by Jaime Reese
~ * ~
Letter #395…
Some days, I’m on autopilot and don’t care. Today is one of those days. The other guys stare at me and walk the other way. I don’t feel like that guy you fell in love with. I’m slipping. It’s like this other person is taking over and all I feel is hate and pain. Then they yell my name and tell me I have another letter, and it’s like the version of me you know from before comes out and kicks this other person’s ass long enough to keep him in check for a bit. They throw your letters through this small opening in my cell and sometimes it hits the floor before I can catch it. I hate that. I quickly wipe them down as much as I can before I open it. I don’t ever want anything of yours to be tarnished by a place like this. You deserve so much more. You always deserved more. I miss you so much. Sometimes, I have a memory, and it’s so real I can feel everything and I fight the sleep because I don’t want the memory to end. Do you remember that night, lying down by the lake? You told me that if we were ever apart, I could look up and see the moon and know that you were looking at that same moon and thinking about me. And you said full moons were extra special. Because the full moons showed me how full of love you were for me. I remember laughing and telling you that was cheesy as hell. But I always thought they were special words, and I didn’t deserve them. People here…they only say harsh shit. Stuff that sticks more than you hope it does. Stuff like what my father used to always say. It’s hard. Too hard sometimes. When you hear you’re stupid and useless your whole life, and don’t hear otherwise, it makes it easy to believe. It’s nice to hear something different. I miss you. I miss your smile. I miss your laugh. I miss the things you say. Even if it’s cheesy. I haven’t seen the moon since I got here. The letters let me know you haven’t forgotten me. But…I’m not going to pretend that means you still love me. Regardless of what they tell me in here, I know I’m not stupid. And I know you’re amazing and easy to fall in love with and you might have someone in your life you say those special words to every day. I don’t really want to think about that. I can’t right now. Today was a tough day. So maybe I can pretend you still love me. I think it’s my birthday but I lose track of time and forget. It doesn’t fucking matter. I’m going to die in here anyway, so I’ll pretend for a little while you still love me. Because that gets me through another day in this hell. Shit, I’ve used too many lines on this reply.
~ * ~
Drayton fought the sting in his eyes. “Yes, I still love you,” he whispered. He screwed his eyes shut and took a few deep breaths before turning another page.
~ * ~
Letter #475…
I can feel myself slipping. I almost forgot what your laugh sounded like and I panicked. They put me in a different cell for a few days because they thought I was going to hurt myself. I miss you. Your voice. Your laugh. I need you. But I’ll settle for a peek of the moon. They only let me have one notebook at a time and I’m running low on lines. I don’t want to give this book up to get a blank one. What if your letters stop and I don’t have the quotes I wrote down to read again? I memorized them, but it’s been so long.
~ * ~
Letter #502…
I was told today they are moving me to a new prison. One guy bit off another guy’s ear last week, and this week, he’s crying because he’s on the move list to this new place. They hear things I don’t because they talk to people outside. But I heard the place is a real hell. They told me my mail would stop for a while with the transfer. I can’t think about that right now.
~ * ~
Letter #515…
I didn’t believe them when they told me I was getting paroled until I got your letter. I thought they were fucking around with me. They like to do that. Get your hopes up then watch you get crushed, hoping you crack. I can’t wait to see you, but I’m not sure if you want to see me. Writing letters to a guy you knew way back when who isn’t getting out is a big difference from someone who’s getting paroled. I want to see you. I wonder how much you’ve changed. If your hands are still big and your fingers are still long and thin. If you still wear thick-framed glasses or if you switched to thin wire-framed ones. I’m bigger than I used to be. I’ve got enough muscles to keep away the fuckers in here. I know you’ve probably moved on. It hurts to think of that. But I’m hoping you still want to be my friend. You’re the only person who ever gave a shit about me, ever. So if being friends is all I can get, I’ll take it.
~ * ~
Drayton leaned back on the couch and recalled the last few years of his life. He cringed, realizing that while Vann struggled to make it through each day of his sentence, Drayton was laying the groundwork for the company, traveling the world, establishing a network of business contacts, and launching the car line.
His life had changed as a direct result of his determination, driven by Vann’s request to live for the both of them. Something he wouldn’t have been able to do if he had witnessed Vann’s deterioration with each visit. He had always had difficulty deciphering the human psyche, but now, realization came crashing in with striking clarity. He finally understood why Vann had insisted on the distance during his sentence. Drayton’s focus would have been on each scheduled visit instead of the milestones in building the company. He would have put his life on hold if necessary to offer support to Vann when needed.
He rubbed at the sudden pain in his chest. Even while inside, Vann was sacrificing himself to push Drayton ahead. His throat tightened and his eyes burned. Vann was strong, stronger than anyone he had ever met. But everyone had a breaking point. And there was no way Drayton was going to let Vann slip out of his reach again.
He ignored the tremble in his hands and turned to the next page.
~ * ~
Letter #525…
Tomorrow’s the day I’m getting out. I haven’t slept in about a week, and I can barely keep any food down. A part of me wonders if there’s still a chance for us to be together again. Even though I didn’t see the moon, maybe you did and maybe it means the same to you? And now I’m thinking if you didn’t, then shit, I didn’t mail you the replies to your letters so you don’t know I’ve been thinking about you all this time. But maybe you do. You always had a way of figuring me out like no one else could. I don’t know if I’m going to get a chance to see you. I hope so. If we do see each other again and you hate me, please don’t tell me. I don’t think I can handle that. Just laugh once for me so it’s fresh in my mind again and that’ll hold me over for a few more years.
~ * ~
Drayton finally closed the notebook, two hours after having read the very first page. A response to each and every one of the five hundred twenty-five weeks’ worth of letters he’d sent. Even those short letters he’d send sometimes a few days apart because he needed the contact with Vann—even if it was one-sided at the time. He closed his eyes at the ache in his chest thinking about the numerous entries with only a few words in response. Nothing more than an “I miss you” or an “I can’t stop thinking about you” spoke not only of his consistent love for Drayton, but also the pain on those particular days when he couldn’t muster the strength for a longer response. He knew Vann’s time inside must have been tough, but reading his replies spoke volumes of the pain he had survived during that time.
Thinking about it, he realized he wouldn’t have been able to stand seeing that pain staring back at him through an acrylic barrier without reaching out and touching him. He set the notebook on the table and reached for his cell phone. He paced the room before dialing the number, not caring about the late hour of the night.
“Halfway House,” Julian answered, his voice still alert enough to indicate he’d been awake.
“Sorry for the late call. I need to talk to Vann for a second.”
“It’s barely been three hours, Drayton. Give him some space to settle back into things. Ten years is a long stretch and his head’s probably exploding right now with all the rules and information we gave him about the house and all the changes he’s experienced since h
e walked out of that prison.”
Drayton raked a hand through his hair. “Just for a minute. It’s important.”
Julian’s sigh echoed through the line. “I swear. I was a lot better at telling people to fuck off before Matt softened me up. Hold on.”
He heard a knock and muffled voices as if Julian held a hand over the phone.
“Dray?” Vann said, his voice filled with obvious concern. “Is…everything okay?”
Drayton gripped the phone tightly in his hand, letting the sound of Vann’s voice fill his senses. “I’ll make this quick.”
“Okay,” Vann said in a defeated tone.
“I love you. I always have and I always will. I’m bothered you didn’t mail out your replies or want to see me, but I read them and understand why. I need you to know you are the reason I am where I am right now in my life, and I mean that in a good way. You’re the only person who thought I could do this, and I held on to that and ran with it, imagining you there by my side cheering me on. The difference is, now you’re actually going to be there. Because I want you there with me. Do you hear me?” He waited for some reply but nothing came. “Vann?”
“I heard you,” he whispered.
“You want time because you don’t think you’ve earned it, and I’ll respect that. But know that you’ve already earned that right as far as I’m concerned. I’ve waited ten years to have you back, and if I have to wait a little longer for you to come to me, then I’ll fucking wait. However long you need, I’ll be here waiting…for you. Because I love you.”
The silence over the line was unsettling, but it was also Vann’s introspective nature as he digested and processed things. He was always a silent thinker, and it seemed that habit hadn’t changed. Another thought suddenly came to Drayton’s mind, something that would have helped soothe Vann on those tough days. “Why didn’t you draw anything? That always helped you through the rough times.”
“Replying to the letters was more important than drawing,” Vann said. “And I would have run out of paper sooner.”
Drayton closed his eyes and fell onto the couch again. He raked a hand through his hair, desperate for the feel of Vann in his arms again. “I promised Julian I wouldn’t take long, and I don’t want to screw things up on your first night. But I needed to tell you this so you’d know. Call me tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“Night, Vann.”
“Night.”
Drayton waited for the line to disconnect, not wanting to end the connection.
“Dray?”
He closed his eyes, loving the sound of his nickname flowing from Vann’s lips like an endearment. “Yeah?”
“Thank you…for…saying all that. I didn’t realize I needed to hear it until you said it. I promise I’ll call you tomorrow.”
A peace settled in Drayton’s chest at the promise. “Okay.”
“I have to hang up. I’ve got a pissed off guy looking at me waiting for me to hand him the phone back.”
Drayton held back a smile. “Okay. And please tell Julian I said thank you.”
“Okay. Good night.”
Drayton ended the call and tossed his phone aside. He rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes, recalling the sound of Vann’s voice he had missed over the years. There was no way he’d let Vann second-guess things or retreat for whatever reason. They finally had their chance to be together and there was no way he was letting anything stand in the way of that happening.
He reached for the notebook on the table. He opened the spiral booklet to the first page and re-read each word again until sleep finally took over.
Vann looked out the small opening of Drayton’s bedroom closet, impatiently waiting for Drayton’s father to make his nightly rounds. He’d been sitting in the damn closet now for a little over an hour and was getting pissed. The guy usually arrived home late, locked up the house, then worked his way upstairs to his bedroom. The man always seemed to make a pit stop in Drayton’s bedroom to check on him. Why? Who the hell knew. If he’d paid as much attention to Drayton during waking hours, maybe Vann would think it was love or concern.
He was getting antsy to jump into bed with Drayton and spoon him under the covers. They’d managed to do this every weekend for the last eight months when Dray came home to spend the weekend in his old room instead of the company housing for that research job of his. And dammit, he was itching for his snuggle time.
Vann sighed. Dray. It was beyond appropriate that his best friend was a bookworm because he’d managed to worm his way into Vann’s heart over the years. Nothing compared to the way it felt to have those long arms wrapped around him or those tentative kisses along his jaw and down his neck. Great. Now he was sporting a fucking hard-on.
Maybe the old man was staying out later than usual because of their less-than-pleasant dinnertime conversation. Vann had snuck in through the window after finishing his late evening roadie duties for the band and had missed hearing the stiff exchange firsthand. He tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach as he remembered Drayton retelling him of that night’s dinner conversation.
Apparently Drayton’s parents had heard rumors about their son spending far too much time with a gutter rat. Drayton confirmed the rumors—correcting their assessment of Vann—then officially came out to his parents while asking them to please pass the butter.
Vann bit his lip and smiled. That was the first time anyone had ever stood up for him.
He wanted to get under those covers with Dray and kiss him until he had to quiet his moans just to let him know how much he meant to him and how grateful he was to have him be the light in his life.
He leaned back against the closet wall when he heard the familiar click of the lock and creak of the bedroom door as it slowly opened. Within forty-five seconds, he’d finally be working his way under Drayton’s covers to join him. He closed his eyes and counted, hoping to settle the anxiousness twitching in his muscles.
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi…
He halted when an unfamiliar sound swooshed in the silent night. He knee-walked over to the opening by the door, holding his breath as he peered into the darkness and let his eyes adjust. His heart thundered in his ears and his eyes rounded when the light glinted off the nine iron held over Drayton’s body.
Like a possessed beast, the large, broad man swung the club down onto his son’s body with a roar. Simultaneously, and in a flash of movement faster than Vann had ever seen, the man pulled his arms back over his head again, ready to land a second swing as Drayton yelled and held his arms up in a defensive position. A brief millisecond later, the man swung the club again, hitting Drayton’s arms and slamming the club head against Drayton’s skull.
Vann launched from the closet and jumped on the older man’s back, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck in a headlock as he continued to swing at his son’s now bloodied form. Vann’s heart pounded and a yell ripped from his throat at the sight of Drayton’s unmoving body. He reached his arm out and grasped the club before it landed another strike. Rage coursed through his body as he yanked the club from the old man’s hand and tightened his hold around his neck.
Drayton’s father spun, trying to unlatch Vann from his back. The older man backed into the wall hard enough to knock the wind out of Vann.
His breath whooshed out of his lungs at the impact as the pain swelled against his back. The older man quickly fisted his hand in Vann’s T-shirt, pulling him closer then slamming his fist against Vann’s face before tossing him aside.
Vann gasped for air, wiping the blood steadily trickling down the side of his face and into his eye. He shook his head, trying to focus his vision just as Drayton’s father returned to his son’s side, grabbed Drayton by the collar of his pajamas, and prepared to swing his fist to his son’s unconscious body. “I’m tired of you humiliating me!”
Rage pumped through Vann’s veins as he pushed off the wall and grabbed the golf club at his side. He charged
forward with a war cry and swung the club in the air, landing the first impact against the older man’s back. With the adrenaline and anger feeding his muscles a violent cocktail, he swung again and again until the older man’s body slumped on the ground.
He threw the club to the side and rushed to Drayton’s side, not caring about the blood trickling down his own face, the tears burning his eyes, or the sobs wracking his body. “Dray! Dray!” He pulled Drayton’s limp body against his own, cradling him in his arms. ”Please, Dray!”
Another scream tore through the darkness of the night as Drayton’s mother entered the room.
He had no idea how much time passed as he held Drayton close and the tears streamed down his cheeks, praying and begging on everything sacred and holy, hoping his lapse in faith through the years wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass when he needed his Drayton to breathe.
Sirens wailed in the distance, nearing with each passing second.
This couldn’t be his Dray’s end. He was supposed to make a mark in the world, to give the finger to each and every asshole who ever second-guessed him and his gifted mind. Everything faded in a blur as the pain in Vann’s heart began to spread. He couldn’t lose Drayton. He tugged Drayton’s limp body closer, pressing kisses against his hair and forehead, trying to pull him upright into a sitting position on his lap. “Please, Dray!”
“Stop him,” Drayton’s mother yelled when the police stormed into the room. “He killed my son and my husband!”
Vann woke with a gasp, trying to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand as his chest heaved with each labored breath. Fuck. Ten years hadn’t lessened the memory, the pain and despair of seeing Drayton hurt, or the panic of losing him.