Kiss Me Like You Mean It: A Novel

by J. R. Rogue

  16

  Waves Of Regret

  Drunk me was fun. She laughed, she was at ease, warmer than I often let myself be. She made mistakes, too.

  The crowd on the dance floor around me was sweaty, rhythmic. I clutched Connor closely, pulled him to the side, shielding myself from Avery’s eyes.

  “I have to tell you something,” Connor said.

  “What’s that?” I pulled away, commanded his eyes.

  “I like you.”

  He avoided my eyes, something rare for him. Perhaps he was afraid of what he would see rejected in my blue eyes and soul.

  He continued, “I like you so much. I’m actually excited for our future. I think we have one.”

  Words didn’t come to me. I had been sensing Connor’s attachment to me. Despite only hanging out for a few weeks I could tell he really liked me. I had been hesitant, careful to seem cool, still. He was warm and I wasn't sure I wanted to be thawed just yet.

  “Oh yeah?” It was a dumb response, but I didn’t know what to say. I’m excited for our future too? That would be a lie. I didn’t even know if we had one.

  My body was humming. The bar felt smaller than it had before. Avery had a gravitational pull and I wasn’t immune to it. I wanted him still. I didn’t care that he was married. That he was about to become a father. I knew I had no chance with him, but I just wanted something to hold onto. Some clue that he missed me. That he regretted letting me go. That he wished the child growing in his wife's belly was in mine instead. I knew it was sick to hope for those things. But this discarded feeling was too much. I was buckling underneath it.

  We finished our dance, no more words said. My silly two-word response was not what he was looking for. After we separated, I went back to the birthday party space and watched as the twins blew out candles. Connor went to the bar and I could feel tomorrow’s regret in my throat. The mania was creeping in. Vodka had opened the door.

  I took a seat on the outskirts of our crowd. Lesley was ignoring me when Connor wasn’t around. She hated me free, on the loose. She didn’t want me near Avery. I found her glaring at me once when I was five or six feet from where he was standing. I turned away and rolled my eyes at the ceiling. I hoped Danielle would forgive me soon, warm to me. I needed another friend. I wasn't sure I deserved her forgiveness though. She would be giving Connor a better chance than I was. She wasn’t hanging by an invisible thread from an ex who no longer loved her.

  When the singing and candle blowing was over I walked to the edge, to the railing disconnecting us from the dance floor. I spotted Connor at the bar, talking to a friend. I couldn't socialize here without him or a drink in my hand, without a crutch. I felt an arm brush the bare skin of my back and turned to see Avery walking by me. He trailed his long fingers along the railing I was gripping. At the end he turned, walked on to the dance floor, holding my eyes. I couldn't see the green of his eyes through the distance. He didn't smile and neither did I.

  “Fuck,” I mouthed, feeling his eyes still on me. I scanned the room, locking in on my prey. A shot girl was making the rounds, a tray held high above her head as she made her way through the crowd. My short legs burned as I left the party and walked into the throng of sweaty bodies. I searched the pockets of my denim skirt until I found my stashed cash.

  “Two please!” I shouted over the music when I found her. I made short work of the shots and tossed the empty plastic glasses into her hand.

  The dance floor was black, neon, heated. I squeezed between couples, drunk men, drunk women. Avery was in the center of the crowd, chatting with some guy I didn’t recognize. He caught sight of me, ended his conversation, and walked around the guy.

  “What,” he said flatly; it was not a question, it was a weapon.

  “What do you mean what?” The tone of my voice was unnatural. I hadn't heard it since the Thursday before he dropped me. It was an anger I reserved just for him.

  “Well, you came all the way out here to say something. That’s pretty obvious.”

  “Nice to see you’re still a dick." This was a mistake. How could I be so careless, such a masochist. I both hated and loved him.

  “Nice to see you're still into that.” He smiled, all teeth and wrinkles around his eyes. His mouth was too big for his face, too big for the room.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Oh, I know you’d love to.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Then why have you been eye-fucking me all night?”

  “I haven’t.” Lie. What a damn lie. I thought I had kept it hidden.

  “How’s it going with Connor?” He brought his drink to his mouth, let his eyes linger on my throat.

  “Why does it matter to you?” I wanted this. His jealousy. I craved it, the burn there.

  “It doesn’t. That guy is a tool.” That would only make me want him more. What a foolish thing to say.

  "You know what, I don’t know why I came out here. I have been choking on all sorts of shit I’ve wanted to say to you for months now. But now, with you in front of me, I don’t see why. You’re a condescending prick, and you'll never change.” I could see it here. So plainly. When I wasn't in his presence I built him up. Made him this beautiful thing, this beautiful man, that made me happy. But he hadn't. If he had, we would have worked out. My mind and body betrayed me. It convinced me we could have made it work.

  "What's that make you? You still want me.”

  "No, I feel sorry for Wendy.” And it was true.

  “You want to be Wendy, and this is boring.” He scanned the crowd, looking for someone else to talk to.

  "Fuck you," I repeated, wanting to slap him. He had made sure I would come find him.

  "Just say what you came out here to say."

  "Why do you do this to me? Why do I still want you?" I didn't know if I was asking him, or my traitorous heart. The unflinching bitch beating in my chest.

  "I told you." Three words. Three damning words, so true.

  "I’m still in love with you, okay! Are you happy now?! I don't want to be. Not after everything you did. After the way you humiliated me. I want it to go away but it won’t. I hope you're happy with your new life, because I can’t have one of my own. You stole it from me." I wouldn't let myself cry, despite the way my cells were crying out. I was so angry, so red. My neck felt flushed, scorching.

  His face darkened. I saw genuine regret there. We were both quiet, thinking about the summer before.

  “I’m sorry, Gwen. Seriously. I am.” His voice was different. So close to the tender one he would use in bed with me. When we would talk about our days. When we would talk about our goals and hopes for our future.

  He reached for my hand but I pulled away. “Don’t worry about it. Just be happy with the kid you’re going to have. I think you’ll be a great father. I really do.” I pushed into the crowd, away from him, into the waves of bodies. Away from the way his eyes felt on me. Away from the waves of regret that would pour off of me if I looked at him a second more.

  17

  Spinning And Spitting Fire

  "Did you tell Connor what you told Avery?" She wants to catalog my lies, my omissions. I wonder if she will lose track. I have.

  "No. I was so far gone. Oblivious. I hung out with guys who loved to drink to excess. I had no one to turn a side-eye at me. No one to say 'hey, maybe you should slow down'. They wouldn't judge the way I numbed myself. They just joined in. When Connor found me I wasn't crying, but I had been. My eyes were red and swollen. He didn't ask me what was wrong. He knew, or he didn't want to know. I would never find out. We would never dissect that night. He would tell me of his hurt later. Of the way he heard our friend whispering. Of the way they looked at him with pity. It couldn't have been much different from the way they looked at me the night Avery dumped me. It was an ugly circle. I was sitting in the middle of it all, wasn't I? Spinning and spitting fire."

  "But he forgave you, right?" She runs her fingers over her knuckles, clears her throat.

  "Ye
s. But not at first. Not before punishing me, when I would least expect it."

  18

  Warm Water And Regret

  The next morning Connor was quiet. I wasn’t sure why he stayed. Probably to make sure I didn’t die from choking on my own vomit in the night.

  Eventually, after we had both lain there for twenty minutes in silence, pretending we didn't know the other was awake, he pulled himself from the covers of my bed and crossed the room, sliding his shoes on.

  I would think about it all day: the sound of his socks being pulled onto his bare feet, the sound of him clearing his throat, the jingle of his keys as he picked them up from my desk.

  I remember saying I was sorry. He just shook his head, walked over to my bed, where I sat, smelling of vodka still. He kissed me on the temple and left. I didn’t hear from him for two weeks.

  The guys were quiet when I brought it up over drinks. They loved Avery. They loved Connor. They loved me. But there was clearly one person among the three of us who wasn’t a complete jackass. Connor.

  I wondered why humans applied poison straight to their wounds, without batting an eye. I couldn't stomach healing. I rejected the sun, warmth, comfort. I wanted nothing to do with that foreign magic. It couldn't be trusted. Hurt could be trusted.

  And forgiveness was an untrustworthy fellow. I forgave few. It was weakness to do so. That kind of thing can be sniffed out.

  I nearly stepped on the camera the day he came back to me. To avoid crushing it, I veered to the right and took out one of my potted plants instead. I stumbled over a few profanities in my morning daze and found my footing. I knelt down to the camera and flipped over the tag attached to it. “I like the way you look at the world better.”

  I fought the tears threatening to ruin my makeup and took the camera inside quickly. I didn't have time to stare at it and torture myself. As usual, I was running late for work. I sped out of my trailer park and ran over all the reasons why it didn't make sense for Connor to leave me that camera when I had just pummeled his heart into two or a million pieces. I thought about texting him before I clocked in, but decided not to. What would I say? Thanks for the camera? Sorry I’m a piece of shit? You're wonderful and I suck ass? That would about cover it.

  By lunch, I had worked myself into a manic frenzy. As soon as I made it to my locker, I pulled my phone out and texted Connor, thanking him for the camera. I wanted to ask him why he was giving it to me now. Was it a parting gift? I deserved the parting but not the gift.

  My lunch was nearly over by the time Connor replied. It was two words. You're welcome. I didn't respond because I didn't want to look desperate. The note had been so nice, so much meaning. Then his text back was final. No room for more conversation.

  I wasn’t expecting him at my doorstep that night, saying his soft words, pouring out his soft heart.

  “When I saw you for the first time, you had broken glass in your hands.” It was the night Avery dumped me. I didn’t know he had been there. “I thought you looked a little wild, a little crazy. You were falling apart but I didn’t care. I was drawn to you. My life was falling apart too, but I was hiding it. It’s what I always do. You let it all out that night, for everyone to see. You didn’t seem to care that everyone there could see your anguish.”

  “I was drunk.” How many times would that be the excuse, the reason, the regret?

  “I didn’t care. I captured that moment back then.”

  “How?” I was horrified at the thought. My stringy tear-soaked hair, the blood, the glass.

  “That’s the summer I started carrying around that old polaroid camera.”

  “This one?” I looked down at the relic in my hand.

  “Yeah. You’re the artist. It was better off in your hands. Gwen, when I saw you like that I felt less alone. I didn’t say anything to you, but I thought about you the next day. I thought about how much I had been beating myself up over my knee injury. Over dropping out of college, giving up on hockey. I thought that maybe if I accepted it, or raged against the shit in my life that wasn’t turning out right, I could breathe easy again. I didn’t think I would ever see you again. And when I did, all I could think about was getting to know you. Finding out how you handled that heartache. And then I paid for that. For wanting to know you. Because I didn’t wait long enough. For you to move on.

  “I keep telling myself this is a stupid idea. I've been doing it since that night. But I can't stop thinking about you. I know you had a serious relationship with Avery and it can be hard to get over. I shouldn’t just expect you to not care about him anymore. I shouldn’t push and I still want to see you. Maybe this will all blow up in my face, a big part of me thinks it will, but I want to try.” He reached out, took one of my hands into his, stared at them.

  I didn't know what to say. I overanalyzed the meaning of the camera all day at work, finally working myself up so much I asked to leave an hour early. When I got to my trailer, I drew a hot bath and stared at the framed key on my bathroom wall. I would never find the key to this life. To the way we hurt and ran from each other.

  I had just pulled myself from my bath, was dripping warm water and regret onto my rug, when Connor knocked on my trailer door. His heavy fist rattled the rusty metal, sending my heart into a thunderous race.

  I was sitting on the edge of my bed when his speech finished. I looked at his knuckles. They were worn, just slightly. The skin on his hands was so smooth, with little hair dusting it.

  "So you want to keep going with this?" I asked, tentatively, focusing on the way his thumb lightly trailed my palm.

  "Yes. I do. If you're still in it."

  "I am. I just, I know I screwed it up. And when I saw the camera I didn't know what it meant to you."

  "I didn't know what it meant this morning when I left it, really. I've been thinking about you all day. About us. About this. I've been angry and sad and just confused as hell but when it comes down to it, I want to be with you. I don't want to let my pride take that away from me. I've done that before in the past and I won't make that mistake again."

  I thought of all the things my pride had taken from me. What a vengeful thief it could be.

  I stood up, let Connor wrap his arms around me. I worked over our conversation. Looked for the catch, the fine print, the trap. I didn't find anything then, but I would soon. Sometimes our intentions are pure, but there is a little animal inside of us who won't let hurts lie and die. That animal will dig everything up – corpse and bone and poison. That animal will not let us live, move on, without seeing the remains of all we have done.

  Connor stayed the night. We took turns touching each other. I could feel his restraint. His almost forgiveness, so much paler than his words, paler than his intentions.

  I offered my best parts to him. What I had learned were my best parts, and he chose to hold me instead. To save me from regret. He didn't know me well enough to know I no longer held regret on my tongue. I swallowed it down and forgave my flesh for what I willingly gave up.

  19

  Bathe Me In Salt

  “Pride is a powerful thing. What he once said wouldn’t get in our way, ended up tearing us apart. Or maybe that’s a lie I want to tell myself. To make him the shining knight. I can’t tell you he was always perfect, always pure. That would be a lie.”

  “But,” she laughs, reaches out to touch my hand, “you said you lie a lot. And there seems to be so many here.”

  “I won't lie about this. Connor was flawed, too. He didn’t deserve all I put him through, but he wasn’t innocent. And I would soon learn that. I think, when he first met me, he looked at me with rose-colored glasses. He didn’t see the cracks. After I hurt him, he took them off. He saw all that I was then. He saw my life, how it compared to his. It couldn't measure up."

  "You always say he had a perfect life. What do you mean?"

  "His parents were still together. Mine had ended their relationship before I could speak. My biological father stole TVs to support his drug addic
tion, left town before I could say the word ‘Daddy’. My mother and I had a similar heart, had been hurt the same way, by some of the same men. Patterns repeat all too often in this world. The sad kind. I know more women who have had no father, who have been raped, who have been beaten, than those who live happy full lives with no scars littering the past, their skin. I like likeness in women. I like our sadness, so close to a mirror.

  “I couldn't relate to the kind of women who smiled all the time. Maybe that's why I didn't understand why Connor chose me. His mother and sisters, I would eventually learn, were smilers, laughers, happy women. I didn't know their past and I didn't know if they had ever been broken like me, but if they had, they didn't wear it the way I did. Maybe that's what was wrong with me. I couldn't swallow and camouflage my aches the way they could. I wasn't a good actress. It was a good thing I gave up that dream when I was seven years old. I stopped wanting to go on stages at that age. It was the same age I learned that a father's hands are not always cleaning cuts, mending wounds. But instead, creating the kind that never go away. The kind you can't recover from." I can't help the tears that are welling up. I turn to poetry, to hide. "Bathe me in salt. Help me heal this." I'm not speaking to anyone. Just out loud, to myself. "Why do so many turn to god? Would he fix me?" I don't wait for an answer. "I wish I could believe in him, but I can't. I can’t rely on a book that says a man can do what my stepfather did to me and ask for forgiveness and then gain access to heaven and the ever-after. A book that says if I kill myself today because of all he did, I would burn in the hell beneath my feet. No. I won't swallow that lie. I'd rather choke on my own."