DREAMS of 18

by A. Kent, Saffron

  But I don’t want you to…

  I don’t say that because well, I don’t think I can say anything. I’ve said all I had in me to say.

  I’ve said it all and I can’t look at him anymore. So I go back to staring at his clenched fists. I notice that the tendons on his wrist are standing taut now. His veins are almost bursting out of his skin and I’m so afraid to look at the expression on his face.

  What if he thinks all of that and more?

  But then, he’s always saved me, made me feel beautiful and special. He’s made me feel like his world.

  So I don’t know.

  I don’t know and I’m so afraid that when he begins to move toward me, I clench my eyes shut. I even take a step back. I tighten the muscles in my stomach and curl my toes and if I could, I’d roll myself up in a ball too.

  At last, he’s going to say all the things I’ve been dreading, isn’t he?

  He is. He is. He is.

  I know that. I know.

  “You’re defective.”

  His words – that I knew he was going to say – still knock the breath out of me. They make me pop my eyes open and take him in.

  His features are pulled tight and made angular and sharp by his fury. He’s looking at me with violence in his eyes. So much violence that I don’t know how to return his gaze. But at the same time, I don’t want to look away.

  I can’t.

  He’s this beautiful, magnificent thing in my life and I love him so much that even when he breaks my heart, my soul, I have to watch him do it. There’s no other option.

  “You’re weak. Pathetic. Flawed. You’re a coward.”

  I flinch, my lips parted, taking in hiccupping breaths.

  “Is that what you are?”

  I nod.

  Because yeah, that’s what I am. I’m all kinds of defective and I’ve been so stupid in thinking even for one second that I’m not.

  I’ve been so stupid in thinking that he’d be the one person who wouldn’t think that about me when everyone else has always written me off.

  So stupid, Violet. God, you’re so stupid.

  At my nod, he brings his face closer to me, his chest moving up and down. “Then explain something to me. Explain how you’re standing in front of me, telling me all these things about yourself?”

  “What?”

  My confusion bugs him and his next words are ripped out of his clenched teeth. “How are you still here? How are you here after all the things I’ve put you through? All the awful, cruel things I’ve done to you right from the beginning. Why didn’t you run away and lock yourself up in a room because it’s safe, huh? Because it’s so easy to pretend everything is okay. It’s so easy to lie, isn’t it?”

  “I...”

  “I’ve given you every opportunity to leave. In fact, I’ve gone to great lengths to have you leave. Why didn’t you? If you’re so pathetic and such a coward, why didn’t you leave? Why didn’t you take the easy way out of this, Violet? Why the fuck did you give me your journals? Because if you hadn’t told me, I never would’ve found out. Why tell me? Why tell me when I can clearly see the fear on your face? Why tell me when there’s a part of you that thinks I’m going to reject you for the truth?”

  Why tell him?

  Doesn’t he already know? Didn’t he read it in my journal, the one I started writing in after I came here?

  “Because I love you,” I tell him with watery eyes, with my sweaty palms groping his shirt that I’m wearing, my curled toes poking holes in his creaking, ancient hardwood floor.

  “You do, do you?”

  Swallowing, I nod. “Yes.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Even when I don’t? Even when I can’t. Even after I told you a million goddamn times that I’m never going to love you, you still love me.”

  A tear makes its way down my cheek and he follows its journey with a harsh, tormented expression. “Yes,” I whisper. “I do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I always have. Right from the start. Because you make me feel safe. Protected and warm. And because love isn’t about asking someone to love you back. It’s about… loving. It’s about jumping off a cliff with both arms open wide and hoping that those arms become wings and you can fly. But even if you can’t and you hit the ground and you die, it’s okay. It’s okay because very few people get to die in love. Very few people get to die while doing what they love. Very few people get to be that shiny and luminous and bright and… and brave, you know? And…”

  Brave.

  Did I say brave?

  I couldn’t have. I’m not brave. I never have been. I mean, I’m the girl who hides herself. How can I be…

  “Brave, huh. So you’re brave?”

  His raspy words make me forget my thoughts. Or rather, they complete my thoughts. All these thoughts that are flashing in and out, telling me that holy fucking shit, I’m brave.

  I’m brave.

  Me?

  I get so jarred, like someone punched me in the stomach or pushed me off a cliff. The cliff that I was falling off anyway. I’ve been falling off that cliff ever since I turned sixteen and saw him.

  I’ve been falling off that cliff and I’ve been dreaming while in flight.

  Dreaming about him and loving him and being brave.

  Jesus Christ, I’m brave.

  “You’re so fucking brave, Violet. So fucking magnificent that sometimes I don’t know what to do. You’re the bravest person I know,” he chokes out.

  I am… fucking brave.

  My mouth falls open and I take a sudden step toward him. I grab his t-shirt and crane my neck up to him. “I am. I’m brave. I’m… I’m brave.”

  I smile up at him.

  I smile because God, how did I not know this about myself? How did I not know that falling in love is an act of bravery?

  Giving someone your heart, putting it right at their feet, feet that wear big, threatening hiking boots, is called being brave.

  I’ve been brave since I was sixteen, maybe even before that, and I’m only realizing this now, the day I turn nineteen.

  Because of him.

  Gosh, everything is because of him.

  “I’m brave,” I tell him again, beaming this time.

  “You are.”

  He confirms it but there’s no happiness on his face.

  It takes me a little time to understand that.

  It takes me a few seconds in which I beam and chuckle and marvel over myself, to understand that he’s not doing any of those things.

  He’s simply watching me, flicking his eyes all over my smiling face like he’ll never get to see me after this. His features have become blank again, that wretched defeat that I saw on him when I found him on the couch is back.

  Again, he looks like he’s lost. All the battles and all the wars.

  I don’t get it.

  “Graham? What’s the matter?”

  He grits his teeth but otherwise remains silent.

  Why does he look like this is the last time he’ll ever see me?

  I mean, I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be still here. In fact, now that all the secrets are out in the open, I’m his. Completely and irrevocably.

  I’m his.

  Well, of course there’s this minor thing that he can’t love me and that my mom thinks I’m at yoga camp but I’m not. That could pose a problem, but I’m brave. I can figure things out.

  In fact, I can figure things out about my anxiety too.

  I can get better. I can work toward it. I wanna work toward it. I wanna work on me.

  So all in all, this is a happy moment.

  I reach up and cup his hard jaw. “Why do you look like this? It’s a happy occasion, you know. I actually looked a stranger in the eyes yesterday. Can you believe that? I kissed you in front of him and I didn’t even have a panic attack. Although, we do need to apologize to him. But oh my God! I’m so badass. And it’s my
birthday and someone remembers it and you know everything about me and you don’t think less of me. In fact, you made me realize that I’m brave. So I think you should probably start smiling and not be such a hardass and –”

  My words die when I hear a screech outside.

  Tires squealing and coming to a stop. A door opening and closing with a bang. Then crunching footsteps across the gravel, leading up to the steps.

  I hear the click-clack of heels across the wooden porch and finally, a knock.

  Three pounds of someone’s fist on the door and a voice.

  A voice I never thought I’d hear, at least not here in Colorado. I never thought she’d come here.

  She’s never cared enough about me to go anywhere.

  But then, she cares about this, doesn’t she?

  My mother cares about me being involved with Mr. Edwards. That’s the only thing she’s cared about in all the years that I’ve been alive.

  “Violet, open the door,” my mother says from the other side. “I know you’re in there. Violet, open this door right now. You’ve got so much to answer for.”

  Her voice sounds strange to me.

  Everything sounds strange right now. Everything looks strange right now.

  My hand is still on Graham’s jaw and he’s still staring down at me with that deadened expression.

  And in a flash, I understand.

  He wasn’t looking happy. He wasn’t smiling, because he called her.

  He called my mother.

  As soon as I realize this, my hand falls away. His nostrils flare with a heavy breath and he steps away from me.

  Then he turns around and stalks to the door and throws it open.

  Meanwhile, I just stand here, frozen on the spot but somehow limp as a rag doll as I watch his broad back. I watch the dance of his muscles as he breathes in and out.

  I can’t see my mother though. His shoulders hide her but I can hear her voice.

  “Where is she?”

  “You don’t say anything to her. Not one word,” he growls.

  “You don’t get to tell me how to treat my own daughter, got it? You don’t –”

  “Do you remember what I said to you last night? You say one word to her and you’d be wishing you hadn’t.”

  “I’m not afraid of you. I know the kind of man you are. I’ve met the kind of man you are. And she’s been lying to me for you. She’s been ruining her life for you.”

  “It’s over now.”

  This is followed by a few beats of silence when I imagine them staring at each other. When I’m still trying to comprehend what’s happening.

  He called my mother.

  The man I love called the woman who’s never loved me. Why would he do that? Why would he betray me like this?

  Graham’s the one to break the thick, tense quiet. “Don’t make me regret calling you.”

  With that, he steps aside and my mom comes into view, all haggard and unkempt like she hasn’t slept in days. As soon as she sees me, she rushes over.

  She grabs my arm and shakes me. “What the hell were you thinking? Running away like this? Lying to me like this?”

  I stare at her concerned face, kind of detached, a lot confused. “I didn’t think you’d care.”

  She draws back, winces. Her eyes drop away from me before coming back, all guilty and fraught with restlessness. “I’ve never given you much. I’ve never been there for you. But you’re my daughter. And if I know one thing in life, it’s men. I know men like him. I know how they take advantage of girls like you. Crazy, naïve girls who ruin everything for them. Do you think he’s going to give you anything? Do you think he’s going to fall in love with you and you’re going to live happily ever after? That’s never going to happen, Violet. All he’s looking for is a good time. He’ll fuck you. He’ll break your heart and he’ll leave. No matter what he says, no matter how many promises he makes, he’s never going to fulfill them. It’s not going to happen. Get out of your dreams and wake up. He’s playing you. He’s making a fool out of you and I’ll be damned before anyone makes a fool out of my daughter. No matter how neglectful or unavailable I’ve been, I’m not going to let you ruin your life for a man like him. Is that clear? You’re coming home with me right now.”

  When she finishes, I want to tell her. I want to tell her that she has it wrong. She has it all wrong.

  She thinks he’s promised me things, but he hasn’t.

  He never promised me anything. In fact, he’s been very clear about his intentions right from the beginning.

  He’s not making a fool out of me. I’m making a fool out of me because I love him.

  I’m so in love with him that he could’ve fooled me, if he wanted. He could’ve taken advantage of me but he never did.

  Not even before. When he watched me and I watched him.

  So, she has it all wrong. I already know he’s not going to give me anything but I don’t care. I just want to be with him.

  But then, I see a movement from the corner of my eyes and I look away from the beautiful but tired face of my mother.

  My eyes find him and from the look of it, he’s been standing there all through my mother’s insults. And all through it, he’s been staring at me.

  When our eyes clash though, he gets moving.

  He takes in a long breath that I can feel even though I’m standing so far away from him.

  And then, he begins walking away and something splinters inside my chest.

  He’s leaving.

  He’s leaving me. He’s giving me to my mother like I’m this object, a wayward child who’s wandered a little too far from her home, and now she has to go back.

  I don’t even stop to think or pay attention to my mom’s shouts when I take off after him. My bare feet tap on the wooden porch and steps. They stumble on the gravel as stones and dirt dig into my soles.

  “Graham. Graham, stop.” I call after him.

  He’s at his truck now, his back turned away from me.

  I reach him, all panting and scared and with a heart that has a crack running at the center of it.

  “Why did you call her? Why w-would you…”

  He faces me, his hair all messy and stuck up on the sides. He hasn’t slept, I realize. Or at least, he’s been awake for a while. It shows on his haggard face now.

  He probably read my journals as soon as I set them out and he probably called my mom as soon as he finished reading them.

  “Because you need to go home.”

  “I don’t… understand. Is this… Is this your way of punishing me? For lying about everything? For lying about college and all those things?”

  He studies me a beat, his shoulders rigid and massive.

  Actually, everything about him looks massive, more massive than ever. More angular and sharper and more daunting.

  Everything about him and his size that would make me feel secure, intimidates me now.

  “I called her because she’s right.”

  “About what?”

  “About everything. About the fact that I’m taking advantage of you. I’m having my fun when I’m not going to give you anything.”

  I take a painful step toward him. “But you’re not. You’re not taking advantage of me. I know. I already know that you won’t give me anything. I know that. You told me that.”

  That starts up a pulse on his cheek. “But you didn’t listen. You didn’t heed all the warnings I’ve been laying out for you. I’m not going to love you, Violet. I can’t. I don’t know how. So you need to go home now.”

  I clutch his t-shirt again. I clutch it and pull at it and shake it because I want him to understand.

  I want him to get that I don’t need those things.

  “I don’t need your love, Graham. I don’t need it. I can live without it, okay? I can. I promise. I won’t need your love. I won’t even ask for it. I just want you. All I need is you. You make me feel safe, don’t you get
it? You make me feel protected and warm and special and that’s enough for me. I can live with you not loving me. But I can’t live without you. I can’t. Please.”

  By the end of it, I’m crying. I’m sobbing and I want him, I need him to hear me. I beg him to understand.

  When he steps closer to me, I think he does.

  His hands reach out and he wipes off my tears and I tighten my fists in his t-shirt. I try to hold onto him, keep him here so he doesn’t go anywhere.

  So he doesn’t leave me.

  I watch him through watery eyes as he leans down and kisses me on the forehead.

  God.

  God.

  He gets it, doesn’t he?

  “Maybe you don’t need those things, but you deserve them,” he rasps against my hair. “You deserve them more than anyone in this fucked up, shitty world. Go home, baby.”

  He moves away then.

  My hold on him is so tiny and so unaffecting that he breaks it easily. And by the time I realize what’s happened, he’s already opening the door of his truck and climbing inside.

  “I can’t go home,” I blurt out to his back. “This is my home. This. Here.”

  His hand rests on the door as he faces me.

  He takes one sweep of my body, my bare feet, the shirt of his that I’m wearing. My splotchy face and rumpled hair, before he comes back to my eyes.

  “This is no one’s home. Never has been.”

  That hits me so much and so hard that I don’t recover from it until he’s already in the truck, backing out of the driveway.

  He does it so fast that all I can see for a few seconds is a cloud of dust.

  Once it settles though and he’s disappeared down that winding trail that cuts through the woods and ends at that rusty mailbox on the side of the road, I take off after him.

  I run and run along that dirt path, hoping to chase him down. I call out his name over and over because how can he say that this cabin isn’t a home?