All of You All of Me

by Claudia Burgoa

  After a long kiss he places his forehead on top of mine. “Your eyes. They are shining like a bright flame. As if illuminating the dark sky.” Hunter smiles, his hands wrap around my back. “I think I finally found the missing piece of my heart.”

  If I had known our night would end up like this, I wouldn’t have suggested to have dinner. Maybe I’d have made time for a Brazilian. There are spider webs growing down there from the lack of use. Also, I’d choose waxing any day over baring my feelings to a man. Shit, I’d take a root canal. I need novocaine to numb the turmoil going on inside my head after what he uttered. A part of me trusts him blindly, the other wants to run away. This is too much, too fast.

  The air disappears from the room. I stop breathing as he holds me tight to him. His heart beating against mine, our bodies almost becoming one. The situation and his words are suffocating me.

  Run, I warn, escape before you’re caught in the swirling motion of the messy feelings that you won’t handle well.

  Jetting off isn’t an option as I’m almost naked in his room.

  Fuck me! I scream inside my head.

  The awkward morning after is far easier to handle than what’s happening between us. Instead of fucking me, he’s undressing my soul. Caressing the raw, aroused feelings fluttering as timidly as wounded butterflies. Confused by the sweetness of his tone, I take a step backward, escaping his muscular arms. I can’t fall. What if he isn’t one of the good guys? What if he leaves me broken? What if he realizes I don’t belong? No one has been able to love me. My parents are on the top of the list. At my age, I’m too old to have mommy and daddy issues, but their continuous rejection has left me crippled inside.

  Gather your shit, keep your mouth shut, and leave.

  Clearing my throat, I squat to pick up my clothes, not breaking our eye contact. I’m a trained actress who can portray anyone—even a cold princess. Don’t break character. His dark blue eyes open wide. Those perfectly delineated lips are pressed against each other.

  “I think it’s better if I leave.”

  He frowns, his head tilts back slightly. A deep exhale leaves his hardly opened mouth along with the words, “Am I going too fast?”

  I nod once, amused by his bashful tone.

  “Get to know her first,” he says with a chuckle. I raise an eyebrow. “That’s what you said when we met.”

  Right, when he witnessed the smudge-mascara-struggling-loser actress losing her shit.

  Extending his hand, he cracks a smile. “Hunter Nicholson Everhart.” We shake hands. “I’m a serial monogamist.”

  “We should work on your problem,” I suggest, sagging with relief, worried he cast a spell on me and I almost gave too many pieces of myself to this unknown man. “One ‘one-night stand’ at a time.”

  “What if instead we get to know each other?”

  How about no, you don’t want to know the real Willow—no one does. My parents avoid me. My sister sticks around because I cared for her since she was small. I shielded her against the rejection our parents put us through.

  There’s a knock on the door. “Hunt?” I jolt, when a voice comes from behind it. “Hunter, are you home?”

  “Yes, what’s going on?” he responds, fixing his pants.

  “Harrison’s trying to reach you.”

  Hunter swipes his forehead, reaching for his phone. Mumbling under his breath, he taps the screen several times. “Thank you, Scott. Where’s Fitz?”

  “Are you feeling okay, bro?”

  The handle wiggles but thankfully it’s locked. Immediately, I redirect my attention to my clothing: skirt, bralette, blouse, and shoes. As I dress, I glance at my body. Chiding myself for letting the walls fall so easily while I hurry. Though, I want to drag myself under the covers, I have to leave this place right now. What wouldn’t I give to be able to hide from him and whoever is behind the door?

  “Little Hazel texted, too,” the somber voice announces, my ears perk. Why is my sister messaging?

  “Is she okay?” Hunter gives me a quick look and opens the door when he realizes I’m dressed.

  “Yes, she wanted me to give you a message.” The man behind the door releases a loud laugh. Who opened GQ magazine and brought this man to life? Hunter is adorable, handsome, and feels like home. This man is the opposite. He’s an inch taller than Hunter with green-blue eyes surrounded by a few wrinkles. His hair is a shade or two lighter from Hunter’s brown hair. The broad shoulders, his dominant posture, and his arms littered with tattoos say attractive, serious, dangerous, and a bit of a bad boy. “Tell Hunter to keep his pants on, tonight.”

  I can’t believe Hazel texted that. Who does she think I am? If she weren’t at school in North Carolina, I’d give her a piece of my mind.

  “You must be the famous Willow,” he says, turning to me. He sizes me up and nods. “Scott Everhart. It is finally nice to meet Hazel’s big sister.”

  Hunter shoots him a killing glare. “You delivered your messages. Time to make yourself scarce, big brother.”

  “When you get tired of him, come and visit me.” He winks at me as Hunter shoves him out of his room and shuts the door.

  “How old are you?” I suddenly feel self-conscious. What if he’s much younger, and I’m robbing the cradle.

  “Twenty-eight.” His shoulders sag. “You’re seriously calling this a night?”

  “What do you suggest we do?” I grab my purse, sure that he wouldn’t find anything for me to do. “Sex is off the table. I can’t do this. Either casual or committed, I just can’t handle something so intimate. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking when I agreed to come to your place.”

  “A musical,” he proposes with a slight head bob. I’m guessing he understands my predicament. “You mentioned you like to watch those.”

  My attention moves toward him. Now he’s talking my language. “What kind of musical?” I observe him as he saunters to the table in front of the television. This room is humongous. For New York standards Hunter lives in a mansion. The penthouse is on the top floor of one the buildings across from Central Park. It’s a lot like my grandfather’s place. Compared to my former shack in Queens, these are palaces.

  You’re out of place, Willow. You don’t belong here. Leave now.

  “What’s your favorite musical?”

  The Prince and the Pauper? My mistake, that hasn’t been turned into a movie—or a musical. It’d be our story if I stay any longer. How does it end? Hmm. I know the premise, but I don’t think I ever read the story. My neglectful parents never read that one to us. They limited our experience to books that showed everyone was equal. I’m all about equality and diversity. Yet, I wish I had gone to school since I was little like Hazel did. Being homeschooled during my early years transformed me into an outsider. I never understood how to navigate high school.

  I wished my parents had stayed around to teach me how to navigate life. Like right now, when there’s a man who I happen to like. Yet, there are those strange feelings that make my entire body hurt. I don’t know how to recognize or channel them. I feel the need for release before I explode into a million pieces.

  “Chicago, Sweeny Todd, The King and I, The Wizard of Oz?” He scrolls through the screen.

  “I could watch The Wizard of Oz.”

  A boyish smile appears on his handsome face. He opens the door of the credenza, showing a line of cans. “Something to drink?”

  “You have a fridge in here?”

  “My brothers refurbished my room when I was twelve.”

  “You were serious. You didn’t leave your room often.”

  “Try never,” he confirms. “I developed agoraphobia after my parents died. My brothers tried to accommodate my needs.”

  Having my parents traveling all around the world is much different than losing them. The way I see it, he’s had it rougher than I did. For tonight, I’m going to set my feelings aside. Stay with him for a few hours, at least until after the movie is over. Once I leave, I won’t look back. The uneasiness
he makes me feel is intolerable.

  RULES

  Some rules are old habits that people are afraid to break.

  ~ Therese Anne Fowler

  Hunter

  WILLOW. I LOSE myself in her deep green eyes. They’re mirrors to her soul where she hides infinite secrets. Everything about her pulls me in. I gravitate toward her. She’s like a shot of tequila mixed in a bottle of expensive whiskey. Delicious, easy to lose count of how much you’ve drank, and hard to regret when I come to my senses. She sleeps beside me, peacefully. The lines in her forehead are gone along with the worries she carries. Watching her breathing deeply makes me want to keep her with me.

  If only I could keep her inside the world I created long ago. I just don’t know if I’m capable of letting someone into my life outside of my brothers. It’s been only the four of us for so long. They don’t have to take care of their fragile brother. I stopped being that kid long ago. Yet, the fear of losing them won’t leave me. Having to think about another person, and how she can affect my psyche, scares me. Overthinking and rationalizing the distress she creates might take a few therapy sessions.

  Better yet, I can stay and finally let go of my apprehension for letting my guard down. Something about her calls to me. The romantic inside me wants to find out what it is that attracts me in such a way. I want so much more from her than I ever wanted from any other woman I’ve met. If my mother were alive she’d say something wise. Fuck, if Mom were alive I wouldn’t be such a fucking nutcase. Turning to the shelf above my bed, I grab the framed picture of her and Dad.

  It was taken Labor Day Weekend of 2001. We were celebrating my twelfth birthday. Their baby was only a year shy from becoming a teenager. Soon they’d be empty nesters. The jokes about their future rolled all weekend. Plans about selling the penthouse and moving to a deserted island after enduring not one, but four boys. We were a handful, they said.

  “Everhart boys are wonderful, beautiful, and caring. But they’re also dynamite ready to ignite and cause trouble everywhere they go.”

  My parents didn’t believe in favorites. Harrison, my oldest brother, insists I was Mom’s favorite. Only because I was her baby. I don’t know if I was or not. The only thing I knew when they died was that my world ended. It scared me to even go outside my room. No one would protect me. My parents had left, and there was evil outside the doors of the fortress they built for us. I believed the only place I would be safe is where they left me that morning: my bedroom.

  My brothers’ reactions were different. Though we had been raised by the same parents, the four of us are poles apart. Each one of us took their deaths hard. Harrison enlisted in the army. His mission was to kill the enemy, and avenge our parents. Scott, who was eighteen at the time, assumed responsibility of Fitzhenry and me. He didn’t do it alone. Jensen, who was Dad’s assistant for years, helped him. After my parents died, he remained by our side. He’s the Alfred to our Batman. Before you correct me, I know Bruce Wayne was an only child. My consolation while growing up was that we had Jensen. We consider him an uncle. He became a big part of our family when our long-distance relatives tried to assume custody of us and our inheritance. Scott was too young to do it alone. Harrison was too far away to help him with our greedy relatives. Fitz lost his shit and partied to forget. It was a miracle he graduated from high school. Although no matter how we coped, we forged a strong bond. We are broken in a way not many understand. None of us has found someone to love.

  Do we want to find that person?

  This is where I need some advice. If I call Harrison, he’ll tell me to send the bitch to where she came from or farther if possible. See, he once believed in love. We had the best example, our parents. It all stopped when the woman he wanted to marry cheated on him with his best friend while he was in Afghanistan. My brother came home, bought a ring, caught them fucking, and then went back to war. My other two brothers play the field. I think it’s because of what happened to Harrison, you’d be correct. At least that’s what I think. Scott had a girlfriend in high school but, since they broke up, he hasn’t cared for anyone else. They choose to avoid the pain. I’ve tried to follow their lead, but I can’t do it. There’s a need inside me that pushes me to know who I will be in bed with the next day. Not only that, it also has to be the same woman. All of this is to avoid feeling alone and isolated.

  To keep myself away from messy situations, I follow my rules. My number one rule is never to give my heart away. Easy to say and do, until I met her. The way Willow makes me feel goes beyond the laws of attraction and passion. It’s a whisper inside my head saying, seize the day. Like her persona, those words are beyond comprehension. The emotional side of my brain has an avid desire to understand what is happening between us. My logical side is fucking confused about my reactions. Nothing is normal. I’m fucking enjoying the abnormality of what’s happening between the two of us.

  Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I text the one person who can answer my questions, as well as cut my balls off if I fuck up her sister.

  HUNTER: What’s with the message you sent last night?

  HAZEL: Hm?

  HUNTER: Keep it in your pants.

  She sends the crying as it laughs emoji. I reply with a red, angry face.

  HAZEL: Cool it, Hunt. I can’t believe Scott went through with it.

  HUNTER: Explain.

  HAZEL: While he was helping me with my homework via Skype, I told him the two of you were out on a date. He said he’d cockblock you. I guess he did.

  HUNTER: I want to kill my brothers.

  HAZEL: Hush! I love them all so don’t touch them.

  HAZEL: I need to run. I have to get ready for my seven o’clock class. What was I thinking when I put my schedule together?

  HUNTER: Transfer to Columbia University. It’s better than Duke.

  HAZEL: Convince the old man to pay for Columbia. Traveling every week isn’t as fun as it used to be.

  I wish Hazel would move back to New York full-time. Not dwelling on what I can’t fix, I head to the kitchen to prepare coffee and some breakfast for Willow and myself. As I enter, I find Fitz in front of the coffee maker pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  “You’re up early.” I walk toward the fridge, guessing I have to feed him, too. “Insomnia?”

  “I just arrived from a long night at the office,” he retorts, sighing. Looking over my shoulder, I realize he’s wearing a pair of slacks and a button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It shows a few of his tattoos. “The deal in Shanghai almost fell through.”

  “Do you need my help with it?” I grab the egg carton, bacon, and the hash browns.

  “No everything is under control. You can make me some breakfast.” He searches for the iron skillet inside the lower cupboards, places it on top of the stove. “I heard you went out on a date with Hazel’s sister.”

  Exhaling, I start cracking the eggs into a bowl. “Yeah, so?”

  “Do you think that’s smart?” He stands right next to me crossing his arms. “There’s a code somewhere where it says you can’t date her sister.”

  “You make it sound like there’s something between Hazel and me,” I protest.

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  I can’t deny the obvious. I love her, but it’s not like that. Cute Hazel Beesley is a sweetheart. Who wouldn’t adore her? My brothers and I fell in love with her from the moment we met. She’s like the annoying, smart-mouthed little sister that we never had.

  “Why would you care if I’m dating Willow?” I find a pan, spray it with oil and pour the egg batter in it. Then, place the bacon on the skillet he set on top of the stove. Clearing my throat, I continue to cook. “It’s none of your damn business.”

  “Because of that awkward moment when you have dinner with your ex’s sister?” I groan, ignoring his stupid reasoning.

  “You know I’m right. You’re a serial monogamist. You lose interest and then move on to the next one.”

  I want to disag
ree with him. Tell him this time is different. The signs indicate a change of heart. Considering I’ve talked about my family with her, there’s a slight chance we can last longer. I want to slap my hand on the counter. Tell him that we are not having this conversation. I have to think about my next move. Whatever Willow and I have going on is something worth exploring. There’s that little voice inside my head insisting I give us a chance.

  “Did Hazel agree to this?” I am about to cut him off, but he says nothing further. He’s pensive. Something is bothering him.

  “This was Hazel’s idea,” I add as a way to reassure him his best friend is the one behind the plan.

  He nods. “I have to shower. Save me some breakfast.” He turns around, leaving me to finish breakfast. From afar, I hear his voice.

  There’s no doubt he’s calling Hazel. Fitz adores her, losing his best friend because I’m an idiot isn’t an option. It wouldn’t happen. They are tight. If it wasn’t because she doesn’t have the correct hardware for my brother, they’d a wonderful couple. Turning off the fire, I realize no one has given me any actual advice. The only thing I can think about doing is navigating my relationship with Willow slowly. A new approach might bring a different result.

  THE STRATEGY

  The greatest act of rebellion these days is being a gentleman.

  ~ Anonymous

  Hunter

  A NEW APPROACH hasn’t done anything for me. It’s Friday, and I haven’t seen Willow since our date. She’s throwing me off kilter. But, nothing to worry about. I’ve got this.

  As a serial-monogamist, I know the dating game inside and out. I know what to do and what not to do during the first weeks to seal the deal: dinners at the most expensive restaurants, trips, galas, and shopping sprees. For the past three days, I’ve tried to woo Willow. She evaded me for two. The first one because she didn’t have cell service. Once she connected it, she said she’d be busy for the next couple of days. I called Hazel to ask once again for advice. She told me to rent a moving truck and get my ass to Queens.

  Not the suggestion I expected to hear, but I do as I was told. Impassively, Fitz joins me.