by Bromberg, K.
I stare at the paint on my toenails; flashbacks flit through my mind of them on his chest not too long ago. “I just need to think about us…this…everything,”
He steps closer to me. “Look at me,” he commands softly, and I owe him this much regardless of how much I fear seeing the look in his eyes. When I raise my eyes to meet his, searching mine in the full moonlight, I see worry, disbelief, fear, and so much more in the depths of his eyes and as much as I want to look away—to hide from the damage that I’m about to cause—I can’t. He deserves better than that from me. His voice is so soft when he speaks that I barely hear him. “Why?” It’s a single word, but there is so much emotion packed behind it that it takes a minute for me to find the words to respond.
And it’s the same question I need to ask him.
“If this is real, Colton…we’re supposed to complement each other—make each other better people—not tear each other apart. Look at what we did to each other tonight.” I try to explain. “People who care for each other don’t try to purposely hurt one another…that’s not a good sign.” I shake my head, hoping he understands what I’m saying.
His throat works as he thinks of what to say. “I know we’ve made a mess of this, Ry, but we can figure this out,” he pleads. “We can get us right.”
I close my eyes momentarily, tears spilling over as I remember where we are and what tomorrow signifies. “Colton…you need to focus right now…on the race…we can talk later…discuss this later…right now you need to get your head on the track where it belongs.”
He shakes his head emphatically at me. “You’re more important, Rylee.”
“No, I’m not,” I murmur as I avert my eyes again, silent tears endlessly sliding down my cheeks now.
I feel his finger on my chin, guiding my eyes to look back at his. “If you leave, it’s not just to think. You’re not coming back, are you?” He stares at me, waiting for a response and my lack of one is his answer. “Did us—you and me—earlier not mean anything to you? I thought that...” his voice drifts off as I can see it dawning on him “...you were getting closure. That’s why you were so upset,” he says, talking more to himself than me. “You were saying goodbye weren’t you?”
I don’t respond but rather just keep my eyes fixed on his so maybe through his pain he can see how hard this is on me too. It would be so much easier if he raged and threw something instead of these soft pleading words and eyes filled with disbelief and hurt.
“I just need some time to think, Colton,” I finally manage, repeating myself.
“Time to distance yourself to make it easier on you is what you really mean, right?”
I bite the inside of my cheek as I carefully chose my next words. “I—I just need some time away from you, Colton, and the disaster that we’ve made of the past couple of days. You’re so overpowering—so everywhere—that when I’m near you I become so lost in you that it’s like I can’t breathe or think or do anything on my own. I just need a little time to process this...” I look around before turning back to him. “Time to try and figure out why we’re so broken…”
“No, Ry, no,” he insists, the rasp in his voice breaking as he brings his hands up to frame the sides of my face at the same time he bends his knees to bring us inches apart, eye to eye, thumbs caressing over the line of my jaw. “We’re not broken, baby…we’re just bent. And bent’s okay. Bent means that we’re just figuring things out.”
I feel like my heart is going to explode in my chest as he recites my words—the lyrics of the song I once said to him—back to me. It hurts so much. The look in his eyes. The raw simplicity in his explanation. The pleading conviction in his voice. The subtle irony that the one person who doesn’t ever “do the relationship thing” is giving the advice here on how to fix one.
Ours.
I just shake my head at him, my mouth opening to speak but closing again to just taste the salt of my tears when I can’t find the words to answer him. He’s still bent down, eye level with me. “There’s so much that I need to explain to you. So much I need to say…so much I should have already said to you.” He breathes out in a desperate plea. Colton puts both hands up on to the back of his neck, elbows bent, and paces back and forth a few steps. My eyes follow him and on his fourth pass, he grabs me without preemption and crushes his mouth to mine, bruising my lips in a kiss teeming with desperation. And before I can regain my footing beneath me, he tears his lips from mine, hands on my shoulders, eyes boring into mine. “I’ll let you go, Rylee. I’ll let you walk away and out of my life if that’s what you want—even if it fucking kills me—but I need you to hear me out first. Please, come back to the room so I can tell you things that you need to hear.”
I take a deep breath as I stare at his eyes, inches from mine and pleading with me for some scrap of hope. The rejection is on my tongue, but for the life of me I can’t get it past my lips. I drag my eyes from his and swallow, nodding my head in consent.
The room is dark except for the light of the moon. In the space between us on the bed, I can make out Colton’s shadow. He’s on his side, head propped on his angled elbow, staring at me. We sit like this in silence for a while—him staring at me, me staring at the ceiling—as we both try and process what each other is thinking. Colton reaches out hesitantly and takes my hand in his, a soft sigh escaping his lips.
All I can think to do is swallow and keep my eyes fixed on blades of the ceiling fan above as they rotate endlessly.
“Why?” My voice croaks as I speak for the first time since we’ve come back to the room, asking the same question he’s asked me. “Why did you tell me that you slept with Tawny?”
“I…I don’t know.” He sighs in frustration as he shoves a hand through his hair. “Maybe because since that’s what you thought of me—expected of me without even letting me explain—then maybe I wanted you to hurt as much as I did when you accused me of it. You were so sure that I slept with her. So sure that I’d use her to replace you that you wouldn’t listen to me. You shut me out. You ran away, and I never got a chance to explain that whole fucked up morning to you. You wouldn’t let me…so a part of me felt like I might as well give you the affirmation you needed to think of me like the bastard-asshole that I really am.”
I remain silent, trying to process his rationale, understanding and not-understanding all at the same time. “I’m listening now,” I whisper, knowing full well that I need to hear the truth. Need it all laid out on the table so I can figure out where to go from here.
“I truly didn’t know how alone I was, Rylee,” he starts on a shaky breath and for the first time, I can sense how nervous he is. “How isolated and alone I’ve made myself over the years, until you weren’t there. Until I couldn’t pick up the phone and call you or talk to you or see you…”
“But you could, Colton,” I reply, confusion in my voice. “You ran from me…not the other way around. I was the one sitting and waiting for you to call. How could you think otherwise?”
“I know,” he says softly. “I know…but what you said to me—those three words—they turn me into someone I won’t ever let myself be again. It triggers things—memories, demons, so fucking much—and no matter how much time has passed, I just…” he fades off, unable to verbalize what the words I love you do to him.
“What? Why?” What in the hell is he talking about? I want to scream at him, but I know that I have to have patience. Look where my obstinance has gotten us thus far. Verbalization is not his strong point. I have to just sit back and be quiet.
“Ry, the explanation—when, as a kid, those words are used as a manipulation…as a means to hurt you…” He struggles and I so desperately want to reach out and hug him. Hold him and help him through it, so maybe I can understand him better—comprehend the poison he says sears his soul—but I refrain. He looks at me and tries to smile but fails miserably, and I hate that this conversation has robbed him of that brilliant smile of his. “…it’s too much to go in to right now and probabl
y more than I’ll ever be able to explain.” He exhales on a long, shaky breath. “This, talking right now, is more than I ever have…so I’m trying here, okay?” His eyes plead with me through the shadow of darkness, and I just nod at him to continue. “You said those words to me…and I was immediately a little boy, dying—wishing I was dead—hurting inside all over again. And when I hurt like that, I usually turn to women. Pleasure to bury the pain…” My free hand grips the sheet beside me for the little boy that was in so much pain he’d rather die and for the man I love beside me that’s still so haunted by it and for what I fear is going to spill from his lips next. His confession. “Usually,” he whispers, “but this time, after you, there was no appeal in it. When the thought crossed my mind, it was your face I saw. Your laugh I missed. It was your taste I craved. No one else’s.” He shifts onto his back, keeping his fingers still laced with mine as my heart squeezes at his words. “Instead, I drank. A lot.” He chuckles softly. “The day before…everything happened…Q came by my place and read me the riot act. She told me to clean myself up. Told me to find some friends other than Jim and Jack to hang out with. Becks showed up an hour later. I know she called him. He didn’t ask what was wrong—he’s good like that—but knew I needed some company.
“He took me out surfing for a couple of hours. Told me I needed to clear my head from whatever was fucking it up. He had to assume it had something to do with you, but he never pried. After we surfed for a while, I told him we needed to go out, hit a couple of bars, something to make me numb.” He rubs his thumb softly back and forth over our clasped hands, and I turn onto my side so now it’s me watching him staring at the ceiling. “We did and in the process, Tawny called and had some documents she needed me to sign since I hadn’t been in the office for several days. I told her where we were and she showed up. I signed the documents and the next thing I knew, a couple of hours had passed and all three of us were shitfaced. Lit like you wouldn’t believe. We were closer to the Palisades house, so I had Sammy drive us there and figured we’d pick up their cars in the morning.
“We walked through the front door, and I realized that I hadn’t been there since that night with you. Grace had been there of course—the shirt I’d thrown on the couch before we…” He fades off remembering. “It was folded neatly on the back of the couch for me to see the minute I entered the house. My first reminder. When I walked into the kitchen, she’d taken the cotton candy and it was sitting in a container on the counter. I couldn’t escape you—even drunk, I couldn’t escape you. So I drank some more. Tawny and Beckett followed suit. Tawny was uncomfortable in the clothes she had so I grabbed a shirt for her so she could be more comfortable. We were all sitting in the family room. Drinking more. I was trying anything to numb how much I needed you. I don’t remember the exact sequence of events, but at some point I reached for my beer and Tawny kissed me…”
Those words hang in the darkened room like a weight on my chest. I grit my teeth at the thought even though I’m appreciative of his honesty. I’m starting to think that maybe I don’t need to hear all of the story. That in this case truth might not be the best policy. “Did you kiss her back?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. I feel his fingers tighten momentarily around mine, and I know my answer. I worry my bottom lip between my teeth as I dread hearing the confirmation come from his lips.
He sighs again and I can hear him swallow loudly in the quiet of the room. “Yes…” he clears his throat “...at first.” Then he falls silent for a few moments. “Yes, I kissed Tawny back, Rylee. I was hurting so much and drinking wasn’t helping to numb it anymore…so when she kissed me, I tried my old fallback method.” I audibly suck in my breath and try to pull my hand from his but his grip remains firm. He doesn’t allow me to pull away from him. “But for the first time ever, I couldn’t.” He turns on his side again so that although the darkness of the room doesn’t allow us to completely see each other, I know that he is staring into my eyes. He reaches his free hand up to run the backside of his fingers over my cheek. “She wasn’t you,” he says softly. “You ruined casual for me, Rylee.”
I sniffle at the tears burning the back of my throat, and I’m unsure of whether they’re a result of the fact that he did try to start something with her or if they’re because of his reasons why he couldn’t. “I told you I loved you, Colton, and you ran away. Basically into the arms of another woman,” I accuse. “A woman who has harassed and threatened me no less in regards to you.”
“I know…”
“What’s to say you won’t do that again, Colton? What’s to say that the next time you get spooked you won’t do the same damn thing?” Silence falls around and between us, wiggling its way into the doubts in my head. “I can’t…” I whisper as if talking normally is too much for the words I’m about to utter. “I don’t think that I can do this, Colton. I don’t think I can let myself believe again…”
Colton shifts suddenly in the bed and sits up, grabbing both of my hands in his as I fall onto my back. “Please, Rylee…don’t decide yet…just hear the rest of it out, okay?” I can hear the desperation in his voice, and it undoes me for I know exactly how it feels when that tone is in your voice.
That was the same one I had right after I told him I loved him.
We sit there and his hands hold mine—our only connection despite feeling as if he is the only air that my body can breathe. I feel the tension radiate off of him as he tries to put the thoughts swarming in his head into words.
“How do I explain this?” he asks the room as he blows out a loud breath before beginning. “When you race, you’re going so fast that everything outside of your car—the sidelines, the crowd, the sky—everything becomes a big, stretched out blur. Nothing specific can be identified. It’s me in the car, alone, and everything outside of my little bubble is part of the blur.” He stops momentarily, squeezing my hands to stop the nerves trembling through his as he regroups to try and explain better. “Kind of like when you’re a kid and you spin in circles…everything in your line of sight becomes one big continuous image all blurred together. Does that make sense?”
I’m unable to find my voice to answer him. His anxiety seeping into me. “Yes,” I manage.
“I’ve lived my life for so long in that state of blur, Rylee. Nothing is clear. I never stop long enough to pay attention to the details because if I do then everything—my past, my mistakes, my emotions, my demons—will catch up to me. Will cripple me. It is always easier to live in that blur than to actually stop, because if I stop, then I might actually have to feel something. I might have to open up to the things I’ve always protected myself against. Things ingrained in me from the shit that happened to me as a kid. Shit that I don’t ever want to remember but that I constantly do.” He releases one of my hands and scrubs it over his face. The chafe of the stubble against his hand is a welcome sound to me, a comforting one.
“My past is always there, just on the edge of my memory. Always threatening to overwhelm me. To drag me back and pull me under.” I can hear the emotion thickening in his voice, and on impulse, reach out and grab his hand again. I squeeze it—a silent sign of support for the hell inside of his head. “Living inside of that blur is like living in a bubble. It allows me to control the speed I’m going…to slow down if I need a breather, but to never really stop. I’ve always been in the driver’s seat…always in control. Always able to speed up, push the limits, when things get too close…
“And then I met you…” The astonishment in his voice is raw and honest and tugs so deep within me that it causes me to sit up, so I’m now cross-legged with my knees pressing against his. His hands find mine again and squeeze them tightly. “The night I met you it was like a firecracker shot out of that blur of color and exploded above me. So bright and so beautiful…and so hostile...” he chuckles “...that I couldn’t look away even if I tried. It was like life slammed the brakes on me and I’d never touched the pedal. I was immediately drawn to you, to your att
itude, to your refusal of me, to your wit…to your incredible body.” I can feel him shrug unapologetically at the last comment, and I can’t help the smile that curls up my lips or the hope that begins to bloom in my soul. “…to everything about you. That first night you were a spark of solid color to me in a world that’s always been one big mixed blur of it.”
Words escape me as I try and process what he’s telling me. Just when I’ve made up my mind one way, he says something so poignant and achingly beautiful that I can’t help but feel my heart swell with love for him. Colton accepts my silence and reaches out to cradle my head in his hands before he continues. The tenderness in his touch brings tears to my eyes. “That first night you created a spark, Rylee, and every day since then, you’ve allowed me the strength to slow down long enough to see into the blur I’ve always feared. Even when I don’t want to do it, your quiet strength—knowing that you are there—pushes me to be a better person. A better man. Since you’ve come into my life, things finally have definition, specific colors assigned to them…I don’t know…” I can hear his struggle, and I turn my face into the palm of his hand and kiss it there softly as he sighs. “I don’t know how else to explain it, but I know that I can’t go back to how I existed before. I need you in my life, Rylee. I need you to help me continue to see the color. To slow things down. To allow me to feel. I need you to be my spark …”
He leans in and brushes his lips so softly, so tenderly against mine. “Please be my spark, Ry…” he pleads as the words cause his lips to brush against mine.
I lean in and press my lips against his, instigating the kiss to go deeper by slipping my tongue into his mouth because the words and thoughts in my head and heart are so jumbled that I’m afraid to speak. Afraid that in this moment of his revelation—that if I pour out what’s spilling over in my heart—I will overwhelm him. So instead, I pour it all into my kiss. He gathers me to him, cradling me in his lap while he worships my mouth in the way that only he knows how. The reverence in which he breathes my name between kisses causes a tear to slide down my cheek.
