by S. L. Scott
“Why were you crying?” I ask, looking at the streaks down her painted face.
“I always cry in my sleep.” She states this so matter of fact, as if everyone does that. Her response makes a lump form in my throat as a thousand more questions enter my mind.
Out on the sidewalk, I hear a harsh cracking. When I turn around, I see the broken frame on the ground. Brandon is rolling the loose canvas up as she slides into the taxi.
“Do we need to go to a hospital?” I ask, wrapping my arm around her shoulders when I get in.
Brandon is getting in when she replies, “No, he didn’t hurt me.” She glances at me. “He didn’t touch me either. I promise.” Her voice is just a whisper on the last part as she buries her head into the nook of my neck and closes her eyes.
JULES FALLS ASLEEP in my arms on the cab ride to her apartment. When we arrive, she insists she’s fine and can walk on her own. I stifle a smile because I’ve grown to like her stubbornness. Actually, I like everything I’ve discovered about the new Jules. It’s more authentically her, not for me, or who anyone else wants her to be. She’s created her own life and I respect that.
Brandon follows us into our… her apartment and leans on a stack of boxes. “So, what do you want me to do with this painting?” He holds the rolled canvas up in his hand, careful not to let it fall open.
Jules turns from within the confines of the bedroom and tilts her head, leaning against the doorframe. “Just leave it.”
“I’m gonna go,” he says to me, his eyes then meeting hers.
She has her coat off and is unzipping her skirt when she stops and walks back into the living room. Her voice is soft, caring, grateful, “Brandon, I don’t know how to thank you for being there, for being my friend when I needed you most.” Her hands are on him, one on the chest, one on his arm.
I should be jealous by the intimate touch, but I’m not because I know where the intimacy between the two of them begins and ends. He hugs her and whispers, “You don’t have to thank me, just don’t pull that disappearing crap again.”
“I won’t. I’m sorry,” she says.
Brandon leaves, leaving us alone. I’ve made myself at home on the couch, watching her.
“I think I want a nap. Will you sleep with me, Dylan?”
“Sleep?”
She smiles and the laceration in my heart starts to heal. With a hand on her hip, she says, “Yes, sleep. Only sleep.”
I stand and walk into the bedroom with a shrug. “I can nap.” I find myself following Jules room to room not wanting to be too far, feeling very protective of her. She pulled a new toothbrush out of a moving box in the living room, handed it to me, and then we ended up in the bathroom, brushing our teeth together. Watching each other in the reflection of the mirror, I feel at home and yet, a little nervous. Our eyes take in the other, reticent but right.
I use the restroom in private after she does, then go into the bedroom. The curtains have been pulled. It’s bright outside, but the drapes do a good job of blocking out most of the light. She’s on the left side of the bed. We haven’t spoken in a few minutes and the weight of the world seems to be heavy between us. I walk over and slide under the covers, dressed only in boxers, hoping she doesn’t mind me taking off my undershirt. I’m lying on my back and she immediately scoots closer. Lifting my arm, she takes up residence there without words, without questions, without hesitation. Just like old times.
Draping her arm across my chest, she closes her eyes and I kiss her before closing mine. Our breaths even, steady and slow, syncing together.
Three hours. I wake up three hours later, surprised, considering I wasn’t tired. That’s a lie. I’m always tired. I don’t sleep well these days, haven’t in a long time… Not since that night at my apartment.
I’m still holding Jules, wrapped around the back of her. I close my eyes again and push my nose into her hair. Silky. Tropical in scent.
I smile, and she whispers, “Hi.”
“You’re awake?”
“Your sniffing woke me up,” she says flatly, but I can tell she’s just teasing.
I lean up on my elbow to lean over her. When she turns onto her back, she’s under me, and I say, “Hi.”
A sweet stroke on my cheek, down my neck, and over my shoulder and she’s smiling too. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I am too.” I want to tell her more, but save it for a conversation out of bed, not wanting to ruin this.
Her voice is still coarse with sleep when she asks, “Will you spend the day with me?”
“I thought I was.”
She laughs lightly, looking down. When her eyes meet mine again, she asks, “Will you go somewhere with me?”
“Anywhere.”
Moving quickly from bed, she says, “Well, come on. The day is a wasting.”
While she dresses, I go into the bathroom. She didn’t mention my boner. What a relief. It’s going down, but it was obvious when I was pressed against her.
Finishing before her, I go into the kitchen, needing a cup of coffee. She has this amazing coffee maker on the counter too. It looks expensive, but doesn’t seem to have been used much. I pull the ground coffee from the freezer, old habits of both of ours, and start messing with it.
“That thing is too complicated,” Jules says, walking in behind me. “I’ll buy you a coffee down the street if you want one.”
“I’d like to figure this one out. Do you mind waiting?”
“Have at it. I’ve had it for years and can’t really figure it out.”
I laugh while messing with a lever on the side. I think that’s the steamer. I get a glass of water and fill the tank, switching the machine on, then twist two knobs adjusting the levels. She hands me a mug and I place it under the spout I think the coffee will come out. I flip the lever backward and steam rushes out of a metal tube, then I twist it again. “I hear brewing!” I announce proudly.
She leans in closer, listening carefully. “So do I!” The molten liquid sputters a few times before draining into the mug. “It’s working,” she says, laughing.
When the cup is three-fourths full, I stop the press and pull the mug out. “Voila,” I say, presenting it.
“I’m so impressed, Dylan.”
Shrugging, I reply, “Eh, it was nothing.”
“You should have the first cup since you got it to work.”
“No, I insist. It’s your fancy machine and coffee. Try it and let me know what you think.”
Bringing it to her lips, she blows before sipping. First it’s her nose, then her eyes. Her face contorts, struggling to swallow what’s in her mouth. Maybe I should have tried it first.
“Um, yeah, I’ll buy you a coffee down the street.” She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door. “Get your jacket.” With a wry smile in place, she asks, “Do you want to go by your place and change clothes?”
“I’d like to get out of this suit. And just so you know, I’m going to master that machine.”
“I have no doubt you will, Dylan. You were always very good at conquering anything you put your mind to.” She breaks away and looks down the hall, shifting uncomfortably. When she looks back at me, she whispers, “I need to take this slow, okay?”
I nod. I want fast, but I’ll do slow. For her.
After a visit to my place, I’m in clean clothes and we’re on the subway heading to a restaurant near the gallery. “So you recommend this place?”
“Do you trust me?” she asks.
Tilting my head, I narrow my eyes at her. “With my heart.”
Leaning her head on my shoulder, she smiles again. That’s four that I’ve counted since we woke up and I love every one of them. I move my hand to her lap and she places hers on top of mine, our fingers fold together, entwining. A rough start to the day brings an unexpected, but happy ending.
AFTER DINNER, WE walk outside and I finally say what I’ve wanted to say all day, “He left you there. The door was wide open.”
“Jean-Luc
wouldn’t have hurt me. He probably went to his friends place. He lives across the hall. He wouldn’t leave me to be attacked or anything like that.”
“I don’t want him coming near you again.” I close my eyes trying to rid myself of what I saw— the painting, the feelings.
I feel her hand soothe over my back and look, meeting her soft gaze. “I wasn’t thinking,” she says, shaking her head as if scolding herself. “I went there for work… But I knew deep down that he wanted more. He always has. Dylan, I hate to admit how weak I was, but I wanted to feel wanted without pain and baggage. I wanted simple. He’s simple in his affections.” She scoffs under her breath. “He’s very open with his wants. I went over there hoping to feel like my old self, needing the attention.”
She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes, steeling herself for what’s to come and I feel my nerves heighten. With a hand on my arm, she starts to turn, then wraps her arms around me. As I hold her, she speaks to my chest, but I hear her, “My old self after you. I wanted to return to the life where I was in control and hated you. I can’t though. I… my heart.” She sighs, then goes quiet.
“What I did was wrong, Jules. Fucking wrong on so many levels, but I’m here now. I’ve been here, trying to make up for even a portion of the pain I caused. But now, I need to know how you really feel.” I hold her tighter; both of us unable to look at the other while these words come out. “I’m not asking for a life with you. Though you know I want one. I’m asking you for today, for right now. That’s all. One day—”
“One day,” she repeats.
In that moment of silence between us, I pray once more that she gives me this request.
“Okay.” She takes a step back, releasing me, which feels all wrong. Her arms go into the air, as she continues, “I shouldn’t. I don’t owe you anything, much less another chance, but like you, I’m fucking selfish, Dylan.” With a shrug, she says, “I like the way I feel when I’m with you more than when I’m not. I know this is unfair. Judge me if you must, but this is me being honest with you now. We are not going to be fixed overnight or even over months. It’s going to take a long time for me to trust you again, but I’m starting to, even if just a little. I deserve to be happy and what sucks is, even after what you did to me four years ago, you make me feel like I can be happy again, like there just might be a silver lining to this whole mess.”
Her arms flop to her sides exasperated. Taking her hand, I rub my thumb over the back of it. “I know what you mean. I understand that you want to convince yourself I’m the bad guy, and I was, but I’m not anymore.” I pull her to me, my mouth to her ear, my arm around her shoulders and whisper, “I’ve never stopped loving you. Ever. Just let me show you. Give what you can give. I’m not asking for more than that.”
Her hands slide around to my back and up, holding me tight. Her lips are on mine, hushing the words that don’t need to be spoken. Words like ‘please trust me’ and ‘I’m sorry,’ ‘I love you,’ and ‘thank you.’
We have time to share those. This is about acknowledging that we will try, at the very least, we will try and maybe one day we can move beyond least into something more.
I hear her take a slow, drawn breath, then whisper, “Okay.”
Tilting my head to the side, I look down so I can see her face. When she looks up, for the first time since I saw her almost a year ago at that restaurant, her eyes are clear, not bogged down with the heaviness of the past.
“What?” she asks, feeling self-conscious.
I’m momentarily stunned by her beauty. Running my hand along her cheek, I let my fingers twist into her hair before moving down to give her a kiss. I find myself gripping her tighter, holding her closer, afraid she’ll disappear, like this might not be real.
“Dylan?” Her voice is soft. “It’s alright. We have today.” She laughs gently, looking down. “Probably tomorrow too.”
“I’m hoping by tonight there will be no probably’s in the equation.”
“So am I.”
I savor her words, then ask, “Can I take you somewhere now?”
Her smile grows. “Yes. Is it a surprise?”
“Of sorts.”
Two train hops later, we’re walking down Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn. I can see her curiosity peaking and I’m nervous again. I take her hand and go to the office to check in.
“Mr. Somers, good to see you again.”
“You too, Joey. How have you been?”
“Can’t complain,” he replies, looking between us. Curious, I’m sure. I’ve never brought anyone with me before. He grins as if he’s suddenly in on a secret. “Have a good day.”
“You too,” I call over my shoulder as we walk down the corridor and up the stairs, down another long hallway to the very end. The last unit on the right.
“What’s this?” she asks, her nerves showing through her tentative tone.
I unlock the mini garage door and as I lift it up, I grip her hand tighter with my other. “I need to show you this.”
The door settles and I glance to her and then back to the ten by fifteen storage unit. Her mouth drops open as she tries to free her hand, but I remain holding it, gripping harder, afraid she’ll leave me. ‘Please don’t hate me,’ I chant over and over in my head as she takes in the stuff before us.
Stepping forward, she stops, then murmurs, “Dylan.” I can hear her gulp before she takes another step. “Dylan, this is—”
“It’s our stuff. All of it. It’s all here. Everything I took from you is here,” I whisper, releasing her hand, knowing I have to. I feel the tears form in my eyes when I see her shoulders shake and hear her trembling breath.
She looks at me over your shoulder, then turns back and sits on the couch like she might need the support. When her eyes meet mine, for a brief second, I’m stunned. “You’ve had this all along?”
“Yes. I couldn’t throw it away. I couldn’t… I couldn’t be around it on a daily basis. It was us.”
“No, it was just our stuff, not us.”
“The guy at the front desk knew you when you walked in. How long have you had it here?”
“Since the day I moved it from the apartment.”
Her eyes search mine as her eyebrows dip in curiosity, piecing it together. “How often do you come here?”
I stand still, frozen to the spot, my eyes locked with hers. “One or twice a month, at least.”
“And at the most?”
“Four or five times a month.”
Walking to a box, she lifts the flap. Then she leans her forehead against it and starts crying. I know what’s in that box. There’s a reason that box is the one closest to the couch.
“The photo albums,” she says, looking back at me once more. “Why, Dylan?”
“I needed you. I couldn’t live life without you—”
“You had me, but you chose to leave.”
“I know. It’s the biggest mistake of my life. I regret it every minute of every day. I know a million apologies won’t make it right, but it doesn’t mean I ever stopped loving you, Jules.”
Reaching for her, she swings her arms protectively in front of her body. “Stop!” She looks down again.
“I shouldn’t have taken it. I don’t even have a good excuse for taking it. At the time, I think I wanted anything to do with us out of sight, so I could move on. But the bill would come for another year on this storage unit and I would pay it, knowing I could never get rid of it.”
“Your sad reasoning hurt me, hurt my soul and now I’m here face to face with everything I never thought I’d see again. I’m gonna need a minute to process this.”
Sitting down on the couch, in the spot I usually sit in when I visit, I watch as she starts digging through boxes until she seems to find what she’s looking for—her jewelry box. She then sits down on the couch and lifts the lid. A small gasp escapes before her hand covers her mouth. Slowly, she lifts a necklace up in front of her. I gave it to her back in college. She says, “I never thought I’d
see this again. What did Hillary say about this?”
It’s my turn to scoff. “Hillary knew I had the stuff, but she never knew where or what I had. She never came here. I never brought her. I didn’t want her near here or you.”
“Why’d you come here?” she asks, setting the necklace back into the velvet lined wood box.
I was hoping she’d put it on, but I know that’s too much to ask. Leaning back, I roll my head to the side to look at her pretty face. “Sometimes I would bring a bottle of Jack and take shots while staring at the boxes. A few times, I fell asleep on the couch—”
“I used to love taking naps on this couch.”
I smile because she does. “You’re letting me off, aren’t you?”
“No. I hate that you took all of this away, but it’s stuff. I had to reconcile with that years ago because I didn’t think I’d ever see it again.” She turns onto her side, tucking her legs up under her and adds, “I think it would have been very hard to live with this and know you were still gone. All of these reminders…”
Something catches her eyes and she sits up suddenly. I’ve been found out as I spot the picture frame of us at Myrtle Beach one summer we visited my family. That’s the picture I set up on top of the box in the corner. I would stare at it for hours wondering how I could have thrown our relationship away like I did.
She steps over another box to retrieve it. Running her fingers along the broken glass, she looks back at me questioning. I answer despite the nonverbal request, “I was upset. I‘d been drinking.”
Jules lowers the frame, defeated, and asks, “Why didn’t you ever call me, Dylan?”
“I,” I start but stall, my words jumbling in my head, making me feel stupid. “I thought you hated me.”
“It’s strange, but I never considered the fact that maybe you were feeling the same way I was. So much pain. The difference is that I did hate you, but I think you hated yourself more.”
I nod, knowing she sees me much clearer than I thought.
AS I STARE at the broken picture frame, I have an epiphany. Dylan’s suffered too. He’s still suffering, just like I am. I turn around and see him leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees, his face covered by his hands. Seeing how broken he is, I sit down next to him.
