by Alora Kate
She spun back around and pulled the pan off the stove and carried it to the sink. She said she was making spaghetti so I assumed she was draining the noodles, but the side of the hallway cut part of the kitchen off and I couldn’t see her.
She clunked the pans around making more noise than necessary and then moved back to the stove, with her back to me. It wasn’t Monday so her shirt was black and her jeans the same. I’ve seen her closet so I know all her jeans are the same style, and she only wears black or white t-shirts. I’ve only seen her in the jeans or her black shorts that she wears to bed. I prefer the shorts. Her legs are creamy white because she never lets the sun touch them, and they are toned and long enough to wrap around my waist, and my imagination has already made entire scenarios for when that will happen. Not when she’s having a panic attack. It might take a year or two, or longer, but it will happen.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” I told her again for the hundredth time.
She banged the pots around a few more times, muttering something under her breath and it made me laugh. I couldn’t help it, plus I might have taken a partial pain pill about thirty minutes ago, so I’m a bit happy right now. So very happy.
She turned around and glared at me.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know how much food you want.”
“More than less.”
“More than less?”
“Yep.”
“Why did you wink at me?” she asked picking up a plate.
“Did I?”
She turned around, piled some food on the plates then walked back over to the couch. She didn’t have a kitchen table so this was where we always ate. She set them down on the coffee table and went back into the kitchen, grabbed two bottles of water out of the fridge, and joined me again.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked sitting next to me on the couch, inspecting my face.
“I’m happy,” I sang.
“You’re high,” she deadpanned.
“I need those pills,” I stated.
She turned around, grabbed the remote, and started a movie. “I know you do,” she said softly. She tucked her feet under her legs and then grabbed my plate and handed it to me. “I wasn’t trying to be mean.”
I rubbed her back with one hand and grabbed my plate with the other. “I know.”
We ate while the movie played and my phone started ringing. I pulled it out of my pocket and saw my mom’s picture flash across the screen. I noticed the time and it had been over an hour. I showed Ashton my phone and then answered it.
“Mom.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“It’s been an hour,” she commented.
“I lost track of time,” I replied.
“I’m bored.”
“Call your boyfriend.”
She laughed, “Oh Linc, he’s not my boyfriend. Yet.”
“I’m not coming home tonight.”
I felt Ashton move, but I didn’t look. I just rested my head on the back of the couch. “Bring my bottles across the hall and put them in front of door, knock twice, and then leave.”
“Well, that’s weird.”
“I’m weird, Mom,” I replied.
“Lincoln,” she said in her motherly tone.
“Mom,” I grunted, “I’m not a teenager anymore.”
Ashton got up and I watched her carry the plates into the kitchen, clean them off, and heard her turn the water on. She couldn’t leave dirty dishes in the sink. Not even for one minute. Last time I ate dinner with her, I tried to block her from the sink and it wasn’t the best idea of mine. She had to clean them right away. I’d get up and help her but she knew my leg couldn’t handle it and I wasn’t going to do anything more than I already have because I don’t want to set back my recovery.
“I know, but I have to keep trying.”
I smiled. “Soon.”
She hesitated then said, “Well I’m making pancakes and bacon. Crispy bacon, just the way you like it for breakfast.”
“Sounds great, don’t forget about the pills, Mom.”
“I’m on it.”
I hung up and noticed Ashton had paused the movie.
“Ashton,” I called into the kitchen and she took a few steps back so I could see her. I grinned at her and let her in on my plans. “I’m totally spending the night.”
She rolled her eyes and went back to doing the dishes.
Ashton
Lincoln reminded me of Suzanne.
Push.
Push.
Push.
He didn’t know it, but he was pushing me. Or maybe he did, and he was doing this shit on purpose. First, he says he wants to move in, then he says he’s staying the night, and we both know what happened the last time he was in my bed. It was just for a nap but still, we were there and it happened. I want to forget it, and he won’t let me.
Two days ago, we took a nap because he was tired from his medicine and I didn’t want to be alone, so we cuddled and took a nap. I woke up first and watched him sleep because I loved seeing him so peaceful and resting easy. When he woke up, he got brave and let his hand touch my body. I actually let him because he started by running his hands through my hair and down my back; innocent enough but eventually his hand traveled around my waist. I didn’t have my bra on and he barely touched the bottom of my boob, but it was the scared one and I freaked out.
I shouldn’t have freaked out because I still had my shirt on, and his hand was over my shirt. It was just enough to push me over the edge.
I reminded him I was a freak.
I reminded him that it was a bad idea to date me.
I reminded him that I’d never be able to have sex.
But he stayed.
He stayed in bed with me and held me as I cried.
He stayed until I fell back asleep.
He stayed until I kicked him out the next morning because I was still embarrassed.
He stayed away for two days.
But he came back.
He always comes back.
He said he’d never give up on me and that I shouldn’t give up on myself.
So, I let him come back because I was tired of pushing him away.
I was tired of denying my feelings for him.
But most of all, I was tired of hiding.
I was tired of trying so damn hard.
Chapter 21 - Ashton
“Hold my hand the entire time,” I told Lincoln again, as we stood in front of his apartment door. I’ve never made it this far. I’ve never faced his door knowing that any second I’d be walking through it.
“I’ll do my best,” he said, pulling our tangled hands up so he could kiss the top of mine.
He was so nice.
So sweet.
And so patient.
I made it through the night but only because Lincoln dropped the whole ‘boob touching’ thing, like it never happened, but then again he was taking pain medicine and kind of out of it. He couldn’t stop smiling or holding my hand. He kissed me often, but just on the cheek or forehead and held my hand even when we slept but kept his hands in safe zones.
I pushed my sunglasses until they couldn’t go any farther on my nose and then took a deep breath in and out.
Lincoln’s mother was on the other side of the door and had made breakfast for him. She didn’t know I was coming so I still had time to bail and she’d never know. Natalie was home, that would help, and Lincoln said Nick was coming over. I wasn’t sure why I thought I could handle them all at once, but I figured I’d get it done in one visit. Get it over with. Lincoln would be on the couch because of his leg, and I planned to sit next to him the entire time.
“Ash,” Lincoln said softly, “my leg.”
I swung my head up at him. “I’m so sorry.”
His blue eyes danced around my face as if I wasn’t wearing the glasses and smiled at me, “You got
this.”
I nodded.
“I’ve got you.”
I nodded.
Lincoln’s hand raised up in slow motion and the sound of the knocks made my ears ring. I could feel the sweat forming where our hands were clasped together but when I tried to pull away he held me tighter.
The door opened and I braced myself for his mother. I had seen the pictures, but they weren’t up to date.
“Hey, Linc,” Natalie greeted. “Ashton.”
She wore the same sunglasses as me because I gave her an extra pair of mine.
“Like my sunglasses?” she asked with the largest smile I’ve ever seen, then pulled them down and winked at me before she pushed them back up. “I know you do.”
Why are they so nice to me?
“I need to elevate,” Lincoln said and he had to let go of my hand to operate his crutches. I felt like a dog following his master because I was hiding behind him as he walked in and went to the couch. His apartment was just like mine but faced the opposite way. I wanted to look around and see how different his apartment was but I couldn’t. I had tunnel vision, and I just had to sit on that couch and ground myself.
My knee started to bounce as soon as we sat down and Lincoln placed his hand on it in an effort to help, but it didn’t. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Natalie talking to her mom in the kitchen, still wearing the sunglasses. Her mom was grabbing plates and handing them to Natalie, and I felt bad for not offering to help. I turned back around and Lincoln was slowly running his fingertips across my knee, and I rubbed my sweaty hands back and forth on my jeans.
“You got this,” Lincoln said softly while using his other hand to flip through the channels.
I got this.
I’m a survivor.
I survived the Devil’s wrath, I can survive meeting his mom.
A few weeks ago, I felt like my life was changing. I felt like pieces of me were coming back together, and that I was getting a grip on my life. Of course, life happened, and I felt like I was going backward. Recovery takes time. I know this; I just wish I could just get on a good track and stay there.
I scooted to the edge of the couch and Lincoln sat forward to ask, “What’s wrong?”
“I got this,” I said with trembling lips. I wiped my brow with the back of my arm and stood up before I completely lost it.
“Ashton,” I heard Lincoln’s concerned voice, “please don’t leave.”
I spun around and yelled my name. Natalie and her mom both stopped what they were doing and looked at me.
“I’m Ashton,” I said again, then spun around and ran to the bathroom. I kicked the bathroom door shut and dropped to my knees preparing for the worst. My stomach was in knots, and I was sweating so bad that I knew I would need another shower and soon.
The door opened but I kept doing my breathing exercises which consisted of my eyes being closed, head over the seat, and hands holding my head up.
“Ashton,” Natalie’s soft voice said while her hand went to my back. “You’re going to be okay.”
“I freaked out on your mom.”
“Not really.”
“I can’t stop,” I muttered, feeling my eyes start to tear. “I do this all the time.”
She kept rubbing her hand on my back trying to comfort me and so far, it was helping. She was always able to calm me down and chase away my anxiety.
“You and your brother,” I muttered grabbing some toilet paper to dab my eyes and then realized I couldn’t take my glasses off. Natalie still wore hers so I told her to take them off.
“Nope.” She was sitting on the toilet with her legs crossed, and her hands in her lap. It dawned on me then that they weren’t supposed to know I was coming over today.
Which meant one thing.
“Lincoln texted you?”
“What?” she asked, trying to be confused.
“Lincoln told you I was coming over, didn’t he?”
She adverted her eyes and puckered her lips.
“That asshole,” I muttered, standing and reaching for the door knob.
“Ashton, wait.”
“Why?” I asked, turning around and saw she took her glasses off.
“He was just trying to help you,” she said.
“Why?” I snapped. “Why does he want to help me? Why do you want to help me?”
“I just…”
“It doesn’t make sense, Natalie. Lincoln doesn’t know me,” I hissed, jabbing myself in the chest. “You don’t know me, and your mom sure as hell doesn’t know me.”
“We want to know you.”
“I’m a girl barely hanging on to the life she has. I’m a freak. A disaster. Why would anyone want to know me!”
“Ashton,” she warned, taking a step closer. “Don’t say things like that.”
My fists clenched at my side. “It’s true Natalie!”
“I used to think I was a freak and my mom said-”
“Are you fucking serious right now!”
She took a step back. “Ashton.”
I ripped my sunglasses off. “This is what a freak looks like Natalie.” I spun around before her face turned to disgust and stormed out. I didn’t look at Lincoln, I didn’t look at his mom, but I know I left holding my sunglasses in my hand. I made sure the door was locked, the chains were in place, and then I went straight to the bathroom. I got naked and took the hottest shower I could. I washed and scrubbed and washed some more, wishing the scars would fade. Wishing they would go away.
Battle scars. Lincoln called them.
Survivor. I’m told.
I started to hit the side of my head. “Survivor,” I said out loud. “Battle scars.” Maybe I could beat it into me. Then maybe I could believe it all.
I used to cut myself, hoping the pain would flow out from my body but it didn’t work. When I finally told Suzanne what I had been doing, she went ballistic. I made her cry and she was so upset with me, that I quit doing it. It wasn’t helping anyway.
The pain wouldn’t go away. It never goes away.
Why is it so hard to move on?
Will the pain ever stop?
“Survivor,” I said as the water rolled down my face. “Battle scars.”
“You’re beautiful.”
I huffed at Lincoln’s words running through my head. I knew he’d never stop telling me that as long as he was in my life.
Could I get used to hearing those words for the rest of my life? Because there is no way I’d ever date anyone other than Lincoln. I’d never let anyone else in. If he wasn’t it, then all hope was lost because I don’t think I am strong enough to go through this shit again.
“You’re beautiful.”
This time I smiled. I ran a hand over my face and felt my scars. They were rigged and hard but didn’t feel as bad as I thought they would. A year after I was rescued I saw a doctor that said he might be able to fix my eye via transplant, but I refused. There were too many complications and I couldn’t handle the thought of surgery and being in a hospital again, so I turned the offer down.
“You’re beautiful.”
I ran my hand over my breast and made sure to feel every dent, every bump, before continuing down my abdomen which only reminded me that there once used to be a baby in there. The baby was my only glimmer of hope and love, but I knew within a matter of days that he’d find out. He came to visit me every day, three times a day, sometimes more. I honestly didn’t know how he could find the time or energy to visit me so much, but he did. When he saw the difference, he knew. He savagely tore my baby from me, spitting and yelling in Spanish.
He never forgot about me, and he still won’t let me forget about him.
Lincoln
“You’re beautiful,” I said again for the fourth time, leaning up against her bathroom sink. My leg throbbed so bad, it felt like the plate would burst out of my leg but she needed me.
After she ran out with her glasses off, I knew
it was bad. I followed her, but I knew the chains would be on the door by the time I got to her apartment. Instead, to save time, I called Mike and got the bolt cutters. She was showering at ten a.m. and I think I knew why, but wasn’t a hundred percent sure. I figured I’d tell her she was beautiful, she’d scream because I scared her, and then we’d live happily ever after.
“You’re beautiful, Ashton.”
Her head popped out the side of the curtain a few seconds later. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”
“I came to check on you.”
“How did you get in?”
I squinted and looked away.
“How did you get in, Lincoln?” she yelled this time and I heard the shower curtain close. “Get out!” Her screech reverberated off the small bathroom walls, but more so, I could hear her heavy breathing and I worried she would have a panic attack right in the shower. I had to pick my battles with Ashton, while still pushing her to move forward.
“Fine, but I’m not going anywhere.”
I hate these damn crutches. I understand why they were invented, but someone needed to invent something more comfortable for people to use. These were rubbing on my arms and causing sores. I sighed before I turned and left, I could almost feel her relax a bit once I gave her the space she needed. Slowly, I made it out of her bathroom and down the hall, wincing and cursing these damn crutches with each shuffle.
I heard her making noises as I propped my leg up on the coffee table. I wasn’t sure if anything I was doing helped her. She had good days and bad, just like everyone else, but the bad days were really bad. It took days, sometimes a week, to get back to where she was which told me she was trying.
She tells me she likes me and wants to spend time with me, but I’m not sure if she’s my girlfriend or not. I want to clarify that so I could shout it from the rooftop, but I’m not sure I should push the subject or not. She’s got a lot going on and so do I. I wish my leg would heal faster but it won’t. After recovery, I start physical therapy. It’s a good thing I knew how to save money or I’d be screwed, plus my mom was here and she’s the boss, which meant she would be helping me out. She got a small twin sized bed and put it in Natalie’s room, and I knew she’d be here as long as I needed her.
