by Jade Webb
“Ready to go?” I ask.
He nods and walks toward the door. I follow behind him silently, unsure of what’s caused this shift in his mood.
The walk into town, though only ten minutes, is painfully awkward. I continue to trail a bit behind Roman, who keeps a clipped pace despite still nursing a pretty gnarly gash on his side. It's obvious that something is bothering him, and I can practically see the storm cloud following over him. I'm too scared to ask him what's wrong, since I'm pretty sure it's somehow my fault.
Trying to pinpoint when exactly I had pissed him off, I replay the last day in my mind, over and over again. It’s a futile effort, because all my memories keep returning to that kiss. How would I ever be able to erase that kiss from my brain? Not that I would ever want to. A thousand things that we could never put to words had been said in that kiss. As cliché as it sounds, that kiss had been pure magic. And then, falling asleep to the sound of Roman's steadying breaths had been so comforting. I hadn't slept that well in months.
I know he had felt something in that kiss, too. So why was he acting like such a miserable ass today? What had changed so quickly? Did he regret kissing me? That thought instantly sours my mood and I wander away from Roman and into a small shop and mindlessly browse the postcards for sale.
That is, until a bright tabloid catches my eye. I mutter a curse as I grab the magazine. On the front cover is a picture of me and Drizzle, an angry red slash dividing us with a large title: “Daphni DUMPED by Drizzle. 'She’s too needy' claims the aspiring rapper bad-boy.”
“What. The. Fuck?” I mutter through clenched teeth, feeling my blood pressure rise.
Roman walks toward me, seeing the magazine in my hands. He gently tries to take it out of my grasp, but I pull away and skim through the article.
“Daphni, don’t let this get to you," Roman warns.
I look at him incredulously. “How can I not let this get to me? This asshole is telling people he dumped me because I’m a needy diva who was a ‘cold fish’ in bed!” I point at the article, shoving it in Roman’s hands. “How do I not let something like that get to me?”
Roman takes the magazine and tosses back on the stand. “Daphni, it’s a gossip magazine. No one takes those things seriously.”
I whip around to face him. “I take it seriously, Roman. This is my image. I have fans who see this shit and believe it!”
“Screw them,” he flatly replies.
“Screw them? Of course, just…screw them!” I spit back, my anger beginning to bubble uncontrollably.
“Why do you even care so much about what Drizzle says, anyway? He’s a loser," Roman says, his voice dismissive. His indifference and obvious annoyance with my frustration is starting to seriously piss me off.
“Sure, he’s a loser. But right now he’s on the cover of a magazine telling people I’m a cold fucking fish in bed!”
Rolling his eyes, Roman turns to walk away before suddenly spinning back around and stalking back toward me. “Are you still in love with him?” he asks.
“What?”
“Do you still love him, Daphni? It’s a simple fucking question."
My eyes narrow into tiny, angry slits. Propping my hands on my hips, I stare Roman down. "No, I don’t love him, Roman. I never did.”
My answer only seems to anger him more. He throws up his hand in frustration. “So get over it!”
“You know what? Screw you, Roman.” Unable to control my ire any longer, I shove him away and take off running. I hear him call my name, but I don’t stop. I turn a corner, duck into a side street, and keep running until my chest feels like it’s going to explode.
I don't stop until I reach a small park, a patchy piece of grass with an old, stone bench. I collapse onto the cold stone and drop my head into my hands. My chest heaves, but I refuse to give in. I refuse to let one single tear fall for him.
I have no idea what I did to piss him off so much. All I can guess is that the kiss we shared made him realize how much he truly hates me, how much I disgust him.
But I don't want to think about it anymore. Because if I do, all the broken pieces I have inside of me, locked away, will spill out, and I'm too afraid I won't be able to put myself back together again. I'm too hurt, too scared. And all I can think about is how I really could use a drink right now.
22
Roman
I pace back and forth on the farmer’s porch, the wooden planks creaking under my heavy steps. My mind races as I debate what to do. Daphni has already been gone for two hours, and I’m beginning to get anxious. After she had taken off, I had run after her, scouring the town looking for her for over an hour. Finally I had returned back to the house, hoping maybe she had gone back, but she wasn’t here, either.
I felt like shit. I know it's my fault she ran away. I had acted like such an asshole and she didn’t deserve it. It wasn't her fault that I was such a goddamn masochist and had replayed every single memory of our time together over in my head. Even if she had shattered my heart into a million tiny pieces, that still wasn't an excuse to treat her so poorly. And because of that, she was now gone. Because of me.
I sit down on the stoop and drop my head into my hands. If anything happens to her, I would never forgive myself. I would never be able to live with myself unless I had a chance to apologize, to take back all the terrible things I said.
The sound of a loud glassy clang causes me to jump out of my skin. I look down the driveway and find Daphni, crouched over, picking up a bottle off the gravel. Without hesitating, I jump off the steps and run over to her.
“Daphni, where were you? You scared the hell out of me!” Despite my best efforts, my tone is strong and angry, and she balks as I approach her.
She pulls away from me and takes a few uneasy steps forward, taking a long sip from the half-empty bottle of Jose Cuervo. “I was walking,” she slurs.
“Yeah, you were walking," I spit back. Shaking my head, I take in her red, puffy eyes and her disheveled clothes. "You’re hammered, Daphni.”
She pushes past me, her bony elbow digging into my side as she walks away. “Well, it’s none of your concern, Roman.”
Gritting my teeth, I follow after her. “Yes, it is my concern, Daphni. Everything you do concerns me.”
She whips around to face me, swaying from the movement. “No, no it doesn’t.” She marches toward me, the bottle still in her hand. “And if you were smart, you would know to run away as fast as you can. Because," she says, pointing her finger at herself, "this is a dead woman walking!” She giggles maniacally and spins in a circle.
I grab her arm and pull her toward the house. She resists, tugging her arm out of my grasp.
“Don’t touch me!” she shrieks as she drops onto the ground. “You’ll get your hands dirty.”
I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise as I look down at her, crumbled on the ground. I crouch down beside her. “Daphni, what the hell are you talking about? How can I get dirty by touching you?”
She looks up at me, her emerald eyes brimming with tears. Shaking her head, a lone tear escapes and trickles slowly down her cheek. “Can't you see, Roman? I’m broken inside. I ran away from you because I knew I would break you, too.” She reaches for my face and trails her finger down my jaw. “You were too beautiful for me to break.”
Before I can respond and without any warning, she pushes herself back up and scurries to the steps leading up to the porch. She stumbles up the steps and I move quickly to catch her from falling. She again tears herself out my embrace and walks into the house. She pulls a cup out of the cabinet and starts to pour herself another drink. I grab it from her hands. “I think you’ve had enough, Daphni.”
“I disagree.” She reaches for the bottle but I pull it away, throwing it in the trash. She glares at me and moves to retrieve it when her whole face turns white. “I think I’m gonna—” She doesn’t finish her sentence but runs to the trash can and, gripping its sides, proceeds to throw up. I come up behind he
r and pull her hair out of her face as she continues to heave into the barrel.
After a few minutes, I realize there's nothing left for her to throw up. Her body collapses and I quickly catch her and lift her into my arms. I carry her up the stairs and bring her to my room. I know that I shouldn't, and that I should bring her to her own bed. But I don’t want her to be alone. I'm broken inside. What did that even mean?
Daphni's legs are covered in dirt and she has some vomit stuck in her hair. I bring her into the bathroom and sit her down on the toilet as I start the shower. As it heats up, I lean down and hand her a cup of mouthwash, which she obediently guzzles and spits out.
“Daphni, you're going to take a quick shower, okay?”
She nods and obediently lifts up her arms and I slide her shirt off. I unclasp her bra then lift her to a standing position, where she kicks off her shorts and her panties. I test the water and guide her into the shower. She lets out a small shriek as the water hits her. I turn to pick up her clothes and she slides down the shower wall. At first I think she’s fallen but then I see her, sitting on the shower floor, the water raining down on her.
“I would shower for hours,” she says, her voice flat, her eyes closed as she leans her head against the wall. “I could never get clean. Never get clean enough to see you.”
“What are you talking about Daphni?” I ask her, not understanding her words.
She turns her head to look at me, her sad, beautiful eyes locked on mine. “I never deserved you.”
"Daphni, what—”
She cuts me off, turning her head away from me as she draws her legs up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. Despite the hot water of the shower raining down on her, her small body shakes.
I pull off my shirt and step into the shower, kneeling down next to her. Gently, I pull her away from the wall. When she looks at me, I feel my heart clench. Her pain is so clearly written on her face, etched into her skin. But it's her eyes that truly tear me apart. Filled with an almost unspeakable sadness, they watch me expectantly, as if they are waiting for the moment where I hurt her. I hate seeing her like this. I can read the fear and vulnerability in those emerald eyes. It terrifies me because I know that, in this moment, she needs me. To be strong, to take care of her.
Grabbing the bar of soap, I gently run it down her arm, washing away the dirt. As I drag the soap down her leg, she pulls her arms away, slowly unraveling herself, stretching her legs across the shower floor. I continue to wash her, as her eyes remain fixated on me. Only when I reach for the shampoo and bring my hands to her hair do her eyes finally close. Her shoulders drop and I can see her expel a long, silent breath. Seeing her finally relax, I continue to massage her scalp, working the shampoo into her long, pink hair.
When the water has washed away all the soap and shampoo, I help her stand back up. She’s so light, and she flops against me like a rag doll. I reach over, turning off the shower before grabbing her a large towel and wrapping it around her. Still soaked in my shorts, I guide her back into my bedroom, leaving a wet trail behind us. Shakira is waiting on the bed; I pull open the sheets and guide Daphni into it.
I place another towel over her pillow for her damp hair, and grab an extra blanket to cover her. As I tuck her in, securing the blanket over her, I watch her eyes close and her breath finally steady. I hear her words echo in my head as I watch her sleeping, her chest slowly rising and falling. I'm broken inside. I ran away from you because I knew I would break you, too. I could never get clean. Never get clean enough to see you.
What did she mean? I need to ask her in the morning when she's feeling better. Though after how much she drank today, I doubt she'll even remember. Needing to think, I push myself out of the chair where I’ve spent the last half hour watching her sleep and make my way toward the bed. I can't help myself. I press a soft kiss to her forehead, and as I do, she mumbles something in her sleep that strikes me at my core.
“I love you, Roman.”
23
Daphni
I wake up, convinced I’m still dreaming. I’m wrapped in Roman’s thick arms, nestled against his hard body. Each breath, each rise and fall of his chest, is like a mantra that lulls me into a dream-like state of pure euphoria. I’m definitely dreaming. I’m twenty years old again, sneaking away to spend the night with Roman, telling my mom that I’m sleeping over at a friend’s house. It’s a beautiful dream I never want to end. But then the sound of a loud snore rips me away from my fantasy and as I wake, I realize that I’m not dreaming. I am lying in Roman’s warm embrace, his arms wrapped around me so tightly. And the snoring is courtesy of Miss Shakira, sprawled across the long, king-sized bed.
I push myself up, trying my best not to wake Roman, but the minute I move, his blue eyes dart open.
“You’re alive," he says, his voice still husky from sleep.
“You thought I wouldn’t be?”
“After yesterday…” Roman shakes his head. “You didn’t look so great. How are you feeling?”
“Terrible," I confess. "Wait, what happened yesterday?”
He props himself on his elbows and looks down at me, concern written on his face. “You got wasted, Daphni. Like next-level blitzed. You ran away, came home and threw up, and said some weird things.”
“Weird things?” I ask nervously.
“Yeah, well I put you in the shower and you started saying all this stuff about not being clean enough for me?”
My stomach drops and a wave of nausea overtakes me. I jump out of the bed and rush toward the bathroom, just making it to the toilet in time. It’s then that I realize I’m completely naked. Horrified, I rush back to the bedroom, covering myself in a towel.
“Why am I naked?” I ask, my voice thin with fear.
“What?” Roman asks, swinging his legs out from the bed as he rubs his eyes.
“Roman, why am I naked? What happened last night?”
His eyes darken and narrow down on me. “What are you asking me Daphni?”
I feel my breath hitch in my throat as I pull my gaze away, not able to look him in the eyes. “What did we do last night?” I ask, my voice soft and shaky.
He jumps from the bed and stalks toward me. “Are you asking me if we had sex last night?” He glowers down at me as he pulls a T-shirt over his head. “Are you asking me, five minutes after I told you that you were wasted beyond belief, if I took advantage of you and had sex with you?”
I can't look at him. I know he's mad. And I know he would never do that, never take advantage of me or hurt me. Truthfully, I don't even know why I asked. I had never asked any of the other men in my past who I had found in my bed in the morning. Why start now? Why ask the one man who would never do anything to hurt me?
A wave of panic washes over me and I feel my skin prickling with nerves. This is getting too real for me. I need to get out of here. Without thinking, I run out of the room and slam the door to mine across the hall. Reaching for some clothes, I throw on whatever I can find before running down the stairs.
Even when I hear Roman call my name, I continue to run. Though I’m weak and definitely dehydrated from my binge last night, I feel a rush of adrenaline fuel me, pushing me farther and farther away—away from the house, and Roman, and the truth about why I’d pushed him away in the first place. I couldn't bear to see his face when he realized how damaged I truly was. I wouldn’t be able to survive him walking away, disgusted at who I’d become.
So I keep running.
The beach is empty. It's still early morning, and the sun is inching up toward the horizon. I run toward it, not even noticing the water lapping at my ankles. Mindlessly, I continue to wade deeper and deeper, until the water is at my hips, soaking my shorts.
My body starts to go numb, and a calming serenity overtakes me with each step farther into the clear blue water. Could I do it? Could I let the water take me away from everything? All these horrible memories? Tempted, I take another step forward. The water wraps around me and while it’s
cold against my skin, it feels comforting. I let my fingertips brush against the water lapping around my hips. Lifting one hand, I lick the salt water from my hands as I take one step further into the water. I could do it, I decide. I could let the water take me. It wouldn’t be the worst way to go.
Before I can take another step deeper, I feel a hand grab my arm, spinning me back around. I look up to see Roman. His eyes match the peaceful blue of the ocean and I wonder if that is why I feel so drawn to the water. Maybe a sad part of myself thinks that if I can swim out far enough, I can surround myself with all the beautiful blue that I see in Roman’s eyes, and maybe that will be enough to help me forget.
“What are you doing, Daphni?” he asks, his eyes desperately searching mine. He looks scared and when I look down and see that the water is up near my waist, I realize why.
I lift one shoulder. “Maybe it’s better to just let the ocean take me away. Maybe it’s what I deserve.”
He cups my face in his hands, his eyes piercing mine. “Daphni, baby, talk to me. What are you saying?”
His honest, searching eyes on mine, his furrowed brow laced in concern, his anxious, ragged breaths: they all break me. I’ve spent so long craving his touch. And here he is. I can't control it any longer. I'm exhausted. So I unravel and let all the pain and hurt and anger uncoil, sending my body shaking with quiet sobs. Roman pulls me into his arms, giving me the permission I need to fall apart.
“I’m so sorry, Roman. I’m so sorry,” I repeat over and over again as my hands dig into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him.
He squeezes his arms around me as he whispers in my ear the words I’ve needed to hear now for seven long years. “I forgive you.”