“I’m sure. Just slow, okay?”
Every layer of clothing, every touch, every kiss was excruciatingly gradual. It wasn’t about frantic movements or pleasure as it had once been, but about the vehement desire to dull the pain. It could have been minutes or it could have been hours, I didn’t know. I didn’t care. Every feel of his body under my fingertips, I was committing to memory. I had to remember all of it, all of him, because it was going to be over and there would be nothing left except memories.
Our naked bodies clung together, desperate and wanting, and when he pushed himself into me, we gasped at the sheer mix, the precious combination of pleasure and pain. We knew each other’s bodies so well, recalling with instinct how to move together. It was lazy and deliberate, our skin damp with sweat and salt of our tears. Everything in me screamed violently this was making it worse, making it easier for me to tell him to stay, but I didn’t care. I had him now, and in mere minutes, I wouldn’t anymore.
I loved him, but I hated what we did to each other. We had lied and hurt each other and love doesn’t make that go away. Love doesn’t conquer all, just like Aaron said and contrary to how the saying goes. I felt like an asshole for believing my whole life that it would.
He moved above me, deeper and deeper with each thrust. It still wasn’t close enough. He’d never be. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he came inside me, his warmth pouring into me and marking for the last time what was his. He stayed inside me as he rolled us to our sides, unwilling to break the connection for fear of the spell being broken. We laid together like that for a long time, until our breathing normalized and bodies chilled.
With one more kiss to my cheek, he moved from me to sit on the edge of the bed. I watched him pull his boxers and jeans on, and when he turned to grab his shirt, I saw it. There was a new tattoo. Extending from his existing tattoo on his side was musical notes, and long cylinders with steam coming out. All of it was coming from the inside of the scroll tattoo, scattering what was once his blank page.
“New tattoo?” I asked, my voice hoarse from crying.
“Oh yeah,” he replied, pulling his shirt on over his head. “About a month ago.”
“What does it mean?”
He stared at me hard. “You know on old-fashioned merry-go-rounds they have the steam whistles that produce the music? That is pretty much what it is.”
“You know I remember when I was little, my dad would tell me of—” I gasped, and covered my mouth realizing what he had done. “Oh my God.”
A small smile lifted his face, his spirit, but it was brief. “Calliope will always be part of my story.”
I was stunned and silent as I tried to process. The steam instrument is called a calliope.
I watched him walk toward the door. He stopped shy of it and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box that I instantly recognized.
My earrings.
He placed them on my dresser. “I gave you these as a gift,” he said, tapping the top of the box, “and I want you to have them.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head at me immediately, letting me know any attempt at refusing would be futile.
“Good-bye, Callie.”
I peeked out my window in time to see him reach his car parked in front of the building. As if he knew or hoped I was watching, he looked up at me and smiled sadly. Then in a flash, he was gone, leaving only the sound of his car taking off down the street. I strained until I couldn’t see it anymore.
Then there was nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Six
AARON—
I sped away in my car and away from her, leaving my heart and what was left of my sanity behind. Once I was down the street, I pulled over, knowing full well I wasn’t in any position to be on the road when I was so upset. After I’d stopped, I turned off the engine so I could process what the hell happened.
What the fuck did I just do?
I pounded my fists against the steering wheel, feeling sick for fucking up the last time I was probably going to see her. All the planning out in my head what I was going to say, all the fucking therapy I’d gone through in the past four months, and I still managed to mess it up. It’s exactly what I didn’t want to happen, but seeing her, how the hurt was still so fresh on her face, I lost all of my purpose.
I told her so many things, but the one thing I didn’t was that every day I regretted what I had done and how I treated her when she left. The days and weeks after she left I drowned myself in self-pity and anger. It wasn’t until I was confronted by the last person I expected to help me that I started to see things in a different light.
* * *
I sit in my office at the Regency building, drowning in e-mails and unreturned calls. It’s been a month since Callie left, and I am only beginning to dig myself out of all I have neglected.
A knock on the door brings me out of focus, and I see my dad step inside, closing the door behind him.
“Hey Dad,” I say, standing up. “Did I forget we were meeting?”
He hugs me, patting my back firmly. “Nope. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by to say hello.”
He clears his throat and jingles the coins in his pocket with his hand.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Have a seat, and then tell me why you’re really here.”
“I need a reason?” he asks.
“Of course not, but I can tell you’re lying,” I say, sitting back down. “Ever since Marshmallow the guinea pig died, and you told me it ran away, I’ve known you lied when you do the cough-coin-jingle combo.”
He sits down with a sigh. “Did you and Callie break up?”
I’ve let my parents think, ever since she left, she’s with her mother. I know I must come clean eventually, but keeping up the charade for the time helps me keep my head above water.
At least I could put an end to one lie.
“Yes,” I say. “Did Abel tell you?”
“Yes, but don’t be angry with him. Your mother and I knew something was going on, and we were concerned. He was worried, too.”
“I know,” I say.
After several moments of silence, he asks me the question I know will come next. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“And hear the dreaded ‘I told you so?’” I reply.
“I wouldn’t have said that, and I won’t now.”
“I have a hard time believing that,” I shoot back.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asks.
I shrug my shoulders “Same ol’ same ol’.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, I should have learned my lesson from Lexie, but obviously I didn’t and let another woman blindside me.”
He lifts his eyebrows in surprise. “She took off?”
“No, I told her to leave.”
“Wow,” my father says, tilting his head to the side in confusion. “She must’ve done something pretty unforgivable for you to ask her to leave.”
“She…lied to me.”
“Was it another man?”
“Yes, it was Abel.”
“What?” he questions, raising his voice. “Abel and Callie were having an affair?”
I lean back in my chair, already exhausted by the conversation. “Not exactly. I found out they were talking and meeting sometimes behind my back.”
“Did you think these talks and meetings were of a romantic nature?”
“At first I did, but then I realized I was wrong. I guess Callie was feeling insecure about our relationship, and instead of talking with me about it, she went to Abel.”
He nods his head again, his face void of any measurable emotion. “I see,” he says.
Something in his tone, the indifference, makes me angry and heat begins to rise through me. “There was more than that, Dad,” I add in an attempt to defend my actions.
“Well…that’s too bad,” he replies. “After overcoming the shock of seeing you and Callie together, and getting past
my initial worry, it seemed like it was the real thing. Honestly, I’d never seen you happier.”
I fight the urge to laugh because he is being so obvious.
“If you have something to say, which you obviously do, I wish you’d just say it.”
“You’re right. I do have something to say, but considering how upset you are, I was going to keep it to myself. The last time we had a disagreement about your love life with Callie it didn’t end well. I was being a little more conscientious this time, but since you want to hear it, I’ll tell you.” He pauses briefly before continuing. “I know how difficult the breakup with Lexie was for you, and you probably have a lot of residual hurt from that, but if you don’t get past it, you’re going to ruin every single relationship you have, both with your family and significant others.”
“That is completely untrue. How can you even say that to me?”
“Because you’re my son and I love you.”
“Oh, please,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“That,” he says, pointing a finger at me. “Right there. That’s exactly the kind of attitude I’m talking about. You think you’re the only one who’s had it tough? That has trust issues? You’re going to let one bad experience ruin your life? Fine. Let it, but you’ll regret it. I worried about the consequences of this relationship because I knew you’d be watching for any hint of less than perfection, and once you saw it, you realized she was just that. Not perfect.”
“I didn’t need perfection. All I needed—all I wanted—was honesty.”
“I hardly think talking to your brother and having coffee with him was such a huge breach of trust and a reason to break up with her.”
“I told you! There is more to it than that.”
“Yes, you did, and I don’t even know what that is. It’s not for you to explain or for me to understand. It’s between you and Callie, but I’ll tell you this, Aaron. Your mother and I haven’t been married for almost forty years by chance.”
“Yes, I know,” I say. “Marriage is hard work. Ups and downs and all that bullshit.”
His face softens. “I met your mom when we were both so damn young. We didn’t know which way was up and which was down, but I knew…the moment I saw her…there was no one else, there would be no one else. And that’s what you hold on to, to make it work.”
“Yeah, well, that’s nice and all, but sometimes things are more complicated than that.”
“Only if you want them to be. You have to think to yourself: Can I live the rest of my life without this person? I know I couldn’t, so you work through the hard stuff. Maybe you need to ask yourself the same question. Can you live the rest of your life without her?”
He sits quietly, staring at me, for several minutes before he stands. “Love you, son.”
* * *
Then he was gone, too.
The months that followed were predictable and common. Delilah, work, and putting up a convincing front were my daily objectives. For the most part, I was able to keep it up pretty well, but there were times when I would come across something of hers, a hair tie in one of my bathroom drawers or a T-shirt left in the laundry room, and my mind would be flooded with memories.
All of the what-ifs.
So many what-ifs.
The more I considered the fact that I might’ve made a mistake, the further I slipped into a place so dark my skin would crawl with fear. There was hurt and sleeplessness and guilt and too many fucking feelings for me to separate them all. It got to a point where I decided to take my father’s advice and stop playing the martyr and get some help. I started seeing a therapist and talking out all the things I’d buried for so long.
Time marched on. Through the fallen leaves and snow-covered streets. Through Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year’s. Time moved forward.
But I stayed still.
I married Lexie when I knew I shouldn’t have. I pushed her and tried to get her to mold into the perfect wife and the perfect mother when she simply wasn’t capable of it. I used the excuse of her leaving to stay closed off, and when I met Callie, the lid got blown off. Sex and emotions manifested and it was so fucking good, I ignored what was staring me in the face. I simply didn’t know Callie. I knew her body and her kindness. I knew her love for my daughter and her free spirit. I knew her determination and fierce desire, but I didn’t know her. So much of that was on me, too. I saw how I could have the family for Delilah and myself that I always wanted with Callie. I pushed and tried to mold her into what I thought we could be. I never stopped to ask her what she truly wanted.
I’d have to make do with the fact I never would and that was the worst part of everything.
No. Actually, the worst thing ever was realizing I was the one who told her to leave.
Time moved forward, but I stayed still.
Then one day I realized I was starting to forget things…the smell of her freshly shampooed hair and the taste of her skin just above her collarbone. It made me wonder if it was ever real.
I tried and tried to keep my resolve up, through hearing her voice talk to Delilah so often, through the lonely nights, through all the therapy in which I was realizing and taking ownership of where I went wrong, until one phone call with Abel blew it all up in my face.
It was an unseasonably warm March day and I was sitting at the park, watching Delilah run and burn off the energy she’d stored away during the long Chicago winter. I was fiddling with my phone when a call from Abel came through. We certainly hadn’t been talking as much since what happened, so I was surprised he was calling.
“Hey Abel,” I say, answering.
“Hey. What’s up?”
“Nothing too much. At the park with Delilah. How are things going?”
“No complaints. Delilah’s good?” he asks.
“She is. She loves going to preschool and Mom’s been a big help after recovering from surgery.”
“Are you going to look for a new nanny…or…someone to help you out?” he asks hesitantly.
“Eventually, but I think…well…I guess,” I drift off, choosing my words carefully. “I’m not ready for that.”
His silence speaks volumes. Maybe it’s because he’s my brother or that I know he’d never want to hurt me, but I know he understands me.
Then he tells me so.
“I understand,” he says. “It sounds like a wise move for right now.”
“Thanks.”
We haven’t spoken of Callie since the day after she left. The same day he came over and found me shit drunk and drowning in my own self-pity. So many times since then I want to ask him how she’s doing. Even at my most angry, I wonder, but never ask. If I did, it would be, in some way an admittance of guilt.
Now? It’s time and I need to move forward with it.
“How is she?” I ask.
“Callie? She’s…well.”
The hesitation he uses, along with his tone, don’t settle well with me. “Well?”
“Actually, I don’t see her very often. School and she’s busy at night so…yeah.”
Nausea rolls through me and a lump forms in my throat. If she’s never home in the evening, it could only mean she’s out, with someone. “I see,” is all I manage to respond.
“Considering the circumstances, she had to go back to working nights…at Venom.”
“What? Why would she do that?”
“Why do you think?” he replies, his voice raising. “She needed a job.”
I fight the urge to question him further because as much as I want to know, as much as I need to know, I lost that right when I asked her to leave.
“She’s graduating soon. She got a job already, too. She just found out, I guess. I don’t know the details, but the school she’s student teaching at loves her and offered her a job for next fall.”
I let my eyes fall shut, feeling such an overwhelming sense of happiness and pride for her, for all she worked so hard for. “That’s really great,” I respond.
We’re quiet for a
minute, each of us waiting for the other to talk, and letting the tension diminish.
Abel clears his throat. “So, I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Yeah. Maybe drinks some night this week?”
“For sure.”
Later that evening, I was tidying up in Delilah’s room while she spent the night at my parents’. I stripped the sheets off the bed to wash them, and as I removed the mattress cover, the mattress shifted and I noticed something underneath. A picture and something on multicolored paper, half on the bedspring, half on the mattress. I pushed the mattress over so I could retrieve the items, wondering why it was there.
I pulled it out and once I recognized it was picture of Callie, Delilah, and myself, a pain shot across my chest. I had no idea where she got the picture from or how it ended up there. The other thing was a Christmas card she’d evidently made for Callie and never told me about. For whatever reason, Delilah was hiding it under her bed, making sure I’d never see it. I sunk to the floor.
The picture. The card her little hands made, but were too afraid to tell me about, left me frozen and sick.
I’d fucked up.
I needed to make it better.
I grabbed the earrings she left behind, along with the card Delilah made, and took off. I rehearsed on the way there what I would say, how I would ask for forgiveness and plead with her to talk it out with me like we should have so many months ago. But the moment I stepped back into her world, nothing went as I planned.
None of the words came out right. I panicked when I thought there was another guy coming over. She was so mad at me still. It was like walking into a tornado, everything out of order and spinning around madly.
There were movements and words and I tried to reach her, but she had already decided.
It had been too late.
I looked up at the sky as tiny droplets of rain began to fall, dragging me from my recollections and alerting me to where I actually was.
I had to go back.
I couldn’t leave it like this. My father’s voice was ringing in my head, “Can you live the rest of your life without her?”
So Twisted Page 26
