Keep Me Still

by Caisey Quinn

  He hit him. His own father hit him so hard his head turned to the side.

  I reach a hand up to my own face because I can feel his pain as if it were my own. This is why he doesn’t talk about him. Why he tenses up about at any mention of his dad, of football, or anything related to either. It makes so much sense I feel like a self-centered moron for not catching on sooner. I was so consumed by protecting my own secrets I never bothered trying to figure out his.

  Aunt Kate drags me out of the kitchen, but when we get to the front door, I can’t leave. I can’t just walk out on the boy who kept me still, who whispered in my ear that I was safe, who calmed me when no one else could or cared to.

  “Give me a few minutes? Please?” I beg as she walks out the front door, pulling her keys from her purse. “At least let me say goodbye and make sure he’s okay.”

  She huffs out a breath. “Five minutes.”

  I can’t believe he’s been living like this. I need to see him, need to hold him and tell him it’s okay. Even though it obviously isn’t. I need to do…something.

  “Ten. Please? You saw…”

  She closes her eyes. And then she looks up for a second before answering. “Tell him he can come stay at the house if he needs to. At least until his dad sobers up.”

  I nod, grateful she’s not making a fuss. “Okay. I will. Thank you.”

  I shut the door quietly behind her before turning to head back into the room of doom even though my every instinct is shouting at me not to.

  It’s as if the house has become attuned to the tension. That or Landen and his dad carry it between them like an invisible aura that permeates everything it touches. Each step I take towards the kitchen pulls me into to thicker, heavier airspace. My heart pounds forcefully against my chest as I turn the corner back into the violent atmosphere I just escaped. Or was dragged from.

  Landen’s mom is at the refrigerator, eyes closed as she wrings a green plaid dishtowel in her hands. Her lips move in a silent prayer and I want to scream at her to do something.

  The boy I’ve only seen this worked up after soccer games stands with his bright green eyes blazing and his chest expanding noticeably with each breath. Glancing down I can see that his fists are clenched.

  The Colonel is leaning almost lazily on the counter for support but as I come around to the side I can see the sneer on his face. They’re in some type of standoff. Waiting for the other one to make a move so all hell can break loose. Each daring the other to start something that will end in bloodshed. I want to scream and cry all at once. Mostly I want to bash Landen’s asshole of a dad over the head with the heaviest object I can find.

  No one has so much as glanced in my direction. I can practically taste the adrenaline and testosterone surging through the room. Around me, into me.

  “Hit me again,” Landen says so low I almost don’t hear over the blood rushing in my head. “Like you mean it this time. Hit me while I’m looking instead of when my head is turned.” His voice is lethal, laced with pure hatred but something else too. A sadness maybe. Confusion. Or hurt.

  His own father . My mind is struggling to comprehend the very idea that any man wouldn’t be bursting with pride at having a son like Landen.

  “Landen,” I whisper. My voice barely carries itself to him. His head turns and his eyes widen at the sight of me standing there. If his dad uses this opportunity to catch him off guard again, so help me, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  The Colonel lets out a noise, it might be a word, under his breath but I can’t make it out.

  “Maybe you boys should go to your separate corners. You’re scaring poor Layla to death.” His mom forces a smile and huffs out a breath as if it’s all in good fun. Before anyone has time to do anything, the Colonel turns and staggers around Landen and walks out the back door. I flinch when it slams but I was expecting it so it doesn’t cause any tremors to come.

  But Landen’s rage flares anyways. “The next time he slams something or does anything to cause Layla to so much as blink too much, I’m fucking killing him,” he says to his mom before turning towards me.

  Our gazes collide as he comes towards me. The heat in his sends fire scorching through my veins. I want to grab him, kiss him. Tell him this isn’t his fault. That there’s something majorly messed up with his dad. I want to beg him to come home with me and never come back to this awful place again. The place where he should be safe and loved and isn’t.

  My hands ache to touch him but the force field created by his residual hostility holds me back. “I’m going downstairs,” is all he says before he walks out, leaving me alone in a sea of awkwardness with his mom.

  Looking at her, I know she can probably see the questions in my eyes. She doesn’t meet mine as she speaks. “He’s not a bad man, just… stressed. He’ll go out to the shed and blow off steam. Landen’s probably downstairs in the den doing the same. They’ll be over it by tomorrow.” She lifts her shoulder slightly and rolls her eyes. “Men.” She offers me an apologetic smile but her eyes hold the truth. I don’t smile back. I know what she’s doing. Trying to make light of something very dark.

  How long has she been doing that? My stomach plummets at the thought of a little boy with messy dark hair and tear-filled green eyes being kicked around like a junkyard dog.

  “Okay,” I choke out over the lump that’s formed in my throat. “Thank you for dinner. I’m going to go down and say goodbye.”

  “Door’s down the hall on your left,” is all she says.

  When I find the door on the left, I think his mom must be mistaken. Or I chose the wrong one. It’s pitch black and I’m gripping the handrail to get down the stairs without falling and breaking my neck. “Landen?” I whisper into the darkness.

  “Over here. Take five steps and make a right. Put your hands out.” His voice is thick and low. Wounded. Angry. I do as I’m told until I feel a well-worn leather couch beneath my hands.

  I reach until I feel him and lower myself onto the seat beside him. Minutes pass and neither of us says a word. Until I can’t take it anymore. “That happen a lot?”

  “Depends on what you mean by a lot.”

  “Jesus, Landen. That’s not okay. He hit you.” I find his arm and wrap mine around it, leaning over into him. I don’t know how to comfort him, how to make it better. But God I want to so badly.

  “It happens,” is all he says. His voice is raw and broken and it sends a painful sensation crashing over me. Peels away my skin and leaves my nerves exposed.

  I want to climb on top of him. Kiss him, devour him. Fix him. Make it better, like he does for me. I take a few deep breaths and turn towards him. I can’t see it, but I know that muscle in his jaw is probably flexing. Know his fists are clenched.

  “I’m so sorry.” I reach up and place my arms around his neck, pulling him to me, yanking him into a hug he may not want but I need.

  He snorts out a small laugh. “You’re sorry? What the hell, Layla? Don’t apologize because my dad was a drunken asshole and disrespected you. That just makes it worse. I should’ve made the bastard spit teeth.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have. He’s drunk, like you said. No amount of hitting will fix that.”

  “Might be worth a shot,” he grumbles and pulls back. I open my mouth to protest but he lays his head in my lap and lets out sigh.

  I rake my fingers through his hair for several minutes. “Does it hurt?” I ask, lowering my hand and tracing lightly over his jaw. It’s too dark to see if it’s bruised but I can feel that it’s swollen. My tears catch in my throat. Crying won’t help him. Plus I never cry in front of anyone. Haven’t since I was a kid.

  “Not too bad. I can take it.”

  “You shouldn’t have to,” I answer, my voice barely above a whisper. I wipe the solitary tear that escaped onto my cheek.

&nbs
p; “Neither should you. Not from him or anyone. Listen, that shit at school, the way everyone—”

  “Shh.” I shake my head, even though I know he can’t see. “I can handle it.”

  “Say the word and I’ll set every single one of them fucking straight. I’ve already warned Cam and DW. If you so much as hear anyone whisper Freaky Flaher—”

  “Landen. Enough. I’m fine. It doesn’t bother me anymore. Not since…” Not since you came. Since you saw me. “Since you.”

  For a full minute he’s silent and completely still. I’m almost afraid I’ve shocked him into a coma. And then something warm and unexpected presses against my inner thigh. Holy Lord. Landen just kissed me on the leg. He’s never even kissed my mouth. I want to him to. I want him to so badly I can’t stand it. It’s all I can do not to grab him and drag his face to mine. But with the tension from tonight’s dramatic events and the mention of the way things are for me at school…our pain is out in the open instead of buried where we normally keep it. And it’s leaking out into the room and suffocating me.

  Part of me doesn’t want him to kiss me for the first time right now because I don’t want the memory tainted by how much we’re both hurting. And part of me doesn’t want him to because in this moment, with his secrets right on the surface, I’d give him anything. Everything. If he kissed me right now, it wouldn’t stop there.

  And we both know I’m not ready for that.

  My breath hitches as he places another kiss on my thigh, higher this time. His right hand inches up my dress, gently caressing my leg as he goes.

  A steady pulse begins somewhere inside of me and lands at the juncture between my thighs, just below his head.

  “Landen,” I breathe.

  His lips tickle my flesh as he speaks. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

  My mouth forms the word but doesn’t say it. The sound of my own breathing fills my ears. His lips are parted this time when they come into contact with my inner thigh and I can feel the wetness of his tongue coming closer to my panties. A small whimpery sound escapes my throat and he grips me harder, his hand coming closer to touching me in a place I’ve never been touched.

  This is not smart. We should definitely stop. Except…it feels like he needs this. Needs me. A distraction. Something good to come out of being blindsided by an angry drunk that’s supposed to love him. Protect him. Instead of being the one he needs protection from.

  And I’m aching for him to touch me. All reason is fleeing the room leaving nothing in the space we occupy other than want. Need.

  His fingers graze the edge of my panties as he places another gentle open-mouthed kiss on my inner thigh. And another. He’s waiting for permission. He won’t push any further without it.

  I let my hands twist in his hair and try to think straight.

  I’ve never been kissed and I’m about to let him put his fingers inside me. Or go down on me. Or both. Whatever he’s about to do, I’m about to let him. I’ve heard girls talking about it in the locker room and on the bus. I know what it is. I live in the world. It just never sounded all that appealing until right this moment.

  “You can touch me,” I say softly into the darkness.

  “Layla,” he groans, pulling his hand back a few inches.

  “I want you to.” It’s true. I’m ready. Ready for all of it. As long as it’s with him. I trust him. I’m high from the realization. Or maybe from his hands and mouth touching me in between my legs. Both probably.

  “Layla, your aunt’s ready to go,” his mom calls from the top of the stairs.

  I nearly have a heart attack right that second.

  The intimacy between us snaps, slapping us both back to reality. Landen sits up so fast he nearly headbutts me. “Oh God. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I don’t know what I was—”

  “It’s fine. Stop.” I grab his hand and squeeze as I stand up and smooth my dress down over my thighs. “I have to go. I’ll call you later.” My legs tremble beneath me as I try to make my way around the couch through the darkness.

  “I think that’s supposed to be my line.” There’s a hint of laughter in his voice and it makes me smile. This Thanksgiving wasn’t such a bust after all.

  “Very funny.”

  He stands and starts to walk to the stairs beside me. “I’ll walk you out.”

  As much as I don’t want to leave him, I don’t want him to have another run-in with his dad even more. “Stay. I’m a big girl. I can find my own way out.”

  “I’m not afraid of him.” The evenness of his tone makes me sad. He’s really not afraid. He’s completely accepted the fact that his own flesh and blood could jack his jaw just for the heck of it at any time.

  Placing a hand on his chest, I press him back towards the couch. “I know you’re not. But I think we’ve both had enough excitement for one night. Don’t you?”

  He sits and I can feel his head at my waist. “Maybe.”

  I run my fingers through his hair one last time. “Happy Thanksgiving, Landen.”

  He snorts out loud. “Right.”

  “Hey. Don’t do that. I got to see you. Normally holidays are Stove Top from the microwave or pizza in front of the television. We don’t go too crazy since it’s just the two of us. But I got to see you, so it’s good. I’m happy.”

  “You are?” There’s an emotion thickening his voice that I don’t have a name for.

  “Not that your dad is such a jerk, but that I got to be with you. Yes.”

  “That helps,” he says so low I almost don’t hear.

  “Hey, my aunt said you could come to the house and stay for a while. If you want.” My eyes are finally adjusting, and I can see that he’s leaning back into the couch with his head tilted back.

  “I can’t leave my mom. If I’m not here when’s he’s…I just can’t leave her.”

  His words wrench something loose inside of me. Landen the protector. Mine and his mom’s. I can’t kiss him goodbye on the mouth because if I do I’ll never leave and Aunt Kate will have to come drag me out. But I can’t just walk out either. Not after everything.

  Leaning over from behind him, I slide my arms down his chest and press my mouth to his abused jaw in a whisper of kiss. I let my lips graze the side of his face from his jawline to his temple before placing a lingering kiss on his forehead.

  I don’t know how exactly, but somehow I know it’s enough.

  Three weeks later, neither of us has mentioned the events of Thanksgiving. But things are different. Easier somehow. The high school marching band goes by, playing our school fight song. Landen’s arms wrap me from behind, and I’m dizzy from inhaling his cologne and clean soap smell. His full lips barely graze the side of my neck, just above my scarf, and my knees go weak. He’s getting braver. Probably because I never stop him. I press my backside closer against him, relishing in the closeness.

  “Easy,” he mumbles into my ear, the deep soft cadence of his voice sending a shockwave of pleasure vibrating through my core.

  “I’m really not,” I say, twisting around so I can grin at him.

  “Tell me about it,” he grumbles, squeezing me tighter around the waist.

  I giggle as I turn back to watch the parade. Landen O’Brien has turned me into a girl that giggles. Wonders never cease. It’s cold out, colder than usual this time of year, but in Landen’s arms I’m warm. Safe. The safest I’ve felt since my parents held my hands moments before a stranger took them from me.

  I’m so grateful for him in this moment that I barely stifle a shudder at the thought of how I almost lost him. Almost didn’t let him in. I tried to push him away after Homecoming. But he wouldn’t be pushed. He showed up every day to drive me to school. Stalked me to every doctor’s appointment. Okay, maybe not stalked, but showed up and refused to leave my side. Pestered me to death
in class, until I couldn’t avoid him anymore. And then his own dark secret came out on Thanksgiving, and much to many a cheerleader’s dismay, I was his and he was mine.

  I see the darkness in him, and the light, and I want it all. And tonight I’m going to tell him. That I love him and I’m ready. I want him to be my first kiss, and maybe when we’re both ready—or when I’m ready because I’m pretty sure he was ready like yesterday —the first man I sleep with.

  I’ve almost had two seizures since Homecoming. One when two sophomores got into a fight next to my locker and one of them banged his head on a metal door beside me. And another time when they shot off fireworks I wasn’t expecting after our last home football game. Both times Landen was there, wrapping his arms around me like they are now and whispering in my ear.

  “You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

  Both times he kept me still. The tremors came and went but no full-blown seizures like before. Even the doctors can’t explain it in medical terms. But they think my PTSD stems from being afraid of what was about to happen to me, from feeling unsafe and alone. Landen is my cure. I snuggle into him even closer, and a satisfied yet pained groan escapes his throat.

  My stomach is tied in knots of anticipation at the thought of Landen’s mouth on mine, his tongue inside of me. I’m nervous and a little scared. Scared of crossing a line I’ll never be able to come back from. Scared it will change things. He’s my best friend—heck, my only friend if I’m being honest—and I can’t imagine my life without him.

  But right now, with his body pressed against mine and his breath on my neck, I can’t imagine anything that would ever separate us.

  He knows about my parents, my seizures, and I know about his dad. Something about knowing each other’s darkest, ugliest truths has made us even closer than any kiss ever could.

  And we’re both going to UGA next year—together. Staring at his hands, I wish we didn’t have gloves on so I could feel his skin now. But I know I will later. A little shiver passes through me and he leans down and murmurs into my ear again.