Take Me To The Beach

by K. L. Grayson, Karina Halle, A. L. Jackson, Marni Mann, Monica Murphy, Devney Perry, Kristen Proby, Rachel Van Dyken

  But this time, I’m not here to be quiet.

  I stand at the foot of the bed, eyes focused with laser precision on the figure out the bed. How fucking dare he try to sleep right now after what he did. He should be begging my mother and Noah for mercy. He should be turning himself in. He should be shaking with fear.

  He’s none of that.

  “Get the fuck up,” I say, my voice breaking with anger.

  He stirs and then flips over. I can’t see his eyes but I know he’s looking at me.

  “What?” he asks.

  Groggy. He’s actually fucking groggy from a deep fucking sleep.

  “I said get the fuck up!” I yell at him. “Get the fuck up you bastard.”

  “Laz. What the fuck are you doing here?”

  I’m not myself right now.

  The Laz I knew leaves my body behind.

  I go around the side of the bed and reach down, grabbing him by the shirt and yanking him out of bed. Daryl’s not a tall guy but he is big and stocky and built like a bull and yet I’m able to get him out of bed, to his feet.

  I don’t know what my plan is.

  I don’t have time to think about what my plan is.

  “Who do you think you are,” Daryl is saying pushing me back. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

  I’m pushing him back, one hard shove that sends him back into the wall. “You fucking hurt my mother.”

  “Like you suddenly give a shit!” he yells. “Your mother provoked me. She got in my way.”

  “You were going to hit your son!”

  “He is not my son!” he yells, louder, as if he wants Noah to hear him. “He is nothing to me, no son of mine dresses like a girl, wears makeup. It’s disgusting and he should know better, have more respect than to do something like that. I’m his father! He owes me!”

  “No one owes their father anything!”

  “Oh fuck off, Laz,” he snarls and in the dark I can see the beady glint of his eyes. “What would you know about having a father anyway? I know he left you. Can’t say I fucking blame him.”

  I don’t think.

  I just swing.

  Hit Daryl right in the jaw.

  My fist cries out in pain.

  He goes flying back against the wall, bumping into the bedside table and knocking over yet another picture frame that shatters into thick shards when it smashes against the tiles.

  I’m tense, ready for what he’s going to do next.

  He comes at me, but he goes low, tackling me at the waist.

  He brings me down to the floor in a heap, the back of my head smacking the tiles.

  Stars explode behind my eyes.

  A fist fight ensues.

  I throw punches up.

  He throws them down.

  We’re both fighting dirty. Both bloody.

  I’m fuelled by decades of rage and resentment over my father, I’m fuelled by a protectiveness over Noah and my mother.

  He’s fuelled by nothing but fear and loss of pride. Fear that he will lose everything when this fight is over, because I will make sure he does. Loss of pride because it’s shameful to lose face in front of his stepson and wife.

  I think I might just win.

  With a loud roar, I flip over and start pounding him in the face. His hands go up to protect the blows. I can’t feel anything anymore. I can only hear my heart in my ears, a constant heavy thud.

  I am a monster.

  Just like my father.

  It’s enough to make me pause and during that pause, Daryl gets me with an uppercut, hard enough to make me fly back onto the floor again.

  Then there is screaming.

  My mother screaming for us to stop.

  Noah yelling that the cops are on the way.

  The light comes on and I can barely see through my swollen eyes. The room starts to spin.

  Daryl is on the floor beside me, in bloodied pajama pants, ready to come at me and keep fighting. He’s picked up a shard of broken glass, wielding it like a knife, not caring that blood is pouring from his palm.

  I need to get up but everything is working so slowly, my limbs like they’re stuck in quicksand.

  Noah picks up a vase from the dresser and with a blood curling scream, comes running across the bedroom, slams the vase down on Daryl’s head, shattering it.

  My mother screams again.

  Daryl staggers and then collapses, passing out cold.

  Holy shit.

  “I’m so sorry!” Noah cries out, hands to his mouth. “Oh my god, did I kill him? I killed him! I’m so sorry!”

  “You didn’t kill him,” I manage to say, my mouth tasting like blood. I get on my knees and crawl over to Daryl just as my mother takes Noah back by the shoulders, pulling him away.

  I feel for a pulse. He has one. It’s strong. His back rises and falls, breathing deeply.

  I glance up at Noah and wince. “You didn’t kill him. He’s just knocked out. He’ll wake up with a wicked headache and probably need stitches for that hand, but that’s about it.”

  “He’ll wake up in jail,” my mother says flatly and I can’t tell if she’s forlorn by that or not.

  “You’re right,” I say, staring at her. “He will wake up in jail. I might be in jail with him.”

  “You were only defending yourself,” Noah says.

  Technically I was defending Noah. But I did punch Daryl first. When he comes to, there’s no doubt he’ll tell them what I did. I am not innocent here.

  “You’re not going to jail, Laz,” my mother says. “I’ll tell the cops what he did to us. I’ll tell them you defended us.”

  I know I shouldn’t be surprised that my mother is taking my side over Daryl’s but I am.

  I’m even more surprised to hear it for myself later when the cops are questioning us in the kitchen. Daryl woke up just in time and was placed in handcuffs before being hauled to the hospital.

  The same medics that worked on him, did a quick once over on me. My lip is split and I’ll have a black eye but other than that, I came out of it okay.

  “Thanks,” I tell my mother after they leave. “For that.”

  She nods, rubbing her frail hands together. “I should have done that a long time ago with your father.”

  I get up from my chair and walk over to her, pulling her into a hug. “It’s never too late to start again.”

  She wraps her arms around me and quietly cries. I don’t know how long we stand there like that. Our relationship will always be damaged, always be tainted by our past. But maybe, just maybe, there can be another phase of it, where we are better versions of our past selves.

  “Laz,” Noah says.

  Still holding onto my mother I look over at him. “Yah?”

  A tiny smile tugs at his lips. “Your ride is here.”

  I frown. “My ride? Noah, I have a car.”

  “And you aren’t driving in your condition,” my mother says.

  “Then I’ll stay overnight here, sleep in my old room,” I tell her.

  “But your ride is here,” Noah says again. Then he jerks his head toward the front door.

  What the fuck is going on?

  I let go of my mother and walk through the kitchen all the way through the foyer to the front door.

  I open it.

  A yellow VW bug with a bee decal on the side is parked in the driveway, engine running.

  Bloody hell.

  I look behind at Noah.

  “Why is she here?”

  “I called her,” he says, now with a bit of a smirk.

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s your best friend, isn’t she? And your best friend should be there for you. I told her what happened and she said she was coming right over.”

  I have a hard time believing that and yet here she is.

  My heart starts to skip.

  “Noah,” I tell him.

  “Hey, don’t get all mushy with me. Go home.”

  “You did the right thing in calling me, you k
now?”

  “I know. Now go. We’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll come by tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Can you bring some In-N-Out?”

  I smile. “Of course.”

  Then I gather up my courage and head down the steps to the car.

  Marina

  “Never Let Me Down Again”

  * * *

  The moment I got the call from Noah, I knew I could no longer pretend that Laz didn’t matter to me. I couldn’t pretend he didn’t mean anything.

  In fact, all my stubbornness and conviction over ignoring him had disintegrated the moment I came home from the movies with Naomi and saw what he had done to my place.

  It scared the shit out of me at first. I thought that maybe some crazy serial killer had broken into my studio and left crazy letters all over my walls. You know, ones that say the same word over and over again or perhaps photos of me taken with zoom lenses, my eyes scratched out. That sort of thing. Doesn’t help that the movie I saw with Naomi was a thriller.

  But when I flicked on the lights and had a good look, I realized it was the opposite of something scary.

  It was Laz.

  It was Laz over every single inch of my walls.

  Poem after poem after poem.

  Printed out on sheets of paper, taped to the walls.

  Some poems were short and sweet. Describing the subject as honey.

  Others were long and tortured, filled with darkness.

  And others still were brimming with pain and beauty, both intermingling at once, like snakes wrapping around a caduceus.

  I took every single one off the walls and read them.

  I read them all until I realized that every single one was about me.

  This was his book of Marina poems, printed out for me to read.

  I sat on my bed and held the poems to my chest and I cried.

  I cried because he was showing me his heart the only way he knew how.

  I cried because I love him more than anything and his heart is all I’ve ever wanted.

  I cried because I don’t know what it means, how we can find our way back to each other, the way we were before. I don’t know if it’s possible to go back.

  But I want to try. I really do.

  I just hope he wants to too. That this isn’t just lip service. That this, us, is something he won’t run from again. I’m not sure I’d survive it.

  Then the phone call came from Noah, totally catching me off guard since it was so late and though we exchanged numbers after Pride, he’s never called me before.

  When he told me that Laz was involved in a fight with Daryl, that Daryl was arrested, I dropped the poems, grabbed my purse and ran out the door.

  There was no hesitation.

  Now I’m sitting in the driver’s seat, picking him up for once and he’s opening the door and peering at me.

  I gasp, tears springing to my eyes.

  He looks awful. Eye purple and swollen, lip bloodied. Bruises on his jaw.

  “Hiya,” he says to me.

  Oh god. Oh god.

  His voice. His everything.

  Hold it together, I tell myself. Keep a clear head and get him home first.

  “Laz,” I whisper to him. Even his name sounds wonderful on my lips, no longer foreign, no longer bringing me pain.

  “I didn’t know you were coming,” he says, still leaning against the door.

  I nod. “I came right away. Get in.”

  “You sure?”

  “Please.”

  His eyes brighten at that and he gets in the passenger seat, closing the door.

  I drive off, nervous, excited, scared. One moment I fear I’ll never see him again, the next he’s in my car. His energy is so powerful, so large, it crackles between us, takes over the space.

  At least I know that being friends with him is definitely not an option. I can’t even occupy the same space as him without my heart and hormones melting.

  Stay strong.

  “What happened?” I ask. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  “Nah, they already checked me out.” Then he tells me step by step what went down tonight. By the time it’s all over, I’m in awe.

  Not just over what happened. To Noah, to his poor mother. Laz had often talked about Daryl being a tyrant, I just never knew it was that bad. He said that it hadn’t happened before with them but I guess all you need is that one time. It sounds like if Laz hadn’t gone over there to talk to them, it might have gone unchecked. It might have gotten worse and escalated over time.

  But what I’m really in awe about is Laz. The fact that he would drop everything to go there, that he would actually fight Daryl over his family. I just never saw Laz as the fighting type and it probably shouldn’t impress me but it does.

  I keep that to myself though. I need to try and keep everything to myself. He’s always so good at hiding his feelings, for once I need to be good at hiding mine.

  The rest of the car ride, though, is made in silence. Laz actually sleeps for some of it, or at least appears to be sleeping. I guess it’s easier than small talk. There can be no small talk between us. Everything is large right now. Everything between us has weight.

  I love you, I want to say.

  I love you and I want you to love me.

  I need you to love me.

  I need every single one of those words you wrote to be real.

  I want you to fight for me like you’d fight for your family.

  I keep it inside until it’s choking me, a hand at my throat, a vice at my heart. But when I head down Fulton Ave. toward his apartment, he sits up and says, “Can we go to your place?”

  I swallow, surprised. “Why?”

  What is this?

  What are we?

  What happens next?

  “I need to talk to you,” he says. “I’d rather do it there. Privacy.”

  I could tell him no. I could tell him that I just came because he was a friend—an ex friend?—in need and that we’re broken up and I’m still hurting and it’s best we go our separate ways.

  But I don’t.

  Because I want him.

  I miss him.

  I need him with every vein in my body.

  “Okay,” I tell him.

  I park the car in front of Barbara’s and I am not at all surprised to see a shadow moving behind the blinds. I know that I left my suite locked and that Laz would have had to have a key to access it. I knew that Barbara let him in. Shifty dame that she is.

  We head through the gate and I unlock the door.

  The poems are scattered everywhere, dropped when I left in a hurry.

  “So you got them,” he says, looking around.

  “I did,” I tell him. “Laz…”

  He moves so fast.

  One minute he’s staring at the poems, the next he’s grabbing my waist, my face, kissing me.

  I gasp, completely caught off-guard, ready to push him away, even as his tongue causes my heart to ignite.

  But then he stops, pulls back, cups my face between two large hands.

  “Marina,” he whispers to me, eyes pained and wild as they search my face. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell you how sorry I am for what I did. I’ve tried and…I know it’s not enough. I know it will never be enough. I know that it pales in comparison to how I made you feel. I wish I could go back and take it all away from you, that pain I gave you, but I can’t. I can’t.” He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against mine. “The only thing I can do, that I can try to do, is tell you the truth. Give you my soul. Show you my heart. These poems, Marina, they are all for you. You’re my inspiration, my true muse. You’re the one who makes my heart beat and my heart, my heart is all yours.”

  I close my eyes, trying not to cry.

  He takes in a deep, shaking breath. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I am absolutely, brilliantly in love with you. I was just too blind, too scared and too…inexperienced to see it. To let myself feel
it. Because I didn’t think I deserved to feel that good.” I open my eyes and find him staring deep into every part of me, his eyes burning with truth. “You’re like moonshine on the darkest night. You shine a light on who I am and make me want to be a better person. And you’ve made me realize that I too deserve love. I never thought I did. My whole life I thought I didn’t. And now, because of you, I do.”

  He pauses. “Because of you, because of you, I love.”

  My heart bursts at his words.

  I grab him hard, my fingers digging into his back and pull him to me, tucking my head into his chest and holding on for dear life.

  “I love you still,” I tell him. “I love you always.”

  “I am so sorry,” he says, choking up. “I am…I know I deserve love but I don’t know if you can find it in your heart to give me a second chance. I know I’m new at this but I don’t want to be bad at this. I want to learn, I want to learn with you. Together.”

  I just nod, tears starting to fall.

  His embrace tightens, he kisses the top of my head. “Marina, if you give me another chance, I promise I’ll make it up to you. I promise I won’t leave. I promise I’ll love you forever, to give you everything you need. I know I’m moody and I’m in my head a lot and I know I’ve been just a horrible idiot as of late. I know all this. But, please, I need another chance. I need another chance at this, another chance at us. Please.”

  I swallow thickly, trying to breathe.

  If I was a more bitter person, if I let my anger dictate things, then I would probably push him away. Tell him it couldn’t work. That I was too hurt. That we were both too fucked up and complicated. If I was someone like Naomi and he was someone like Robert, then I would.

  But we aren’t them.

  Not even close.

  He’s Laz. I’m Marina. And this is the us that we’ve always been. We love in our own ways, we grow in our own ways, but we’re better if we’re loving and growing together.

  So I don’t push him away.

  I keep him close.

  Because I love him.

  “I love you, Laz,” I whisper.

  “I love you, too,” he whispers back. “I love you so bloody much.”

  He reaches down, grabs my chin and kisses me.

  Long, hard. Full of life, full of love.