Life Interrupted

by Yessi Smith

  Following Poppa into the house, I’m met with wicker furniture everywhere. It’s beautiful and homey, but to be honest, the house doesn’t hold much interest for me. I want to go to the beach and get a better sense of it. I want to feel the sand between my toes. I want to hear the waves crashing into one another.

  Dutifully, I follow Poppa as he shows me around the house, and my heart stutters when I see the studio he’s arranged for me.

  “So, you can keep drawing.” He shuffles his feet as he directs his attention to them so I kiss his cheek.

  “Travis made it,” he informs me, and I’m forced to thank him.

  “No worries,” he says, brushing me off, as if in fact he didn’t have any worries.

  I turn away from him and stare. It’s perfect—not just the studio itself, but the view of the beach right below us. Unable to wait any longer, I give Poppa another quick hug before I run out the door and head toward the beach. I carefully make my way down the rocky path until I reach the bottom where I slip my sandals off and dig my feet into the ground. With the moisture of the sand cooling my toes and Leeloo surfing the waves, the stress I always seem to carry on my shoulders dissipate.

  Here, I know, I’ll find my freedom. I’ll find my way, so I can be a fully functioning adult who doesn’t balk at physical contact. I might never revel in it, but with my freedom, I’ll learn how to not react away from it.

  I don’t know how much peace I’ll find though. Once Poppa leaves, there won’t be anyone to wake me from my nightmares. But that’s what I need. I need to learn how to cope with myself, by myself.

  And how to cope with a neighbor who is all too sure of himself, I think, as I hear him coming down the same path I followed.

  Not wanting to speak to him, I walk toward the water and sit on the shore with my legs pulled into my chest and my head resting on my knees. The cold ocean spray kisses my face, a simple caress from the sea.

  Waves continue to rise and tumble onto the shore, some drifting to touch my toes. Each one more ferocious, waging a battle no one can win.

  Unable to understand subtleties, Travis sits next to me, and together, we stare at the horizon, each absorbed in our own worlds and our own thoughts.

  Without realizing it, I relax. Even in such close proximity to this man, the tension subsides, and I let out a quiet sigh as Leeloo brings us a rock she has scavenged from the ocean floor.

  Saving rocks from drowning. I get it.

  I look back at Travis for the first time since he joined me and offer him a small smile.

  “Your grandpa told me I have to be nice to you.” He leans to the side and rests his body on his left elbow.

  I laugh. I can see Poppa saying that.

  When my eyes meet Travis’s I find myself drowning in them, unable to retaliate with the snarky remark I planned for him. He reaches out to brush away a stray hair in front of my eyes, but I move away from him, trying to hide the blush and fear he has provoked in me.

  “You don’t have to be nice to me.” I stand up, suddenly angry and in need of some space. “You don’t have to be anything to me. We don’t even have to speak.” Pulling my shoulders back, I stiffen my spine and am proud that my voice doesn’t shake.

  But the pride disappears when I see amusement in his eyes and his stupid half smile.

  Because Ann has told me violence is not a positive outlet for anger, I decide not to smack the grin off his face. Instead, I begin to stalk off in a huff that would make a five-year-old proud.

  “Okay, princess.”

  His words stop me, and I turn around to face him.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Seductress then?” he questions.

  My face reddens and then suddenly flushes. His half grin is back, which does nothing to calm me, so I finish my tantrum, and I stomp my way back up to my new home.

  Knowing he’s probably down at the beach, laughing at me, the house, the whole damn island, becomes too cramped, so I go to my studio to draw, only to find myself pacing.

  Frustrated and needing some distance, I ask Poppa to show me around the island. I’m still too shaken to drive, so I let Poppa escort me around. It amazes me how many people Poppa knows on the island. Though I’m relieved to find they don’t have any expectations from me, so when I introduce myself, I feel exactly as I should, like a foreigner visiting a foreign island.

  For lunch, Poppa takes me to a bar where he swears that I’ll have the best burger in the world. I’m not sure about how good the food will be, but the ambience is what I need. The floor is nothing but a sand pit, and the bar is decorated with pictures of smiling customers who found whatever they had been looking for at that particular moment in time.

  Poppa and I sit outside, and I watch the seagulls dance over us. One of them sails, reaching for the sky with its wings stretched. The sun spreads across the blue sky, its heat warming my skin. Closing my eyes, I tilt my face, welcoming the warmth.

  “Ya know,” Poppa says, and I look back at him, seeing the only man I know truly knows and loves me. “I met Jimmy Buffett here once.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, remembering the songs he sings about cheeseburgers and screwing.

  “Yes, ma’am. Right here in this bar.” Poppa’s eyes twinkle as he is reliving his moment. “He sang for us and everything. Put on a great show, too.”

  “Did you get his autograph?” I tease.

  “Were you not listening?” He winks at me. “I got a personal concert. What’s better than that?”

  “An autograph,” I answer before I take my first bite of pure heaven.

  Poppa was right. They do make the best burgers.

  A needer. A wanter. Never satisfied. Always wanting something different, never complacent with the outcome. I wanted Poppa to leave, so I could be alone. Yet, loneliness crept in the moment he boarded his plane. He went back home three days ago, and calls me every couple of hours. Annoyed and pleased, I answer his phone calls, wanting to hang up, but needing to hear his voice.

  I sit outside on the porch with Leeloo by my side as night settles in. Secure with every light in the house on, fully lit, darkness can’t reach me. With my feet underneath me, I curl up into a chair to read one of my mom’s old romance novels from the stash Poppa showed me that are stowed away in the room I’m sleeping in. Maybe some literary porn will give me the courage I need to be around Thor.

  That’s what I’ve named Travis because he’s built like a god. There’s nothing I enjoy more than watching him play outside, shirtless, with his dog. His muscles ripple against the gleaming sun, his tattoos a swirling mass of color. His light brown eyes dancing with joy while his laughter battles the roar of the sea. Every day I watch them, savoring their boisterousness. That is, until he catches me watching, and I cower back into my safe haven where I can’t see him laughing at me.

  And like the all-knowing god he must be, Travis appears out of thin air on my back porch. I look up from my book, slightly annoyed that he has just interrupted the sexual ventures the characters in my book were about to take me on.

  Without an invitation, he sits down on the chair beside me, and I am forced to put my book away, which I do a bit dramatically.

  “What are you reading?” he asks.

  “A book,” I respond, showing it to him.

  He raises his eyebrows when he sees the cover and takes the book away from me. That only upsets me further, so I take it back.

  Look at us acting like the mature grown adults that we are, I think, shaking my head at my own immaturity and the frustrations Travis produces from me.

  “You’re reading porn.” He laughs at me.

  Rolling my eyes at him, I look away, trying to hide my cheeks that illuminate a fluorescent beacon of red. “I’m reading a romance novel,” I correct him, shoving the book underneath me.

  He laughs at my retort, which only irritates me.

  “What do you do anyway?” I ask, my voice dripping with condemnation so that for once he’s the one feeling defensive a
nd small. “Aside from play on the beach all day.”

  “I look after vacation homes.” He brushes a few strands of stray hair from his face. “I maintain them so when their owners come to the island, they don’t have to worry about cleaning their place up and can just enjoy their stay. And any other odd job I can find on the island.” With my cheeks engulfed in misplaced self-righteous flames, he bends down to pet Leeloo, who is snoring at my feet.

  “How long have you had her?” I ask him, pointing my chin at Leeloo.

  “I found her and her littermates three years ago when they were just a few weeks old.”

  I can’t help but smile at the thought of Leeloo being so tiny, probably with enormous feet she’d have to grow in to.

  “What about her mom?” I ask, worried about his response.

  “I never found her.”

  Shit. “Did you look for her?” My heart stalls. Was she missing, like me? Only, she didn’t have anyone who cared enough to find her.

  “Yeah, every day. But the puppies were all malnourished when I found them, so I think she must have died or taken off long before I found them.”

  My shoulders slump forward, saddened by either alternative. “The rest of the puppies?”

  “They didn’t make it.” He leans toward me and touches my knee with his hand.

  My body stiffens when contact is made and I shift my body away from him. “How did you come up with her name?”

  Travis stares at me, a perplexed expression crossing his face. “From The Fifth Element,” he says slowly but I continue to look at him with a blank stare in my eyes.

  “The movie?” he offers.

  I apologetically shake my head because I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  “I have the movie back at my place. You can watch it if you want.”

  “Sure,” I respond, a pleased smile toying at my lips. I figure the movie—or at the very least, the female character—must be pretty awesome if he named his dog after her.

  With the same enthusiasm I see every day on the beach, Travis gets up, making Leeloo stir from her place by my side, as he tugs on my hand. I look back at him, my eyes mirroring my confusion, but I don’t try to remove my hand from his warm grasp.

  “Well?” he asks, giving me the half smile that makes my body want more than I know I’m ready for.

  “Well, what?” I raise my eyebrows at him, trying to figure him out.

  “The movie,” he responds. His eyes laugh at me, like they usually do, making me flush right down to my toes.

  “Right.” I smooth my hair back, away from my face, even though it’s pulled back into a ponytail. “You want to watch that now?”

  “Sure.” He shrugs his shoulders, as if watching the movie were my idea. “I’ll go grab it, and we can watch it at your place.”

  He lets go of my hand and I clench my hands into fists, wanting to hold on to the feel of them a little while longer. I stare at his retreating back as walks to his house and roll my eyes, either at him or at myself. I’m not sure which, but an eye roll still felt necessary. After I can no longer see him, I go back into my house and stare at the couch in my living room. At the realization that we’ll both be seated there, it now feels too small.

  Cramped. Suffocating.

  With my mind suddenly swimming, I run into my bedroom and pick up my cell phone. I scroll through my Contacts list until I find Amber’s name and hit Send.

  Before she has the chance to greet me, I begin to ramble, “There’s a guy coming over.” I whisper into the phone, “What do I do?”

  “Lock your doors, Holl!” Amber shouts into the phone and I can hear her pacing the floor.

  “Call the police. Whatever you do, just don’t let him in.”

  Alarmed, I stare at my phone and begin to laugh. “No. I invited him. Kind of. He actually invited himself, but I don’t mind—or not really. I mean…” I trail off. “Amber,” I plead, wanting her to understand.

  “Wait? You want this guy to come over?”

  “I think so,” I whimper into the phone. Confusion hangs heavy in the air, blurring my thoughts with dark veils of anxiety.

  “So, this is kind of like a date?”

  “No.” I shake my head, my heart leaping with my rattled nerves. “Don’t say that. This is definitely not a date. He’s my neighbor. I’ve never seen some movie he likes, so he’s bringing it over.” I take my hair out of its ponytail and comb my hand through the strands. “Son of a…is this a date, Amber?”

  “Calm down.”

  I can hear her laughter in the words, and I try to do as I’m told, but I don’t think any sense of calm is in my immediate future. My past holds me back, my broken mind always haunting me.

  “Go to the kitchen and grab a glass of wine.”

  I follow her instructions and grab a wine glass with a shaky hand. “Okay.” I respond as I twirl the glass in my hand.

  “Pour some wine, Holly.” She’s patient, but there’s humor in the cadence of her voice.

  “Wine. Right.”

  With a full stock of unknown wine in front of me, I just stare at the bottles like the foreign objects that they are.

  “Pick an Argentinean wine,” Amber suggests.

  I scan the bottles until I find a deep red Argentinean wine. Once I find the wine opener, I open the wine with a pop as loud as my throbbing heart, just as Travis walks through my back door.

  My eyes meet his and flutter close as I quietly say good-bye to Amber. Then, I take a deep breath and steady my hands, turning my back to his unyielding presence. My heartbeat picks up when Travis comes up from behind me and leans over me, so he can pour the wine for us. I stare at the wine bottles in front of me as I try to breathe quietly, but all I manage to do is inhale and exhale short gasps of breath.

  After handing me my wine glass, Travis walks toward the couch and finally gives me the space I need to breathe comfortably. My eyes close, tight and painful, for a few seconds and I focus on my breathing until I’m sure I won’t make a total fool of myself in front of him. Taking a seat on the far end of the couch, my energy centers around the paused screen in front of us and I wait for Travis to start the movie.

  My body remains rigid when the opening credits come on, so I take a sip of my wine, hoping my muscles will relax with the small gesture. Instead, my mind drifts to Travis—his breathing, the way he lifts the wine glass to his lips, the red and black ink of the tribal tattoo that peaks beneath the sleeve of his shirt. The way he watches me rather than the television.

  His presence seems to fill the entirety of my small beach house. His scent, all male and powerful, invades my nostrils until even the wine tastes like him. I steal a look toward him and find him smiling unabashedly back at me while his light-brown eyes remain on my face.

  My heartbeat quickens again, but this time, rather than it hammering in my chest, I feel it between my legs. I tightly squeeze my thighs against one another and train my eyes on the movie. Without a word, Travis shifts his body away from mine but extends his arm over the back of the couch so that his fingers are close to my hair.

  The electricity coming from his fingers pulses, seeming to reach out to me, leaving me all too aware of his proximity. I hate it. But more, I hate that I want his fingers to reach a bit farther and touch me. Need drowns me, unstoppable and terrifying. Not a quiet desire that leaves a soft imprint, but a suffocating demand for my wounded soul. To fill the lonely gaps; to feel the warmth from his hands spreading over my body until it pumps in my blood.

  Budding pleasure stirs and a hopeless sigh leaves my lips, hanging in the dense air unnoticed.

  When Leeloo jumps on the couch, taking over the space between Travis and me, I immediately pet her, using the opportunity to move my tense limbs. When I stroke the top of her head, she moves closer to me and triumphantly drops her head on my lap.

  “Of course,” Travis scoffs, “the dog gets more action than the man.”

  I cough a laugh into my hand and slowly move my gaze to Tra
vis’s face, who is watching me through amused eyes.

  “The dog can play better than the man.” At a safe distance from Travi s and with Leeloo between us, a false sense of bravery flows into me.

  Travis laughs and then runs a finger over the back of my hand resting on Leeloo’s head.

  “The man can play.” His voice sounds like silk.

  My eyes race from our touching hands to his face, and I let out a loud whoosh of air when I see his eyes staring at my lips. Clearing my throat, I pull my hand away from his, immediately missing his warm touch, and I focus all my energy on the television and the stupid movie that put me in this position in the first place. All the while, clenching my legs together to lessen the throbbing between them.

  Pinned.

  Trapped.

  I can’t breathe, not with someone holding me down. I writhe, trying to get away, but the arms pinning me down are too strong. Screams echo off the walls until my throat feels like razor blades are cutting through the seams. My screams strangle me, making me choke. Although hot tears run down my cheeks, I don’t open my eyes.

  If I do, I’ll see it—the face of my nightmares.

  Over the sound of my bellowing wails, I hear my name. It’s barely above a whisper but strong enough for me to hear. I squeeze my eyes harder, willing it all to go away—the hands holding me down, the voice calling my name, the cruelty that ensues every time darkness falls.

  “Holly.”

  Again, the voice calls to me while the hands start to shake my body.

  I scream back, my own body trembling in terror against my captor’s sadistic hands.

  “Open your eyes,” the voice says gently.

  But I can’t. I can’t open my eyes to the darkness. I can’t succumb to it again.

  “You’re safe, Holly.”

  Safe. As if anyone was safe in this evil world.

  “You’re safe,” the voice says again, his breath falling like a light breeze on my face.

  Howling even louder, the tears run faster down my face.

  “It’s Travis, Holly.” His voice remains soft but firm.

  His hands leave my body, and only then do I realize they weren’t pinning me down but shaking me awake.