“Sloane? You’re not very talkative. What’s up?” she asks.
“Just some unhappy memories from when I was younger,” I shrug, wanting to be ambiguous but also still needing to make a connection with her.
The one thing that has been the hardest in our friendship is the fact that I can’t be completely honest with Lyra, having to hide most of my thoughts. Sometimes I even think she catches on to me not being open with her, yet she still remains ever-true to our friendship, never really pushing me too much when I clam up. She isn’t aware of this, but I appreciate it more than she could ever understand.
“I’m sorry Sloane, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you. When you’re ready, no pressure,” Lyra adds.
“Thanks. Buuut… I AM super excited for next weekend. I have a feeling you’re going to make it my best birthday ever, Lyra,” I exclaim, in a very sad attempt to pull her attention away from the subject matter of my “demons of the past,” as I like to mentally refer to them.
“Well if it means that much to you guys, I’ll make sure it happens,” Gray says out of nowhere.
We finish up this delicious course Gray has provided us with, barely able to eat dessert. As a joint effort, we begin putting away all the leftovers. When I start on the dishes, Gray attempts to stop me, saying it’s his responsibility, but I refuse.
“It’s only fair that I wash them since I’m the guest in this situation and you’ve done all the work,” I assert, running some hot, soapy water.
While I’m washing, Lyra goes upstairs to check on Mr. Knightley, and despite my being insistent on doing the dishes, Gray falls in beside me to help rinse. He’s so close the warmth being emitted from his body caresses my senses, and every now and then his arm brushes mine ever so slightly. It’s almost as if we’re bonded in some unknown way, an electrical hum coursing between us like two magnets being forced apart.
Any time he’s in my vicinity, my stomach becomes knotted up. But when he’s right next to me, I can hardly think straight. My eyes catch on his arm, continuing to brush against mine, and I stifle the urge to reach out and run my hand down his arm, to assault his ropey muscles with my perusal.
That would be weird, but I want to. I can’t help it. It’s like discovering a specimen previously unknown and wanting to explore and study it in every possible way. And Gray, he’s a dying breed of the finest of male specimens.
“You okay?” he asks, likely concerned by the extreme probability of drool pooling from my lips as I stare intently at him. At the very least, he ascertains how lost in thought I am this evening.
“Yeah, just… thinking,” I reply, trying to shake myself of the stupor I’m locked in. He continues to stare, unaccepting of my evasive answer, and keeps firing questions.
“So, you say your dad passed away, but I’m picking up on the vibe of you two not having a good relationship in the first place. Is that true? He didn’t hurt you did he?” he asks, two lines appearing between his dark brows.
“Nope. He didn’t hurt me. At least not physically. He just acted like I didn’t exist. He didn’t want me at all.”
“That can’t be true. Maybe he just wasn’t good at expressing himself, for whatever reason, but that’s just not possible. There might be bad and selfish parents out there, and I know I’m blessed to not have to know that firsthand, but people have to at least love their child a little bit. A child is an extension of one’s self,” he attempts to alleviate the hurt, but it doesn’t work. I know the truth, or as much of it as I need to know.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I disagree, moving a soapy dish over to his side of the sink to be rinsed. “I overheard some of the arguments between my parents. My mom doesn’t even realize that I remember them, I was so young when we left, and it would kill her to know. But, my dad didn’t love me, not at all. He even pushed for my mother to have an abortion, but she refused. I discovered this one night when I eavesdropped on him reminding Mom that I was her responsibility. I was her ‘little pet,’ and he never wanted me in the first place. Mom always tried to keep me out of his sight when he came home,” I speak frankly, yet as soon as the last words leave my lips, I’m surprised at my candor.
The words flow out naturally. I’ve never opened myself up like this with anyone, but with Gray, I could see myself seeking shelter, confiding in him effortlessly. Maybe I should be directing that effort towards keeping my mouth shut when I’m around him instead.
“I can’t believe anyone would say that about you, Sloane. What a piece of shit,” he shakes his head in disbelief, his voice lowering to a slight growl.
I’m fully aware it’s an illogical whim, the quickly emerging idea of closeness. And I’m not just talking proximity-wise but with my mind and soul. What’s truly astounding is how in this moment, I want so desperately to admit “my name’s not Sloane. It’s Valentina.” What I wouldn’t give for the opportunity to witness my real name falling off his lips. For a fraction of a second, I come this close to tearing down all my walls and disclosing every last secret.
If I were the only piece of the equation, I wouldn’t hesitate. But I have Mom, and I can’t sabotage something she built by giving up everything. A warm, solitary, traitor of a tear slides down my face before I can call it back.
Please don’t let him notice.
As my mind begs the universe to spare me the humiliation, I cut my gaze to the side, praying he’s focused on something other than my face.
Our eyes connect in my most vulnerable of moments, and I realize I can’t hide from him. I can fight it all I want, but the problem with Gray is he’s too observant. Seconds later he’s placing his wet hand at the bottom of his shirt, gripping the hem and pulling upward. He softly dabs away the tear using the cotton material, an act exemplifying such tenderness that two more fall in its place.
“Don’t cry, you’ll ruin your mascara. Isn’t that what you girls say?”
I smile and croak out a tiny laugh, the pain in my chest subsiding just a smidge. In his presence, I’m gifted with a sense of security, but there also exists a plethora of other confusing emotions triggered from being around him.
Affection swirls in his caramel eyes as they bore into my own, and I realize I’ve been wrong. Lyra hasn’t been the only friend I’ve made. I have two, even though my feelings for Gray are in a completely different realm. We drift closer to one another of our own accord, like magnets that just can’t resist the pull.
Second nature. Automatic.
I lean into his palm as he cups my face, softly rubbing my lip with the pad of his thumb, never breaking eye contact.
“Your father was probably the stupidest man to ever be born. He’d be stupid not to want you in his life, anyone would be lucky to have you in theirs.”
His voice, thick with emotion is so convincing I nearly melt into a puddle. The energy between us is burning to a higher level, yet neither of us makes a move, both waiting to discover what the other will do first.
Fuck it.
I’m not waiting to find out what he’ll do. I’ll take what I’ve been craving since the moment I’ve met him. I rise up on my tiptoes, closing the final bit of distance between our lips.
Just as I can taste the mint of his breath, just as our lips are about to meet for the first time, Lyra comes flitting down the stairs. We both turn away from each other, and go back to washing dishes, leaving Lyra completely unbeknownst to what almost just went down.
Gray hardly looks in my direction the rest of the night. Treating me like I don’t even exist, just like my father did.
Chapter Nine
The rest of the week, Lyra is sure to bring up the “Fall Festival” at least three times a day, making sure I’m not going to back out on her. It’s pretty cool to finally have a friend who cares about how I’ll spend my birthday.
Shockingly, Gray continues to bring us lunch every day, despite his approach of barely acknowledging me. It’s a huge letdown every time he’s cold toward me. He acts like we did
n’t share a pivotal moment in my life.
To anyone else, that statement alone screams “I’m a selfish teenage girl with a flair for the dramatics,” but I’m dead serious. Those brief moments in the kitchen constituted an awakening in my life, like a coming-of-age of sorts.
Gray made the choice to say all those beautiful things to me, just like he made the choice to ignore me afterwards. It was like repeating history. My confidence had been elevated to the highest level, only to crash and burn, further fueling my theory of love being fleeting. Not that I’m in love by any means, but a strong lust is still close enough to pertain to the situation.
Well, screw him.
His stupid moodiness has been the point of my obsession the entire drive home from school today.
Taking out my frustrations on the front door, I slam it extra hard, openly announcing my arrival.
“I need to talk to you about something, and I’m worried about how you’ll react,” Mom warns me, yelling out from the back of the house somewhere. Now I’m both intrigued and filled with dread at the same time. The only thing I’m thinking she would need to talk to me about is how much time I’m spending with Lyra. She’s probably displeased. After all, she did say to make friends but not necessarily BFFs, if I remember her words correctly. This will really suck. I inhale a deep breath, and release it slowly, strategizing what my argument will be.
“What is it, Mom?” I ask, walking down the hallway until I find her in the laundry room.
“Next weekend, I’m going to need to leave town early Saturday morning. I won’t be back until sometime Monday. You’ll be staying here, and I’d feel a lot better about it if you could stay with the Knightley’s,” she speaks in a concise and no bullshit tone.
“But… why? It’s my birthday weekend.”
“Valley, you know you were planning to ask me if you could stay the night with Lyra anyway. We’ll have a celebratory dinner either Friday evening, or a breakfast Saturday before I head out. Or both. Whatever you want, just so long as I see my contact. We haven’t met up in a long time, and it’s hard to volley information back and forth when we’re moving around all the time. I need to find out what your father is up to, his plans for the upcoming months, and if he has any new intel on us. I don’t have a choice, it’s the only time we could set up to meet without your father being suspicious of them. Apparently, your father has prior engagements that weekend and will be flying out of town,” she explains.
“Ok, Mom. I’m sure they won’t mind my staying. Just be careful when you go though, someone could try to set you up,” My voice cracks at the end as I say my biggest fear aloud. This is my biggest worry every time she meets up with him, although, I don’t think he would harm her per se, but there’s always a possibility of someone else intercepting their exchanges and tricking her into meeting with my father instead. The thought makes me sick to my stomach.
At every other meeting she’s had, I’ve always been close by somewhere for moral support. Mom never being one to put me at risk, but also needing to know I was right around the corner. This time she’s going completely alone, and I have a nagging suspicion she’s not going to tell me the location of the meeting. What if she didn’t come back? I wouldn’t know where to begin a search of that caliber. I can’t entertain that idea. It could bring bad juju.
“You know I’ll be careful my Valley girl,” she assures me. Her soft and slight arms envelop me and create the impression as if I’m wrapped in a cocoon of love. She’s always been able to make me feel as if everything is right in the world, even when the world itself was falling down around us.
XoXo
“I’m so glad it’s the weekend. This was the longest week ever.” Lyra allows the “r” from “ever” to roll off her tongue like a growl. It has been a pretty long week, and she and I are hanging out this weekend, just like every other weekend since I’ve been here.
“For sure,” I agree. Reaching across to open the glove-box, I pluck out my sunglasses. The white light penetrating the windshield makes it nearly impossible to see what’s in front of my Rav4 as it cruises down the cracked asphalt.
“So, what are our plans? In the hallway between third and fourth period, you said we had plans, but that’s not very specific,” I point out, slowing down to turn down our shared driveway.
“Well, you know how the Fall Festival is the biggest event for our Central Valley?”
I nod my head, glancing over as she’s now piqued my interest.
“The biggest event for Central Valley High is Roman Connery’s Start-of-the-Harvest party. It started out with his older brothers. The second oldest, Cain, is Gray’s age. The Connery’s have thrown one every year for about 10 years running now. It’s tonight. And, you are going. And I am going. We will be going. So, don’t try to back out on me, because I’m not going alone,” she purses her lips and folds her arms over her chest as she stares me directly in the eye, daring me to attempt to deny her request.
My Mother’s voice comes out of nowhere, something she’s told me time and again in the past. “Never drink alcohol, or partake in any other substance of that nature. It dulls your senses, and you lose track of your surroundings. Your situational awareness will be altered. This is when you make mistakes, Valley. Promise me.” I promised her, at the time that is. But, I also remember a few weeks ago when she told me I needed to enjoy the essence of adolescence and I’m feeling a little rebellious today.
Should I, or shouldn’t I? Doesn’t matter. I want to.
I sigh, “Oh, if you insist.” Lyra’s eyes brighten by 300 lumens. “Fuck yeah!” she yells, pumping her fist in the air.
“You know what our next move is right?” she asks, still dancing around.
“What’s our next move?”
“Cover story, sexy attire, booze and pot, of course!” she laughs, the throws in, “but the cover story needs to be forged right now.” I pull up outside my house and throw the SUV in park, but we don’t get out.
“Yeah, let’s have that before we even go talk to my Mom. For real.” The drumming noise of Lyra’s fingers against the hard plastic of the center console interferes with my scheming. I don’t have the slightest clue about lying, partying, or sneaking out. This is her idea, and I’m hoping she’ll come up with a successful plan we can implement. Knowing her, she’s probably come up with several to run by me as soon as she heard about the party.
“Why don’t we just stick to the original plan,” Lyra says, “you’ll be coming over to my house. We’ll go rent some movies from Redbox, take a bunch of snacks to my room around 8:30. Then, we’ll get ready, sneak out, and I’ll take Mom’s car. Gray keeps it maintained, we just hardly ever drive it. It’s parked on the other side of the house, so he shouldn’t be able to hear it. Dad can sleep through anything, so I’m thinking it’ll be pretty simple.” She opens the door and motions for me to follow.
“Come on, Sloane. Let’s go pack your bag. Don’t forget your PJ’s for our sleepover. These movies are going to be awesome. Especially the new scary one that’s out!” She practically shouts, assumingly in hopes, my mom will overhear.
Her aqua eyes appear more green than usual today as she peers back over her shoulder at me, biting her bottom lip and grinning simultaneously. Cocking her head in the direction of the front door as she charges up the steps, she whispers “Let’s go pick out an outfit even a floozy would gawk over.”
XoXo
My arms are packed full of enough snacks to feed a Football team after a game. Popcorn, freshly popped. Sodas. Pretzels. Ice-cream (Lyra has a minifridge in her room). Cookies. You name it, we’ve got it. Lyra has a few more sodas in her arm and our three Redbox movies in her hand. We make sure to take the longest path from the kitchen to her bedroom upstairs. A roundabout route that passes through the den, Gray’s current location.
“Hell yeah!” Gray roars, as we make our way into the room. His feet, which were propped up on the coffee-table in front of him, fly to the ground as he suddenly sits for
ward in alertness. The thuds of flesh pummeling flesh drifts through the flat-screen’s speakers as two fighters compete in the Octagon. So absorbed in the fight, he doesn’t even notice us.
Hmm… I hope this is playing for another hour or so.
“Goodnight Bro. Sloane and I are heading up to bed. We’re going to watch these movies we rented,” she shakes the stack of DVDs in her hand as proof. “See you in the morning.”
Gray peels his eyes from the screen, taking a long swig of his beer as he pauses to take note of the multitude of snacks I’m carrying and the DVDs Lyra holds up. “Goodnight,” he mumbles in our general direction as he turns back to the match.
As soon as we’re out of sight, Lyra snatches the car keys from a hook in the hallway, and we hurry up the stairs. My excitement stirs, growing more and more prominent with each step I climb. This could end up very badly if we get caught, but it might be fun. That might is the main thing driving me to try this.
Well, that and not wanting Lyra to go to the party alone. I’m her best friend, and while we have other acquaintances and sort-of pals, it’s her and me against the world. I’m going to have her back because that’s what friends do. She gets too drunk, I make sure to stick to her like glue, so no one takes advantage of her. And vice-versa should I decide to go down that road tonight. As long as we set some boundaries and don’t get too shitfaced, everything will be fine. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.
The clicking of the lock announces the beginning of Phase One of our scheme. Snacks are deposited in the chair by the window, and perishables are placed in the minifridge. A DVD is chosen at random and begins streaming across the TV, loud enough to be heard from the other side of the door but not loud enough to disturb anyone.
“Okay, its 8:45. Let’s be ready by 9:30 at the latest. I’m pretty sure Gray’s little UFC show will still be on then. I hope anyways. Come on,” she orders, grabbing my hand and pulling me into the bathroom with her. Jerking open the drawer of her vanity, she pulls out the flatiron and turns it on.
Love on the Run Page 11