Complete (Incomplete)

by Lindy Zart

  I do not want to get into this. I don't even understand a lot of what happens between Grayson and me and trying to explain it would be ineffectual. So I say, “Sometimes you want things you can't have. Or you have to let go of things even when you don't want to.”

  “Things? Or people?” His expression is knowing. Stone isn't all witty remarks and outrageous actions like he pretends to be. Those eyes are seeing into me again; opening up what I try to hide and examining it.

  “You're too observant,” I tell him, half-joking.

  He shrugs. “It's just one of those things. I suppose I should tell you best of luck with your guy?”

  “If you want to.”

  “I don't.”

  I laugh. “Then don't.”

  Sighing, he says, “I can't be that cruel. So, anyway, best of luck with your guy. I guess.”

  “Thanks.” I grin. “Tell George hi for me. And don't eat all the cookies.”

  “I can't promise that,” he calls after me.

  I spend a little time with some of the other residents before weariness kicks in and tells me it is time to go. The ride home takes less than five minutes. Luckily the rain has let up, though the roads are covered in a fine blanket of water. Dusk is approaching as I pull the car into the parking lot of the apartment complex and turn the key off. My footsteps falter as I see a lanky form I will always recognize from just one glance.

  I didn't expect to see him again, not after our last conversation. The past week has gone by without an appearance from Grayson. I spent the days warring between relief and anguish, wondering when or if I would see him again before Scott's wedding. I even told myself it would be better if I didn't see him again, but I couldn't get myself to believe it. It is irrelevant because here he is; sitting on the steps to my apartment building, waiting.

  He looks up expectantly as I approach. Even in twilight, it is easy to see his face is drawn and that he is hunched over like he is trying to shelter himself from an invisible assailant. Sometimes I think the only one he is fighting is himself. What kind of hell that must be; to never be able to escape yourself when that is all you want.

  “Hey,” he greets roughly.

  I fidget with my car keys, not sure what to expect from this encounter. What Grayson will I see tonight? What Lily will I be tonight?

  “Hi.”

  When the intensity of his eyes hits me, I go still. I have this consuming longing to forget all that has come between us and severed the bond we once had—I just want to forget it all. I only want him; here, now.

  “I feel like I should apologize—again.”

  I cross my arms. “I don't disagree.”

  An amused look crosses his features before they turn serious once again. He rubs his forehead and blows out a loud breath. “I'm sorry. In fact, I think should probably just make a poster and carry it around so I can just raise it up every time I see you.”

  “It might be a good idea.”

  A half-smile lifts his lips and almost immediately falls. “I've never really been very sane over you. I've never really felt sane about you. I am in this half-crazed haze whenever I think of you. And then I blow up and turn into an idiot.”

  “Not arguing.”

  He gives me a look. “I noticed.” And then he speaks again and the fledgling grasp of good humor crashes away, like a receding ocean wave. “I had sex with someone right after we broke up.”

  Pain knifes me. “Are you trying to rip my heart out?” I cry incredulously.

  “No! I just...I have to tell you.”

  Stiffening, I close my eyes against the anguish of those words, anger and sorrow simultaneously ravaging me. “Why? Why do you have to tell me this?” I finally ask, when the pulsating ache in my chest fades to a dull throb.

  He stares down at his clasped hands. “Sometimes I think I subconsciously want to to see when you'll tell me you're done with me. I mean, there has to be some limit, right? There has to be that one thing to make you stop caring. It's there for everyone—that unforgivable act.”

  “So you're saying...you think, eventually, something you say or do will make me hate you because it's impossible that I could care about you unconditionally?” I say slowly, trying to make sense of his thinking, trying to understand.

  “Maybe. But I also don't feel right until I do. I have to tell you these things.”

  “Trust me, you really don't. And anyway, it doesn't matter,” I say flatly.

  As far as whether or not this information will make me realize my love for Grayson has limits—the answer is no. But do I tell him that? He needs to hear it. He needs to know someone loves him no matter what and he needs to be able to trust that. Right now, though, I am not feeling that generous. This newest injury to my heart is too fresh.

  “It matters to me.” Grayson looks up. “It always felt like I cheated on you—in my heart. Every time with another woman has felt like I was cheating on you—even with Megan, which is just...seriously screwed up.”

  “And yet that didn't stop you.”

  I feel raw; my unhealed wounds sliced open once more. I am not being fair. I have been with another man. Who am I to judge Grayson? And even with me and Sam it felt...not quite right, so I understand all he is saying. It doesn't mean I want to hear it. The thing with Sam and me is that we dated for almost four months before we had sex. Apparently Grayson had sex with another woman days after we broke up. He sullied our relationship before it was completely over.

  “No. It didn't stop me.” His tone is self-deprecating. “That first time I did it because I knew it was the only way I could let you go. And even afterward, it was still so hard to be without you. I had to force myself to leave. I hated myself for doing that, even though you never knew. I knew.” He pauses. “I did it because I knew I wouldn't be able to forgive myself and I thought it would help me get over you. Two years later...” he says dryly.

  “That's why you were able to go?” Shock makes my voice high. All this time I thought it was all me, but Grayson had his reasons for going too.

  “Well, it certainly helped make it easier.”

  I avert my gaze to a penny on the sidewalk. The light catches it and makes it shine.

  He gets to his feet. “I didn't intend to show up here.”

  “Then why are you here? If you don't want to be here, go.” I move to brush past him.

  Grayson's hand catches my shirt. “Don't go inside. Not yet.”

  Our eyes meet over my shoulder. His are tinged in sorrow and confusion. He looks so lost.

  “What do you want, Grayson?” I ask softly, my voice heavy with weariness.

  His hand drops from my clothes. Showing me his back, he gazes into the night. “I don't know, honestly,” he answers after a long pause. “No. That's not true. I do know, only—only I can't have it.” He faces me, looking devastated. “Can we just, I don't know, hang out or something? Forget all the reasons why we shouldn't and just kind of...be?”

  Grayson's expression is earnest and I am saying yes before I can think of why I should be saying no. I unlock the apartment door and push it open, feeling equal parts nervous and nauseous. We look at each other and away. I move around him to close the door and then turn to face him again.

  “Now what?” Grayson finally asks, laughing.

  I shrug. “We could watch a movie or something.”

  He studies me, a slight frown on his face. His glasses are off and the silver of the barbell in his eyebrow continues to draw my gaze to it. Somehow, it is extremely hot that he marred his skin in such a way. He rubs the stubble on his chin and my eyes shift to his hand.

  “Why did you tattoo my name on your knuckles?”

  He lowers his hand. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” A flash of white is all he'll allow for a smile.

  “Why is that? What was going on and why did you feel the need to etch me into your flesh?”

  My face reddens when he murmurs, “If only it were that simple.”

  The air around us is hot a
nd tense with untold thoughts as I wait.

  “It was after I saw you with Sam and went back to California,” he begins quietly. “I was depressed.” Lines form around his mouth and his eyes look old; like his soul has been a part of too much grief. “I was debating getting wasted, and I don't just mean with alcohol. I was at a party. Women were throwing themselves at me. Booze and drugs were being shoved my way.

  “I wanted an escape; I wanted a way to get you out of my system. Nothing else had worked so far. I was reaching for the bottle when I saw this girl across the room. Nothing about her was that significant; I didn't especially find her attractive. But then she looked up and she had these sad blue-gray eyes, and...” He pauses, swallowing. “And it was like you were there, looking at me, telling me not to do it. It was weird and crazy, but it worked. I left the party, found a tattoo shop, and put your name on my knuckles. So if I ever had the urge to drink or do drugs again, I'd have to see your name staring at me as I raised the glass or whatever to my face.”

  “Grayson,” I whisper, chills going through me and love overwhelming me. I put a palm over his chest, feeling his heart thunder against my hand. “Why this one? Why the one on your chest?”

  “I wanted a memory of you. I wanted to remember what we had, even if what we had lasted only so briefly. It was the happiest I'd ever been; the happiest I've ever been. I just didn't want to forget that.”

  “And this?” My fingertips graze the cool metal pierced through his brow.

  “I wanted to change. I figured if I couldn't change on the inside; at least I could on the outside. Same with the shorter haircut. I keep trying to change things about me; hoping it will change me. It hasn't happened yet. I know you think it has; I know you think I'm not the person you remember. I really am; I just hide my emotions better than I used to be able to. Well, to some extent. Obviously not where you're concerned. I'm still me; maybe just a little harder to see, but still me.”

  “Why would you want to change? You're perfect. You always have been.”

  I touch his face and he turns it so that I am cupping his strong jaw. He is looking at me so intently and I can't breathe from what I see in his face and in his eyes. He loves me. I see it. I see the same darkening of the eyes; the same open, fearless, unapologetic look on his face, that I saw every day for as long as I can remember. I have unconsciously been searching for this since he came back and now that I have found it; now that I know, I am determined not to let it go. I know what I want. He is what I want.

  It took what I thought was courage to stay away, but really I now know it was fear. Courage makes you fierce and impulsive. I want to be brave again. That is the Lily I am deciding to be from now on. I smile and his eyelids slowly slide shut as he takes a shuddering breath. I lift my other hand to his face, closing my own eyes as I raise my lips to his.

  “This is what you want, Grayson, isn't it?” I whisper against his warm lips.

  His body is taut, his fingers moving to tightly grip my waist, digging into my skin. I relish in it. He is trying to stay in control; trying to be something he isn't. I want him wild. I want him to be the way he should be; not this fake person he thinks he has to be. I want my Grayson back. He is in there; somewhere. I just have to set him free. It all makes sense now; everything is clear now that I have decided to stop being afraid.

  “Then take it,” I taunt, pushing against the hardness of his body before stepping away.

  His eyes snap open and the fire in his gaze burns me, but I don't want it to stop. I want this. I tug the rubber band out of my hair and let the locks fall around my shoulders, challenging him. I want the inferno our love once was; not the ice now separating us. I stand proud with my head up. Remorse no longer has power over me. I am done with that. I don't care about what I should or shouldn't do; I only care about this moment and that Grayson is here, with me. He—is—mine. I know it; he knows it. Everyone knows it.

  “What are you doing, Lily?” he asks in a strained voice.

  Shrugging, I say, “Giving you a choice. I never did before. I am now.”

  Choose me. Please choose me. Even if it's just for now.

  “I don't think...you understand what you're asking,” he says falteringly, his grip almost painful.

  “I'm not asking.” I grab his hands from my waist and draw them upward. His body jerks and I feel the tremble of it in his hands as they mold to my ribcage. “I'm not telling either. I'm just giving you an option.”

  “This is what you want?”

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  The feel of his hands on me is almost too much. I try to appear unaffected by his touch, but it is evident that I am in the shakiness of my voice. So long I have ached for this. All the pieces I have tried to glue back together are about to come undone, and just from his nearness. He is reconstructing me back into the person I used to be; the person I lost when I lost him. I don't want to think about tomorrow or what it will bring; tonight is all that matters.

  “No one has ever loved me like you did,” he whispers into my ear.

  Tears burn my eyes and I want to tell him that I still love him, but words are meaningless. Words only do so much and ours usually hurt each other. But this—how we touch one another, says more than anything that passes our lips.

  The smell of him—mint and cologne—ravages my senses and I want to breathe him in; just him and nothing else. His palms move in heartbreaking slowness, up and up until the fingers are wrapping around the back of my neck and drawing me forward.

  When our faces are close enough that I see the flecks of silver in his blue eyes, he tells me, “There is no going back from this. This changes everything. You know that, right?”

  I stitch the frayed space between us with my lips; trying to mend the brokenness of Grayson and me. I have never really been kissed by anyone but him—no one else's even begin to compare. A sob forms in my chest at the pleasure I have missed; the feeling so close to an ache; a euphoria laced with agony that only he can give me. I clutch him to me with my arms locked tightly around his neck and my body pressed to his.

  There is still too much between us.

  His mouth takes over, simultaneously bruising and healing mine. His fingers entangle in my hair and I can feel the hum of his desire as it radiates through him and pulsates into me. Every part of me is overloaded and consumed by him. The feel of him, the texture of his hair, how his lips have the power to wipe every memory but his from my mind. And his body—I moan low in my throat when he moves against me.

  He breaks away only long enough to grab the hem of my scrub top and drag it over my head. His follows. Then he goes completely still; staring at me like it is the first time he has ever seen me. I watch his chest heave up and down; my eyes roving over the defined muscles his shirts keep from me. My gaze lingers on the lily above his heart. He altered his body for me and because of me. He put me into his flesh; into his soul. He made me a part of him the only way he could.

  Grayson takes unsteady steps forward, lowering his head to my collarbone and gently pushing me back until I am flush with the wall, his breaths warm and fast against my sensitive skin. He kisses my neck and lower; interlocking his fingers with mine and raising them over our heads to rest against the wall behind me.

  Releasing one hand, he undoes his jeans and kicks them off; his eyes dark blue with desire as they meet mine. His nostrils flare and his expression is part pained, part wonder. Grayson looks like he can't believe this is happening and yet he wants it to continue to be real, if only in his mind. I use my free hand to untie my scrub pants and shimmy out of them. I am afraid that this could end at any moment and I will never get it back.

  “I only want you. I want what we had back,” he says roughly, his fingers grazing the side of my face as though he is scared if he touches me too firmly I will fade away.

  I take his hand and tug, watching him as I cross the room to the bedroom. Grayson's eyes don't leave mine. His look has a feral cast to it, causing my mouth to go dry. He kicks the
door shut behind us and prowls toward me with his broad shoulders hunched and his face twisted with deep, dark emotions. His arm and abdomen muscles flex as he moves.

  The beast is finally coming out, I think as my pulse picks up.

  I don't always want to be in charge; I don't always want to have to show my strength or have to prove something. I want to know he is stronger than me. I want to know Grayson has power over me. I want him to show me that though he is out of control, he controls me, at least in this moment.

  Grayson shows me when he lifts me up with one fluid motion and lands us on the bed with me beneath him. His desire wraps around me, heating me, making my inhibitions disappear when his mouth goes down my stomach and back up to my lips; the feel of it hot against my skin. The contours of him mold against me in every way and our bodies are a perfect fit.

  Impatient with the restriction of our remaining clothes, I bite his lower lip and he groans, his arms slackening until his full weight is upon me. Loving the feel of him against me, but wanting more, I shove at him until he flips onto his back. His gaze is half-lidded as he watches me. I remove my bra and study the way his eyes go almost black with arousal. Now it's my turn to be in control. I show him with my lips what I could never put into words and I know he understands.

  My movements are fast, yearning crashing through me in waves of need. Grayson is the same; his fingers never leaving me as they touch my hair, my face, brush across my lips, and become reacquainted with my body in all ways. A sound between a plea and a demand breaks free from Grayson when I straddle him with nothing between us but air and soon not even that.

  I want to erase every woman he has ever known from him until I am all that is left.

  Making love was never the right term for what our bodies did together; having sex made it seem too inconsequential and empty. What happened when Grayson's and my body merged was so much more; so indefinable and something I could never put into words. It was losing ourselves, finding ourselves, becoming one and at the same time becoming nothing. It was perfection in a world of imperfections. It was too much and not enough; never enough. It was a contradiction in all ways; just as we are.