Heat blooms inside of me slowly, a flower unfurling its petals at the break of dawn, a being made of lips and tongues and teeth and passion, soft breath in and out and the love I feel for him almost crushes my heart in its vice-like grip and I want him—God, I want him so badly—but I’m so scared. Always so goddamn afraid.
But what if despite what he said about marriage and a house and a puppy, I’m never able to give him what he wants, to be that girl that he needs in his life? I’m in love with him, with all of him, and I want to think that sex isn’t something that would break that feeling, but I don’t know. I worry that when he realizes that I’m broken, that I’m damaged and some of the little pieces that broke off are missing, he’ll want to get a replacement and I don’t want him to. I want to be selfish. I want him to be mine, only mine.
He makes me happy—and while I know that I can’t rely on one person to provide happiness, that I need to find my happiness within myself, I think Eli is the key. He makes me remember aspects of myself that I used to love, unlocks parts of myself, the me I used to be, and I want so desperately to make him smile and laugh and love me the tender way that he does. But what if I can never cross that dreaded bridge, never give all of myself over to him? Would his love falter?
I cling to him, my breathing sharp and gasping as his mouth does dangerous things to me. My head rolls back and his lips lave across my throat, nibbling and suckling and a moan escapes me. “Eli,” I breathe, the webcam long forgotten as his hands slide down my sides, dragging the fabric of my shirt with them. A wildfire rages between us and I can feel him against me, hot enough to burn, and I’m standing close enough to the fire that it might do just that.
He wraps his arms around me, holding me tight as we roll off the couch and onto the well-worn carpet. He rolls me onto my back and straddles me, my legs still locked around him as if they have minds of their own even as my heart begins to thud, panic begins to flood, try as I might to tell myself that I want this, I need this. I kiss him again, pulling him down to me, and try to lose myself in his touch but those old memories threaten to erupt, to slither between the bars of their prison and destroy me.
Eli’s hands slide up my shirt, gentle as he cups my breasts, his thumb skating over the thin fabric of the lacey bra I’m wearing. My body reacts in tune with his gentle persuasion, nipples growing tight. My gaze is locked on his every move, gentle but needy, like he needs to explore all of me because if he doesn’t, if he stops, he might stop breathing. This isn’t the same, I tell myself even as panic crawls under my skin, ripping flesh away from muscle and muscle from bone and I realize that I’m a ticking time bomb—any minute now, I’ll explode.
“Teagan?” His voice is low, husky with passion but he stops, his forehead wrinkled in concern. “What’s wrong, baby?” and I realize that I’m crying, tears leaking silently from my eyes to dampen my hair.
“I’m broken,” I whisper, feeling jagged. “I-I can’t do this. I’m sorry, Eli, I just, I can’t.” My hands find his chest, pushing with everything that I am, my body giving in to my mind as I begin to shake. He pulls away from me but I don’t dare look at his face, afraid of the frustration and disappointment I’d no doubt see there. I stumble to my feet. “You should go. You should leave.” I don’t look at him. I can’t.
“Teagan.” He reaches for me even though I pull away, mind scattered and heart aching. “Talk to me. Please, don’t run away. I would never hurt you—never. Just talk to me.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m not leaving you,” he says.
“Why?” I wrench my gaze to meet his, see the worry and the confusion and the love and I start to cry again. “I’ll never be able to do…that. I can’t, okay? I trust you, but I just…” I shake my head, torn between crawling back into his arms and locking myself in my bedroom. “I didn’t used to be this way, but things change. Things happened, things I don’t want to ever relive.”
“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to go through anything like that. I get it.” His words throw me for a loop. He takes a step closer, then another, until he’s gathering my shaking form in his arms, wrapping me up in security and love and I break all over again. “But you are not broken, Teagan. You’re you and I love you. Okay?” His voice cracks a little. My heart is skittering. He squeezes me tighter. “I love you.”
I’m not ready to say those words, even if I love him, even if it’s true. I just bury my face in the side of his neck and focus on breathing in the scent of him. I give a little yelp as he picks me up in his arms like I’m as light as a feather, and he takes us back into the bedroom. He lays me down on my twin-sized bed and curls up behind me, his arm wrapped around my waist and his breath warm on the back of my neck.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he tells me as we lay together, our bodies touching but without the fire driving them. Instead I’m filled with a soft, lapping warmth like a tide that ebbs and pulls my worries away with it. “Even if that means we never get it on, even if that means that someday we adopt kids instead of having our own. I don’t care. Just please, don’t push me away. If you do, I might just drown.”
“I won’t…” I whisper.
Twenty Two
Teagan
The phone calls don’t stop. I block number after number, but it only gives me a tiny window, a temporary period of silence from the incessant ringing that’s pile driving into my skull, imprinting itself on my eardrums so that I hear the ringtones in my sleep. Then a new number will start harassing me, from before I get up in the morning to the time I go to sleep at night.
I’ve taken to trying to ignore them—putting my phone on silent, leaving it at home when I’m at Eli’s or shopping for groceries, making myself as inaccessible as humanely possible and the silence is a blessed relief. Of course, on the downside, I miss important calls and Dakota’s getting pissy with me for not answering her texts for hours on end, but in a way it’s worth it.
Or so I think.
Missing my alarm on a too-humid Monday morning results in frantic scrambling around like a mad woman, trying to get dressed and ready to go to work for an early shift at the library. I drive five over the speed limit just to make it there on time, park in the back forty, and jog through the parking lot. I shove through the front doors, straightening out my blouse as I head over to the reception desk, basking in the silence that is the library.
One of my co-workers is sitting at the circulation desk but when her gaze lands on me, her brows knit together and she frowns. “Teagan? What’re you doing here?” Marsha asks, jumping to her feet as if she was just shocked by a bolt of lightning, her frizzy red hair seeming even more static-y than usual. Poor thing needs to lay off the caffeine in my opinion.
“Sorry if I’m late. I’ve been having a week from hell,” I tell her.
She blinks. “Late? Didn’t you get Michelle’s messages? She said she left three or four on your voicemail…” She trails off and my stomach instinctively begins to tie itself in a knot. I swallow and shake my head.
This time her expression is apologetic. “Come with me for a minute, hun,” she says, touching my elbow to guide me down the wide hallway between the stacks and the conference rooms. She stops in front of our boss’s office door. She gives a quick knock, peeks her head in to say something, and then offers me a smile. “You might want to talk to Michelle,” and I know nothing good can come of this.
Feeling skittish, I open the door just wide enough to slip in, and sit down in the plush chair in front of Michelle’s desk. My boss looks frazzled, papers strewn across her desk every which way, the stapler’s jaws open and waiting to take a bite out of the next written report. “What’s going on?” I ask, my throat tight.
“I could ask you the same thing. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all week! Trisha’s been sick and I really needed you to work last weekend, but you didn’t answer your phone and you don’t have an emergency number. There’s problem number one. Problem number two? The big wigs are here and I need
this ship running smoothly, Teagan.” Her voice is calm and crisp, but her eyes are angry. I can’t help but look away.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been having family issues and I haven’t checked my voicemail in a few days, but—”
“They’re excuses. Just excuses. Now I’m sorry that you’re going through hard times, but nowadays it seems like everyone is and I need to be able to count on my employees, especially right now. I can’t count on you.”
My chest constricts. “I-I’m sorry, I really am. It won’t happen again,” I say, but Michelle’s shaking her head now, her thin lips pursed together, and every hair on the back of my arms stand up on end, on high alert as my stomach bottoms out. I press both hands against my belly, trying to dull the sudden ache.
“You’re right. It won’t,” she agrees. “Because I have to let you go. I am sorry, Teagan, but I need you to turn in your keys, ID, and lanyard.” She lets out a small sigh, as if this hurts her more than it’s hurting me, but that can’t possibly be true because she still has a job and I don’t and it burns me up inside. My pulse is going crazy and my mind is churning out what-ifs like there’s no tomorrow, like this is the end of the world as we know it.
For a minute, I just sit there, hands in my lap. Dazed. Michelle narrows her beady eyes and clears her throat and I struggle to come to my senses, digging in my bag until I feel the jingle of keys. I place them on the desk, then pull my lanyard over my head. It falls to the desk with a clatter and Michelle shakes her head. “I’m sorry,” she says.
I don’t believe her.
“Me too,” I reply, my throat thick like cotton, and I push myself to my feet. My knees threaten to spill me on my ass but I manage to stiffly walk out of her office, pulling the door shut behind me. Almost on autopilot, eyes on the ground in front of me, trying to hold on tight to whatever dignity I might have left, I walk back down the hall, past Marsha, through the doors, out into the fresh air. I make it to my car and collapse there, shock numbing me like a shot of Novocain.
Shit shit shit… What now? Will I still make enough to pay my bills? Pay my school loan? Afford groceries? My head is heavy as I turn the ignition and start for home. What do I do now? What now? Is anyone hiring? The questions linger in my mind, clinging to every breath I take, harassing me to the point of tears. I park in the alley behind my apartment and for a moment, I just sit there with the car still running, the AC slowly trickling out cool air.
I nearly jump out of my skin as my phone begins to buzz—it’s on silent but the vibrations against the drink holder make a god-awful noise—and I snatch it up and before I can think about what to say, I answer the phone and scream, “Stop calling me!” my voice almost a shriek. “Just, I don’t even care what you have to say, just stop fucking calling me or I’m filing for harassment!” I hang up before she can get a word in edgewise, then promptly start crying.
God. Damn. It.
“Maybe you should just listen to her,” Dakota suggests when I Skype her that evening, after a tasteless dinner of ramen noodles and iced tea. Her hair is scraped up away from her face, tied in a knot, and I can’t tell if it’s the lighting, but a dark splotch has blossomed out across her cheekbone in a way that makes me think things are getting physical. “Maybe something’s happened and she needs to talk to you, Teag. Ever think about that?”
That’s the problem. “I don’t care,” I snap vehemently. “You don’t understand—I can’t go back to that. I won’t, not when I’m finally starting to find myself again. I never want to see her again! God!” I ram my fingers through my hair, the pain from the tugging snarls and snags almost welcome in my current state of disarray. I breathe in sharp through my nose. “You don’t know what it’s like…” I shudder.
Her face darkens with anger, with frustration; frustration at me despite how many times I’ve been there for her in this exact state, screaming and cursing. “You’re right, maybe I haven’t walked your path. I get that, but obviously Tierney needs you. Why else would she keep calling, day after day? Don’t you think this hurts her just as much? She’s your sister!”
I press my eyes shut and shake my head. “No. I can’t handle this right now—”
“And she can? What if he’s doing the same shit to her? What if she’s reaching out for help?”
“Just… Shut up. Please, just drop it,” I hiss, clutching at my chest, squeezing the fabric of my shirt between bloodless fingers. I swallow back the bile that comes with the fear. I don’t look at the computer screen; I just stare at the keyboard with its lettering half worn off, and will the tears back. I don’t want to fight. I just want…
But I don’t even know what I want and that’s the hard part.
“You’re being selfish!” Dakota half-yells. “You’re taking the coward’s way out, Teagan. Your sister needs you and you need to fucking man-up and handle it, okay?”
“Fuck you!” I snarl into the mic and snap my gaze up to meet the angry lines of her flushed face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I am barely staying afloat right now—I can’t handle this, any of this, so back off!”
“Grow a pair,” Dakota retorts, sharp and cutting. She opens her mouth to say something else, but I slam my hand across the keyboard and touch pad and end the video call. Silence greets me as I glare daggers into the black screen and with my heart doing acrobatic flips like a drugged out monkey, I shut the laptop, stand up, and back away. My throat tightens with emotions I don’t want to face and I do the only thing I can think of: I pull on my running shoes, turn on my mp3 player, and run.
I don’t know where I’m going—I just run, far away from everything, away from all the drama and the pain and the trouble and then I’m crying and the street’s blurring in front of me as a song from All Time Low blares into my ears but all I hear is chaotic noise. I find myself at the end of Eli’s driveway, my face tear-streaked and red and my hands still shaky, but I need him.
“Hey, what’s wrong Teag?” he asks the minute the door swings in and he sees me. He reaches out and I gravitate to his arms like a magnet and the tears start flowing again. He leads us back into the living room and I sit down on the couch and through jumbled speech, I manage to tell him about everything—about getting fired, about me and Dakota’s fight, about Tierney calling and calling and never giving up. I sob out the words, feeling broken as I sag against him, head cradled on his shoulder as I try to focus on just breathing.
“I don’t know what to do anymore. I hate this.”
“I’m sorry. I am. I wish I could take it all away for you,” he murmurs into my hair, his breath warm and sweet. I sniffle through a clogged up nose and he hands me a tissue. The resulting action is loud and gross but at least I can breathe a little clearer. He looks down at me and smiles sadly, tucking my hair behind my ears. “But I can’t. This is something only you can do.”
“I know…”
“I’m sorry, and I know this won’t win me any brownie points, but I think that Dakota is right.” His words, though kindly spoken, punch me through the gut. I pull away from him, shocky. He frowns. “Teagan, just hear me out. If your home life was bad enough to make you run away from everything, don’t you think maybe she’s feeling the same way? What if she’s on the streets and scared? How old is she? She needs you. You’re her sister and maybe the only person who could understand her.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to protect myself, but I’m too far gone to find any comfort in the touch. “Please don’t do this, Eli. Please,” I half-plead, searching his face for clues, for answers, for help. I need him to be strong. I need him on my side.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “But you need to talk to her. I know you’re scared, but I—”
I leap to my feet. Staggering for a moment, I glare down at him, hands lashing out at my sides to make angry fists. “No! You don’t understand anything—anything—I’ve gone through. You don’t know how I feel, how shredded inside I am because of this shit! How could you? You’ve ne
ver had it hard!”
He jerks as if stung, his expression screwing up into one of pain. Pain, and then anger rolls in like thunder. “You can’t say that. Everyone’s had it hard at one point or another. Just because I haven’t lived a day in your shoes doesn’t mean I don’t understand. I want to help you, Teagan. You need help. Please, just—”
“I don’t want your help,” I snap, backing away from him. There’s nowhere else to run. I feel trapped, trapped in my own skin. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here. This is stupid, I’m stupid.” He reaches for me, but I skirt out of reach. “Don’t touch me! I just… I need…” I don’t know. I don’t know what happens next. I won’t go back. A sob rises up, fast and hard, but biting it down only makes it worse.
“Teagan!”
“Don’t follow me!” I scream and it unnerves him, that sound. He wheels away, head in his hands as I flee out the door, my shoes pounding on the asphalt. I can’t breathe. I can’t scream. I can’t escape, but I can try. I run as hard as my body will allow, until my legs ache and my arms throb and my chest burns and I literally can’t breathe.
I’m almost home when the world fades to black.
I don’t feel myself hit the ground.
Twenty Three
Elias
For a moment, I pace through the house, slamming drawers and rattling the windows in their panes, knocking into furniture and sending poor Mr. Beefy skittering to hide among the cushions of the couch with a yelp. What do I do? Teagan’s having, I don’t know, some sort of psychotic break? Is there such thing as a quarter-life crisis? I’ve never seen her so scared, because despite her snarled words and sharp tongue, fear is the beast driving her. I know that and it goddamn hurts to know she doesn’t want my help.
Neverlost (Melodies and Memories) Page 12