by McLean, Jay
She stayed quiet, even when I was done speaking. I was shit scared to face her, so for minutes, we just sat there, silence filling our own little bubble.
Then she cleared her throat.
I finally moved my arm and opened one eye to look at her.
She was watching me.
I turned to my side and faced her again. "I'm sorry, Amanda."
She faced the roof. "Ethan was hit by a car." She spoke so quietly, I almost didn't hear her. "Actually, he pushed me out of the way, and got hit by a car. We were twelve. I was stupid. I didn't even look. It was raining. Just like this." Her voice was strained. She sniffed once. "That's why I'm scared of the rain. Everyone has their reasons. It may seem stupid, Logan, but to me, it's enough." Her eyes lifted to meet mine. "Do you still have feelings for her?"
I stupidly nodded.
Her face changed.
"Not like that," I said quickly. "Not in that way. I never did, Amanda. I was just stupid, and confused. But no—I never had those types of feelings for her."
A huge gust of wind caused the car to shake. She reached her hand out to grip my arm. Her eyes snapped shut. "Come here," I said, helping her move until her body was on top of mine, my arms around her. Exactly where she belonged.
Another gust of wind.
She tensed.
I held her tighter.
A pained sound escaped her.
"Am I hurting you?" I stroked her hair.
"No," she said into my chest. "You're healing me."
***
I could feel my heart thumping against my chest. She must've felt it too, because she raised her head to meet my eyes, "Your heart is going a million miles."
"Mm," I hummed in agreement. My eyes were closed. My breath was shaky. I placed a hand on the back of her head, trying to get her to resume her position.
She resisted. "Logan?" she tried to get my attention.
I glanced down at her.
"What's going on?"
I watched her—her eyes carried an intensity I'd never seen before. Truth time. "I'm nervous," I said flatly.
"Why?" She had a puzzled scowl.
"You make me nervous."
She laughed once. "How do I make you nervous?"
"I don't know," I shrugged. "I'm afraid that it's not enough. That what I've said and what I've done, and what I'm doing right now isn't enough. That you won't forgive me and you won't want to be with me. And you do this thing—where you shut yourself off and you don't talk to me—or anyone—for hours, or days, and I have no idea how you're feeling or what you're thinking. So yeah—I'm nervous as all hell that this is the last time I'll get to hold you. I’m afraid that we'll never be as close as we were. I'm scared that you'll want nothing at all to do with me."
She let out a long drawn out breath, her eyes glued to mine.
I waited.
Then she sighed, her forehead falling onto my chest.
"I'm sorry," she said. "You're right. It’s not enough. Not anymore."
***
I held her as the rain beat down on the car.
I held her tighter as it got worse.
I let go of her when it cleared.
And then I drove her home.
All while not saying a Goddamn word—because really—what was there left to say?
She said she couldn't be with me.
***
I'd been driving around for four hours. That's how long ago I left Jake's house. Nathan was right, what he had to tell me wasn't time sensitive. Not at all. In fact I could have waited another twenty years to hear it.
Without realizing, I found myself sitting in her driveway.
I knew I shouldn't be here. I knew that she was done with me. With us.
A woman, I assume her mom, eventually answered the door. She wore a dressing gown over her pajamas, running a hand through her disheveled hair. She squinted up at me.
Then a slow smirk pulled on the corner of her lips. "Dimmy!" she shouted, directing her voice up the staircase. "Lucas is here."
"Uh, it's Logan actually," I tried to tell her, but she'd already moved to the bottom of the stairs. "Dimmy!" she yelled again.
I heard a door open and then heavy footsteps. I stood outside and waited.
Her mom glanced at me quickly, then back up the staircase. "Does he know what time it is?" she whispered loudly.
I didn't. I had no fucking clue what time it was. Shit.
I saw her legs first, completely bare, before I saw the rest of her. She was wearing a basketball jersey, and her glasses. Her step faltered when she saw me, but she recovered quickly.
"Hey," she said confused. Her hand came up in a small wave. She pulled the hem of her jersey down a little. "What's going on?"
I was about to speak but her mom beat me to it. "Lucas," she said, "would you like something to drink"
I rubbed my hand against my jaw, "Uh, it's Logan, actually."
"I'm fucking with you kid." Her and Amanda laughed. "I know who you are."
I'd be laughing too if I my head wasn't consumed with other thoughts. "Um, I'm okay, ma'am. Thank you." I hurriedly took off my cap before continuing. "If it's okay with you, I just need to speak to Amanda real quick. I promise I won't stay late."
She smiled at me. It was different from the smirk she gave me when I showed up. "Huh." She looked me up and down. " You're just like your father," she said.
Only I'm not. Not at all.
She left us alone and walked into what I assumed was the living room.
Amanda took a few steps forward, eyeing me as she did. "You okay?"
I swallowed. "No. Not really."
She nodded once, taking my hand and leading me up the stairs.
She let go of my hand and closed the door quietly, then paused, looking around her room awkwardly.
"Um, have a seat, I guess." She jerked her head towards the bed.
I didn't move.
She stood, leaning her back against the door, her hands behind her.
I tried to smile, but I knew it didn't follow through.
"So...what's going on, Logan?"
Amanda
"What are you doing here?" I had my back against the door, facing him.
He stood up and looked around my room, his hands in his pocket. His hair all over the place from combing his fingers through it. His eyes lingered on my bed longer than they should.
"Logan?" I tried to get his attention, but his mind was somewhere else.
He threw his cap on the bed then faced me, "I'm sorry," he said.
"What?" I asked, confused. "What for?"
He shrugged, his hands going back in his pockets.
"Please don't take this the wrong way," I said, "but why are you here? I mean, I don't mind. I just—I mean why?"
Truth is, I did mind. I came home because I needed to get away from him, even just for a night. I needed to clear my head and work out what I wanted. But then he gave me that speech in the car, and I felt forced to make a decision before I was ready. And when he asked if it was enough, I knew in my heart it wasn't. Maybe if he hadn't slept with someone else. Maybe.
He took a seat on my bed and gripped the edge. His head fell forward. He took in a huge breath, his shoulders heaving with the weight of it. And then he looked up at me. There was a pained expression on his face that even he couldn't hide.
"I'm sorry," he said again, "I just—I don't know. I needed to see you."
Whatever was going on with him, it was bigger than us. Bigger than whatever issues we had to work out.
I kicked off the door and opened it. "Mom!" I yelled, "Logan's staying the night."
Without waiting for response, I climbed into bed and waited for him to join me. "Are you sure?" he said through an almost shy smile. But he wasn't asking. Not really. His shirt and jeans were off and he was lying in my bed before I had a chance to reply.
Then we just lay there, side by side, on our
backs, not touching, not speaking.
"I lied," he said, just as I was about to surrender to sleep.
"What?"
"I lied," he repeated. "I was being a dick. I didn't sleep with anyone. I said it because I wanted you to hate me. So that you wouldn't want to be with me. Because it's my fault you went through all of that shit after our date. It's my fucking fault, and I don't deserve to have you."
My eyes snapped open. I was fully awake. "What?" I said again.
His arm moved up to cover his eyes, even though it was already dark in the room. "I tried," he started, "I really did. I tried to leave you alone but I don't think I can do it."
I blew out a quick breath. "What are you saying?"
"You own me, Amanda. All of me."
***
I stayed up for a long time after his confession. He fell asleep almost instantly. I could tell the moment his breathing had evened out. "Logan?" I whispered. He didn't respond. Then I reached over, took his hand in mine. And let myself have him. All of him.
***
I felt his hand separate from mine, before I could wake myself up. The heat from his body escaped from under the covers as the bed raised.
He was leaving.
I slowly opened my eyes and watched as he put his shirt back on. I sat up. "What are you doing?" I said quietly, switching on my night-light. I checked my phone; it was two in the morning.
He sat on the edge of the bed and turned his body to face me. "I'm sorry." He kept saying he was sorry and I had no clue why. "I shouldn't have come here. Go back to sleep, I'll find my way out."
I sat up on my knees and moved closer to him. "What's going on, Logan?"
"Nothing." His eyes darted around the room, everywhere but on me. There was a sadness consumed in his features. I knew he was lying.
I sighed. "Obviously it's something. You're here aren't you?"
He didn't respond.
I moved closer, and then linked our fingers together.
His eyes snapped to mine. They drifted down to our joined hands and back up again. He swallowed. "Is this—I mean are you—"
I cut him off with my mouth on his. I kissed him slowly, letting my lips linger on his. "Stay?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied, but didn't move from his position.
I waited.
He looked right at me. His gaze so intense. I refused to look away.
Finally, he broke the stare. "I just found out I have a sister," he said out of nowhere.
"What? How?" Clearly I was confused. And shocked. But mostly confused.
His thumb came up to straighten the lines between my brows.
"I'm adopted," he informed.
"WHAT?! And you just found out?" I almost yelled.
His hand covered my mouth, and then he chuckled. "No, Amanda. I knew. It happened when I was seven. So...it's not a big deal. But she's been looking for me. I guess she found me."
I settled my frantic heart. "I'm confused," I told him, pouting a little.
"Yeah," he agreed, looking away. "Honestly, so am I."
He kissed me once, then took his shirt off and made a move to lie back in bed. I followed him. Then he positioned us so his arm was under my head and I was lying sideways with my head resting on his chest.
He looked up at the ceiling. I looked up at him.
Then he spoke. "My birth parents were assholes, Amanda. And I'm not talking just neglectful assholes. I'm talking abusive, drugged up, fucked up, assholes."
I gasped.
He continued. "When I was seven, my dad beat me so bad, that even in her messed up state, my mom knew enough to take me to hospital."
"Oh my God," I breathed out.
His hand went under my top, rubbing slow circles into my back. Like he needed to comfort me.
"You remember my dad, the one you kind of met that night?"
I nodded. "The one Mom works for?"
"Yeah," I could sense his smile. "He was my doctor when she brought me in. My birth parents never came back for me, so he adopted me."
I tried to keep my breathing even. I tried to hold back the tears. I tried so damn hard to hide the fact that my heart was breaking.
"Anyway." He spoke so casually, seemingly unaffected. "Apparently the asshole wasn't just a dick to me, but to his wife too, because he had a kid with another woman. Apparently she's my age. He knew about her. Used to visit her all the time. I guess he loved her—used me as a punching bag."
I wiped my tears on his chest. I sniffed once. "Logan," I managed to get out through the giant lump in my throat. "I'm so sorry."
He adjusted us so I was completely on top of him. His hand on my back kept circling. His other hand played with my hair.
"How did you find out?"
"Jake's dad. He's um, my lawyer—kind of. She—my sister—she's been looking for me. It's a long story."
Silence filled the room while I tried to imagine his life. "Do you remember it?" I asked.
"Remember what?" he answered, his voice low and scratchy.
"That day. When he—" I looked up and into his eyes. "When he hurt you. Do you remember why? Or how?"
He swallowed hard, his eyes drifting shut. He nodded his head once. "I remember the phone ringing and my mom answering. Straight away she was glaring at me. I tried to remember what I could have done that made someone call her. I couldn't think of anything. I mean, even as a kid I understood that whomever she was speaking to, it was about me. I remember her hanging up and then yelling at me, saying that Dad was going to be pissed. She only hit me once across the face before going for her smokes. I knew straight away what was going to happen. I remember trying so hard not to cry. Crying only made them madder. The second she lit her cigarette I tried to run, but she cornered me. I remember pissing my pants." His voice broke. He paused to clear his throat, and then inhaled a huge breath before letting it out in a rush.
I had my mouth on his collarbone, letting the tears fall silently. I could feel my body shaking. He must've been able to feel my tears soaking his skin. But he never stopped the movements of his hands. Not once. The circular motions on my back, the stroking of my hair. All of it. It never stopped. He was comforting me. And I couldn't do a damn thing to comfort him.
"She always put it out where no one could see. Her favorite spot was under my arms. She always covered my mouth with her hand so I couldn't scream. So no one could hear my cries."
I couldn't help it. I let it out—the sob that overtook me.
"Shh," he soothed.
How? How could he be so calm?
"Then she locked me in this tiny cupboard for hours. No food. No drink. Sitting there crying quietly in my own piss and shit. Those were the worst times, because I never knew how long it would be until someone came for me. I swear sometimes it was days. It felt like fucking days." His words end on a whisper.
"You can stop. You don't have to keep going. I'm sorry," I frantically shook my head. I didn’t know that I could take anymore. But he didn't stop. He just kept going. I didn’t know if it was for me, or for him. "I remember hearing his voice. It always scared me you know? Even when he wasn't angry. It was this deep fucking rumble. I remember thinking that maybe he was a monster. And not really my dad. Some nights I'd fall asleep and dream that it was true. That my real dad was out there, and that this fake dad was a monster. And one day someone would kill him. Could you imagine?" He laughed once. "A little kid hoping to hell that someone would kill his dad. What the hell was wrong with me?"
Nothing. Nothing was wrong with him. I want nothing more right now than to kill him myself.
"He opened the cupboard. The first thing I saw was his fist. It was already clenched. His face was red. For months afterwards, whenever I closed my eyes I saw his face. It was the cause of all my nightmares. This fucking monster. The first punch was to my face. The next few to my ribs. I knew it was going to be bad, because normally he spoke to me while he did it. The son of a bitch wou
ld ask if he was hurting me, while he was hurting me. He'd laugh while I screamed. But this time—he didn't say shit. Just kept with the punches, the kicks, until I was a ball on the floor. I remember being on my hands and knees. He grabbed my hair in his hands. I was spitting blood, barely conscious. Then he lifted my head and squatted to meet my eyes. He said 'Your bruises aren't for show and tell you little cunt.'"
I flinched as he repeated the words.
He continued, “And then he stood up, and kicked my head with his steel cap boots. That's when it went dark. That's all I remember."
Oh my God. "Logan," I said again. I didn't know what else to say. "Stop. Please. I can't. I'm so sorry. I just can't." I was all out crying. I tried to muffle the sound with his neck. But it didn't work.
"Shh," he said. But he was distracted. "It's okay."
"How is it okay?" I lifted my head, looking into his eyes. His green eyes so clear of any emotion.
"Because," he said, kissing me softly. "It's over. We move on, right?"
I nodded. I don't know why I did. Because it wasn't. It wasn't okay at all.
Then I felt his hands on my back stop moving. His fingers in my hair froze. I looked up at him.
"I've never told anyone that," he said, his brows drawn in.
"What?"
"Remember how I told you that I didn't speak for a while when I was kid?"
"Yeah."
"They were trying to get me to tell them what happened, but I never did. I never told anyone. Not until you."
I took in a long slow breath. My eyes dropped from his gaze. "Why me?"
"Because, Amanda," he lifted my chin with his finger. "Because you and me—we're going to be amazing."
***
There was a banging on my door.
"Dimmy! You better not be making babies in there!"
Oh my God. "Mom! We're sleeping."
Logan's eyes snapped open. He looked from me, then to the opposite side, where Mom continued to knock. "Should I leave?" he whispered.