The Truth About Falling

by H. M. Sholander

  “Chess is confusing,” I defend.

  “Don’t feel bad. He’s the one who taught me. He learned at school and demanded I play with him every night for two months. I hated it, but he loved it, which was more than worth it.”

  “I think you have a genius on your hands.”

  “You might be right.” He rises from the swing and takes my hand in his, pulling me to my feet. “So where have you been?” he questions, his voice soft as he towers over me his head bent low.

  I crane my head back to look at him. “I–uh…” I struggle with what to say, not sure I can voice the words I need to just yet. “I saw an attorney and was getting everything straightened out from my arrest.”

  He nods, his brown hair blowing in the breeze. “How did that go?”

  “Better than I thought,” I say, shrugging. “He’s gonna give me a call when he has news, but he thinks he can get me out of having to go to court.”

  “That’s great.” He takes a step back, dropping one of my hands. “Working tonight?”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Stay with me until you have to leave.”

  “Okay.” There’s nothing I want more than to be near him.

  Hudson leads me away from the playground in the direction of his house, and I follow, my mom’s request on the tip of my tongue, being held captive by the fear of the unknown. It seems strange to ask him to meet my dying mother. It’s a little morbid, isn’t it?

  “So I have something to ask you,” I say hesitantly, biting my lip as his strides slow to match mine.

  “I’m listening.” He quirks an eyebrow, his interest piqued.

  “It’s a little weird.” I skew my mouth, worried. “It might be too much, but it’s…just tell me no if you want.”

  “You can ask me anything. I think we know enough about each other for you to ask me anything…even if it is a little weird.” He smirks. “Just don’t ask me to eat something slimy and gross because I can guarantee you my answer will be no.”

  “Will you come to the hospital with me tomorrow?” I blurt out, looking straight ahead, not daring to make eye contact with him.

  He jerks me to a stop, hauling me flush against his body. He sweeps my long hair out of my face, stroking his thumb across my cheekbone. “Absolutely.”

  “Really?” I croak.

  He leans in, brushing his nose against mine and down the side of my face. “I’d do anything for you.”

  And then he kisses me, making me forget why I was so nervous in the first place. He washes everything away, and I drown in him. Everything about him was made for me. His strength, courage, friendship, and his touch.

  It’s like we are two pieces of a mold that were separated at the beginning of our lives. We were wandering around, trying to find our place, and when we finally came together, everything made so much more sense. We fit. Every nook, every cranny. We form one complete mold.

  His kiss is full of promise–that he’ll be there, that he’ll catch me when I crash, and I believe it, but the better question is, will I let him?

  I try not to think of that as his tongue invades my mouth, tasting every inch. My fingers dig in to his arms, holding onto him.

  All too soon, he pulls away, placing one last kiss on my lips as his arms snake around my waist. “What do you say we have some fun. I think you need it.”

  I cock my head to the side. “You always think I need to have fun.”

  “And it’s always true.” His arms slide away from me, leaving a chill on my skin. “Wait here.” He runs the ten feet to his house, and I shake my head at him, questioning what he could possibly be up to.

  I move off to the side of the road, not interested in getting run over by one of the few cars that drive through the neighborhood.

  My shoulders relax for the first time in several days as I let out a long sigh.

  He said yes to coming to the hospital. I fretted over nothing. He made it seem like it wasn’t a big deal at all, but to me, it meant more than anything.

  He comes bounding out of his house with a plastic bucket hanging from his fingertips. He stops in front of me, holding the bucket between us. “How do you feel about chalk?”

  “Like I haven’t used it since I was twelve.” I laugh.

  He takes out a fat piece of white chalk and hands me the bucket. “How ‘bout a game of tic-tac-toe?” He squats down and draws four lines on the pavement. “Ladies first.” He points to the bucket in my hands. “Pick a color and get your butt down here.”

  I pluck the pink chalk from the bucket and sit on the ground next to him, placing the bucket to the side. I draw an X in the middle, and then Hudson takes his turn. We go back and forth and end up playing five games. I lose three out of the five.

  We laugh and joke around sitting on the hard, uncomfortable ground for an hour playing games I haven’t played since elementary school like Hangman and MASH. Yes, MASH, because everyone wants to live in a fantasy and be married to Ryan Gosling sometimes.

  “Draw something for me,” Hudson requests, steering the bucket of chalk closer to me.

  I hesitate. “I’ve never drawn with chalk. It could come out hideous.” A bulky piece of chalk is completely different than the fine point of a graphite pencil.

  “What if it doesn’t?” he shifts closer to me, his mouth at my ear. “What if it turns out to be the most beautiful thing ever created? Like you.” His breath hits my neck, and I shiver as my face heats from his words.

  I shy away from him, but he turns my chin toward him, his lips connecting with mine, making me feel like I’m worthy of the words that slipped from his mouth.

  He moves back and encourages me, saying, “Nothing you create could be hideous.”

  “How do you know?” I challenge, knowing he’s never seen any of my drawings.

  “I know.” He leaves it at that, getting to his feet and setting up residence on his porch, giving me room to create something on the dull, black pavement.

  I take the white chalk and begin drawing, nothing particular in mind until the lines start to flow together. The creation takes shape without my knowledge, my hand working separately from my brain as it moves over the pavement, creating soft lines, contrasting with the hard ground.

  It seems like forever until I stand up and take a step back, looking at what I drew. It’s a single rose on a long stem with thorns and a few leaves, but it’s not full and vibrant at the peak of its life. It’s the opposite–withering away, the petals dying off, and the leaves drooping on the dying steam. It’s tragically beautiful, alone and at peace as it’s served its purpose in this world.

  Hudson’s hand rests on my back, drawing my attention to him and away from something that seemingly represents the events of my life.

  His phone materializes, and he snaps a picture as the first raindrop falls from the sky.

  After shoving his phone in his pocket, he maneuvers in front of me, placing both of his hands on either side of my face, something he’s been doing a lot of today, holding my attention to only him. “That’s not you,” he says, his voice booming over the pounding rain, pelting around us. “You aren’t broken. You’re the opposite, growing every day, discovering who you are beneath the layers you hide under.”

  “Maybe I just hide it better around you,” I remark.

  Tipping my head back, I notice the dark clouds looming overhead. Without warning, the sky pours rain down over the earth, soaking me and Hudson through our clothes in less than a minute.

  I don’t bother to shield myself from the rain since I’m already drenched, but I do look down at the ground. The chalk is gone, washed away. Our games and my drawing have been cleared, making the pavement like new as the rain rinses away the colors, all of them bleeding into a milky color, moving down the road to the nearest storm drain.

  He holds my face in his hands as rain washes over us. “No, you don’t.” He shakes his head, drops of water flying from his wet hair.

  Hudson sees me–because I do hide myself. />
  My feelings. What I think. What I want.

  But how long can you hide before it becomes who you are? Maybe this is me, walking around life with a chip on my shoulder because the cards I was dealt weren’t what I wanted, and I didn’t get the chance to trade them in. Life isn’t like a game of cards. You can’t toss out what you don’t like in hopes of finding something better.

  He moves closer, water unable to fall between us. “I see through the lies you tell me even if you don’t want me to. Want to know how?” he asks, but I don’t answer. “Because we’re the same.”

  His chest rises and falls faster like he’s struggling to say the words aloud. “I do the same thing as you. Hide…mask everything. All because I’m too scared to let anyone in–to feel something that can break me when I don’t have time to be broken. When I can’t afford to be anything other than strong because I have someone looking to me for the answers.” His voice cracks as his brows dip together.

  His eyes trace my face, and I suck in a breath, seeing something I never have before–desperation and something akin to love. Two feelings battling each other, waiting to see which one wins out.

  “Most of all I’m scared because I lost Christina, and I don’t want to lose you, too” His eyes are glassy, and I wonder if it wasn’t raining if tears would be falling down his face.

  “You like to pretend it’s easier, just like me, but it’s not. It’s fucking exhausting.” He squeezes his eyes shut before opening them, looking at me like I’m the relief he needs. “But when I’m with you, I don’t hide. I let you see what others don’t. That sometimes I wish I wasn’t a dad. Sometimes I wish I had more than I do, and that I could become more than I am or ever will be.”

  My feelings are all over the place. Elated. Upset. Confused. I’m not sure what to feel, but if he thinks he knows all the bad, he’s wrong. “Do you want to know what I hide?” I try to step back, but he doesn’t allow me to, holding me firmly in front of him.

  “I’ve hated my dad since I caught him cheating on my mom. I hated giving up my life for my parents. I wanted to be selfish and leave, but I didn’t because my mom needed me. I don’t want her to die.” My chin quivers as I place my hands on his chest, wanting to push him away and draw him closer all at the same time.

  “I don’t want to deal with her affairs when she’s gone, and I don’t know what’s going to become of my life when I’m left alone. Most of all I’m scared of losing you and that I will sooner or later. You’ll be gone, and I’ll be here picking up the pieces of my life.” I grip his shirt, keeping him with me as long as I can.

  His forehead touches mine, water from his hair dripping in my face. “I won’t leave you.”

  “Everyone does,” I mumble.

  He regards me with sincerity. “I won’t.”

  Both of us are scared for different reasons. He lost a great love and worries he’ll lose the people he has left. I’m going to lose Mom, and I’m clinging to him, too scared to navigate my life without her.

  I kiss him, sealing our lips together as the rain falls down around us, cloaking us from the outside world.

  Kissing in the rain, what a cliché, right? It might be, but kissing Hudson in the rain feels right. Like our souls are bleeding together, being forged as one. Rain mixing with our breaths, our movements, is intoxicating like no matter how bad it gets or how hurt we are, we’ll have each other.

  I hold him closer, and thunder roars over us like the pounding of our hearts beating against our chest. I want more, for him to wrap himself around me, consuming me like the rain.

  Lightning strikes in the distance like a match between us, igniting hot and bright, more intense with each passing second.

  Hudson’s hands drift down my sides landing on my hips, holding firm as he lifts me, and my legs wrap around his waist.

  Thunder roars again as he walks up the stairs to his front door. The rain no longer pouring over us as the safety of the overhang above the door shields us. He swiftly pushes the door open with his foot, not putting me down as he moves over the threshold into his home.

  He pushes my back into the nearest wall and assaults my mouth more feverishly, taking everything I have to give, and I pour it into him.

  Wrenching his mouth away from mine, he moves to my neck, leaving a scorching path in his wake as his lips move to the skin on my heaving chest. I yank at the hair on the back of his head, wanting his mouth back on mine, and he gives me just that, kissing me with the same force that I’m using on the back of his head.

  Hudson is more than I convince myself he is. He isn’t marking time for me or someone who I’m holding onto to keep from self-destructing. He’s showing me how to stand on my own and keep moving even when I don’t think it’s possible.

  He peels me from the wall and moves through each room with precision like he knows it without needing to see where he’s going, never stumbling or releasing my mouth from his.

  Before I know it, my butt is connecting with a hard surface, undoubtedly his dresser. My legs stay firmly in place around his waist as his hands explore my curves, roaming up and down, eliciting a shiver to flow through me.

  Warm hands find the sliver of exposed skin between my shirt and shorts. His fingers delve under, peeling the soaking wet shirt from my body as I lift my arms over my head. He throws it haphazardly in the dark, and it lands with a thud on the ground from the weight of it.

  He removes his shirt, throwing it on the ground, as well. Flashing light bleeds through the blinds on the window, highlighting the defined lines of his chest, and I bite my lip, wanting to see more as we’re cloaked in darkness again. I settle for running my hands over the smooth skin of his abdomen, watching as he contracts under my touch, a sigh slipping from his mouth.

  His hands move under my butt and lift me from the surface of the dresser. Flipping us around, my back connects with his bed, engulfing me in the scent of cinnamon, surrounding me in his world. I revel in it, need running through me like an addict needs a fix.

  He moves over me, kissing every inch of flesh he can until he reaches my shorts where he deftly undoes the button and zipper. He slips the wet shorts from my legs, dragging his hands lightly across my hot skin, throwing me into a tizzy.

  He slides up my body, connecting our skin, and I sigh in relief, grateful for his touch. He assaults my mouth, his tongue invading and mine doing the same. Both of us touching, yanking, desperate for the other.

  The last of our clothes land on the floor, and my body is one heaping mess, needing more, needing anything he’ll give me. My chest heaves, taking in as much air as possible before he sucks it all from the room.

  His mouth is inches from mine when he whispers, “Tell me to stop.” Unable to speak, I shake my head no. “Tell me you want this. That you aren’t just running from your demons.”

  I inhale a shaky breath. “I want this.” Exhale. My chest falling at the admission. He hovers above me, hesitating, unsure of whatever he’s battling in his head. “You. I want you.” Reaching my hand up, I place it on his cheek, his head leaning in to my touch as my thumb runs under his eye. “If anything, I’m running toward you, not away from anything. It’s you.”

  He releases the breath he was holding, the last of his resolve floating away with it as he crashes his mouth to mine, his hand running across my breast making me squirm under his touch, urging him to give more.

  Each touch leaves me wanting more.

  Each kiss becomes my drug.

  I’m drowning in Hudson, but I don’t want to come up for air. I’d happily die under the weight of him.

  He wrenches his mouth away from me, reaching his arm to his side table and pulling out a shiny square wrapper. He lifts his body from mine, ripping it open and gliding on the condom, keeping his eyes trained on me, transfixed on my face.

  I watch his face as the sound of the rain pelts the roof of the trailer, adding to my favorite soundtrack.

  We’re a perfect storm. Lightning and thunder seeking each other, ch
asing the other until they collide, creating something meant to strike fear into its witnesses.

  We’re a storm, and I’m hoping there’s a rainbow on the other side and not a tornado. I’m praying we don’t destroy each other.

  He positions himself between my legs, stopping too far from where my body needs him. His hands cage me as he pins me down with his chocolate eyes, pulling me further into him. “Tell me something,” he whispers, his breath floating across my face, furthering my fall into his world.

  “You’re the one I was made for.” I can feel it in every cell in my body. My fingers run over the coarse stubble on his jaw. “I think I’ve already started falling for you.” It was easier than I thought saying it out loud, letting him hear my thoughts that I keep so tightly locked away. But the way he’s looking at me, like I’m the air in the room, had the words spilling out into the wind.

  He kisses me gently for the first time since the rain began to pour. His movements slow, his touches lighten, showing me exactly how he feels instead of saying it.

  He enters me the same way, slowly and all at once, consuming me.

  Where Hudson is concerned, I never had a chance. I was bound to fall for him. We were meant to swallow each other whole.

  I urge him to pick up the pace, moving my hips a fraction faster than his, and he obliges.

  We move in sync, touching and kissing, adding to the ecstasy of connecting as one, as if on command when the lightning and thunder go off at the same time, so do we. A magical storm coming to an end.

  Hudson stills above me, his chest heaving, trying to catch his breath as his forehead rests on mine, leaning on me for support after our euphoria.

  “I fell a long time ago,” he breathes out, placing a sweet kiss on my nose before moving off the bed.

  I cover myself with his comforter, snuggling into his bed.

  He returns a second later, slipping in behind me, tucking my body into his as his arm wraps snugly around my waist.