by J. R. Rogue
“For the night.” Her laugh is defeated. She shakes her head, stares at her hands. “You miss Tennessee?”
The air is crisp around us. I can feel it in my bones. “Every day. Why do you think I’m still here?”
“Me?” She looks up into my eyes. Her eyes are so dark, almost black.
“That, too. I don’t want to leave either of you.” Fuck. Did I just say that?
“What if we were both here? Permanently.” She reaches for my hands, and I rarely see her act tender. If her husband had a fraction of this and pushed her away, he’s an idiot. But maybe he didn’t have this.
“What are you saying?” I ask.
“I’ve been thinking about where I might settle down. Maybe Tennessee is where it’ll be.” Her voice is low, her cadence measured.
“I live in Georgia.” Way to state the obvious, you idiot.
“Forever?” She cocks her head.
“I don’t know.” It’s a question I don’t allow myself to answer or explore yet. Not out loud, anyway.
“We live in maybes, and I don’t knows.”
“You sure you’re not a poet, Sonnet?” She is. I wish she would embrace it. Maybe we could finish that song.
“I can be a poem. I can be one of those you break up, and read little pieces of every year.”
“What are you saying to me?” She’s speaking in riddles, and I’m pulling out the parts I like. I don’t want that. I want the meaning behind this.
Her brow is furrowed, and she seems like she’s speaking against her own thoughts. There’s a war in her head. “Sometimes I think I want you to think of me in a year. When your time is up. Sometimes I want to pretend this week didn’t happen.”
“When my time is up? I’m not in prison,” I reply.
“I know. I’m not calling your family a prison. I just know it’s something that’s keeping you from…” she hesitates, and I wonder if she is going to say my rules keep me from her. She doesn’t. “It’s keeping you from love.”
“Sonnet, I want you to know that I want to be near you, spend time with you. Maybe explore this. But I have people who depend on me.” I keep the defensiveness out of my tone. She isn’t the young girls I spent time with in the past. She’s more than that. She’s a friend, a lover. She’s something in between that I can’t quite put a label on.
“I know.” She smiles, but I see the fire in her eyes.
When we get back to my room, after a truck ride of silence, Sonnet backs me into the wall, and her hands are everywhere. My belt buckle, my shirt. My abs and my dick. Jesus. “Whoa, whoa, sparky.” I grab her hands, halting her.
“I want you. I’m tired of fighting with you.”
“I can see that. But I don’t want to leave here just as confused as we were before.” We have one night left, and then I’ll be driving home to Georgia. To my girls and my job. To my real life.
“We were never confused,” Sonnet argues. She’s had a drink since our return to the cabin, so her lips are loose. “We knew where we were. The void. Or somewhere else with zero visibility.”
“You would have made a cheery weather girl, if you chose that career path,” I tell her with a laugh. Laughing at her is one of my favorite hobbies. Might not be a favorite of hers, though.
She ignores me. “Instead I chose to write romance that wrecks lives.”
“We weren’t put here to write half-truths,” I remind her.
She beats herself up over the novel she wrote, the friendships she lost, and the town that shunned her. I think she set herself free. I’m putting my hurt feelings about being called forgettable in the past. I’m not going to live there anymore, because I know now it was bullshit.
“But that’s all we do,” she says.
“If you can figure out my puzzles, I’ll try to figure out yours.” I need her to take me up on that offer. I can’t go back to not knowing her. Not knowing she’ll call and we’ll talk more. I want to continue this week however I can.
“You gonna give me the key to them?” she asks.
I’ve distracted her. As much as I want her body, I’d rather talk this out. Even though we’ll continue to go in circles because I don’t have anything permanent to offer her. Not right now, at least. I have to hope the space she’s needing has a timer that will end when I’m ready to be open to a relationship. In about a year, when my youngest daughter is out of the house.
“I’ll give you whatever you want me to give you,” I say, knowing she won’t ask for more. Knowing she has to know better.
“That’s a lie,” she replies. “I was just trying to get something from you. You stopped that.”
I pull her to me. She immediately goes up on the tips of her toes, so I kiss her—long and exploring. She has a pretty mouth. White teeth and mauve lips. I feel her nose ring on my skin, trace her tattoos with my thumb as I press into her pulse, pulling her wrist behind my back.
She’s exploring again, but less rushed. I’ve succeeded in sobering her up.
We kiss for a few minutes. It’s a dance. Sonnet keeps trying to take my clothes off, and fuck if I’m not trying to stop her like some idiot.
Maybe I’m afraid I’ll get too much of her here in these mountains. I couldn’t get over our one-night stand. What’ll happen now that I’ve had the chance to touch her damn near every night? If she stayed in my bed every night? There are people you don’t get over easily. To others, they may not be exceptional; everyone is ordinary to many. But, Sonnet was never ordinary to me.
Finally, we break free. “That enough?”
“Just putting in time, eh?” she says, walking away from me. She makes her way to my bed, takes a seat. I could get used to her in my room, mixed with my stuff, her scent everywhere. Every time her hair moves, I get a whiff of it—coconut and some sort of spice. Sonnet smells like summer lingering into fall, the way it always does in Tennessee. There’s a bit more of the seasons here than in Georgia.
“Do you miss home at all?” I ask her.
“No.” After a moment, she says, “Yes. I have a bad relationship with home. Missouri is just pain—a cage. But sometimes you want to put yourself back in the cage you broke out of, you know? Because it’s comforting to know what to expect. Even if it hurts.”
“I think I know what you mean.” She always says out loud the shit I think inside.
“But seriously, do you miss Nashville? Is Georgia home?”
“They’re both home. I feel split in two,” I admit, and it’s a painful admission. I don’t want to tell anyone my plans for Nashville and my future, because what if they don’t come true?
“You split yourself in two. You compartmentalized your life. You did that to yourself, you know,” Sonnet jabs.
“I know. But it’s survival. You know the drill.”
“So, when do we stop surviving? When do we cut the bullshit and start living? Or do we just live in the words? Because on paper,” she smirks at the play on words, “that’s great. Everyone will think we lived louder than we did. Because we wrote it that way. We wrote what we wanted but didn’t actually go out there and get it.”
“What do you want to go out and get?” I need her to tell me. She’s so good at hiding when it comes down to just saying what she wants. But I think she might be tipsy enough to spill it.
“The world. It’s why I came here.”
“What are you getting here?” I ask.
“Fresh air. Art. Community. Friendship.” She stops there, but I want more.
“And?” I ask.
“You? You want me to say you, right?” Sonnet raises an eyebrow at me.
“Might feel good.” I shrug my shoulders, smile at her. But she isn’t smiling back.
“Might feel good for you, but what do I get out of it?” she asks. I know the tone. She’s shutting down, with just hours left between us.
“I don’t know.” It’s the truth. I don’t know what I can offer her.
“Well, when you know what you can offer me, let me know. Until t
hen, I think this needs to be goodnight. Promise me you’ll drive safe and that you’ll let me know you’ve arrived safely.” She sounds like a concerned friend, a casual acquaintance offering polite responses.
“Sonnet, what is this?”
She echoes my previous words. “It’s survival. You know the drill.” Then she’s gone, crossing the hall.
And I don’t follow.
Lovin’ You Against My Will
Sonnet
I’ll always be a dead-end to some men—that’s what I should know, what I’m avoiding.
If I leave my porch, I’ll hear Hunter strumming in his room, and if he’s trying to get me to listen to the words he might sing, that’s his problem. I’m ready for him to leave the cabin. To leave me and this. I escaped the noise in Missouri. Now I need to escape the noise here.
There’s no denying it now: I’m the noise. I’m the thunder and lightning. I’m the chorus, swelling. Hunter made me a song, but I’ve always been a storm.
The drink in my hand is warm. I take a sip, and it’s colder than I thought. It would be so easy to just drink it away. To hope the hangover won’t reach me in the morning. To cross the hall, fuck Hunter, and pretend we won’t part. Pretend his life has a place for me. Pretend we haven’t spent years skirting around this.
Brooklyn comes up the back lawn from the fire. She finds me outside, tears in my eyes. I wipe them away with the sleeve of my cardigan.
“What’s up? Oh shit, you’re crying. I’ll leave. God. Oops. Okay, bye.”
I laugh at her blubbering. “It’s fine. Sit.”
I can tell she doesn’t want to, probably because crying people are uncomfortable to be around. But I’m done crying.
“Anything you want to talk about? Because we can talk about it, but we can also not talk about it. Whatever floats your boat. I’m easy peasy lemon squeezy.” She laughs, but I can see I’m making her want to flee.
“No. I don’t want to talk about it.” I clear my throat, compose myself. When I speak again, my voice sounds normal-ish. “Let’s talk about you. How long have you been working here? Do you like it?”
“Two years.” She smiles, and I remember the jobs I had when I was her age. I hated all of them. She’s lucky. “And yeah, man. Sera’s a great boss. She really wants me to focus on schoolwork, and when y’all are writing, the main hall is a great place to study when I don’t want to be home alone. Because being out here in the woods can get creepy. That’s why I’m here all the time.” She throws out a nervous laugh.
“Well, the textbooks gave you away. I don’t think anyone assumed you were just being weird or anything.”
“I know. Did you go to college?” she asks.
“No,” I admit, and for some reason, it still holds a pang. It’s a regret. Maybe I would have found my way to writing sooner if I had more mentors in adulthood like I did in high school. Instead, I spent three years after high school partying, the after-effects of another familial heartbreak.
“It’s fucking hard,” Brooklyn says, more relaxed. “Sometimes, I just want to quit.”
“Don’t. You have the perfect setup here. A lot of people would kill for that. A boss who wants you to do schoolwork on the job? Forget about it, that’s a dream.”
“You’re right.”
“I would give anything to be where you are right now. Your age, all the possibilities. You’re lucky.” I would do so many things differently, in writing and in love.
“I know,” she says, and we linger in silence for a moment. The cabin is so empty and quiet. The back lawn is barren, but the fire still burns. “Hey, I’m going to go get something to drink. Want anything?”
“No,” I reply, pulling my knees to my chest. I don’t need any more alcohol to fuel my rage.
I’m buried in a blanket and my sweater when Brooklyn comes back. And she’s not alone. Sera’s with her, carrying two white mugs. Steam rises from them.
“Mmhmmm,” I offer in a way of greeting.
“Cocoa?” she asks.
“Mmhmm,” I mumble, again, winding my hand out of the covers. I take the mug, bringing it to my lips. The chocolate drink burns my mouth a little, but I still sip. It’s sobering, like my situation.
“Why are you hiding? He’s gone, you know,” Sera says, taking a seat.
“What?” I nearly spill my drink.
Sera ignores my surprise. “So, you told me how you met, and that you never dated, but the real question is, when did Hunter break your heart?”
I calm my beating heart, sink lower into my chair. “He never has.” I don’t know if that’s a lie or not. My heart has reached for him, and he’s evaded that reach, that subtle lingering I offered him.
It’s the kind of offer a coward makes. I don’t really blame him for rejecting me. I first learned how to guard my heart at the age of three years old. When the first man to break my heart, left.
“Doesn’t seem that way,” Sera observes, drinking from her own mug.
“We had a lot of chances, but it was all stuff you bury. Nothing real. Nothing you tell your friends about.” I kept so much from everyone because I was ashamed of my desire for Hunter.
“I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at you on the night we played Truth or Dare,” Sera says.
Once, I went through a breakup and listened to Lovin’ You Against My Will by Gary Allan over and over for a week straight. That song is ingrained into the part of my brain that stops heartache. The guy is gone, but the feeling still remains. That’s the way love lingers—in the crevices.
I should have been soaking up every moment of my time here in this cabin with Hunter, every word we wrote in his room, every touch. We are fleeting, will always be fleeting. I shouldn’t have kidded myself, asked for more. I should’ve asked him what sports his daughters play. Or if they’re in band. Or theatre. Those questions were ones I felt self-conscious about asking in our past, and the feeling crept into our now. They were just questions, but I know how hard it is for a man to share his daughter—or daughters—with someone else.
I know it was too hard for my father. And here, when we were face-to-face, those questions felt like the kind a woman asks when she wants to insert herself into a man’s future.
“I wanted his future,” I say. “He couldn’t give that. Not while his daughters are in school.”
Sera nods. She knows then—about his rules.
Brooklyn shakes her head. “But that’s bullshit. You should be able to be in his here and now. Not some distant future beyond some imaginary idiotic line he’s created.” I can tell she kind of thinks Hunter is a jackass. I like her even more because of it.
“I know,” I say. “But it’s the way it is with him. I could have either looked forward to the future and enjoyed the present. Or I could have argued with him and tried to change his mind, which is what I chose.” And it’s why he’s driving away from here, through the night, instead of waiting until morning.
“No one should have to convince someone to be with them,” Brooklyn says.
I reach for my cocoa. She’s right. No one should have to convince a man to be in their life in any role. Not as a lover, a friend, or a father. “I know. So I’m not going to try.”
“I think he’s an idiot. I’m sorry, I do.” Brooklyn throws her hands up, throws an apologetic look at Sera.
I laugh. “So do I most days. I did for years.”
“Then go get someone better, girl! Go get some hottie with a body who is dying to be your man,” Brooklyn exclaims.
“I had that. And I’m not in the searching season.” I think of Preston and his beautiful smile, the curve of his hips, his strong arms. I’ll always miss the idea of us.
“Searching season?” Brooklyn asks, and I wonder what Sera’s thinking; she is so quiet between us.
“I’ve been divorced for what, a year? I see these people, and they’re just…ready. So quickly. They’re on dating websites, and they’re putting themselves out there before the ink is dry. I’
m just not that person. I don’t need that.” I wouldn’t have opened my heart to some random guy at this cabin. I wouldn’t have been ready. But I was there with Hunter. I’ve always lingered there.
“Those people are codependent,” Sera says. “They can’t be alone. There’s something beautiful about being alone, and so many people don’t know that. They don’t allow themselves to.”
“What’s so great about being alone?” Brooklyn balks. “I’m not a fan.”
“You have to be able to be happy being alone. I think it’s just a rite of passage. So many people don’t experience it. They go from their parents’ house to a boyfriend’s house then they get married, and they don’t know that quiet,” Sera elaborates.
I know what Sera’s talking about. I felt that alone when I left my husband. At first, it was loud. Even in the quiet of my apartment, I felt my loneliness. I heard it in every room. Eventually, though, the humming went away. And I found solace in it.
“I think it bites.” Brooklyn laughs.
“You just need to get laid,” Sera says.
“Meh. Sometimes I think that’s overrated,” she counters.
“You’re not doing it right then,” Sera and I say at the same time, then we erupt in laughter as the younger girl stares at us.
Sera and I are the same age, and it’s true what they say about women aging.
We’re in our prime. Everything Hunter and I did this past week proved that. I’m going to try to focus on the fun we had, now that he’s gone.
Life Ain’t Always Beautiful
Sonnet
There’s frost on the trees and grass, and I can see my breath. Sera runs next to me, taking steady breaths through her mouth. Soon, the cabin will be filled with a new group of writers—poets, and no one knows poetry better than Sera. She asked me to run with her so she could clear her head before welcoming everyone.
“How long have you been a runner?” I ask.