by Kara Hart
“I can if you want to…” Emily mutters back. I close my eyes, waiting for Susan to fire back with enough animosity to blow up a small country, but she doesn’t. Instead, she turns her head and takes a deep breath. She gathers her thoughts and picks up Lisa.
“I should go,” she says.
“I should get up,” I say, scratching my head. Emily helps me up, but I shrug it off and stand up. “I’m fine. Seriously. I don’t feel bad at all.”
“Next time, take him to a doctor, sweetie,” Susan says, before slamming the door.
I turn around and laugh. “I’m sorry?”
“Don’t laugh, Michael. I was freaking out. I thought you were having a heart attack or something,” she says, with heavy eyes. “I should of called 911.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. It wasn’t that bad. I feel okay. Trust me. Sorry, I guess I’m just surprised, myself. I didn’t expect to wake up with everyone around me like that,” I say.
“Susan.” She rolls her eyes. “I really hate that woman.”
“Yeah, well… she’s Susan.” I give a hard frown.
“She knows about us, I think,” she says.
“I think she has an inkling. It’s a good thing. Trust me,” I say.
She doesn’t, of course. But she takes my hand and we walk to her backyard. We open the door to the outside world and I sit down. “I should be at work,” she says.
“I guess. I’m sure Hanson has it taken care of,” I tell her.
Some time passes before I can figure out the right words to say. Here I am, a strong man, and I fucking passed out right after sex? Frankly, I’m embarrassed and don’t know how to approach the subject. “Was it good, at least?”
A faint smile forms around her mouth. “You’re a pig,” she laughs.
“Well, true.” I smile back.
“It was great.” She rolls her eyes.
“Must have been.” I shake my head.
“Don’t worry, you were all man. You probably passed out when you realized what you said right when you—” She trails off and bites her tongue, but the cat is already out of the bag.
“What?” I smile. “What did I say?”
The situation completely eludes me. What I remember are cut out pieces of scenes, like in a movie or something. I remember how she felt, how she tasted, how incredible she looked. I remember clawing at her skin, biting her ear and holding on for dear life. I don’t remember any words spoken. The images fall from my head and I’m left, grasping at straws.
“You don’t remember? Seriously?” she asks me.
“No, am I supposed to? I passed out,” I say. I rest my head and close my eyes again. “Shit, everything is crazy right now. Isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” she nods her head. “I guess it’s crazy to love a girl like me, huh?”
“What’re you talking about?”
She puts her legs around my waist and rubs her hands against my chest. She starts massaging me, making me feel like I’m hers. I start to let go and all the stress starts to slip away. “You told me you loved me,” she whispers.
My body tenses up for a split second. My eyes open and I’m staring at her, unable to say anything. How the hell could I forget something like that? I sit up and hold her balanced. “I did?” I ask.
She whispers, “Yes, Michael. It’s okay. I get it. You were in the moment. You got carried away.”
“Wait.” I grab her as she tries to slip away from my grasp. “Don’t do that.”
“I don’t want to talk about this. It seems like whenever we get somewhere, we always hit a roadblock. Maybe if we just, like, remain silent about things, we can finally be happy,” she says.
“I love you, Emily,” I say the words as if I’ve always known they were true. I love you. I never thought I’d be saying those words to anybody else, ever again. I thought I’d be a lonely carpenter, until I died, just waiting for the day I could watch my daughter walk down that aisle, or graduate from college, or have a child of her own. I never did things the right way. I thought she could. She could be the one to live a good life.
“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it,” she whispers. She’s damaged. I’m damaged. Fuck. We’re all damaged in this life, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have options to turn it all around.
“I mean it,” I say. I grab her waist and pull her closer. “I love you, Emily Carter.”
I wait for her to say it back. Her eyes dart from side to side. Does she believe me? Probably not. She’s dealt with a lot of hurt from her last boyfriend. Every single day he must have woken up and told her he loved her, right before telling her what he needed her to do that day.
She falls into my arms. Not a word is said. I don’t need her to say anything. Not yet, at least. I just need her to be here with me. I just need her to hold on a little longer, until we figure this all out. The trust will come. I have faith in this and faith in myself.
“Just see a doctor,” she whispers, shaking her head.
There are ways to get to where you want. Sometimes, all it takes is opening your eyes a bit wider and seeing what’s in front of your face. Other times, it’s falling on your ass and realizing just how much she’s worth. I feel it for the first time in forever. Love. I feel love.
Emily
My phone buzzes loudly on the desk near my bed. “Don’t answer it,” comes the voice of Michael, who has managed to sneak his way into my bed for the second night in a row. It’s hard to say no when a man as good looking as him tells you that he loves you.
I refrain from being loud and grab my phone, when he sounds like he’s asleep again. It’s five o’clock in the morning and I can’t help but wonder who could be calling me this early. I open my phone and adjust my eyes to the brightness of the screen. I click on “missed calls” and see it, the number I never thought I’d see again.
Dennis Aguilar. My tormenter. My nightmare. The one and only narcissist in my life. One missed call. No new voicemails. There is just the looming threat, the darkened cloud over my head. I have been found. Of course, I have. I guess I knew he’d find me sooner or later, but I just blocked the thought out of my head once I met Michael.
“Who was it?” Michael turns and looks at the screen, over my shoulder. I click the phone closed and remain calm.
“No one. Just a random number,” I lie.
“Probably a debt collector or something. They always call in the morning,” he groans.
“I thought you were asleep,” I say.
“We have to get up in an hour for work. Now that I’m up, I might as well stay that way,” he says.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I sit up and look over at my phone again. The screen stares back at me. I feel such a sense of dread, unlike anything else I’ve experienced. All the pain I experienced is now going to come back in my life.
But when Michael puts his arms around my chest, I feel safe. For once, someone can be there for me, can protect me. I close my eyes and enjoy the moment. I just bathe in the moment. “You’re so strong,” I whisper. “It makes me feel good.”
“Are you scared?” he asks me.
“About what?” I start to wonder if he knows, but how could he?
“I don’t know. I just feel like you’re tense. Maybe it’s about us,” he says.
“It’s not,” I assure him. “Just, you know, we’ve been through a lot in the last few days. I’m actually excited we can tune out at work for a bit.”
“Yeah, me too. I’ve got a lot I need to take care of,” he says. He rolls out of bed, but not before grabbing my ass at least ten different times.
When he’s up, he’s as hard as a rock. He grabs his boxer briefs and I watch as he slides them over his shaft. “You’re a bastard,” I smile.
“The one and only,” he laughs.
We get dressed and drive over to work. The whole time, Michael is next to me. I feel my phone vibrate. I look up to see if he has noticed anything, but he hasn’t. He’s continuing with his work, just going over plans and
glancing over at me every now and then. My heart is beating, black and porous. The darkness is creeping over me, inch by inch.
“I have to go upstairs and look over some things,” Michael says. “You guys good?”
“Of course,” I say, starting to sweat a little.
Hanson looks at him and gives a thumbs-up sign. “All good, boss.” He smiles.
“Alright, I’ll be down in an hour.”
The shop is silent, spare for the small boombox that is currently playing Shania Twain’s “Still the One.” Perfect. I stop what I’m doing for two seconds and grab my phone. I open it and see the text message: “It’s Dennis. We need to talk.”
That’s all it reads. I slam the phone into my purse and close my eyes. I try and focus on good things like being with Michael or having a steady paycheck for once in my life. There’s also little Lisa, who has a pure heart. Yet, slammed against all of that is the bad. There’s Dennis, Susan, and the unknown future that is completely stacked against me.
“What’s wrong?” Hanson asks without even glancing up at me.
“Nothing,” I tell him. I grab my tools and attempt to drill, but I completely mess it up, slipping against the smooth wood.
“Stop working for one second,” he says.
“We have a deadline.” I scowl. “I can’t stop. There’s not enough time.”
Hanson stands up and slams his palm against the table. “Stop it. What the hell is going on?”
“Why do you even care, Hanson?” I ask him. “I feel like I’ve already brought enough drama into the workplace. I’d rather just keep my mouth shut and continue working until something gives.”
“Your work is suffering because of it, which is whatever. I can do your job twice as fast as you, so I’m not too worried about that. What’s worse is that Michael’s work is suffering because of whatever the hell is going on. You’ve both missed days here. I was the one who had to pick up the slack. I’m not your lackey. I don’t get paid enough for that shit,” he says. He’s angry, but it’s the kind of anger you’re forced to empathize with. He’s being honest. No jokes, no humor, just honesty.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. I lean back in my chair and laugh to myself. He glances at me, confused as hell. “I’m not laughing at you or anything. I just think I’m kind of going crazy.”
“Because of Susan or something?” he asks me.
“No, it’s more than that. Susan is a mean person, but I think she’s a bit easier to deal with than Michael thinks. Though, sometimes, I think maybe I shouldn’t have come here. Maybe I should have left to somewhere else,” I tell him.
“You have to give me more than this. You’re speaking in riddles here. What is really going on here?” he asks me, one last time.
“It’s my ex. He’s not a good person, and I mean it. He’s much worse than Susan. I don’t want to go into the things he’s done to me, but I left because of him,” I say. “He found me. He somehow got my number and now he’s texting me. He keeps calling. I don’t know what to do. I’m freaking out.”
Hanson quietly walks over to the small fridge in the corner. He opens it and grabs two beers. He pops both of them open with a lighter and sits next to me. “You need a drink,” he says, handing me a bottle.
“Thanks,” I sigh. But the beer doesn’t help me all that much and just makes me more anxious.
“Have you answered any of the calls?” he asks.
“No. I’ve just been trying not to think about it, but every time I put it out of my mind, I feel the vibration go off,” I tell him.
“Yeah. You’ll have to address the issue sooner or later. Want my suggestion?” he asks.
“I welcome any help.” I laugh.
“Tell Michael. Go through this with him. If you guys are getting as serious as I think you are, you’re going to have to figure this out. Sometimes, running away works. Other times, it comes back to bite you in the ass, harder than you’ve ever been bitten,” he says. I laugh a little, but I understand exactly what he’s saying. “It sounds much kinkier than it is,” he says.
“You’re right. I need to be honest with him. I need to figure all this shit out,” I say.
He nods in agreement. “Once you do, things will feel a hell of a lot lighter. You’ll be able to face the Susan shit, and all of issues that come with this business will eventually get solved because they always do. Don’t stress about any of that stuff. Focus on fixing one issue at a time. You got this, girl.” He holds up a fist for me to pound, so I do it and we both laugh.
Michael comes in the room and immediately notices Hanson, sitting next to me, while finishing his beer. “Break time already?” he asks. The tone isn’t happy, but Hanson shrugs it off.
“Just helping out the newbie,” he says.
“Sorry,” I mouth at Michael. He shrugs and sits back down.
As the hours pass, I feel myself gravitate toward my phone. By the fifth vibration, I know I’ve got a real problem on my hands. He’s not going to let up. I’m going to have to tell Michael, of course. Then, I can go ahead and tell Michael the situation.
The words flash on my screen. “Call me. I’m in town.” My heart sinks as the garage door opens. It’s time to go home and Michael has his arms around my waist in no time. “Ready?” he asks me.
I hesitate, as I grab my purse. What do I say? I can’t go home with Michael tonight. I can’t face this at all angles. I need time to myself. “Yeah, I’m ready,” I finally say. “But I’m pretty beat. I think I’m just going to go to bed.”
“You don’t look that tired,” he eyes me.
“Well, it’s been a rough couple of days. I think I’m just going to go home and sleep,” I say.
“No worries,” he says. The words come out slowly, as he thinks of an argument to make for coming over. “You sure you just want to be alone? Is there something wrong?”
“I’m sure,” I say. “Just tonight, at least. I don’t know. Maybe I’m about to start my period or something.”
No man can argue against that. He nods to himself and walks me to my car. “Well, get home safe. Text me or something later,” he says, looking a bit defeated.
I open the car door and get inside. I put the key in the engine and turn it, yet I don’t close my door. The guilt starts to push up into my body. I look at him as he taps on my door to say goodbye. “Hey,” I whisper. “Don’t look so bummed.”
“I’m not. Honestly, I have a lot of paperwork to get through if I’m going to fix this place up,” he says.
“So it works out,” I add.
“Yeah,” he says, stone-faced.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” I smile.
“See you,” he says. He leans in the car to kiss me. I feel the weight of it all, heavy against my heart. I feel his strength against me. His lips press against mine and the whole world fades into the absolute. Michael is my one-guy, the person I’ve been waiting to come swoop me off my feet. I can’t dive into that fully yet. First, comes the absolute annihilation of the past. I need to settle the score, I guess.
Michael pulls back, taps on my door one last time, and walks back inside. I shut the door and slowly pull out of his driveway. I drive in the opposite direction of my house. I drive until I reach the old skate rink, the place he took me to not that long ago. It feels like a lifetime ago when all of this was just getting started. Now, I’m sitting here, feeling a hell of a lot wiser about things. Love is fucking hard, no matter what. Even if it’s perfect, you’re going to run into some obstacles.
I pick up my phone and click on the text. “Call me. I’m in town.” I hit the number and listen as my phone connects. It rings against my ear. Within each palpitation of silence is a heavy reminder that Dennis won’t end this with a simple closing conversation. Closure is not what he’s after. I’m guessing that he’s not going to stop this charade until he gets me back.
But that can’t happen. I’m not going back. I’ve started something real here and I’m not about to give that all up.
>
Click. “Emily. Hey.” His voice sounds groggy and different on the phone. I don’t say anything back. Suddenly, we’re both sitting in silence, listening to one another’s quiet breaths. “You going to stay something?” he asks me, after a full minute passes.
“What do you want, Dennis?” I ask him, desperate for him to leave me be.
“Just hear me out,” he says. Whenever those words are uttered from a man, I never want to listen. I always instinctually tune him out. It can be a fault, but in this case, it’s a good defense mechanism.
“Say what you need. I’m not going back to Chicago,” I tell him.
“I’m not asking for that. I’m asking for…” He stops himself, as if to think about his next words very carefully. “I’m asking for help.”
“Help? How could I possibly help you?” I ask him.
“I’m not well,” he says. Bullshit, I think to myself. He’s always been the first to say how well and capable he is. Now, after I’ve been gone for some time, he’s changing the story? Of course he is.
He continues, “I’m not asking you to do anything, really. I’m just asking for a bit of your time. Can you meet me for coffee tomorrow?” he asks me.
“Why did you follow me, Dennis? Do you realize how fucking creepy that is?” I ask, ignoring his request.
“I get it. But I’m going through some therapy right now and the doctor said it would be good to talk to you about things. I know I owe you a lot,” he says.
I laugh out of frustration. Pain. Anger. The whole lot of it swells up inside me. “You don’t owe me shit,” I say. “Well, actually. You owe me silence. You owe it to me to leave me the fuck alone.”
“I owe you more than that,” he says. “Which is why I’m asking you to meet me tomorrow. Don’t worry. I’m not trying to pull any shit. I’m trying to make things right.”
“I’m seeing someone,” I blurt out.
“Oh,” he says. There’s no indication of any calm in his voice. There’s no anger either. There’s just the silent whistle coming from his nose, as he breathes erratically. He’s never been a good actor, but he knows when to control himself if there’s some potential gain at the end of the road. I just can’t imagine what he thinks he could win from me.