.
She’s blushing.
When she notices me watching her, she clears her throat and straightens her face.
“Um, what was that?” I chuckle. “Are you still hanging out with Ty?”
I stare at her, brows raised.
“No. That was only a one-time thing.”
“Okay then, who’s text got your head looking like a lightbulb?”
“Shut up.” Her blush deepens, and she throws an eraser at me.
I laugh.
“It’s just weird and crazy and…” She smiles, shaking her head, “It’s too soon to talk about.”
I shrug.
“Well…”
“Well, how’s Chris?” she asks, cutting me off. We have a mini stare down, and she knows I’m on to her, but after a beat, I concede. I know she will tell me eventually.
“He’s great. We have plans for this weekend.” I smile.
“When don’t you two have plans for the weekend?” she teases.
I don’t answer, not verbally anyway. Instead I give her a mixture of a smile, a shrug, and a shake of the head, that I’m not sure I even know the meaning of.
“Uh huh,” she says. “Hey, Kesha had a good point the other day. Why don’t you ever bring him here?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s like we are in our own little bubble in his room, one that I never want to leave.”
Ros doesn’t laugh with me; instead, she holds a serious expression.
“What? I’m kidding.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
I’m not laughing now.
“Liz, I’ve never seen you smile or laugh as much as you do when you’re with Chris.”
“Ros,” I sigh, dismissively.
“No, hear me out. You are a total different person with Chris. When you’re with Sean, you’re tense and soft spoken. You run around trying to please him.”
I roll my eyes and stand.
“You become what he wants you to be. I don’t understand why you are so stuck to him, why you can’t see past him!” her voice is louder, and she follows me into my room.
“I don’t want to talk about this Ros.”
“All you TALK about is Chris, you smile anytime someone asks you about him. Why are you fighting so hard for Sean? Clearly he isn’t fighting for you!” she yells.
I stop in my tracks in front of my bed, my back still to her. My heart feels weighed down, and I fight hard against the threatening tears.
“Sean is the best fit for me. He’s smart and—”
“No,” she cuts me off, “I don’t what to hear the ‘Awesome Sean Shit List’ that you spit out every chance you get. I want to hear what truly makes him the one.”
My feet feel as if they are burning a hole in the carpet beneath me. With slumped shoulders and nails digging into my palms, I grit my teeth and turn to face her.
“Ros, I love you. I love you for worrying about me, but I know what I’m doing. I know who I need. I love Sean, he is the best type of guy for me. I like Chris, but he’s just a guy I fuck. Nothing more and nothing less.”
An unexpected wave of guilt washes over me. Why did it hurt to say that?
Ros stares at me unblinking.
“Who are you trying to convince, Liz?”
I sigh and shake my head, diverting my eyes from hers, she doesn’t get it.
My phone chimes in my pocket.
SEAN: Outside.
“I’ve got to go,” I say. I step past Ros, walk down the hall, and out of the house.
Sean and I walk into Fryers Café ten minutes later, it’s only a few blocks from my house, so we got here quickly. I try my best to smile, even though, Ros has really gotten under my skin. What the hell does she expect me to say? That I’m going to give up on Sean? Completely embarrass myself and declare my feelings for Chris? No, not only would that make me the worst fuck buddy i
n history, it’s not what we are doing. We are doing simple, fun and no heart strings.
Anyways, Sean seems good, happy; maybe this date will get us somewhere.
“You look nice,” he says.
“So do you.”
We are seated, and we order quickly. Sean and I pretty much have the menu memorized as we used to come here every Friday when we were together. We make small talk about the memories while we wait for our food.
I smile as he reminisces about the time the restaurant had to give every customer their entire meal for free due to a faulty sprinkler system. I pretend to listen as I dig deep searching for my words. I can’t punk out, we need to have this conversation. Look at where it’s got me, in this confusing ass situation with Chris. I can’t deny how much I loving hanging out with him, but maybe it’s turning into a bigger problem than I expected. Hell, if Ros is starting to notice my affections toward Chris then maybe it’s becoming toxic.
Dinner is over, before my courage starts to build. I have been the awkward one for a change, but when he asks me to dance, I don’t decline.
Sean places his arms around me as we sway. My brain recognizes his touch, but my heart seems to have forgotten it. The usual pounding isn’t there and instead I’m feeling sort of uncomfortable, as if he isn’t doing it right. My heart doesn’t smile for him. I slide his hands a little further down my back as we sway, desperately trying to find my comfort against him. When I shimmy, he tenses.
“What are you doing?” he whispers.
“Sliding your hand down into a better position.”
“Well, if they get any lower I’d be groping you.”
“Haha, and what’s wrong with that?” I tease.
“It’s inappropriate, we are in public.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.”
We dance a few more minutes, but his movements are stiff and tight. He’s tense, and I’ve made him angry.
“I’m sorry, Liz, I can’t do this,” he says, stepping away.
“What? You don’t want to dance?”
“No. I just,” he sighs, looks away, then he grabs my hand and leads me back to the table.