Blue Rose (A Flowering Novel)

by Daltry, Sarah

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine,” he said and he sat down on the old, raggedy couch in his basement. He looked over at the cushion next to him, like he was waiting for something, but since we’d started dating, Dave tended not to say much. He was always looking out for me, asking what I wanted, and it made me nervous. I didn’t like anyone treating me like I had a say.

  I joined him on the couch. He opened his beer, but I assumed he was suggesting more. I drank mine, fast, and then I reached over, sliding my hand upward along his thigh. He nearly choked on the drink.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “We haven’t… well, I figured you wanted to take this further.”

  “Do you?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  He took my hand off his leg and stood up. “Yeah. That certainly makes me feel like you mean it. Damn it, Alana. Why ruin this? I thought things were good.”

  “They are good,” I argued. “I just figured it was time to…”

  “Do you love me?” he asked.

  I said nothing. A heavy pause hovered between us, but I didn’t want to lie. I didn’t want to lose him, even though I wasn’t ready to care about him in return. I wanted to sleep with him, because that was how I knew to keep him in my life. I didn’t know what else I could do, because I couldn’t feel what he wanted me to feel.

  I might have lied, though. I might have said a lot of things, but I didn’t get the chance. Instead, his father stormed down the stairs, already drunk, and saw the two open beer cans. He grabbed one, crushed it, and then took Dave by the back of his head and slammed his face into the wall by the stairs. Dave fell to the ground, blood gushing from his nose, and his father kicked him a few times before he even noticed me.

  “Tell your whore that she’s not welcome anymore,” he said to Dave and went upstairs.

  We never talked about it, and I went back to his house plenty of times. His father was usually too drunk to do anything other than take up space, if he was even home. As far as Dave was concerned, whatever had happened that day was not open for discussion.

  I sat with him and waited until his nose stopped bleeding. He changed and we walked to the park, where we played on the swings until it got dark, and then he kissed me under the monkey bars. I let him put his hands on me, over my shirt, but it was still back to being innocent. I realized that day that we all had our darkness, and we all had our secrets.

  37

  We take the train into the city. Grand Central is too big, and there are too many people. I promised that I would trust him, but I’m already anxious and just picturing being in Times Square makes me want to get back on the train and never leave my house again. I don’t, though. Dave reaches out his hand; I take it and I will myself not to make a scene. It’s expensive to be in New York and he’s doing this for me. I can’t imagine why he thought that I would want to be here tonight, but I keep repeating the same thing in my head. You said you would trust him.

  Between driving to the train, and then taking the train, it’s been several hours already. It’s nearly 4:00 by the time we get out of the station. Dave hails a taxi and says something to the driver quietly. I thought you were supposed to get in first, but he clearly has a plan. I slide into the backseat anyway and wait.

  The city is beautiful. I’ve only been to New York City once, on a field trip when I was nine, which is a little ridiculous since I was ready to go to college here. But it’s still decorated for Christmas and there are people everywhere. I don’t mind the people, as long as I have space to move, and I try to focus on how pretty it is, instead of how crowded it is. The taxi brings us to a hotel, which isn’t near too many of the crowds, although based on the traffic getting to the hotel, Times Square must be close. We go into the lobby and Dave takes my bag. This all just feels so unreal, so adult, so strange.

  Suddenly, I feel silly. The lobby is ridiculous, like a museum. I’m wearing sneakers and a hoodie and I’m way underdressed. I’m just a kid. Sure, I’m twenty, but I feel like a child. Dave’s 21, since he was almost a full year older than Jack and me, even though we were all in the same year in school. I realize I couldn’t even be in this hotel without him. This isn’t the cheap motel near the bar that doesn’t care how old you are if you pay cash; this is a fancy hotel in New York City with a guy in a jacket and a hat who holds doors open. I don’t belong here. None of us do.

  Dave checks us in while I run to the lobby bathroom and take a Xanax. I don’t want to take it, but I don’t think I can get through the night without it. Being here, and the idea of the crowds, and just everything – it’s all too much and I need to shut down. I only take one, though, because the effects will wear off before it’s dark and maybe, by then, I can talk myself into relaxing without it. We go up to the room; it’s beautiful and we have an amazing view of the Empire State Building. The bed is giant and there’s a bottle of champagne and strawberries on the table.

  “Um, how much does the army pay you again?” I ask. It’s probably an invasive question, but Dave just laughs.

  “I told you. I’ve had nothing to spend it on. When you said you wanted to see me, I planned all this. I didn’t know if you would like it or even if you’d want to come, but I wanted the option.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  He sits on the bed and puts our bags to the side. “Sit with me?”

  I join him, but the bed is gigantic and we leave enough space for another person between us. I chew my nails and look at my sneakers and the floor. “This intimidates me,” I admit.

  “Why?”

  I look up at him and I’m crying before I can stop myself. “I don’t belong here. I’m trash, Dave. This isn’t the kind of place you bring trash. I’m a shitty motel kind of girl, and I do the things you do to girls in a shitty motel.”

  He moves over and pulls me into his side. “You’re not trash. I know you don’t understand it, but I’ve loved you since I met you. There is nothing you could do that could change that, and I know you’ve tried. I told myself when I left that I would get over you, but I haven’t. The second you got in touch… well, this was the first thing I did when you said that you wanted to see me. I wanted to show you. Nothing has changed for me. I mean, tons of stuff has changed. But not you. You never change for me. I love you completely.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs. “Fuck if I know.”

  I laugh. It’s a stupid laugh, because I’m still crying and it’s all awkward and messy, but he just laughs with me and then he gets me to stand up and go to the bathroom with him. He holds my hair back as I wash my face. I watch him in the mirror. He’s a big guy, and he’s had a lot of shitty stuff happen in his life. I know without knowing for sure, because I’ve seen a glimpse of it. Here’s this soldier, who could hurt me, who could crush me, holding my hair while I clean my face because I’m crying over his kindness.

  “Life is really, really fucking weird,” I say.

  He turns me around and kisses me. Years have passed. We came together, fell apart, and came together again. He kissed me on the beach and we’ve become closer again, but as I open my mouth to him, there is something in the kiss that I’ve never experienced. I want him desperately, and I feel no shame about it. I don’t want it to be dirty and I wish I could have this be the only time; however, I also know that I wouldn’t be ready for this in the way that I am if it was. I reach for the hem of his shirt and try to undress him, but he backs away.

  “I’m not here for that,” he says.

  “You don’t want to?”

  He kisses the top of my head. “Clean up. I’ll see you in a minute.”

  The rejection stings, but I try not to take it personally. I don’t believe he’s rejecting me out of a lack of desire or anything like that. I know that he’s doing what he thinks is noble, but as much as I am trying to make progress, it’s not like I’m some virginal kid who needs to take it slow. I’m ready and I want him. I want him; I don’t want Jack or some stranger or
just to get off. I want Dave to make love to me. I want to give him everything I held back when we were together before. I want to wake up next to him tomorrow and every other stupid day after that.

  “I love you,” I whisper, although he’s out in the room. I just want to feel the words on my lips before I say them aloud to him. I do, though. I love him. I’ve probably always loved him, but there was too much covering my ability to feel it. If Dave was the buried layer, I just needed time to dig through everything else that was in the way. But I feel it now.

  He has the TV on in the room and I sit on the bed next to him. “Watching TV?” I ask.

  “I tried to find somewhere with a view of the ball drop, but apparently you need a year’s notice or more. You should have gotten in touch sooner.”

  “I don’t know…” But I don’t want to ruin it by complaining. I’ll figure out a way to deal with the crowds. I can do that for him.

  “I’m not taking you to Times Square,” he says.

  “You’re not?”

  “Hell no. Are you crazy? All those people? No. We’re watching it on TV. My big surprise comes tomorrow.”

  “Yeah?”

  He grins. “There’s an exhibit… at the MoMA. I thought…”

  “Oh. But why New Year’s? It’s madness here,” I say.

  He shrugs. “I thought it would be romantic. To be here. Even though we’re not there for the big event, we’re kinda still here, you know?”

  “I do. So the MoMA…”

  “Is that okay?” he asks, suddenly nervous, but it’s perfect. “They have Starry Night. That’s good, right?”

  “It’s great. Want to split a burger?” I tease.

  “Already taken care of it,” he says. A few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door and the room service cart is rolled in. I don’t know why we need a whole cart for a burger. Because that’s what he ordered. One burger. I watch him sign the receipt, close the door, cut the burger, and I can’t take it.

  “I love you,” I tell him.

  He looks up. “For a burger?”

  “No. I mean, well, yeah. But I do. I love you. I should have always loved you. I’m sorry I was so stupid. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

  He says nothing in return, but he hands me my half of the burger and we eat. Then we eat the strawberries. He doesn’t open the champagne; neither of us wants alcohol. I want to be present. I’m already regretting the one Xanax, because I want every nerve to experience every moment of tonight. When we’re done, he rolls the cart back into the hall and locks the door.

  “Do you mind if I take a shower? Or is there something else planned?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Nope. We relax and we watch the ball drop.”

  “So why did we need to leave so early?”

  “I wasn’t taking any chances of having the train get stuck for three hours again.”

  I nod and take my bag to the bathroom. My body feels like it’s on fire. The last time I had sex was with Jack and Lily. It’s been almost two months, which might not seem like a lot for most people, but it is for me. And this isn’t a desire that I’m familiar with. I feel it both in my body and my mind. I want to lose myself completely in another person. I don’t want toys; I don’t want to play a game. I just want Dave, however he wants me.

  I get in the shower and I almost beg him to join me, but I just get clean and slip into my new underwear and nightgown, thankful that I bought them. Dave’s eyes grow wide when I head back into the room.

  “I think I need to take a shower, too,” he says. “A really, really cold one.”

  “You don’t have to stop it,” I point out.

  “Not yet, Alana. I’m not ready yet.”

  I nod. “Okay, but that ball isn’t dropping for hours. I’ll pick a movie,” I tell him and I crawl into the bed and under the covers. He goes into the shower and I flip through children’s movies to get my brain back to the right place. Cartoons. We’ll watch cartoons. I could just interrupt his shower, I think, but I don’t want that. I want Dave to want me as badly as I want him; I want to be equal to someone in bed for once. I realize it’s always either all about me, or not about me at all.

  He comes back to bed fully dressed and we watch movies. Not cartoons, but cheesy comedies, until it’s late and he turns on the ball drop. He’s still wearing his jeans, shirt, and socks. He finally took off his shoes, which he had put back on after his shower, during the second movie. Mostly because he was wearing big ass boots and they were in the way of the screen.

  “Can I tell you something?” he asks.

  “Mhm,” I mumble. I’ve been growing tired because the bed’s like a cloud and the comfort in the room, the comfort I feel with Dave, it’s overwhelming to me.

  “When I first got overseas, I used to fantasize about getting letters from you. I thought that maybe they were just taking too long to get to me. I know I’d said not to write, but I thought that you might anyway. When you didn’t, I told myself that I would never care about anyone again. I told myself that I didn’t care about you anymore. But you were all I ever thought about. There was one mission, and I thought, for a bit, that we might not make it. And I could think of nothing but you. I just wanted to tell you that I still loved you. Even when I had to do things…” He pauses and his eyes grow dark. I rest my hand on his and meet his eyes. There’s so much pain there, but he doesn’t explain. “I did things that I won’t ever forget. But no matter what I’ve done, or what I may do in the future, I’ll never stop being the guy who loves you, Alana.”

  “I know,” I tell him. “And it took me a long time to be ready. But I am. I love you, too. Truly. Just you. There’s no Jack, no past, no anything. I am fully here with you tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I went to the bus station when you left,” I say.

  “You did?” he asks. “Were you too late?”

  I shake my head. “No. I texted you, but I saw how much that text meant to you, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell you that I loved you when I didn’t yet. I mean, I’ve always loved you. But you were right. I didn’t have room for you, for a relationship, for anything you were ready for in my life. And I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “So what changed?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “But I love you.”

  The conversation fades out as we watch the year end and the new year begin. As the ball drops, Dave turns off the TV and he kisses me. He leans down, his body so close, and his mouth covers mine. I reach my hands up, under his shirt, and I can feel his back muscles fighting. He wants to go further, I know it, but he doesn’t want me to think that’s all I am for him.

  “Please,” I say. “I am so ready for you. This is what I want.”

  “I don’t want you to feel like this was my intention,” he says. “That this was expected.”

  “I don’t. But I need it. I need you. I need to feel all of you, Dave. Please?”

  He looks down at me and I can see the guilt and the doubt that have become so familiar to me. They’re the emotions that I’ve always associated with this, but I don’t feel them at all right now. I sit up and pull the nightgown off, pushing the comforter aside and revealing myself to him. The bra and underwear are lacy and thin and he sucks in a deep breath.

  “Oh, God,” he whispers. I reach for the button on his jeans and pull him closer, unbuttoning and unzipping. He stands up and fumbles out of his clothes, the shirt, jeans, and socks soon a tangle on the floor. It’s just him, tan and rippling, and he stands beside the bed looking lost.

  I stand on my side, removing my bra and then stepping out of my panties. His boxer briefs look like they’re about to rip. I don’t even have to say anything. I just nod and then he’s naked before me. Neither of us moves; we just stand on our respective sides of the giant bed and stare at the other person’s body.

  “There is nothing…” I say, but I can’t finish the thought. I don’t even know what I want to say.

  “You’re s
o beautiful, Alana. You are just so beautiful.”

  I’ve always associated that phrase with sex, but in the worst ways, because of my father, because of everything that’s happened, but when Dave says it, I feel nothing but now. I have so much faith in this moment and I make the first move, climbing across the bed and taking him in my hand. He grows even harder as I stroke, and I get wetter touching him. I want him, but I want to make this last. I don’t want to be lying next to him in ten or twenty minutes, the moment over. I want the entire night to pause while I touch him and he explores my body. I want to feel his hands and his mouth everywhere.

  His cock is throbbing as I move my hand along it. I bend my head down and tease the tip of it with my tongue. He groans, loud, and suddenly thrusts forward. It becomes desperate but I keep up with his motions, letting him into my mouth, hanging onto his thighs, and loving the taste of him. He pushes deep into my throat, but then he stops abruptly.

  “No,” he says. “Let me.” His voice is shaking and I know it’s probably impossible for him to speak or to move, but somehow, he manages to back away and I lie back on the bed. Dave tosses the covers to the ground and then he pushes my legs apart. He kisses my ankles, up my calves, my knees, my thighs. He pauses for a moment and runs his fingers over my scars, but I don’t make him stop. He kisses me where Jerry cut me open and where I cut myself. And then, Dave moves all the way up between my legs. When he enters me with his tongue, I can’t handle it. I’m so ready to come and my hips jerk upward. I grab his head, but his hair’s been shaved so I can’t hang on to that, and I just push him harder against my pussy.

  “Oh, God. Dave,” I cry, drawing out his name like it’s the single most beautiful sound on the planet. His tongue circles my clit and moves in and out of my cunt, drawing out my orgasm until I wonder if I will even be alive tomorrow. I can’t remember it ever feeling this good. I’m not ashamed of how much I love this. Who wouldn’t? I’m physically on fire, but my mind has succumbed to the experience as well.