by Amie Knight
Was this some kind of fucking joke? Was I being punished because I hadn’t been home in four years? I screamed again while squeezing the pillow around my head with both hands.
I felt hands shaking my shoulders, but I just kept right on crying into my pillow.
“Ainsley, what’s wrong? Is it Adrian? Your mom?”
My ears were muffled by the pillow, but I could still hear Kelly trying to get answers. Her warm palm rubbed my back, and I lay there and let her soothe me because I was upset and needed the comfort. My mom was sick. Really sick. What if she died? What if she left me like Lori had? How would I survive another blow like that?
When I was calm, I sat up and looked at Kelly, frantically wiping my eyes. “My mom. She’s sick. Breast cancer,” I garbled through my tears.
I could tell that Kelly was stunned. I could see her in eyes that even she was surprised that life had thrown this at me. She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me hard, and once again, I let her. I needed it, and she was the only person in the world who knew me. I wouldn’t be this fortunate when I got home. I didn’t have anyone there who loved me like this anymore. I had burned those bridges the day I’d left.
Oh, God. Home.
This meant I had to go home and I didn’t have a choice. I could feel the trembling start in my legs. It worked its way from my feet up to my legs, and eventually, my body was a shivering mess. Shit. If I went home, I’d have to go back to that same house that reminded me of everything. I’d have to see Miranda and Adrian. Adrian. I was pretty sure he held no love for me anymore. After all, I had abandoned him right after the first time we had made love. He hadn’t come for me or called. Part of me had expected him to hunt me down and carry me back home—or at least call, text, or something—but he hadn’t. He hadn’t tried to contact me once. I knew him well enough to know that meant he was done.
I would see him in our small town. I wondered if his daddy still lived next to Momma. I’d see him everywhere and he’d look right through me. I knew it.
That wasn’t even the worst of it. The awful part was I’d have to sleep in that house. See that backyard. The creek. Everything reminded me of her. I felt myself unraveling.
I gripped Kelly harder.
She said, “It’s okay, Ainsley. It’s going to be all right.”
I pulled back out of her touch and looked at her. “No, it isn’t going to be okay. I have to go home, Kelly. I can’t go home. I’m not ready.”
Kelly grabbed my shoulders, gripping them hard. “Fuck that noise, Ainsley. You are ready. It’s been four years since she died, and now, your momma needs you. It’s time to go home. You’re finished with school. There is no reason why you can’t go home and be with her. And you more than anyone know how swiftly a loved one can be ripped from your life without a moment’s notice. Now, go on and cry and get it all out, because tomorrow, we are packing. Scream down the roof of this shitty apartment today, because tomorrow, you are busy. You got me?”
And that’s what I did. I canceled my gig with Brooks, and then I lay in bed all day and cried for my sweet Momma, whom I hadn’t seen in four years. I cried for Adrian who I had deserted. I cried for Miranda, who I couldn’t even be bothered to call anymore. And I cried for me because my momma was sick—and I was going home and I was fucking terrified.
I could remember the last time I saw Ainsley James like it was yesterday. We’d just shared one of the most important moments of my teenage life. A moment I’d been waiting to give her since I was thirteen years old, when I had started noticing the curve of her breasts and the smooth, long length of her fantastic legs. I’d noticed how my girl was growing into a gorgeous woman. I’d always loved her, but I hadn’t realized until then how much I’d wanted her. And I’d finally gotten her that night. We’d been deeply entrenched in our grief, but it’d still felt fucking phenomenal. It was earth-shattering, just like I’d known it would be.
The scent of her, my sunshine, had hung heavily in the room with the deep, musky scent of sex. Her bare ass was pressed snugly to my already-hard-again cock. I would have taken her again and again—forever—but I could sense she wasn’t ready for that. I thought I would never get enough of her, but it didn’t matter because, in my mind, I would have her always. There would be plenty of time to possess her, body and soul.
Lies.
I whispered I-love-yous. Dreams of saving her, making her better—making us better together—haunted me. We’d cope. We’d heal through the sheer strength and never-failing endurance of our love. Our love had kept me persevering through so much already. It’d kept me from sinking into a pit of despair those first years after I’d lost my mother and my sister. Our love had made my dad’s abuse bearable. I wouldn’t have survived that time without it. It couldn’t fail us now.
But she’d ripped all of those dreams away. She’d run, leaving me tangled in her sheets with the smell of her sex still on my skin. The sun coming through the curtains had woken me. My hand had hit the cool sheet next to me instead of Ainsley. I’d rolled my head toward her pillow and breathed in what was left of her.
When I looked back, I realized I had known right away. I’d sat straight up in bed and looked around, knowing that it was too damn quiet. I’d immediately noticed her missing violin, and the panic hit me. I’d grabbed my shorts, throwing them on in a hurry, and rushed out into the living room, coming face to face with Jessi, her blue robe and her pained face still frozen in time in my mind all these years later. She’d been holding a white sheet of paper, her hand over her mouth like she was trying to keep the sobs from escaping. Twin rivers of tears ran down her face, and I’d known.
She was gone. She’d left us all. Fuck, but it’d burned. It still did.
Ainsley was the one person in my life I’d never expected to leave me. I’d known since the very first time I saw her that she was it for me. She’d been wrestling in that muddy creek with Miranda, her sweet curls matted in mud, her dimple popping out in her laughter. It seemed ludicrous when I thought about it, but I’d known in that moment that that girl would be my beginning and my end. And, when she’d turned those green eyes to mine, I had known I’d do anything to keep them shining my way. Our relationship through the years only solidified in my mind what my heart had already known. She was the love of my life.
She was my constant, my savior, in a world of ugly, shocking surprises that caught me off guard at every turn. I couldn’t get away from the bad unless I was with her. She was my good. My light. My everything. Now—my nothing.
Miranda: She’s coming home.
The text I received this morning rocked my world. I wasn’t ready to do this with her, but I knew that it was only a matter of time. It’d been time for her to come home for weeks now. I’d been anticipating it and dreading the hell out of it. I was anticipating it because Jessi was sick and I knew she wanted her daughter home more than anything. I loved her enough to want that for her too. But I was dreading it because my relationship with Ainsley was exactly what it was. Which wasn’t a damn thing. And there wasn’t a time that I could remember, since I had been eight years old, where we hadn’t been something to each other—except the time she had been gone. I didn’t know how to not be something to her, but I was going to have to learn because fuck that. And fuck her.
I slammed my coffee cup down on the counter and ran my hands through my hair. Shit. I refused to let Ainsley do this to me. She wouldn’t send me back to the place where she affected me.
I snatched my phone off the counter and pulled up Greta’s contact information before sending her a quick text.
Me: My place. Tonight.
I knew she would come. She always did. Greta and I had only been seeing each other a couple of months. It wasn’t serious, and I’d made that known to her. I didn’t have the time or the inclination for serious relationships, but I did enjoy her body immensely.
My relationship with Greta was both personal and professional. I’d just graduated with a bachelor’s in fine arts from the
University of South Carolina when a former teacher hooked me up with a gallery owner, Henry, in downtown Columbia. My teacher had noticed my talent for vibrant and unique watercolor paintings and passed along my information. Greta happened to be Henry’s daughter and the manager of the gallery. Henry had taken one look at my paintings and called me a risk-taker. He’d said that my work was bold and I was going places. I knew he was hoping to make a pretty penny off me, and I needed cash as soon as possible. I was still living off the dregs of my student loans. He offered me a chance to showcase my work and I jumped on it.
I’d also jumped on Greta because she was gorgeous. She had a fantastic set of tits and an ass that filled my large hands. My show was still two months off, but I’d been working on quite a few new pieces for it. Between the stress of caring for Jessi and the upcoming show, two months didn’t feel like nearly enough time to do everything I wanted to do for my showing.
I picked my phone up and saw that Greta had texted me back.
Greta: Of course, baby.
I smiled to myself because Greta was uncomplicated and I needed that in my life. I didn’t need drama, lies, and relationship problems. I needed to get laid, and she was happy to oblige.
I headed to the spare room in my two-bedroom apartment. I’d made this room into my art studio immediately upon moving in my senior year of college. It was a mess, but it was mine. A large metal desk sat in the corner of the room, housing my computer and my large-screen monitor I sometimes used for graphic design work on the side. The room was riddled with paper, charcoal pencils, brushes, paint palettes, and blotting rags. I wasn’t the neatest when I was in the zone.
I headed to the large drawing table next to the window in the middle of the room. Across the room from the table was an old metal futon with more shit on top of it. I felt the creative juices flowing, so I immediately picked a drawing pencil up and set it to watercolor paper.
Before I knew it, I had a sketch of a woman. You couldn’t see her face, as it was in profile and tipped toward the sky, but her body bowed back with a delicious curve that her breast up and out. Her thick, wavy hair fanned all around her body and whipped about the paper like the wind had blown it.
I added paint and water Then I blotted again and again. I was nearly done when I heard, “Honey, I’m home.”
I wasn’t her honey and she definitely wasn’t home, but I yelled back anyways. “Back here!”
Miranda popped her head around the corner and grinned at me. “Whatcha doing?” she asked. She scooted a ton of crap over and plopped herself down onto the futon.
“Just painting. Felt the creative juices start to flow, so I decided to spend the day in here. What have you been up to?” I answered as I kept working.
Since Ainsley had left, Miranda and I had become close. We’d leaned on each other in our time of need, when our grief had become overwhelming and the person we’d depended on had deserted us. When someone sees you at your lowest, it tends to forge a strong foundation for a very good friendship. And that was what Miranda and I had. As ironic as it was, I was lucky to have this insane girl to help keep me grounded.
Miranda got up and stood next to me, gazing down at my newest piece. I heard her sharp intake of breath but tried to ignore it. She traced a bit of the hair, and I pushed her hand away.
“It’s not dry yet, crazy! Don’t touch,” I said.
She tore her eyes away from the painting and looked me. “She’s beautiful. Some of your best work,” she whispered. She looked back, pensively studying the painting some more, and then turned back to me. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. You know that, right?” she asked as she wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me in for a hug.
I wanted to laugh her off, pretend that I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. I wanted to say, Of course it’s going to be okay, because I was over Ainsley and her coming home wasn’t going to affect me one way or the other. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t lie to Miranda like that. We didn’t treat each other that way. I didn’t want to ruin one of the only good relationships I had in my life with untruths, and because of that, I wrapped my arms around her too, letting her comfort me. I said nothing though, because even if I didn’t want lies, the truth was too damn hard.
I stared at the painting over Miranda’s shoulder. Miranda and I didn’t need to see the girl’s face to know who it was. I could see it clear as day in the soft, wheat-colored tendrils of her curly, wind-blown hair. It was in the in the way she held her body wide open, like she was ready for the world. That was the Ainsley of my past, her arms open, ready to take in every facet of the universe, embracing it, all the while taking care of it and holding it dear, too. That girl wasn’t a runner. But the Ainsley in this painting was no more, just a fond memory I carried around my heart.
Miranda didn’t ask if it was Ainsley, but she didn’t have to. She stood so beautifully in front of a sea of cotton, the setting sun making the cotton blue, lavender, and pink in color. It was one of my best works, and I hated it. I hadn’t drawn or painted Ainsley in four long years, and it felt cathartic to do so. It also felt scary as hell.
Fuck. No, I wasn’t okay.
I pulled back from Miranda and took her spot on the futon, draping one leg over the other, feigning nonchalance. I tried my damnedest to appear carefree on the outside while, on the inside, I felt tightly coiled, ready to spring open at any moment.
“You gotta get outta here, lady. I have a hot date tonight,” I told Miranda, waggling my eyebrows.
Her upper lip curled in distaste while she moved shit even farther over on the futon this time. She sat down beside me and said, “Greta, again?” like the name tasted dirty in her mouth.
“Yep,” I said, popping the P for effect. “What do you got against Greta, anyways?” I asked, smirking to myself.
I knew what she had against Greta. I had to hear that shit almost every day, but it would get her off the subject of Ainsley and feelings and all the other bull crap I didn’t want to talk about.
Miranda smacked her teeth, sighed, and leaned back on the futon. “Adrian, you know exactly what I have against Greta! She’s a shallow, blond bimbo with fake tits. You know what you should ask me?” She looked at me pointedly. “You should ask me what is right with her because that’s an easy answer. Not a damn thing. Nothing. Nadda. Zilch.”
“Here we go,” I mumbled under my breath, rubbing my fingers into my eyes with as much pressure as I could stand. Maybe I should have let her talk about our “feelings” because she seemed to be heading toward dangerous territory. The kind of territory that involved hour-long tangents I didn’t have time for. Tangents I knew all too well.
Miranda shot up off the futon. “Did you just say, ‘Here we go’?” She repeated my words in a deep, growly bear voice that had me cracking up.
If I had to go by body language, I’d have guessed that Miranda wasn’t too pleased with my laughter because she pointed her finger in my face and stood over me. I shrank back a little because the girl was seriously scary when she was pissed.
“You know what, Adrian? I don’t care if you want to hear it or not, but that girl is not good enough for you. And if, God freaking forbid, I have to tell you that for the rest of your dang life, I will. She sucks. You do not. You deserve better. You deserve the very best because that is what you are.
“Just for clarification.” She put her right hand down real low and said, “She is a one.” She stood on her tiptoes and raised the same hand as high as she could. “You, my friend, are a ten.” She fisted her hands on her hips and asked while pointedly looking over at my painting, “Guess who else is a ten?” She plucked her bag off the futon and turned toward the door. “On that note, I’m out. When a girl makes an epic speech like that, she should follow it with a grand exit.” Leaning over, she kissed me on the cheek and mumbled, “Love you, boo.” And, like the storm that she was, she was gone in a flash.
When I heard the front door close, I blew out a sigh of relief. “Jesus,
chicks are nuts,” I mumbled into the empty room.
I dragged myself off the futon and made my way to my room. I needed a shower and some fresh clothes because I had plans for the night. Those plans involved getting Greta naked and losing myself between her legs. I needed to forget Ainsley. I needed to forget the rush of adrenaline that had come from getting that text. I needed to remember how she had left me and how happy I was without her.
I missed Kelly already. We had spent the last five days packing and getting me ready for my trip home. When I’d left, she had hugged me more times than I’d deemed appropriate, and when I’d told her that, she’d told me to shut up and that she would come visit me soon. I wished she could have taken this dread-filled drive with me because I felt like I was teetering on the edge of I can do this and completely losing my shit.
I slowed when I approached the old, green Welcome to Gilbert sign. I pulled off to the side of the road and looked around. Everything looked the same from there. Tobacco and cotton fields lined each side of the street as far as the eye could see like they always had my entire life. How deceiving looks were, because not a damn thing in this town was going to be the way it had been, mostly because I was different.
I gathered some courage, pulled my truck back onto the road, and then headed to my momma’s house. It was only a ten-minute ride before I was pulling into the driveway behind Momma’s old Volvo. The sweet, little house I’d lived in looked like it hadn’t changed a bit. Momma was obviously taking good care of the yard still, because it looked freshly cut and pretty summer flowers lined the sidewalk.
I couldn’t help myself as I turned my head toward Adrian’s house. I knew he probably didn’t live there anymore, but it was like second nature for me to turn my head that direction. The old, silver sedan Adrian’s dad always used to drive sat out front, which told me that he still lived there. I looked past the chain link fence to the pool. It had a black cover on it, and I wondered if it was ever used anymore. I smiled at the fond memories of that pool and then immediately felt guilty about it. I was home. Lori was gone, and to make matters worse, I had alienated everybody who loved me here. I had no reason to smile.
