Pieces of a Mending Heart

by Kristina M. Rovison

  He takes a deep breath, obviously not happy with the change in conversation. “I am, but barely. Katie, you have to understand that I was a different person. For me to come back to this town after I was arrested, caught with drugs, found curled on my bathroom floor and sent to a psych ward…” he shakes his head. “For me to come back here is like the black plague hitting. But for me to come back an entirely different person than the guy this whole town knew me as?”

  He covers his face with his hands for a moment before continuing. “That’s like the apocalypse. Nobody knows what to think of me, or you, for that matter. But I think we shouldn’t talk about this; the past. We were both different people now, and who we were? They don’t matter anymore. If they did, we wouldn’t be here. Literally, we would’ve died when we wanted to. Obviously we were brought back for a reason. But why us? What makes us so special? Thousands of people die every day, but we got second chances. Us, who everyone thinks are the most undeserving people of all! I suggest we focus on making it count.”

  He looks slightly winded after his lengthy speech, and I’ll admit I’m pretty intimidated. The conviction in which he spoke is so strong that I feel it seeping into me and I feel a sudden urge to cry. Why did we get a second chance? Not to be self-deprecating, because I’m pretty proud of the person I’m becoming, but what’s so special about me? It doesn’t make any sense. There are suicide victims all over the world who don’t come back.

  “Why do I always seem to make you cry when I’m trying to do the opposite?” Tristan says, watching me from his position.

  I didn’t even realize the tears had slipped out, but now that I know that they have, I let them fall. He pulls me towards him and I climb into his lap, momentarily stunning him. His hands freeze in the air, but then caress my head, like a mother would a child. That somehow makes the tears fall faster, knowing I never had this as a child.

  I feel the fluttering of his lips against my forehead, lighter than a moth’s wing. The gesture makes me tip my head up in search for more, but when I go to press my lips against his, he leans away. This act of rejection burns through me like fire, sending a rock into the pit of my stomach and fresh tears to my eyes. I push him away, but he just grabs me again. I don’t know why I’m crying anymore. I’m not this weak and I don’t like the feeling of vulnerability.

  “Katie,” Tristan says as I try to quiet my breathing. “Katie, look at me,” he says louder, grabbing my chin lightly in his hand, turning my head so he is looking me in the eye. “I’m not going to kiss you when you’re upset. I don’t want it to be a security gesture,” he says, though I’m confused as to what he means.

  After a few minutes, my pathetic blubbering simmers down and I lay back on the grass, hands folded together on my stomach, staring at the crystalline sky. There are no clouds anymore, and the sun is shining brightly. For a long while we just lay there, listening to one another’s breaths and not thinking about anything in particular.

  “You okay now?” Tristan asks with his voice steady and strong. Like always.

  “Yes. Sorry,” I say, completely embarrassed.

  I don’t need a boy to hold me when I cry; I’m just so used to doing it alone that I can’t resist the arms of a friend. The word “friend” makes me want to scream with frustration, and my cheeks grow red remembering his rejection. A few more minutes pass and I watch the sunshine pass through the leaves of the trees, making a very natural and beautiful pattern on the ground.

  “Katie?” Tristan asks, sounding unsure.

  “What?” I say, not unkindly.

  He shifts, moving into a sitting position, staring at me, like he’s thinking. The wind blows, pushing up his hair and ruffling his button down shirt. He looks like a model, bathed in sunlight with eyes so blue that you think you’re about to drown in the ocean. Without warning, he leans over me, his arm reaching across my body before resting his hand on the ground on the other side of me. He doesn’t speak and neither do I, for this moment is so perfect I dare not disturb its flawlessness.

  “If Malaya asks, will you tell her I’m your boyfriend?” he simply says, but shockingly, it doesn’t break the spell. The beauty of his voice lulls me deeper into peace.

  I nod and smile, knowing I already told her that. “If Scott asks, will you tell him I’m your girlfriend?” I reply, my voice sounding surprisingly sweet.

  He smiles, moving closer, leaning over me until his head is blocking the sun. “The word is inaccurate, but it’ll do. It’s a hell of a lot less of an explanation,” he winks.

  By now, he’s nose to nose with me, his eyes locking on mine with an intensity I’ve never seen before. The woods go silent and all I can hear is my heartbeat in my ears and my small intake of breath as his lips caress my cheek, just at the corner of my mouth. My eyes automatically close as he kisses my other cheek, his lips just barely touching mine.

  I open my eyes for the briefest second to find him directly over me, but I snap them shut before I wake up from this dream. His lips hover over mine until I can’t stand the separation anymore and I put an arm around his neck, pulling him to me. Our lips meet for the first time and bursts of white shine behind my closed eyelids.

  I remember hearing a quote at some point in my life that went something like this: “It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.” I think Judy Garland said it, but whoever it was, thank you.

  It feels like every word shared unshared is flowing between Tristan and I. It feels like every birthday wish I ever made, every dream I ever had, every beautiful thing I’ve seen or heard or tasted or felt is combined into this kiss. I always rolled my eyes at girls who thought they had found the love of their life in high school. Those girls who would kiss a boy and lose all common sense.

  I am the world’s biggest hypocrite and proud of it. I am “that girl” who knows she found the love of her life in high school; who just lost all common sense and every shred of doubt. This feels familiar, as though we’ve done it countless times before. My tongue caresses his lips and he sighs, so I grip him tighter, thinking he’s about to pull away.

  He isn’t. He merely readjusts himself so that he lays closer to me, deepening our kiss in a way that is both innocent yet loving. I feel safe trapped in his arms, like nothing the world has to throw at me can hurt me. Most importantly, in his arms, I feel wanted. Like I’m finally worth something to someone and he isn’t afraid to let me know that.

  He can’t know I’m in love with him; not yet. He would think I’m crazy, loving someone so deeply after only a short period of time. But this is what we’re meant to do. We’re meant to be with one another, regardless of circumstance and oblivious to time.

  Time passes and the sun continues to move across the sky, casting shadows on the mountains. We lay there, wrapped in a bubble of happiness as his hand caresses my back from my neck to my tailbone. Surrounded by God’s creatures, with the sounds of the earth wrapping us in a cocoon of serenity, he whispers my name.

  And it has never sounded more beautiful.

  Later that evening, Tristan helps me finish the massive amount of schoolwork I have accumulated after missing two whole days of classes. A text message from my aunt beeps in on my phone around six o’clock, telling me she’s sorry but has to work late. I ask to invite Sorren over for dinner, but we really want to tell her about the vision I had the night before. She agrees, thankful to have an excuse to leave her house, and says she’ll be over soon.

  “You know this will drive her crazy, right? You really think we should tell her? What’s she going to know that we don’t?” Tristan asks, flipping the chicken breasts cooking in the oven.

  I pause in stirring the lemon sauce for the chicken. “I think she has a right to know what’s going on. I promised to keep her updated,” I say, but Tristan’s eyes fill with vexation.

  “We don’t even know what’s going on yet. If she was supposed to know, don’t you think she would’ve had a vision, too? She shared your first one,” he says, shutting the oven door and
clicking the timer on.

  I cross my arms, feeling defensive. “So you’re saying she doesn’t deserve to know because she didn’t see it? That means you don’t deserve to know about either of these visions, Tristan. That isn’t a valid argument.”

  He leans against the counter next to me, his shoulder level with my eyes. I look up, green meeting blue, and my defensiveness fades at the sadness in his weary eyes.

  “I don’t think we should scare her. We don’t have an explanation for why you saw what you saw and if you tell her you witnessed her murder, she might be a bit… on edge, don’t you think?” he says, making a very valid point.

  I nod, looking at the bowl of lemon-flavored sauce on the counter. “Just you and me?”

  “Against the world,” he replies, intentionally making his statement corny. I snort and he can’t help but join in a little bit, hoping to relieve the guilt and confliction I feel. “But yes, Katie. I think it makes the most sense to keep it between you and me.”

  He puts an arm around me and plants a kiss on the top of my head just as the front door springs open.

  “Holy hell! Why is it that every second I see you guys, you’re doing something mushy. Keep the gush-n-mush out of sight!” Sorren exclaims, shutting the door behind her before ripping off her Converse sneakers and throwing her keys in one of them.

  She keeps her eyes away from mine as she walks into the hallway. Her posture sags and I notice she’s limping slightly. Tristan and I exchange glances, both noticing the change in her demeanor. He removes his arm, a silent urging for me to go speak with Sorren.

  The bathroom door is shut, but I knock on it and it opens. I watch as Sorren quickly readjusts her pant leg, which she had hiked up to her knee. Our eyes connect and I see pain and worry in her dark brown eyes, which are bloodshot. I shut the bathroom door behind me before facing her. I know the signs; I had the signs not too long ago.

  “Your mom or your dad?” I ask, gesturing to her leg, which she holds slightly off the ground.

  She hangs her head, brushing a hand over her forehead. “I figured you knew. You’ve got that look all over you,” she says, sitting on the closed toilet seat.

  “What look? My aunt doesn’t hurt me,” I say, confused.

  Sorren scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Oh please, don’t play dumb with me, princess.”

  I hold my hands up and raise my eyebrows, a confused look no doubt gracing my face.

  “That chariness to your eyes. That suspicious, guarded look you think nobody notices? I can spot it a mile away. The only time I don’t see it is when you’re with him,” she nods her head towards the door.

  “Sorren, I can help you. I went through it and look where I am now. You can be different; you can change things. Does anybody know?”

  She sighs, slowly propping her foot against the bathtub across from her. “You do. I think Malaya does.”

  “Malaya?” I question, shocked.

  “She’s not a bad person. She makes stupid mistakes and follows the crowd, but she’s a nice girl. Tristan screwed her over, so she harbors some serious misplaced hatred.”

  Sorren looks like she’s expecting me to question her about Malaya and Tristan’s falling out, but to her dismay, I stick to the problem at hand. “Don’t try to switch the topic. I know all the tricks, alright?”

  She looks at me, anger churning behind her expression. “This isn’t a regular thing. My mom drinks a lot and loses her head sometimes. Back off, ‘kay Dr. Phil?”

  I roll my eyes, but really I just want to hug her. “Then what were the marks around your neck yesterday? And where are they today?” I ask, noticing her un-bruised neck.

  “You really want to know?” she asks, skeptical. “If I told you they didn’t come from my mother, would you just believe me and not ask me to elaborate?”

  I’ve known the girl for two days. Yes, I feel like I’ve known her forever, but do I really expect her to trust me? No. Because girls like us-her- do anything they can to keep from letting people know. I’ll bet her heart is racing and her palms are sweating right now, just thinking about what might happen if I tell an adult about her mom. The fear. The hopelessness. The terror.

  “I’d trust you, but now I’m curious.”

  She crosses her arms, looking me straight in the eye. “This guy I was with got a little rough. I wasn’t complaining,” she states, matter of fact.

  I’m sure my face went fifty shades of red before settling on the light rose it is now, but I try to look like I don’t care. “You can’t let this kind of stuff happen to you, Sorren. There are people who can help you.”

  “What kind of stuff? Rough sex?” she asks, laughing. “Look, Kath, just leave me alone about it, okay? My mom got pissed because I mouthed off. This kind of thing doesn’t happen all the time. I’m fine.”

  I don’t believe her for a second. Before, she made it sound like this was an everyday thing, now she’s recanting that statement? To appease her, I shrug and turn around, opening the door.

  “Hey, Kath?” she asks, voice meeker, more vulnerable, and lacking its usual spunk.

  “Yeah?” I say, hopeful she’ll confide in me.

  “Can I stay here tonight?” she asks, playing with her hands on her lap, avoiding my gaze.

  Sadness grips my heart at the frailty of her voice, but I reply with a smile and tell her yes. Walking down the hallway, I close my eyes and force the flashbacks away, chanting in my head that I’m alright, I’m alright, I’m alright…

  “She okay?” Tristan asks, pulling the chicken out of the oven with a pink, frilly dish towel.

  I sigh, shaking my head. The bathroom door creaks open and all I say is, “I’ll tell you another time. She’s okay, for now.”

  His brow furrows, marring his heavenly face with worry, but he nods. He plates dinner, drizzling the sauce over the chicken and tossing some salad from the garden into bowls. There’s more than enough for the three of us, so we leave the remaining food on the counter for when my aunt gets home.

  “So, shall we play a game?” asks Sorren, wiggling her eyebrows up and down as she shovels a piece of the delicious chicken into her mouth.

  Tristan finishes chewing and then asks, “What type of game?”

  “A truth game. Something to help us catch up from two-plus years without each other,” says Sorren, bringing back the awkwardness that had faded a few minutes ago.

  Tristan flashes me a grin, his white teeth peeking from behind his perfect lips. Lips that I kissed today. A smile slowly grows on my face, accompanying the memory.

  “Katie and I’ve already played this game. It wouldn’t be much fun, playing with us,” says Tristan, still looking at me.

  Sorren dramatically sighs, drawing my attention from Tristan. “You guys are no fun. Got any booze?” she perks up, looking excited.

  My eyebrows shoot up, surprised at her request. “Sorren, it’s a school night! You really want to show up to school trashed?”

  “Speaking of school, why weren’t you there today?” she asks, changing the subject so quickly I feel like I just got whiplash.

  “I wasn’t feeling well. Probably because I passed out yesterday,” I say, spearing a piece of chicken on my fork and plopping it in my mouth, feeling the sweet juices spread across my tongue.

  “Yeah, that was weird. You feeling better now, at least? Have any new-slash-important freaky visions I should know about?” she asks, speaking with her mouth full of salad.

  Years of lying are coming in handy at this moment. I know exactly how to lie; I’m somewhat of an expert. It doesn’t feel good, lying to this girl I so obviously share some type of divine connection with, but it’s a necessity.

  “Nothing,” I say, voice perfectly even. Sorren doesn’t notice a thing and the look in Tristan’s eyes tells me that he’s impressed and worried about how well I fib. I put my hand on his knee under the table, making him smile to himself. Across from us, Sorren makes an exaggerated gagging sound, which pisses me off but I manage to ignor
e it.

  We spend the rest of the evening enjoying the meal Tristan and I cooked together. It’s nice to feel like I belong; there’s a peace in my heart that I’ve never felt before. I’m having one of those philosophical moments where I think about how my life has changed and how blessed I am. The peace is shattered with the annoying ringing of the home phone, which is strange because I only ever hear it ring when Rachel’s boyfriend calls.

  “You gonna get that?” Tristan asks, seeing the deliberation on my face.

  I nod a little too forcefully and stand from the chair, which makes a screeching noise as it slides across the wooden floor. The incessant ringing makes the hair on my arms stand up, and I don’t know why.

  “Hello?” I say, sounding more irritated than I would like to.

  There’s shuffling and rapping noises coming through the line but no voices. Eeriness fills the air when the sounds halt, silence pouring from the other end of the call.

  “Hello?” I repeat, sounding more afraid than I wished.

  I feel like I’ve been tossed into one of those horror movies when the killer is on the phone, silently listening to his next victim panic. I hastily hang up the phone, but I can’t stop the feeling of dread that seeps through me. It starts off slow, but I feel an instinctive need to double check that the doors and windows are locked.

  A pair of hands lands on my shoulders, making me jump and release a small screech. I whirl around only to find a set of crystal blue eyes widening in shock at my outburst. I’m being silly… prank phone calls happen all the time. There’s no need to have a panic attack over someone calling the wrong number.

  “Sorry. That kind of freaked me out, that’s all. Someone had the wrong number, I guess,” I say, breathless and embarrassed by my reaction.

  “Unless it’s Jack the Ripper’s zombie, rising from the grave to attack the-” Sorren says, but is interrupted by Tristan.