Free Falling

by Makenzie Smith

  “Cute,” he said, putting it back down.

  “And what’s this?”

  He moved on to an end table and picked up a funky piece of wood I had resting on it. “Driftwood,” I said. “Found it in Alabama one summer. I thought it looked a little bit like a dragon and decided to keep it.”

  He studied it, turning it side to side. “Yeah, it kinda does,” he said.

  I followed behind him as he walked, stopping to study a painting here, opening a drawer there. He was being nosy as hell. But I didn’t mind. There wasn’t really anything I needed to hide from him. He could snoop all he wanted.

  With a playful smirk, he started walking down the hallway. He peered into the bathroom. “This is nice,” he said, admiring it for only a second.

  The next door was my spare bedroom. It was small, having only a twin bed and dresser. At the end of the hallway was my room. It was much larger and had its own bathroom. He peered in and then stepped inside. “That’s a big bed,” he said.

  “Mmhmm,” I said.

  Playfully, he looked back at me. He made a move towards it, but then spotted my piano against the wall. It was a box piano, old and slightly out of tune.

  “Awesome,” he said, walking over to it. “Do you play?”

  “Not in a long time. It was my grandmother’s. I used to, but I’m out of practice.”

  “Play something for me,” he said.

  “Really, it’s not going to be good. I haven’t touched it in years.”

  “Oh come on, just a little bit.”

  I couldn’t say no to that smile and walked over. “Alright,” I sighed, “but you’re warned. Sorry if your ears bleed.”

  He stood behind me as I sat on the rickety stool. Taking a deep breath, I put my hands on the keys and tried to play from memory.

  It started out beautiful. But that didn’t last long. After only a few chords, it went choppy and stalled, my brain unable to remember the right notes. I tried to continue, committed to it, but after a few more embarrassing stanzas, I had to stop.

  With a nervous laugh, I looked over my shoulder at him. “See?” I said. “Out of practice.”

  “That wasn’t so bad,” he said, giving my shoulders a rub.

  “Do you play?” I asked.

  “Eh.”

  “Well, you play then. I wanna hear you.”

  Squeezing in beside me on the stool, he hovered his hands over the keys, but didn’t move to play. His eyes were closed, concentrating. I was silent, letting him work it out.

  Softly, his hands finally went to the keys. The most beautiful melody filled my room. Gentle and easy. He never opened his eyes as he played, and it was almost as if his hands moved all on their own, no person controlling them.

  Up and down they went. Getting better and better. Louder and more complicated. It was spontaneous, flowing out of him. Looking at him, seeing the face he showed the rest of the world, you’d never know that he was capable of something like this. I wasn’t breathing, but my jaw was slack, mesmerized. With an epic crescendo he continued before softly teetering out again.

  The room was perfectly silent then.

  “Wow,” I said.

  He didn’t respond, but leaned on the keys, rubbing the back of his head.

  “I mean, wow, Wally. That was good.”

  “Thanks,” he said, smiling back at me, looking shy.

  He sat up and turned his face towards me. We were squeezed together on the stool. I could tell that he hadn’t anticipated our mouths being so close. But he didn’t pull away.

  Slowly, he reached a hand up and cradled my jaw. My eyelids grew heavy, and I focused on his lips, wanting to feel them against mine. He was agonizingly gradual in his movement.

  When we finally kissed, I stifled my moan. Yes! I thought. This is what it felt like to be kissed by someone you shared a connection with. There was no hesitancy, no awkwardness. Your lips just knew what to do. They communicated with each other in a language all their own.

  He was slow, taking his time to feel and know my lips and mouth. His fingers caressed my face and head as he went deeper. I could feel my breath leave me, heavy and desperate. This was so much different than before. Less needy, less frantic.

  It was passionate and wholesome. I moved, trying to get closer to him. As soon as my hands touched him, something within him snapped. He pulled me in and then abruptly stood, our mouths locked. Clumsily, he grabbed me, standing me up and guiding me to the bed.

  When my back hit the mattress, I pulled my mouth away and looked into his eyes. He looked into mine and I tried to tell him how amazing I thought he was. He knew. I could tell he did.

  But then his eyes closed. He sighed, and pulled away from me. Suddenly, he stood and walked towards my bedroom door.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t do this.”

  I would have tried to stop him, but he was gone before I even made it off the bed.

  Chapter 13

  I made it to the living room just as he was shutting the front door. I could have caught up to him, but something told me that he needed his space for a minute. I heard his car start and listened as its loud rumble faded away.

  I wondered what had happened in that room, why he’d suddenly stopped. We shared something, a connection, an attraction. Why was he so afraid of it?

  For a few hours I stewed on what I should do. Maybe I should contact him, tell him that I was fine taking it slow. I felt so vulnerable. It sucked putting yourself out there—especially since he wasn’t being very receptive. Maybe I could go to him? But then I realized that I didn’t even have my car. I’d left it at the shelter.

  I phoned Sheila and asked if she could bring me to it. It was an awkward ride. Especially, since she had to pick me up from my house. I knew she was curious, but didn’t offer any explanation.

  “Thank you so much,” I said as she dropped me off.

  “Yeah, no problem,” she shrugged.

  For a good ten minutes I sat in the parking lot at my work, contemplating what I should do. It felt too needy to rush to him, so I went home instead.

  Just before I went to bed, I broke down and sent a text. Tell me what’s bothering you, it said. If I need to do something different I can.

  I wanted him to know that I was willing to take this at his pace. Slow if he needed. Or not at all for a while. Under the covers, I stared at my phone’s screen, waiting, hoping that he’d text me back. The screen faded and then went dark.

  For longer than I’d like to admit, I laid awake in bed. He never responded, and I felt stupid, wishing I hadn’t reached out to him at all.

  At work the next day, I went through the motions, but was distracted, thinking of him the entire time. Five of our dogs were taken into loving homes and I was happy for them, but felt weird the whole day. It’d been a long time since I’d been this bare and open with a man. But I wanted to be this way with him. It felt right. Natural, like I didn’t have a choice. My heart wanted what it wanted.

  And it wanted him.

  When I made it home, I decided that I would have to tell him how I felt. I just had to. I needed to lay it out. There wasn’t any point to us going back and forth. I liked him. I wanted him. That was all there was to it.

  Since he still hadn’t responded to my message, I decided to go out. I needed to. Sitting at home all night and thinking about him was depressing and I wasn’t going to allow myself to do it. But I wasn’t being independent or free-spirited. I purposefully went to “his” bar, Burns, hoping to run into him.

  As I pulled into the parking lot, I received a text from Trey. He asked me to meet up with him and finish my statement. I couldn’t. Not only because I was busy, but I just wasn’t in the mood. Ignoring him, I made a mental note to contact him the next day.

  I went to the bar and ordered a beer, drinking it as I eyed the room. At first, I didn’t see him. I wouldn’t have seen him, but the girl who had her tongue down his throat came up for air and then there he was.

  Smil
ing at her.

  He let her take a breath before he assaulted her again.

  I wanted to look away. I couldn’t look away. I wanted to leave. I was going to leave.

  I stood from the bar and started for the door. At the last second, I glanced in his direction. He wasn’t smiling any more. He was looking at me, his eyes following my exit. Quickly, I turned away and kept going.

  Before I made it to my car, he caught up with me. “Kristen,” he yelled from a few feet back. My heart ached and my stomach felt sick, but I made myself stop and turn around. He wasn’t going to know how badly this hurt me.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I have no fucking idea.”

  He worked his mouth around, trying to find the words he wanted to say. Finally, settling on, “I’m not good for you.”

  “Clearly,” I told him. “What is wrong with you? Why would you do that?”

  He was frustrated with me, grunting as he ran his hands through his hair. “We just kissed, Punks. Why are you acting so hurt?”

  “Just kissed!” I felt my anger swell. “Did you forget about everything else? How much time we’ve been spending together? The video? You know the desk where you work? You fucked me on that.”

  “That was weeks ago,” he said. I could see through him. He wasn’t an ass, he was just pretending to be. “Look, I’m not into this. I’m sorry.”

  “What is there to be sorry about?” I asked. “I’m not into it either. It lasted all of two minutes anyway. Go back inside, I think your stupid slut’s gonna miss you.”

  I shouldn’t have called her a slut. I didn’t even know her. She might be a nice girl, but I was pissed, so whatever.

  He didn’t want to leave. He was internally fighting himself over it, maybe because he felt guilty. I left instead.

  “Wait,” he said as I opened my door. I looked at him long enough to see the regret in his eyes. Regret over what, I wasn’t sure. Realizing that he wasn’t going to say anything, that for whatever reason he couldn’t, I got in my car and sped away.

  On the ride home, I turned the crappy radio way up and blasted its shitty music. What did he know? Plenty of good music was on the radio.

  When I pulled into my driveway, I was still pissed—even more so when I saw Trey sitting on my front porch.

  “Now’s not a good time,” I told him.

  “It’ll only take a second, I promise,” he said. “I just need to make sure what I have is correct.”

  “Whatever.” I reluctantly let him in and we went over my statement. He’d already typed out what I’d previously told him, so reviewing it didn’t take long. I signed it, handed it back to him, and didn’t stop him when he pulled me in for a kiss.

  I removed myself from the situation, feeding on the anger I felt. I let him undress me as we moved to my bedroom. I even undressed him as he settled on the bed. The light was on, and when I looked up into his face, I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it.

  I kept trying, but would tense up every time we almost started. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I said and flipped over onto my knees.

  I let him take me from behind—only because when I couldn’t see his face, it was easier to pretend that he was someone else.

  Chapter 14

  Obviously, I’d made a mistake. I knew it while I was making it. But we lie to ourselves when we are angry. We make excuses and justify. It’d felt good to hurt Wally—even if he didn’t know that I was hurting him.

  That night, I’d listened to Trey hum in the shower. I’d gone through the motions as we lay in bed. I’d let him touch me and cuddle against me. He never seemed to notice how tense and rigid I was.

  In the light of day, I wasn’t able to continue the charade and slipped out while he was still sleeping. The sun hadn’t even come up when I opened the shelter. Most of the dogs were still drowsy, but I started our morning routine, feeding, taking them out for playtime and bathroom breaks.

  Working with animals was good for the soul. They were innocent, dependent on you for nearly everything. I couldn’t wallow in hurt or anger while I tended to them. Their wagging tails and kissing tongues could take the sting out of any wound I was feeling.

  My phone was silent throughout the day. I admit that I checked it more often than usual, hoping, wishing, that Wally would reach out to me, say he was sorry, tell me that it was all a mistake and he wanted me. Every time the door chimed as someone walked through, a little tingle went down my spine, and I pleaded with the universe for it to be him. It never was.

  I had it bad.

  I tried to decide why that was. He was unique. Funny. Wild. Never been tamed. I took pleasure in knowing that I might be the one to settle him down, make him commit to something, someone. Looking at him, I knew there were places he kept shut away, emotions and feelings that he never wanted anyone else to see.

  I was kidding myself though. Wally couldn’t be tamed.

  For days, I had to avoid Trey’s advances. Since I’d given in and slept with him, he thought it was going to become a regular thing again.

  The Gala or “event of the season” was approaching and he insisted that I go with him. I was at home, sitting on my couch, the phone pressed to my ear.

  “It’s really not for me,” I was telling him. “You already know this. Why on Earth would I want to go to one of those things?”

  “I know, I know,” Trey said. “But you’ll only have to be there for a little while. I’ve just been so busy lately and haven’t had time to get a date.”

  “Why do you need a date anyway?”

  “Sweetie, come on,” he said. Too bad he couldn’t see my eye roll. “You don’t go to an upscale charity event without a date.”

  You absolutely could. That was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard.

  “Besides,” he continued, “you’ll be doing me a favor. We can call it even about all my legal services.”

  Ugh. He had to throw that out there. I did owe him. Mentally, I calculated how much money I had in my savings. I couldn’t pay him; there was no way around it. I’d starve for a month and miss my mortgage payment.

  “Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll go.” Either he didn’t hear the defeat in my voice, or he didn’t care.

  A week later, he picked me up from my house and I rode with him to get his sister and mother. Both didn’t have dates. Trey was such a liar.

  In the car, I remembered them saying that their whole family would be there and wondered if it was true. If, for some crazy reason, Wally came, I’d have to think fast. I didn’t want him to think, even for a second, that I was getting back with Trey—if it even made a difference.

  The charity event was hosted at a local country club. It was to raise money for the inner city programs in the area, promoting the arts and music, hoping to keep children off the streets and occupied with pursuing bigger goals. Being something I believed in made going a little easier to swallow.

  For the first hour, I followed Trey around, letting him put his arm around me for pictures and introduce me to his colleagues, but that was all I could give him. Hoping that I was at least halfway done, I disappeared to the restroom then hid in a corner.

  Wally wasn’t there. But his mother was. She was so much different from her sister, the way she moved, how she spoke to people. I watched her give genuine smiles to people she knew, polite handshakes to the ones she didn’t. She seemed nice, sweet, like someone I’d actually want to talk to.

  “It’s sad, isn’t it?” I heard on my left.

  It was Julie, Trey’s sister. “What is?” I asked.

  “Her,” she said, pointing to Wally’s mother. “Maggie. She had Wally when she was so young, and then his father abandoned them when he was only a few months old. Her whole life has been one big mess. I mean I don’t have to tell you how Wally turned out.”

  Wonderful, I thought. He turned out wonderful.

  “He’s the same age as Trey,” she continu
ed, “but just look at the differences. It’s not her fault, I guess. She tried. And my grandfather tried, too. He’s just a bad seed.”

  I wondered how much of this were her actual feelings and what were things she’d only heard from others, like her mother or Trey. Because Wally wasn’t a bad seed. Different from them, yes, but not bad. Some, like me, would even say that he was better than they were.

  I was ready to go. I didn’t care if Trey felt like I owed him.

  When I found him and told him that I wanted to leave, he asked that I wait a little longer. When longer stretched from thirty to forty to sixty minutes, I called a cab and left.

  I’d been home long enough to change clothes and pull my hair up when there was a knock on my front door. I wasn’t surprised to see Trey on my steps.

  “I’m sorry,” I said as I let him in. “But I was ready to come home.”

  “Do you know how embarrassing that was?” he said. “People were asking me where you’d gone and I realize that you just fucking left. How do you think that makes me look? I don’t even know where my fucking girlfriend is.”

  I’d felt a tiny bit guilty until he’d said those words. Turning towards him, I took a breath, ready to have this out. “I’m not your girlfriend, Trey. You know I’m not.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” he said, moving to sit on the couch. “We still fuck, talk on the phone all the time. You’re my fucking girlfriend.”

  I couldn’t believe his nerve. “We talk on the phone because you are helping me with a legal situation. And I shouldn’t have had sex with you. It was a mistake. My mistake. I’m not your girlfriend.”

  His eyes narrowed and his jaw went hard. “Fucking me is a mistake, huh? Well, you don’t want to fuck me anymore then you owe me $5000,” he said.

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked, my voice rising. “Either I keep having sex with you or I owe you $5000? What kind of person do you think I am?”

  He shrugged, all high and mighty, sprawled out on my couch. “That’s my offer.”

  “Get out,” I said, pointing towards the door. “Get out and send me a bill.”

  “Your loss,” he said and stood from the couch. “Nathaniel agreed to a settlement about a week ago. Pay him what he lost on the adoption—expenses for the dog, fees, veterinarian bills—and he’ll drop everything.”