-Ellie-
It was hard to describe what Flynn and I were becoming to each other. Since that night with him and Murphy we started spending more and more time together. I would go to his house after work and we’d watch television. Sometimes I’d bring food; sometimes he’d make me something to eat.
I was surprised to discover that Flynn Hendrick was an amazing cook.
It was with startling ease that the two of us fell back into old comfortable patterns. But with some very significant differences.
The first being that now there was kissing involved. Lots and lots of kissing.
I was attracted to Flynn. Very attracted. Sure, he was strange and awkward and his manners were worse than mine. But I wasn’t looking for a gentleman. I wasn’t looking for someone who would hold the door open for me or say bless you when I sneezed. That stuff was really unimportant.
Because what Flynn was outweighed that trivial bullshit women think is essential in the men they want in their lives. Flynn was tender. Flynn was kind. Flynn wanted to make me happy.
Flynn forgave without question, even when my reemerging guilt told me I didn’t deserve it. Because the lingering knowledge of my crime hung heavy over me. I couldn’t forget that Flynn had no idea what really happen all those years ago. The night that ruined my life and killed his dog.
It threatened to overshadow everything. The closer we became, the more I wanted to tell him. But I was scared. I didn’t want to lose the way he looked at me. I didn’t want to lose this growing relationship that was becoming the deepest experience of my life.
I was selfish. Was there ever a doubt? I was thinking only of myself. What it would mean to me if Flynn were ever to discover the truth.
I wasn’t being fair. He needed to know. But I just couldn’t tell him. Not now.
We didn’t talk much about high school and the way I had treated him. Part of me wanted to avoid the topic all together. I wish I could go back to pretending I hadn’t been a heinous bitch. For years I had justified my behavior. I had convinced myself that Flynn hadn’t really been my friend. That our relationship hadn’t mattered to me at all. I had forced myself to forget the details. It made it easier for me to accept that I had caused immeasurable damage for no real reason at all.
Flynn would mention things sometimes that reminded me of how good things had been. He brought up the time I had taught him to play the guitar.
I wasn’t a great musician but I had been able to carry a tune. Flynn however, had been horrible. But it had been fun now that I was allowing myself to remember.
“Do you still play the guitar?” Flynn had asked me and it hit me that I hadn’t thought about playing music in years.
Not since I was sixteen. Not since going to juvie.
It was yet another thing I had lost and had made myself forget that I had enjoyed.
So of course the next time I saw Flynn, he handed me a battered guitar case and gave me a shy smile.
“What’s this?” I asked, slowly reaching out to take it.
“Open it,” Flynn grinned and I could only shake my head. I set the case down on his living room floor and bent down to release the clasps. I opened the top and stared down at a very used, but still beautiful, Taylor acoustic guitar.
“Shit, Flynn. This must have cost a fortune. Taylor guitars are expensive,” I exclaimed, hardly able to believe he had done this. He paid attention to absolutely everything. There wasn’t a thing about me that he hadn’t catalogued away and remembered.
Why did he care about me so much? What had I ever done to deserve it?
“Don’t cuss, Ellie,” Flynn reprimanded flatly. I chuckled and apologized.
I ran a finger down the worn neck. It was a lot nicer than the beater I used to have when I was fifteen. That one had a broken neck I had tried to fix with super glue. After my shoddy repair job it would never stay in tune. The frets had been cracked and chipped and it had been missing a couple of tuning pegs.
This one, while obviously second hand, was gorgeous. I carefully picked it up and sat down cross-legged, with the guitar resting in my lap. I wrapped my left hand around the neck, pressing down. I ran my fingers along the strings.
“I used to like listening to you play. I liked it when you taught me. I want you to play again. It made you happy. You used to smile a lot when you played,” Flynn said, sitting down beside me and watching my hands as they fumbled through the few chords I could still remember. It had been a long time, so I was rusty.
“I can’t believe you did this for me, Flynn.” My voice cracked and broke, the emotion strangling me. My tears embarrassed me.
But Flynn had reminded me that it was okay to cry. That tears didn’t make me weak; that letting them fall didn’t have to mean that I was broken. It could mean that I was coming back together.
Flynn placed his hand on my leg. I looked down to where he was touching me and then up at his face. He very rarely initiated touch. Physical and emotional intimacy on any level was a new thing for both of us. He wasn’t used to touching anyone. I wasn’t used to being touched by someone that actually cared about me.
But when he did touch me, my heart would with swell with the force of my feelings for him. To him I was precious and wanted. I had never, in all my life, been adored the way he adored me. Not when I was a child being shuttled from one foster home to the next. Not when I was a teenager using sex as a means to connect. And certainly not as an adult when I had come to accept my emotional isolation and stopped trying to feel anything at all.
“Play something for me,” Flynn urged, his fingers pressing into my thigh. The warmth of his hand burned me.
I reached up and brushed his hair from his forehead. He stiffened but allowed it.
“Can I kiss you first? To say thank you?” I always asked him if I could kiss him. I was still feeling out his comfort level. And every time I asked, I held my breath until he consented. Waiting for that time he would finally reject me and turn away. I didn’t want to think about what I would do if that ever happened.
Flynn nodded and I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck and pulled him toward me. His eyes were already fluttering closed and I kissed the tip of his nose before melding my mouth to his. He opened up his lips instantly. He had become quite adept at using his tongue. He was also learning to become more vocal.
When my tongue swept into his mouth he groaned and my belly tightened in response. A deep, glowing warmth spread throughout my body. I ran my fingers through his hair and he seemed to enjoy that. He groaned again, the press of his lips becoming more frantic.
I tried not to wince as he bit down on my lower lip a little harder than I would have liked. He was still trying to figure out what I liked and what he liked. “Not so hard, baby,” I whispered into his mouth, making sure to tell him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered back, running his tongue along the skin he had just bitten. I gave him my own moan to encourage him.
I almost pulled away when he suddenly put both of his hands on my breasts. I hadn’t been expecting that.
He didn’t move his hands. He didn’t rub or knead. He just held his palms over my nipples, his fingers spanning the expanse of my boobs. Should I show him what to do? Would he freak out and pull away?
We were still kissing but I was fixated on his hands that sat, unmoving on my chest. Finally I pulled back and looked down pointedly at his hands. “Uh, what’s going on here?” I asked.
Flynn followed the direction of my stare and quickly dropped his hands. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, folding his hands together in his lap.
Oh shit, he was starting to rub them. He was gnawing on his bottom lip, another sign that he was upset.
“Flynn, it’s okay. I was just surprised is all,” I tried to reassure him. Flynn had closed down. He wouldn’t answer me. He had gone inside his head. Things had been going so well and then I had opened my stupid f*cking mouth and ruined everything.
“I wanted to touch you. I’ve seen it before on television. It looked nice. I thought I’d touch you like that,” he said, still rubbing his hands furiously.
I wanted to bang my head against the wall in frustration. I wasn’t known for my grace or diplomacy. I didn’t do the whole walking on eggshells thing. I stomped all over those mother f*cking eggs, smearing yolk everywhere.
But I had to tread carefully with Flynn. This was testing me in ways that I hadn’t imagined.
I felt the familiar flicker of anger. The desire to lash out and abandon this thing that was starting to prove difficult.
“I wanted to make you feel as good as I do,” he said and just like that my irritation burst and faded away.
I reached over and took his hand and slipped it under my shirt so that it rested on my breast but over the thin fabric of my bra. Flynn hissed in a breath, his eyes widening. He was so innocent. It was disconcerting at times. But he was eager to learn and that was a total turn on.
“Touch me, Flynn. Rub my nipple with your fingers,” I instructed, my voice raspy as he started to move his fingers under mine.
He was hesitant at first but I took his hand and directed his movements. After a few minutes of uncomfortable pinching and awkward groping, he finally got the hang of it and I dropped my hand from his.
It felt good. Really good. I reached down and pulled my shirt over my head and dropped it on the floor. Flynn licked his lips, his eyes trained on his hand that covered my boob.
F*ck me, it was hot. I noticed the bulge in his pants and knew that he was enjoying it as much as I was.
“Use your other hand to touch my left breast,” I told him breathlessly. He did as I told him. He started to take some initiative and pushed aside the cotton bra and touched my bare skin.
My head rolled back as he worked his fingers. “Your skin feels so good, Ellie,” Flynn said, his voice breaking. He pinched and twisted my nipples and I groaned. I wanted him to touch me all over but I knew this was as far as he could go right now. And that had to be enough.
After a few more minutes he dropped his hands. I opened my eyes and was relieved to see the smile on his face. I readjusted my bra, covering myself again.
“I liked that,” he admitted shyly, blatantly staring at my chest. I laughed and leaned over to kiss his mouth.
“I liked it too, Flynn,” I enthused.
After that, he wanted to touch my breasts…a lot. And at the most random times. Like when we were sitting in the car. Or walking Murphy in the woods behind his house.
When he tried to grope me at Ma’s Diner, I had to remind him that we were in public and that sort of stuff had to wait until we got to his house. Even if I wanted to let him touch me as much as he wanted.
Our days were spent in beautiful tandem. The more time I spent with Flynn the more I pulled away from everything else.
I hadn’t seen Dania since her party. I had been avoiding her. We had spoken on the phone a few times and I was relieved to hear she had been busy. I didn’t feel so bad about making excuses not to see her.
I should have known my evasion tactics would only go so far, which I learned after I answered the phone one day as I relaxing on my couch for the first time in days.
As soon as I said hello she started to bombard me with questions about the apartment we had been to see several weeks ago. She asked if I had heard from the landlord and I could at least be honest and tell her I hadn’t.
I hadn’t been particularly proactive in following up though, but I didn’t tell her that. I wasn’t ready to admit to her that living together just wasn’t going to happen.
“Maybe we should look at some other places. My landlord is being a dick and he says I have until the end of December to get out. That only give me two months ya know.” She sounded almost accusatory; as though it were my fault she was getting evicted.
“How was your doctor’s appointment?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Eh. Okay I guess. The doctor was a little worried because the baby doesn’t seem to be growing the way it should be. He read me the riot act because I was still smoking. I told him to shove it. What the f*ck does he know about me or my baby?” she scoffed.
“Well he is a doctor, Dania. It’s sort of what he went to school for. Those extra four years do give him some insight into what he’s talking about,” I couldn’t help but say. And I knew instantly it was the wrong choice of words.
“Of course you’d side with the doctor, Ellie! You never have my back anymore. You judge me just like everyone else in this f*cked up town!” she screeched into the phone.
“Sheesh, Dania. I was just saying you should probably listen to the doctor. You want your baby to be healthy right?” I asked, trying to placate her and smooth out the situation.
“F*ck this stupid baby! It’s ruined my f*cking life! I just want it out! And then I can get rid of it like I should have done when I found out I was pregnant!” she screamed.
I almost dropped the phone. Her vicious bile towards the innocent child in her belly left me cold.
“Are you saying you’re giving him up for adoption?” I asked carefully, making sure to call the baby “he” instead of “it.” Dania needed to be reminded that this baby was a person whether she wanted him or not.
“I don’t f*cking know, Ellie! I get a hell of a lot of benefits for having a baby. Did you know I could get an extra $1500 a month from the state? And I can get on WIC, which will pay for my groceries. And social services will even help me pay for the apartment and childcare. I could use the cash, Ells.”
My temper spiked. This was her entire motivation for keeping the baby? So she could get extra money from the government. Was she serious?
“Wow, that’s very selfless of you,” I deadpanned, trying to rein in my anger.
“Shut up, Ellie. You’ll be thanking me when I’m getting that money every month to pay for our rent. So don’t give me any of your holier than thou bullshit!”
I didn’t want her money. I didn’t want her goddamned drama. I didn’t want to sit by and watch her screw up her baby’s life the way my mother and her mother had screwed up ours.
“I’ve got to go,” I said, needing to end our conversation before I said something I couldn’t take back.
“I miss you, Ells. I never see you anymore. How about I bring you a sundae during your shift at JAC’s tonight? With hot fudge and sprinkles, just how you like it,” Dania said sweetly, her mood doing a 180.
“You don’t need to bribe me with ice cream, Dania,” I told her tiredly.
I heard her sigh on the other end. “You’re my best friend, Ellie. We’ve always had each other’s backs. In high school, you were the one who slashed Stu’s tires when I caught him cheating on me. And I was the one who came and visited you every weekend when you were in juvie. We do things for each other. That’s what friends do,” she reminded me.
What she had just described sounded more like an episode of a bad talk show than a healthy friendship. When she put it like that, it made me realize how shitty our relationship had always been. We fed off the worst of each other.
But she did say one thing that was true.
We had always been there for each other.
Though I’m not sure that had done either of us any good.
“Okay, bring me a sundae,” I gave in.
“I will! Maybe even a milkshake too,” she enthused and I could only shake my head, though she couldn’t see me.
“See ya,” I said and hung up the phone. I felt drained. Talking to Dania was hard at the best of times. But now, with my life changing in slow, incremental ways, I was finding it even more difficult to be around her.
Because now when I looked at my friend, I only saw a person I never wanted to be.
I looked at the time and realized I only had forty-five minutes until I was supposed to meet Flynn at the community college. He had been after me to sit in on his workshop. I had agreed, knowing how much it meant to him.
He was nervous. He spent most of last evening writing notes down on paper and saying them over and over again until he memorized them. He asked me to walk him through a mock workshop. I told him I didn’t know anything about art.
He had gotten upset and I had to calm him down and promise him I’d help him. He wasn’t expecting to talk much. The students were going to watch him as he made a series of simple sculptures. The art teacher was planning to explain the concepts while he worked.
I didn’t see what the big deal was, but this was Flynn we were talking about and his nerves were through the roof.
“Mom and Kevin used to help me with this stuff. They’d walk me through things that made me nervous until I felt comfortable. Mom would write things down. But they’re not here,” he had said as he rubbed his hands together.
“I can do that, Flynn. I can make sure you feel comfortable. Can you trust me to do that?” I had asked him.
Flynn had stopped rubbing his hands and nodded. “I always trust you, Ellie,” he had said and I felt the enormity of that statement again. His trust was a gift and there were moments when I felt ill equipped to handle the significance of it.
I headed back to my bedroom to grab a clean pair of clothes to change into for my shift at JAC’s. I planned to go back to Flynn’s house after the workshop, so I could get ready there.
The sight of my sculpture collection caught my eye as I opened the drawers. I picked up the miniature pyramid and held it in my palm. It had been a while since I had ordered a new one.
At one time, these tiny pieces of art had been my one source of joy. I enjoyed looking at them and imagining all the places I’d love to go if I could. When I was a little girl, before the system had jaded me, I’d pour over travel books, fantasizing about all the places I would visit when I was older. Julie bought me a world travel guide when I was seven and I had looked at it so much that the pages had become dog-eared and faded.
I lost the book at some point during my numerous moves. But by the time it was gone, those dreams, those fantasies, had disappeared.
I wasn’t sure why I had bought the first sculpture. I had been looking online at Shane’s house one evening. Everyone was hanging out and I wasn’t in the mood to watch the cheesy porno with the rest of the group.
I was surfing through random links when I found my way to eBay. The artist’s collection was featured on the home page and on a whim I had clicked on it. I saw the small Taj Mahal and the little Parthenon and I impulsively bought one.
Maybe it was the reminder of a time when I had dared to dream of something outside of Wellsburg. Maybe it was just the fact that I was drunk and thought they looked pretty. Who the hell knows? But I ordered the miniature Parthenon and then promptly forgot about it.
Until it showed up in my post office box.
I hadn’t been prepared for how happy I’d feel holding the little thing in my hands. It was sort of ridiculous. It was a painted piece of clay for crying out loud.
I had gone home and put it on my dresser. And then when I could afford it, I bought another. Then another. Now I had a collection. I loved the details. The artist was clearly very talented.
I wondered if Flynn had ever seen them before. I decided to bring one of them with me so I could ask him. I picked up the little Eiffel Tower and wrapped it in some tissue before putting it in my bag.
I was just getting ready to leave my apartment when my phone rang. I looked down and saw a name of someone I had rather not talk to but knew ignoring the call wasn’t an option.
“Hi Mr. Cox,” I said to my probation officer after answering. I tried not to snicker as I said his name. It was a never-ending battle when I spoke with him.
“Hi, Ellie. I’m just calling to remind you of your court hearing tomorrow afternoon. It’s at three, but I wanted you to meet me at my office twenty minutes early so we could go over a few things and then walk over together.”
I swallowed my groan. I had forgotten about my upcoming hearing. I had followed every mandate set out for me, even if the ornery child inside wanted to stick her tongue out and refuse to comply.
I peed in a cup once a month. I swallowed my irritation at having Mr. Cox (come on, it’s funny!) showing up at my job and interrogate me whenever he felt like it. I put in my volunteer hours and never missed a shift.
I knew I had done everything right, but that didn’t stop my paranoia from making me doubt myself. Because it seemed like it would be my fate to have everything fall apart just as I felt I was sort of, maybe, getting things together.
“Sure. I’ll see you then,” I muttered.
“Good. Don’t be late,” Mr. Cox, said and I could picture his disdainful pursed lips and I could practically feel his superior complex from here.
“I won’t, Mr. Cox,” I said and this time I did snicker. I couldn’t help it.
“I hope not, Miss McCallum. It won’t look favorably if you are,” he preached and I rolled my eyes.
“Yes, sir!” I snarked.
Mr. Cox never knew how to take my bland sarcasm. I heard him bluster for a few seconds before saying goodbye.
I hung up the phone, trying to ignore the pessimistic sense of doom that had blossomed in wake of my PO’s phone call.
I checked the time as I left the apartment and realized I was going to be late for Flynn’s workshop. Shit!
I broke several speed limits on my way to the campus. I pulled into the only vacant parking spot and hurried towards the art building.
I peeked into the art studio and saw that the workshop had already begun.
I also noticed that everyone was staring at Flynn. And that he was sitting in his chair, his head bowed, his hands clenched almost violently in front of him.
Crap, crap, crap!
I opened the door and snuck inside. I looked for a seat close to Flynn but they were all taken. I scanned the room and a hand waved at me.
Kara Baker’s arm was flailing about, trying to get my attention. I maneuvered my way through students until I passed behind Flynn.
I knew being inconspicuous was out of the question so I simply laid my hand down on his shoulder and bent down towards his ear.
“I’m here, Flynn,” I whispered. I quickly dropped my hand and hurried back to the seat beside Kara. Everyone’s eyes were on me but I couldn’t care less. The only person I cared about was sitting silently at the front of the room, looking like he was about to lose it.
“Hey, you!” Kara said quietly as I sat down. She was obviously letting her hair grow back out and it stood in crazy spikes all over her head.
“Hey,” I said back, my eyes still trained on Flynn as I dropped my bag onto the floor.
I watched him take a deep breath and release the death grip he had on his hands. He still wouldn’t look up but he slowly picked up the pieces of scrap metal that lay in a heap in front of him.
“This is scrap metal. You can make art with it,” he said loudly. The sudden break in the silence seemed to startle most of the room.
I saw several people look at each other and start to whisper. I felt my face start to burn. If they teased him, I’d lose my shit.
“I’m going to make a tree,” Flynn said flatly. The art professor hurried to turn on the projector that was aimed at the metal Flynn was twisting and forming with his hands and asked a student to dim the lights.
“Notice the techniques Mr. Hendrick is using. He has perfected the use of assembling. He takes materials and joins them together to create a sculpture. Assembling is a complicated and additive process. It is precise and detailed,” the professor droned on as Flynn’s fingers moved quickly and with a confidence he hadn’t possessed before.
“Do you know him?” Kara whispered. I was mesmerized as I watched Flynn work. I held my breath as he pulled out a soldering iron and started melding the pieces together.
“Yeah,” I answered shortly. It had been on the tip of my tongue to deny our relationship. Old habits die hard, I supposed. But I was proud to know Flynn. I wasn’t ashamed to admit it.
“I figured. We’d been sitting her for fifteen minutes waiting for him to say something. He freaked out on the professor when he asked him a question. But then you came in and he was honkey dory,” Kara observed.
I didn’t respond to that. I didn’t know her well enough to share anything.
“He’s different isn’t he? I have a cousin with autism. He sort of acts like that. My cousin is a whiz at math. He can solve these crazy complicated problems in his head. Without paper or a calculator or anything. It’s nuts.”
She nodded her head toward Flynn as he twisted and molded the metal. I could see the tree it was slowly becoming. Everyone in the room was as enraptured by his talent as I was. They had forgotten about his strange start.
His art erased that.
“He reminds me of my cousin. I mean not as severe or anything. But the mannerisms and stuff. He’s pretty amazing though. Look at that tree. I could never do that.”
And just like that, this strange girl with her weirdly spiky hair, summarized and accepted the parts of Flynn it had taken me seven years to be okay with. She made me feel small and unbelievably stupid.
Because she was right. Flynn was pretty amazing.
“He’s my boyfriend,” I found myself saying. I was admitting it. Owning it. Just like Flynn was starting to own me.
“Cool,” Kara said, smiling. And I knew she meant it.
“Yeah, it is,” I smiled in return before turning back to Flynn. He had finished the tree and placed it on the table. There was a collective murmur of appreciation. The professor picked it up.
“This is fantastic! Look at the details. Look at the complexity!” he was saying. I watched Flynn, who didn’t seem to be hearing the enthusiastic praise.
He lifted his head and swept his dark hair out of his face. His eyes flitted around the room until he saw me.
And he grinned. His heart in his eyes.
He was more than amazing.
He was everything.