What was going on between us, Zo?
Were we just friends?
Because friends didn’t look at friends the way we looked at each other.
You ran out of the hotel ballroom before you could see me throw the red punch in Nando’s face, shove him into the wall where I twisted his arm behind his back and threatened him not to touch you ever again.
He said he only asked for a dance.
But the fucker touched you and that wasn’t okay.
I let him go, grabbed our things and headed out. You were leaning against the building, your heels dangling off your fingers, your head tilted up to the sky.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
When you looked back down, your eyes were the brightest green I’ve ever seen. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at me.” You looked down and I swear I saw something inside you break. What were you thinking of at that moment? Because I felt it splitting my heart in half. “We didn’t get to do the slow dance. Sorry for being the party pooper.”
I saw the way your hand was rubbing your back, the way you winced when you touched a scar. The accident happened three years ago but you still had some days where the pain creeped in and I hated it.
Your back was starting to hurt so you didn’t need to apologize. I understood completely. I never wanted to see you in pain.
I tilted my head back and looked at the starless night sky. Take her pain away. Her wounds completely healed but the pain comes and goes. Please, just take it all away, I wished.
“Promise me something,” I started. You looked up, determination written in your eyes. “When we get to your parents’ house, and you take a pill for the pain, dance with me.”
Your lips curved up slowly. You brushed your hair back over your shoulder and you nodded. “I promise.”
I wanted to kiss you that night. I wanted to kiss you every night.
When we got into the limo and we made it to your house we walked into your bedroom. You turned on the slowest song you could find and you held out your hand for me.
“What about the pain?”
You shrugged your shoulders and said, “You numb the pain.” It wasn’t true but in that moment you started smiling more so I didn’t press it.
I slipped my hand in yours and we danced to the song until it ended and a new one began. Your head rested on my chest, our hearts beat to the same rhythm, and I said, “I love you, Zo.”
“To infinity and beyond,” you whispered.
When the dance was over and you pulled back, you got onto your tiptoes and kissed my cheek.
I slipped my hand up the side of your neck and held your face. I was seconds away from leaning down and kissing you.
I was seconds away from telling you that I wanted to be more than friends. That I wanted us to go on a real date and be together.
But when you stared into my eyes, I saw something change in them. They got sadder. Yet you smiled like nothing happened and let go of my hand. “Thank you for today, Owen.”
You walked past me and headed into the bathroom.
I didn’t get the chance to tell you that you looked as beautiful as a Disney princess. So I grabbed a piece of paper off your desk, wrote that down and stuck it into a book you were reading.
Did you find it?
I’m still waiting on that response. ;)
Cherry Blossom Tree In Full Bloom
Fuck me, I wish you looked at me the way you looked at those trees. If you turned around you’d see that I looked at you like you were a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. You had these moments were you were so full of life; you lit up the room when you walked in. But then it faded only to come back weeks later.
You kept pushing me away, Zoë.
You pushed a relationship with another girl on me.
I tried to make it work because it finally hit me that maybe you just didn’t see me as more than a friend.
We were never going to be more, right?
I loved you and you loved me but you weren’t in love with me.
I tried to date that chick for those four months. Do you know why we broke up? After we had sex she said, “Was waiting that long worth it?”
I wished I waited longer because I wanted to be with you.
I was filled with guilt over my temporary lapse of judgment. I wasn’t meant to love another person.
I was meant to love you.
I never looked at another girl even if you tried to force my attention on them.
They weren’t you.
It was pointless to think I’d change my mind.
I was going to marry you someday.
It was a damn promise.
That Almost Kiss at Woodland Park Zoo
You always knew the zoo was my favorite place so trips there were frequent. Echo came with us because she was trying to set us up. After she cornered me in class and asked if I ever planned on murdering you she figured out what my true feelings for you were. I annoyed her with how much I talked about you over the years. She had enough and planned our future marriage so everything would be easier for us. I knew I liked her.
We were on the northern trail trying to spot the great gray owl when Echo decided to ditch us. Your eyes roamed everywhere, completely ignoring us. You wanted to see that owl because you were curious if it’d bring you a letter, you adorable Hufflepuff!
You were wearing a t-shirt and jeans while everyone else was prepared for the rain with their umbrellas and raincoats. We waited for five minutes before you turned around, crestfallen. “He’s not coming out.”
“He’s still getting your letter ready.” I tapped your nose with my finger and then took your hand in mine. “Come on, let’s go see the butterflies. Those are your favorite.”
Your eyes widened in excitement and you started to jump on your toes. I laughed. You were almost twenty years old yet you still got as excited as you were when we snuck into the butterfly exhibit when we were nine.
I loved being a witness to your carefree side.
We made our way to the butterfly gardens and the second we entered the arched tent, you gasped when you saw nearly five-hundred free-flying butterflies.
You clutched your chest and walked in even further, pulling me with you. Your smile grew with every butterfly you saw fluttering from flower to flower. You laughed when one landed on your nose and you went cross-eyed.
“Take a picture!” you ordered, slapping my hand.
I was quick, capturing that beautiful second where the butterfly’s wings fluttered just before take off.
You leaned into me, trying to see the photo. “That’s so beautiful.”
Maybe it was the excitement from the butterfly garden or maybe you just liked spending the day with me, but you looked up at me and there was something your eyes were trying to say.
Did you want to kiss me?
Because I fucking did. You looked so fucking beautiful looking up at me underneath those damn lashes that brought me to my knees. Your lips were begging for me to taste them. And your neck, fuck, your neck was so close I wanted to sink my teeth into your soft skin and hear that sweet voice of yours.
You were my sweetest torture.
My forbidden apple.
And I wanted a fucking bite.
“Zo,” I managed to say.
“Yeah?”
My eyes dropped to your lips and damn it all to hell I was going to kiss you. I didn’t care if you slapped me. I needed to feel your lips on mine. I needed you.
I dropped my head down, and you surprised me by lifting yours an inch.
It was that second of hesitation I wish I could take back. If that little girl didn’t scream for her mother, would you have dropped your head and looked away? Would you have kissed me?
I regret not kissing you, Zoë.
I regret not kissing you for the last five years.
I almost lost you and I didn’t have the fucking balls to do the one thing I’ve always wanted to do; kiss the shit out of you, leaving you breathless
and feeling like you do when your favorite characters have their first kiss.
That Super Awesome Christmas Tree
We decided not to go back home for Christmas so we decorated your apartment with mistletoe and tinsel and all that girly shit Echo had hiding in the closet. But you didn’t have a tree. And it was already four days before Christmas.
Because I’m awesome, I came up with one of the smartest ideas, which you later debunked as “finding that on Pinterest” which was rude. It was so fucked up, Zo. I “didn’t” find it on Pinterest.
I walked into your room, grabbed a pile of books and set them on the coffee table in the living room. “We’ll make a tree out of books,” I stated.
Your jaw hit the floor. “Holy shit, Owen! Why didn’t I think of that?!” you shouted.
You were too busy with school. It was our junior year and you were falling behind on classwork because the latest book of your favorite series came out and you just HAD to read it three times. I wasn’t judging.
We spent three hours making that tree because you didn’t want to use the wrong books or place your smutty books over your YA books. You drove me insane, not going to lie. But I got it. And I helped.
To see your face light up every time you stared at that super awesome Christmas tree made my day.
Do you remember what I got for you that Christmas?
I’ll always remember the look on your face when you FaceTime’d me at three in the morning holding the set of books in your arms.
“These are signed, Owen!” Your eyes bugged out as you opened every book and read the inscriptions. “Signed! And you hid them on my bookshelves. Ohmygod. Ohmygod! Thank you!”
I was half-asleep during that call but you didn’t notice. You were too busy fangirling over the fact that one of your favorite authors sent you not one book but ten.
“This is the best Christmas present!” You hugged them against your chest and inhaled like you were snorting coke. I guess in a way books were like hard drugs for you.
I never told you this but I hid more signed copies around your room. You have massive piles of books everywhere that you haven’t found them yet.
“I’m going to have a house full of books one day. Books will be everywhere. It’ll be my own personal library. My sanctuary. AHHH! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” You took a deep breath and grew serious. “Oh shit, it’s really late. I’m sorry for waking you up.”
And then you said something that made it impossible to fall back asleep.
“Love you, Wen! Goodnight!”
You never said “love you” first.
I felt like a goddamn king.
I close the book when my flight is called to start boarding the plane and I crack it open when I’m seated. I ignore the world when I get lost in our story. So many beautiful moments, so many sad ones.
I never pegged Owen to be a writer. He’s full of surprises. I thought I knew everything about him. It felt that way. I knew so much about him, and he only saw some truths about me.
I read the rest of our story, and when I flip to the next page and see that’s it’s blank, I flip back to the last page, completely confused. There’s still at least one hundred pages left in the book. Why is that page empty? Did I miss something?
I read about the night I spent at Owen’s place when Echo went to visit her mom. The night I finally kissed him. The last line on the page is Owen asking, “Are you sure?”
And I was completely fucking sure.
When I flip to the next page and then the next, not finding anymore words, I grab my phone and text Owen.
Me: What happened to the rest of the story? Why are there so many empty pages?
He responds ten minutes later.
Owen: We’re still writing it. And you’ll have to go against everything you believe in and write in that book, Zo. I wrote my POV. Now you write yours.
I stare at his words until the flight attendant comes to a stop by my side, asking me to turn off all electronics because we’ll be landing soon.
I stare at his words when I get into a taxi and am taken to my hotel.
And then I crack open the book and read it from the beginning again.
New York is packed with people, yet it’s such a lonely city. Everyone is too busy to look up from their phones, and too busy to stop and have an actual conversation with a person. It was a huge adjustment over the week because people back in Seattle were so nice and friendly. If you want to see some perky people who seem to love their jobs Seattle is the city to be in. I loved walking into a bookstore and seeing the employees greet each person with a smile, giving their honest opinions of the books they’ve read if you asked. I loved hearing about the bearded guy at the coffee shop Owen frequents spend an extra minute getting the milk design in the lattes right before handing them off to customers with a compliment of their outfits or choice of hair style.
I loved when I was sitting somewhere with a book in my hands and a jogger would run past, calling out a hello before they took off. I mean, it would freak me out at first but then I got used to it.
And I loved how I could run early in the morning without having a single person out there. When I want peace and quiet, there is none now.
New York is a city that never sleeps.
I finish up my homework assignment and email it to my professor and then I get started on proofing a book that my boss handed me, telling me he’d need it done by tomorrow night. It’s a thick book but I’ve got an eye for these things. This editorial position was perfect for me. I get to deal with books all day. What better job is there?
I can’t wait to graduate in four months.
When it’s almost one in the morning, I call it a night and turn everything off. I check my phone for missed texts and feel my heart squeeze over all the “miss you” texts. Freddie left a voicemail yesterday catching me up on what’s going on with Owen. He’s worried that Owen’s going to lose his mind. He’s not sleeping enough and he’s being a dick to everyone.
My response; he needs to learn how to live without me.
What I actually wanted to say; I’ll be on the next plane back and I’ll come over right away. We’ll spend time together, laid out in bed, reading and laughing. We’ll be okay. Tell him I’m coming back.
But I didn’t say any of that.
I climbed into bed with Mowgli and read the book Owen wrote for me.
I read those three hundred and forty seven pages over and over again until all those moments of our lives are fresh in my mind.
And they’re not tainted with the darkness I wrapped them in.
Have you ever wanted someone so much it hurt? Because I do. And I lied to him. I told him I’d be back in ten weeks. It’s been twelve. And I haven’t been answering his calls, texts or emails. I’ve been dealing with a lot in the last two weeks and talking to Owen hurts me more than it helps.
After my internship ended two weeks ago, I had my therapist refer me to someone more handled to deal with patients that were victims of sexual abuse.
He is a man.
His last name is Owens.
And he looks like my father; only he’s younger by ten years or so.
I told my old therapist that I didn’t want to know any details about the person who might hear everything I have locked inside me. If I knew those three facts prior to meeting my new therapist, I would have never agreed to it. And I would have regretted it because he made me feel so comfortable that first hour. I was his last patient that day so I stayed for another two hours and then I set up another appointment a week later. That one felt like a shotgun to my heart when he asked what my nightmares were about, and I uttered the words I was always afraid to say. “I killed the man who molested me for years.” I didn’t care about the consequences once I said those words. I just needed them out of me.
Do you know what his first question was? Was it in self-defense? He didn’t ask me if the touching turned into more over the years. He didn’t ask why I never told my parents when I was old
enough to know that what was happening was wrong. He didn’t ask why I let it continue to happen.
He asked if it was in self-defense.
And I honestly never thought of it that way. I only saw it as I jerked the wheel and caused the accident. I killed him. I killed him because he looked at his daughter the way he looked at me. I killed him because he was a monster.
I killed him because he took something from me that I will never get back. He numbed me. He killed me.
What Dr. Owens made me realize was that I jerked the wheel because Michael was driving too fast and I was scared for my life. That’s what it comes down to, doesn’t it? Michael knew I was scared of speeding cars. He kept stepping on the accelerator. I told him to stop.
He went faster.
I had to protect myself.
Was it really self-defense, Zoë? You did it for Ari.
I was protecting us both.
I got through some hard truths with Dr. Owens and I’m still trying to process everything. It’s bringing every horrifying memory to the surface and as much as I want to shove them back down in the dark recesses of my mind, I can’t. I’ve held them in for too long. They’re breaking me.
I can’t be with Owen because of them. And that’s the only thing I want. I want to be with him. I want us. Ever since I was a little girl, Owen was my prince, my favorite hero, my favorite book. My heart beat a little faster when he was with me. My stomach dropped and did little backflips when he held my hand or kissed my forehead. I lost my breath every time he smiled at me and tapped my nose.
I love him.
I always have.
And it’s because of these haunting memories that we never became more. I felt sick to my stomach thinking we could be a real couple the second his father walked into my room and locked the door behind him. I felt disgusting and repulsed from the mere thought of Owen loving me once he found out the truth.
I thought he would hate me.
Let Her Go Page 19
