Every Rose

by Halat, Lynetta

  I speed down the hallway and see Michael’s cousin standing in the middle of it speaking to another guy in hushed tones. He jerks his head quickly when he spots me. “Hey, Lorraina. I was about to come and find you. Mike told me to find you and give the keys to his Jeep. He told me to tell you to go ahead and grab your car from his apartment and that he’d call you tomorrow. You can leave his keys under his mat.” He thrusts the Jeep keys towards me with a barely contained look of disgust.

  I stare at them in confusion. What?! Just like that. Relegated to nothing more than a few obligatory details. “Um…OK. Is he OK?” I venture.

  “Yeah, he’s good. I’ll bring him home in a little while.”

  “Did something happen?”

  “Other than seeing you talking to your ex?” His snarky comment catches me off guard.

  Oh no. “No, it wasn’t like that,” I try to tell him.

  “Well, that’s not the way Mike saw it.”

  “Can I see him please?”

  “He doesn’t want to see you right now. He said he’d call you tomorrow, OK?”

  “OK.” I turn to go but turn back to plead one more time, “Will you tell him that I was caught by surprise and it really wasn’t like that?” I have to get out of here before I start crying. He nods his head. “Thanks.” I turn to get to the Jeep as quickly as possible. I don’t want anyone to see me cry. I feel crushed. I start the Jeep and figure how to make it go, which isn’t easy through my tear-laden haze. Beginning to fume, I wonder if he thought of that when he made his little plan to avoid me. He should trust me more than that. Outrage replaces despair: how dare he not give me a chance to explain or confront me at the very least?

  I pull up outside his apartment and lay my head on the steering wheel in an effort to get my mind to stop spinning. I’m not going home. He will not send me away like I’m inconsequential or a mere inconvenience.

  I shuffle up his steps and lean back on his door. I don’t want to go in without him; it’ll be too depressing. I slump down and bring my knees up to my chest and rest my head on them. I replay all the events of the last few days. We’ve had an amazing reunion. How could it have gone sour so quickly? And not even from the thing that I feared but from something completely unexpected.

  He wasn’t harboring any long lost love feelings for me. I wasn’t that naïve. I was always a conquest to him. The good girl—gone bad just for him. It was never really about me. Look at the way he spoke to me. I finally have a shot at happiness and with someone I’ve known and loved since I was thirteen years old. I will NOT let either of them ruin this. I will explain everything to him. We will be OK.

  I briefly consider journaling while I wait. The next thing I am aware of is someone coming my way. I rouse myself. I must’ve dozed off. I jump to my feet as I see Michael leaning on his cousin for support as they make their way to the top of the stairs. I rush over and grab Michael’s other arm.

  Michael slurs, “I see you don’t listen very well.”

  Oh, he’s drunk. Shit! I did this. He didn’t want to go to the party that I made him go to, and he saw me talking to my ex. I’m such an idiot. “I didn’t listen because you wouldn’t listen. So, why don’t you just be quiet now?”

  “Bossy little thing, isn’t she?” Michael asks his cousin.

  “I sure am,” I reply without waiting for anyone’s response. I unlock Michael’s door, and we get him to his bed. Michael’s asleep before we fold his legs onto the bed. “I can take it from here,” I tell his cousin.

  “You sure?”

  “Yep.”

  “OK. For what’s it worth, I did tell him what you said. He seemed better, but the damage was already done, ya know?”

  “Well, thanks for trying.” I try to hide my annoyance. I don’t take my gaze from Michael’s now sleeping form as his cousin leaves. He looks so vulnerable and so uncomfortable.

  I sit down on the side of the bed and run my fingertips lightly over his brow bone, his nose, his cheekbones. I savor my stolen touches. What if he wakes up and wants nothing more to do with me? I try to make this stolen moment count. My path continues through his hair. It’s so soft and silky and pitch black. The contrast between my pale hand and his hair is striking. My lips trace over the path I made with my fingers. Oh, Michael, what a pair we are.

  With some difficulty, I remove his jacket and begin unbuttoning his shirt. Mmm…I’ve always loved these snap buttons. Very sexy. I climb atop him and sit astride him as I push his shirt aside and run my hands down his chest. I grasp his hips and lean in to plant small kisses along his chest and torso. I scoot my body backwards as my head drops to his abdomen where he has a complexly designed crucifix tattooed. I kiss it reverentially. My tongue darts out to swirl around his belly button.

  I hear him moan, and I sit up guiltily. Oops! What are you doing? I chastise myself. I feel myself burning—with desire, embarrassment, longing? All the above.

  I shake my head and try to focus on the task at hand, making him more comfortable. I push his shirt over his shoulder and under his back to tug it off and let it drop on the floor. I run my hands up his arms and lightly massage his muscles. Even in his sleep, they are taut.

  My hands move to his jeans. My fingers hover. Should I remove them? It may send me over the edge and beyond any modicum of control where my longing for him is concerned. Before I can decide, his hand grasps mine. “No, leave them,” he answers my unvoiced question. “You’re not ready for that,” he jokes, mirth dancing in his half-opened eyes.

  I grab a pillow and playfully smack him with it, “I wasn’t planning on taking advantage of you in your inebriated state.” There was no plan but definitely the musings of an out-of-control control freak. He’s joking with me. Am I forgiven?

  “As evidenced by all your touching and kissing. Just take my boots off, will ya? The rest is fine.”

  I remove his boots and go into the bathroom to change my own clothes. When I return, he’s under the blanket and with his arm spread out to the side. I sidle myself next to him and promptly fall asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Unconditionally

  I hear him shifting slightly. He’s across the room on the couch. “I’m sorry,” I say before I even open my eyes or even become fully aware.

  He scoffs, “You’re sorry?”

  He’s upset. I pull myself up and pull my knees to my chest. I pat the bed for him to come and sit beside me. He shakes his head at me. This is going to be harder than I imagined. I clear my throat. “Michael, I screwed up last night. I forced you to go to a party you didn’t want to go to. I allowed you to wander off when you told me not to let you. I had a confrontation with my ex. I almost compromised your virtue while you slept,” I throw the joke in on impulse, hoping it will lighten his mood.

  No such luck. He looks even more furious. He takes a deep breath and releases my name on an exhale, “Lorraina—”

  “No, Michael, NO,” I’m begging. What?! I scramble to the end of the bed. “I’m truly sorry. We can work this out.”

  His eyes are glossy. He just stares at me. I’m finally awake enough to take him in. He sits with one leg on the couch; his arm is draped over it and holding a glass of water. His other arm is folded on the couch arm; it’s holding his head up. He looks tortured. Like he hasn’t slept in a week. He didn’t look anything like this last night. Yet, somehow, he still pulls off that gorgeous look of his. My belly clenches and spirals out of control. How is it possible to want someone this badly? And to fear losing someone this much?

  “Are you done?” he mutters.

  “What?” Done talking? Staring at you? Trying to figure this out?

  “You have nothing to apologize for. I am a grown man. I make my own decisions. I chose to go to the party. I chose to walk into that room, knowing what would be going on in there. I chose to have that first shot.” He runs his hand through his hair and rotates and stretches his neck around until he is staring at me again.

  “Michael, we all make bad
choices.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “You’re not perfect. Get over it,” I half joke.

  “I don’t drink because it changes me, Lorraina. I become someone else. Someone…awful. I’m…no you’re very fortunate that didn’t happen last night. When Shane came back in and told me what you said about your ex, I, at least, still had the presence of mind to stop. If I had kept going…”

  My gaze has drifted to the floor. When he says that drinking changes him, fear’s icy fingertips wrap themselves around the heat I am feeling for him. That’s what happens to my dad. Does he know this? Is it the same for him? I wouldn’t ever want to see him that way. My dad scared the shit out of me when he was like that, and a little piece of him died every single time in my eyes. “You’re scaring me,” I admit.

  “You should be scared,” he warns me.

  “I didn’t know it was that bad,” I lock eyes with him, “or I wouldn’t have insisted on the party.” I can’t give up, though, can I? “This is something you will struggle with for the rest of your life, ya know?”

  “Yes, I know. And now you know.”

  “Michael, I swore I’d never be with an alcoholic. After watching my dad and then my stepdad…”

  “I know,” his voice cracks, “I could never ask you to put up with this.” His hands gesture to encompass himself.

  I feel a fissure run through my icy-hot heart. “Oh, Michael. No!” I approach him slowly. I take the glass of water from his hand and slide down gently beside him on the couch. I take his arms and wrap them around me, placing mine around his neck. I lay my forehead on his. “We can beat this. You and I. Now that I know. Your willpower is a force to be reckoned with. So, you slipped. Everyone slips. They’ll happen. They’ll be rare, though. You didn’t have my full support because I didn’t really know what we were dealing with, OK? Now that I know, nothing can get in our way.”

  He just sits there. Taking in everything I said, I hope. Finally, he moves. He nuzzles my neck with his soft lips. “What did I do? Who did I please to get this lucky?” He pulls his lips from neck and stares at me with wonder. “Are you for real?”

  I giggle, “Yes, I’m for real. You scared me. I thought you were gonna make me go away.”

  “I should. If I wasn’t a selfish bastard, I would send you away. It would be the best thing for you, but I have to be with you. I’ve always had to be with you.”

  “I’m glad you don’t know what’s actually best for me, then. You’d have to be really awful to make me want to disappear. My dads, they never fought it; they never cared that it was poison to them or whether or not anyone else was hurt by their actions or addictions. That’s not who you are. I love you, Michael.”

  “And I you, Lorraina.”

  ……………………………………………………….

  It’s Christmas Eve morning, and I feel time turning its back on us. Michael and I take a brisk walk around the park. We hold hands and admire the sprawling oaks and squirrels and little kids running around. He seems much better than he did earlier this morning. We talk of nothing serious.

  He wants to know my favorite movies and TV shows. I tell him I don’t watch TV, but I love movies. I go into great detail on some of my favorites. I probably list about twenty; they are varied in seriousness and scope.

  “So, you’re on a deserted island,” he challenges me. “One film has been left behind and you must watch it over and over and over….What do you hope it is?”

  “Forrest Gump.” I hesitate for about two seconds. “Steel Magnolias.”

  He laughs at me. “I said one, cheater.”

  “I know. I’m awful at the favorites game.”

  “And ever the one with the bittersweet endings. What’s with that anyway?”

  I consider this a moment. After all the books that I’ve read and stories that I’ve loved, I always gravitate towards the tragedies. “I think it’s that I can identify with tragedies more. Life is tragic. A lot of people interpret that to mean all doom and gloom; but, to me, within tragedy there lies a chance for a new beginning, a new life. The optimist, the romantic in me looks for those little wormholes and that chance to find happiness. Some people don’t search for that chance and let tragedy shape them, ruin them.” I snap out of my diatribe and look at him, waiting for him to give me a where-did-you-go-weirdo-look.

  He clenches my hand tighter and simply says, “That’s beautiful. So, many people don’t see the sweet within the bittersweet. Or that you have to have one to have the other.”

  I smile a little thank-you-for-not-judging-me smile. “Exactly.” He gets me. “What about you? One movie, deserted island?”

  “Lonesome Dove.”

  “Oh, really? I love that movie! Another favorite. We could be on a deserted island together. OK. Real test for you. You can bring the entire discography of one musical act? Who do you bring?”

  “Yeah, that’s hard to say.” He squints his eyes and tilts his head back as if this is the most important thing anyone has ever asked him. “Led Zeppelin.”

  “Interesting,” I reply. “If I hit repeat on a song, which one should it be?”

  “‘All My Love’,” he whispers.

  “Mmm…Yes.”

  ………………………………………………………

  I have to go home for the night and at least most of the day tomorrow. This sucks. I try not to mope around too much and ruin our little bit of time together. It’s hard, though.

  He goes into the kitchen to make our lunch, so I grab my bag and dig through it for my book. I grab a blanket and pillow and make myself a little place in his window seat so that I can be closer to him while he cooks. He’s using the leftovers from last night to make something that will be delicious I’m sure.

  He frowns at me and says, “Look. It’s killing me. I have to know what was going on with you and the Child Molester.”

  I was hoping we could avoid talking about that for a little while longer. “He…he caught me by surprise. What was he doing there anyway?”

  “He and Shane worked together a while back. I guess they became friends at some point.”

  “Aah…So, he says you kicked his butt?”

  “Sure did,” he answers emphatically.

  “Care to elaborate,” I prompt him.

  “Not much to say. I ran into him at a party a few years back. I was drinking. I saw his face and saw red. I didn’t even think about it. I just punched him square in the jaw and didn’t stop until someone pulled me off of him. His face was a bloody mess, and I couldn’t play my guitar for about two weeks. I spent the weekend in jail and paid a huge fine. That was that.”

  “Well, that was a mouthful for not much to say,” I joke. Inside I delight, I’m really not big on violence, but if anyone ever deserved to get the shit knocked out of him, it was him. “I wish you wouldn’t fight, but thank you for kicking his ass. Anyway, I don’t know what his point was in cornering me in the hallway. He basically verbally assaulted me and threatened me where you are concerned. I’m surprised you didn’t realize what he was up to.”

  “I invite him to follow through with his threats.” His menacing tone makes me shiver. “I’m sorry that I jumped to conclusions,” he says with disgust. “When I started down the hallway, I saw you grab his arm and you looked…intent. I thought you were trying to get him back, I guess. I turned right around and went back to doing shots.”

  I mull this over a moment, “I actually could’ve used your help. He was being a real jerk. He was drunk and talking trash. All I wanted to do was find you and get out of there once that happened.”

  He walks over to my spot in the window and caresses my cheek. I look up at him and his eyes are full of trepidation as he promises, “I will never let you down like that again. I will never doubt you like that again. I was a fool. Forgive me?”

  “It’s already been granted,” I assure him. “This is new for both of us. It’s natural to have doubts…questions. Don’t you think?”r />
  “Yeah, I’m just sorry I didn’t handle it more maturely.”

  “Me too, but we’re learning.”

  He leans and gives me a quick peck before heading back over to his cooking.

  I curl up and start reading, surreptitiously stealing as many peeks of his profile as I can. He catches me several times and finally laughs at me. He’s laughing, thank goodness! “What?” I pout. “I enjoy looking at you.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. Were you always this beautiful?”

  “Um…I don’t know about that, but you were impervious to all my charms back then,” he complains.

  I tsk, “I was somewhat. I had my moments of weakness, though.”

  He turns to focus on me, “Really?” he asks disbelievingly.

  “Yep, do you remember the night I stayed over at Corrine’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember what was supposed to happen that night?”

  “Yes.” He pins me with a look.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “So why didn’t you show up?”

  He runs his hands through his hair, crosses his arms in front of him, and leans his hip into the counter. “Well, that’s hard to say.”

  “Why don’t you give it a shot? I was there, waiting for you. I felt like such an idiot. I planned to…to take our relationship to a new level, and you left me standing there. All the other girls’ boyfriends showed up. But not Michael.” I cringe at the memory.

  His face registers his shock. “You were upset?” he asks incredulously.

  “Yes, I had decided that, if you showed up, I would kiss you. You were supposed to be my first kiss. Instead, I ended up kissing Brian Gates on the merry-go-round at the ballpark a few weeks later.”