I quickly pull one of my hands away and wipe the tears before they fall. The circles he’s making on my thigh help calm me. I don’t know how many times I pictured Travis over the years. Imagining it was him making love to me. Wanting to be in his arms again. Now that it’s finally a possibility, I freak out like an idiot.
“I need some time and some understanding. I want you to touch me, but it has to be slow. I don’t know how far I can go—”
“I’d never make you do something you’re not ready for. That’s not the only reason I want to be with you.” He pulls me to him and throws his arms around my shoulders, making me feel safe. I wrap mine around his neck and bury my head in his chest. “I can give you time and understanding, as long as you know I’ll be here for you, and I want… no, I need you to talk to me. I have so many ideas swirling in my head right now, and they’re making me crazy. I need honesty, sweetheart. That’s all.”
“After my dad died, I… it’s not pretty. And I’ll tell you, but not now. Not yet. Let’s forget about all the crappy stuff for a little while, please,” I beg.
Even though I can see the disappointment on his face, he tries to hide it, and smiles a dimpleless smile.
After our talk last night, we made banana splits and watched meaningless television, then fell asleep on the couch together.
“Hey, you, wake up.” I hear his voice before I feel his hands rubbing my back. Squinting my eyes, I groan as the light hits them and roll over to my back.
“It’s almost ten, and I’ve got a big day planned.”
This statement has my eyes shooting open. “You do?”
“Yeah. Now come on, breakfast is ready.”
“What’d you make?” I ask excitedly.
“Turkey bacon and an egg white omelet. Gotta watch my figure,” he replies rubbing his stomach that I know is hard as a rock and has a happy trail leading down past his jeans.
“’Kay. Give me a minute.” I throw the blanket off and drag my feet to the bathroom. I’m not really a morning person, so I take my time brushing my teeth, eyes slowly closing as each second passes.
“I bet if I told you it was French toast you wouldn’t be falling asleep brushing your teeth,” he teases, leaning on the bathroom door.
“This is a true story,” I mumble around my mouthful of toothpaste.
He laughs and squeezes my butt as he walks away. The familiar gesture doesn’t freak me out, and I give myself a gold star for the small step.
When I walk in the kitchen, he has two plates of crunchy French toast and not turkey bacon set out, with a couple glasses of orange juice.
“You’re the best!” I laugh and give him a loud kiss. I should have known, no way would he ever eat turkey bacon. We sit opposite each other like the other day. I shovel my food into my mouth, savoring the crispy/gooey combination.
“Char, fucking stop that!” Travis’ voice makes me pause, fork halfway to my mouth.
“Huh?”
“Your groaning and shit. As sexy as you look shoving that in your mouth, the damn noises coming from it are… just stop, okay?” He’s pleading, and I see him reach down and shift his legs.
“Ooh.” I slowly and quietly eat the last couple of bites.
“Anyways.” He stands and grabs my empty plate, setting it in the sink. “I thought we’d go do something we always wanted to do but never got around to. Now, I know it’s ‘cause someone would have needed parental consent.” He’s teasing, I know, because of the dimple, but I suck in a breath as my stomach turns.
“Shit. I didn’t mean anything, I was joking.” He comes over and tilts my head up. “I’m sorry. It’s too soon, huh?”
Not able to speak because I feel like I’m gonna puke, I nod. The movement makes my stomach retch, and I push him out of the way, running to the bathroom. I don’t shut the door behind me because I don’t have time before I find myself hugging the porcelain.
I reach up and flush; the act makes stupid memories come to the surface. How I’d puke when Todd left after he hit me, how I lied to Travis. He’s right, too. We talked about going parasailing, but since I did it the summer before, I knew you had to be eighteen or have parental consent. So, when he really tried to get us to go, I came up with some lame-ass excuse, and we ended up going go-karting. Another lie, when all he ever asked for was honesty.
What a fucking mess I am. When I feel him pull my hair back, I push his hands away. Angry at myself for so many things, I want to be alone. I’m used to being alone. I’m better alone. All those happy feelings I was having earlier are nothing but a bunch of shit.
“Go away,” I beg.
“No.”
“Travis, leave me the hell alone.”
“No. You’re not alone anymore, sweetheart, and if you think I’m going away that easily, you really don’t know me.”
“I don’t fucking know you! We spent a few weeks together years ago. Now, leave me the hell alone!” I scream and push him.
The shock from my statement allows me to actually move him. I can’t look at his face right now. I slam the bathroom door shut, brush my teeth, and rinse my mouth out with mouthwash.
When I look at myself in the mirror, I can’t help but be angry. No, angry isn’t the right word. Enraged is better. I become blurry in the mirror as my eyes water. Dammit. I hate crying. I never used to cry. I was the strong one. I was the rock. I took care of everything. I didn’t cry. Crying shows weakness, and I’m not weak, dammit!
I pound the mirror, glass shattering under my hands as I hit it over and over again. Every time I feel glass stab me, the pain from my memories fades away. I don’t know how much time has passed, but I pound until I feel arms wrap around me. Even if he weren’t here earlier, I’d recognize his scent and the way he feels any day. I let the emotions I’ve been holding in take over, and I sob. My body heaves and shakes as I let the man I lied to, the man I don’t deserve, hold and comfort me.
He says soothing words and runs his hands through my hair and down my back. Eventually, I calm down, and my sobbing turns to silent tears rolling out of my eyes. I watch as they land on the floor, mixing with the blood dripping from my hands.
“I need to look at your hands,” he says, quietly, but I can hear the anger laced in.
I lift them up and am shocked at the amount of blood.
“Come on.”
I notice the bathroom door hanging off the hinges. He broke down the door. I follow him to the kitchen where he takes all the dirty dishes out of the sink. He lifts my listless body up on the counter, since I’m too weak to stand, and starts rinsing my arms. When the cool water hits my hands, I wince and try to pull away. He pulls them back and continues gently washing. I finally look at his face, and I see his jaw ticking, his breaths coming out in short, fast bursts through his nose.
“Travis—”
“No. Don’t. Just, don’t,” he clips.
Nodding, I let him continue. I deserve his anger.
“Where’s your first aid kit?”
“Bathroom cabinet.”
He returns and pokes and prods a few minutes longer, removing some small pieces of glass before applying ointment and wrapping them.