TWELVE
Aleena
The next morning when I crept out of my room before dawn, his space on the couch was empty. But I already knew that. I’d heard him leave right after he’d fled my room, and I hadn’t heard him return.
Sleep had eluded me the entire night. All I could do was wonder where he had gone and worry if he was okay.
I’d pushed him too hard. Too fast.
Work passed in a dazed blur. My vision seemed to bleed in and out, and I mumbled as I approached each table, moving through the day in a stupor.
It killed me to think I might not ever see Jared again. That he was gone. Stabbing pain sliced through my middle at the thought. I reached to the wall for support and squeezed my eyes to shut it all out.
Karina lightly touched me on the back, and I turned and opened my eyes to my boss. She was older, and the top of her head only came to my shoulders. Worry creased her kind face. “You don’t look so good today, Miss Aly. Are you feeling okay?”
I shook my head. “I’m kind of sick to my stomach.” It wasn’t a lie.
She glanced around the dining room. The small round bistro tables filling the space were dotted with customers, but it wasn’t extremely busy. It was late evening, and the customers sat along the curved bank of windows that overlooked the street, sipping from coffees or enjoying a sweet dessert. “I think we can manage without you for the rest of the night. Why don’t you go on home and get some rest?”
She patted my shoulder, and I smiled down at her in appreciation. She had always been a great boss. She’d opened the restaurant years before and made it successful with her own hands. She always treated her staff like family. “Thanks, Karina. I think I’ll be past all this tomorrow.”
By past, I meant I’d be either devastated or out of my misery. But whichever I faced, I knew I had to get home.
It was relief that washed over me when I pulled around to the front of our building and saw Jared’s bike sitting at the far end of the lot.
Easing my car into my spot, I sat for a moment to gather my thoughts. When I got out of the car, I crossed the lot, my legs sluggish as I took the stairs up to our apartment. I could feel it, this unease that had accumulated in the air, built up, and bound itself to my heart.
It was confirmed when I opened the door to an even denser sense of tension inside. Jared was here, but instinctively I knew things were not the same. He sat on the couch watching TV by himself, but he barely looked in my direction while I stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. I heard Christopher shuffling around in his room. A few seconds later, he came out of his room and rushed down the hall.
“Hey, Jared, you feel like going out tonight?” he asked as he ran his hands through the messy locks of his black hair.
Jared looked up at him with something akin to a grimace. “Nah, man, I had a long day at work today. Think I’m just going to hang out here and relax.”
“Ah, that’s too bad.”
Christopher grabbed his keys and tucked his wallet in his back pocket. “Did you have a good day at work, Aly?” he asked with a casual smile as he gathered his things. He didn’t seem to notice the well of emotion that had broken between Jared and me, or how our movements had slowed to match the weight in our chests.
“Yeah, it was fine,” I said.
“Cool. Well, I’m going to get out of here. Give me a call if you need me.” Then he shut the door behind him without a second thought.
Jared barely acknowledged me when I said I was going to grab a shower, just obliged me with a small nod as he turned back to the television in the same motion.
I turned the shower as hot as it would go. Steam filled the small room, streams of scalding water assailing my skin. Redness seeped to the surface, and I wished the hot shower could somehow burn the questions from my mind the same way it burned the fatigue from my body. But those questions remained locked tight in the boy sitting out on the couch.
Wrapped in a towel, I unlatched the bathroom door and looked down to the end of the short hall into the darkened living room. Flashes from the TV lit the end of the couch, and I could feel him there just as I knew he could feel me. Yet I sensed no movement, no shift in his presence.
Out of respect, I left him there because I didn’t really know what to say. How could I take back last night? Because it was my heart. He was my heart. I didn’t regret the fact that I’d invited him to open up to me. I only regretted the reaction he’d had to it.
In my room, I dropped my towel to the floor and pulled on a pair of sleep shorts and a tank, then curled up on my side on my bed to stare out the open window. Even though it had waned, the moon still shone bright enough to light up my room. My sketch pad lay on the floor next to my bed, but tonight I didn’t feel like drawing. It had always been my therapy, the way to work out my thoughts, fears, and desires. A way to show my love.
But tonight I clung to those thoughts, let them tumble around in my head while I rested on my side in the soft glow of the moon. With my back to the door, I stared out the window. In the dull light of the city, I could only make out the few brightest stars. Time passed too slow and too fast because I longed for him and was entirely terrified of what hid inside him at the same time. I’d fallen a long time ago, had held tight to the remnants of his memory that he’d left in his wake. It’d been foolish then, but safe, because it was only an illusion. I’d given myself to him when he’d never even had me at all.
Now my bones trembled with reality.
I didn’t know if he would come, and many hours passed before he finally did.
Tonight Jared didn’t knock. I tensed when the door creaked open, listened as it quietly snapped shut behind him. He said nothing as he inched up behind me. I sensed the hesitation in his steps, the heavy breaths he pushed in and out of his lungs.
For a second he just stood there at my side, and I could feel his eyes burning into my body. Then the bed dipped behind me.
I stilled myself as he settled, and his weight spread out over the surface of my bed. Tension radiated and poured out of him, so thick my mouth went dry.
He exhaled toward the ceiling, his arm pressed up against the length of my spine. I could picture him lying there, flat on his back, staring into nothing. Waiting. Waiting for what, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know what he wanted. All I knew was I wanted him to want me.
I couldn’t take it any longer.
Slowly, I turned. His arm dug into my ribs as I rolled over it, before I settled into the safety of his side. Tonight I erased the physical space that had always been left between us, but somehow I knew the distance to what I wanted – to what I needed – had never been greater. I buried my nose at the juncture of his shoulder and chest, breathed him in the second he gave in and pulled me into his arms. My hand twisted in the collar of his T-shirt, and the other burrowed beneath his back.
Every nerve in my body fired, my muscles straining as I clung to him, as I did everything I could to bring him closer.
Nothing had ever felt better than being in Jared’s arms.
Nothing.
Under my arm his heart beat fast, and I slowly uncurled my fingers from his shirt and slid my flattened palm down to feel it pound beneath my skin. My stomach flipped and turned, pooled with desire and need and the affection I’d held for him for so very long.
And I wanted to tell him how much he really meant to me, but I knew saying it would only force him further away.
Jared held his breath, then brought his right hand up to settle on top of mine. He pressed my palm harder against his chest, as if he, too, couldn’t stand the thought of letting me go. His voice was raspy, low, and so incredibly sad. “What are we doing, Aly?”
“I don’t know,” I answered with my mouth hidden in the fabric of his shirt. I loved the way he smelled, his shirt thick with the crisp scent of fresh laundry, mixing with the essence that always surrounded him – peppermint and cigarettes. It was the aura of the man that each second sucked my spirit deeper into him.
The fingers on my back found their way into my hair. Gently he tugged, like he’d done so many times before, only this time it was a fistful. “Christopher is right, you know. You were always my favorite.” The words came out in a murmur, his face focused on the ceiling, though his fingers soothed into my scalp.
Tingles spread along my neck, then rocketed down my spine.
“I don’t know what it was,” he continued with a soft reverence. “I guess I liked the way you followed us around. I liked that you couldn’t keep up and that I had to take care of you. I liked standing up for you. Protecting you. I liked the way you looked at me like I really mattered. I liked that when I thought back about you and Christopher after I was gone, I was thinking about the good times I had in my life.” He squeezed me closer to him and pressed his mouth to the top of my head.
“But I don’t get to have this, Aly.”
I shifted to lay my cheek on his chest. Sadness crashed over me in a breaking wave. I knew there was nothing I could say that would sway him, that there was no convincing him otherwise. He’d already promised me that last night. Instead I just held on to him, told him through my touch how much he meant to me and that he deserved happiness, too, whether he found that with me or someone else.
“I ruin every f*cking thing I touch, Aly, and I refuse to ruin you.” His hold increased. “F*ck,” he groaned under his breath, tipping his face down toward mine, grief striking like a match in his eyes. “I shouldn’t even be in here with you.” He squeezed my back in emphasis. “Hanging out with you like this has absolutely been the most selfish thing I’ve done in a long time.” A short breath filtered from his nose. “I can’t do this with you anymore… this whole friend thing. I can feel it coming, Aly, that something bad is gonna happen and I’m going to hurt you, and I refuse to do it.”
“You’d never hurt me,” I said. This time I couldn’t keep myself from refuting his words.
Dry laughter filled my room. “You’re right… because I won’t ever let it get that far.”
Pain fisted in my chest. I was wrong. He could hurt me. He already was – hurting me and hurting himself.
But I guessed hurting himself was what he knew how to do best.
I laced my fingers through his right hand, lifted them so our hands shone in the dim light. My skin looked so pale woven with his, his skin darkened with the sun and his fingers marked with the year of his birth: 1990. Life.
I squeezed his hand, willing him to hang on to it.
He pulled our twined hands to his mouth and pressed gentle kisses to my fingers. He ran his lips along the back of my hand, brushed them over the puckered scars on the outside of my thumb. My throat constricted, and I was struggling to hold back tears.
“I need to go, Aly.”
Panic rose in me, and I struggled to hold him tighter. “Please,” I begged, trying to tug him down, “just lie with me. Just for tonight.”
His sigh was heavy and filled with sadness. But in it was his surrender. His arms tightened around me, and he pressed his lips to my forehead. His warm breath filtered all around me, wrapped around and cocooned me, and I shuddered as I fell completely into his embrace.
Maybe if I lay here and never closed my eyes, I’d be able to hang on to him forever.
And I tried. But inevitably they drooped and fell because there was not a safer, more comfortable place than resting in the security of Jared’s arms.
In the morning, I woke to an empty bed.
I hadn’t expected anything different. It didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. For a few seconds, I held my eyes closed because I didn’t want to face the wedge Jared had driven between us last night.
Rolling to my side, I pulled the sheets with me as I sought some form of comfort. Something crinkled on my pillow as I moved.
I lifted my head. A small piece of parchment paper sat folded on my pillow. My throat constricted, and I turned onto my stomach, eyeing the washed-out tan piece of paper, one side tattered from where it had been torn from some sort of journal. My fingers trembled as I reached out to take it in my hand. Slowly I unfolded it.
Tears welled in my eyes when I saw the simple statement written in a strong-handed scroll.
When beauty sleeps.
Turning onto my back, I held it against my chest, cherishing the words that Jared otherwise didn’t know how to say.
Two weeks had passed since the last time Jared left my room. He’d become distant. Withdrawn. Rarely was he at the apartment. I’d hear him creeping in at ungodly hours of the night and he was usually gone before I got up, as if he could hardly stand to be anywhere in my space.
And I missed him.
The hardest part was in those moments when he was in the apartment and I’d catch him looking at me.
Looking at me as if he missed me as much as I missed him.
Just as quickly, he’d look away, drop his gaze, and pretend all those nights he’d spent lying with me in the sanctuary of my room had only been figments of my imagination.
As if they didn’t matter.
As if they hadn’t changed who we were.
But I didn’t push him. The last time it had backfired. He’d panicked and had driven this unbearable space between us.
Somehow I knew if I pushed him any further, I’d never see him again.
Sighing, I forced myself from bed. Exhaustion dragged my feet. Restful sleep had been scarce for the last two weeks. There was always that hope, this little flicker of anticipation that he might come back, slip inside my room, wrap me up in his arms, and whisper that he’d made a mistake.
But he never did.
It didn’t mean I didn’t spend most nights awake trying to will it to happen.
Now I crept out into the hall. Stunned, I stilled when I found Jared sitting silently at the bar, sipping from a mug of coffee.
Motionless, I indulged, appreciated his beauty in a moment when he had no idea he was being watched. He wore a pair of jeans and a thin white V-neck tee. His bare feet were propped on the footrest, his elbows heavy on the marble bar. He seemed consumed in his thoughts, a million miles and a hundred years away. His hair was all unruly, and it appeared as if he hadn’t shaved in at least three days, this coarse stubble shadowing his strong jaw.
My fingers twitched.
I wanted to reach out and run them down the side of his face. To whisper his beauty against his ear. To tell him I saw the good, that it was alive, so transparent in his words and in his eyes.
Instead I slinked by and murmured, “Good morning,” as I passed.
I could barely discern the subtle flinch in his muscles, but it was there. I’d taken him by surprise.
He mumbled, “Morning,” into his coffee cup.
I went to the fridge, grabbed the orange juice, and poured a glass. With my back to him I spoke. It was hard to do, but I didn’t want this unease to eat at us forever. “So, no work today?”
He grunted. “It’s the Fourth… boss closed up shop today.”
The Fourth of July.
Right.
I didn’t even realize the date.
Guess I’d been fixated on something else.
I leaned up against the counter that Jared had backed me into all those weeks ago when he’d first confronted me, and thought about the day. It was funny, how much I used to look forward to this holiday, the days dense with summer’s heat, our revelry shared out in our field as we played the sunlight away. How the excitement would build as the sun began to set, and our families would gather to turn our faces to the night sky to witness the beauty of the fireworks.
It had always struck me with an overwhelming awe.
I remembered how deeply it always struck Jared, too.
I stared at the floor. Off to my right, his presence tugged at my spirit as if mine were chained to his, a tension that wound through my consciousness and congealed in the air between us.
I doubted now we’d ever escape it.
Christopher suddenly shattered the strain wrapping up the room by barreling down the hall.
“Morning,” he said as he clapped Jared on the back and came around the bar and into the kitchen. He dropped a swift kiss to my cheek. “And good morning to you, little sister.”
“Morning,” I returned, confused by the overeager man-child almost dancing in the kitchen.
“Is there milk?” he asked.
I kind of laughed as Christopher dug into the fridge. It was about three hours too early for my brother to show his face.
“Should be,” I said, grinning at his back.
He stood and flashed me a huge one.
“What has you in such a good mood this morning?” I frowned in question.
“It’s the Fourth. Why wouldn’t I be in a good mood?” Christopher tipped his chin in Jared’s direction. “We haven’t all spent it together in years, and Timothy has his annual Fourth of July party planned.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Just think it’s going to be really cool to spend the night with everyone.”
Christopher had mentioned the party at Timothy’s house several weeks ago. I’d been to a few parties at his place. They were always packed, crawling with so many bodies that I usually ended up in the backyard, trying to catch a breath of fresh air.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Jared shaking his head. “Nah, I think I’ll just hang out here tonight or maybe go for a ride on my bike or something,” he said.
“What the hell are you talking about? Not a chance. I’ve been looking forward to this party all week. And it’s been so long since we all were together.” Christopher turned to me. “You’re still coming, right?”
It wasn’t really a question. I knew he’d force me into it if I even thought about backing out. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Do you mind if I invite Megan? I haven’t gotten to hang out with her that much lately.”
“Sure, Timothy’s not going to mind.”
I nodded before Christopher returned his attention to Jared, leveling him with a glare that vowed he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Jared casually sipped from his cup. “I don’t really do the party thing.”
“Really?” Christopher asked, completely incredulous. “You do remember I picked you up at a bar?”
Jared smirked and dropped his cup to the counter, that old playfulness filling his eyes when he taunted my brother. “You picked me up at a bar, huh?” he asked, the question packed with innuendo.
There was my friend.
I laughed, and Christopher did, too. “F*ck you, dude.” Christopher pointed at him. “You’re coming.”
Jared chuckled mildly, then sobered as he stole a glance my direction. I knew he was feeling me out, wondering if I wanted him there or if he’d already hurt me enough that I didn’t want to be anywhere around him.
I offered him an easy smile, one that promised I still would take whatever it was that he would give. And I would. I could be his friend. I could shove all these feelings aside, lock them in that place that had always been reserved for him. Could pretend that I didn’t crave his touch on my face, pretend he hadn’t spoken things that I knew he’d only ever spoken to me, pretend this bond we shared was just an invention of my imagination.
I’d been successful at hiding my feelings for so many years. What had changed?
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at myself.
The change currently sat at the bar in my apartment, his expression guarded but achingly tender at the same time. Could either of us ever forget the connection we’d shaped, one carved out in those perfect hours spent alone in my room?
No. Not me.
But I could pretend.
Resigned, Jared turned back at Christopher. “Fine. I’ll go.”
Warily, he chanced a glance back at me again, his eyes wavering as they fluttered over my face. Then he dropped his gaze back to his half-empty cup.
Was it foolish that I was excited for him to be coming? Foolish that this was the first Fourth I’d looked forward to in all the years he’d been gone because this was the holiday that had always been ours?
I risked lifting my face to find his eyes downcast, his hair flopping down to cover his gorgeous face.
Yeah, I guessed it probably was.