by A. M. Wilson
Trey looks away from where I’m seated and stares silently at the wall. The anxiety building inside of me is becoming harder to contain with each second that passes. This is all my fault.
“He sent me a text around 1:30 today.”
Instantly, I’m on high alert. “Tell me what he said, Trey.” Dread creeps stealthily through my veins as Trey kneels before me and grabs my clammy hands from my lap.
“I’m not sure what he meant. It was short, and he didn’t respond when I questioned him further.”
“Tell me,” I whisper. My voice sounds small and fragile. A true reflection to how I feel right now.
“He said, ‘I’ll be back, but I have to leave.”
Icy water swims through my veins. I cup my hands over my mouth to hold in a sob as my body shudders. This can’t be happening. We were so close. So close to being free to live our lives without repercussions, and one mistake is all it takes. He left me.
“How could he leave me?” I cry.
“Honey, we don’t know that. We don’t know where he went. Maybe he just needed to clear his head,” Trey soothes while rubbing circles on the backs of my hands. But I won’t hear any of it. His words aren’t penetrating the fog of despair clouding my mind. He left me. He left me. It’s all I can think. It shrouds me in my own personal hell.
The world around me tilts and swirls as I feel the loss of control I’ve battled my entire life returning. The feelings I worked so hard to silence bubble up to the surface, proving to me I hadn’t really overcome them. They were never gone. They were only biding their time. Knowing I was still weak, and waiting for me to break.
I’m broken, and I’m desperate for relief.
I feel crazed and powerless. In a move that shocks us both, I tear my hands out of Trey’s grasp and leap over the back of the couch with one destination in mind: the kitchen. If I can get a knife, I can regain some control.
I’m frantic and needy, and my palms are slick as I yank open drawers to find something sharp. Where does he keep all his knives?
“Honey, what are you doing?” Trey’s voice sounds from behind me, quiet and cautious.
I’m out of time. I’m out of time. I’m out of time.
The last drawer I yank open holds my prize. I grab the first knife I see, a small fillet knife, and without pause I skate the sharp edge up my forearm. Blood immediately bubbles to the surface where my flesh tears, and I let out a harsh cry. Instead of the heady rush I’m accustomed to, all I feel is pain. And shame. I drop the knife in shock and lock eyes with Trey. A mask of sheer horror is frozen on his face.
“No!” He shouts before wrapping his strong arms around me. He kicks the knife away and sinks us both to the kitchen floor.
“I’m sorry.” The only words that feel appropriate enough for what I just did. What I just ruined. I broke a promise to myself, to Jacoby. I’ve only had one counseling session so far, and I broke a promise to my counselor, too.
I hardly notice as Trey grabs a towel from the drawer behind us and wraps my arm tight, holding pressure with one hand while he holds onto me with the other. I don’t have any words to offer him that will express my shame, so I just keep repeating “I’m sorry,” over and over again. My head rests on his muscled chest, and he strokes my hair until my words become whispered and the sky becomes dark. Eventually, I drift off to a restless sleep.
I wake up the next morning to harsh bright light from the rising sun, and the loud blaring sound of Jacoby’s alarm on his phone.
Jacoby’s phone!
I frantically hop out of bed, trying to untangle myself from the blankets and wincing in pain when my arm gets wrapped and pulled in the sheet. I don’t remember going to bed last night, which means Trey probably brought me up here sometime after I drifted to sleep.
Or maybe Jacoby came home and brought me to bed. Why else would his phone be here. But then, why isn’t he in bed with me?
Circling the bed, I drop to my knees and find his phone underneath the night table. That’s an odd place for his phone. He must have dropped it at some point. My hope sinks. If his phone was here all this time, it would explain why he isn’t answering any attempts to contact him.
What was so important he left without his phone? Is this his way of cutting off all communication with me?
I silence the alarm and sit back on my heels. My hands shake as I skim through his inbox, seeing several texts from myself and Trey, but that’s it. Doesn’t he have any other friends here? My heart breaks a little when I think of how kind and generous he’s been to me. God, if I can get him back, I’ll repay the favor tenfold. I’ll make him so happy. He has Trey, and now he has me. I just need to find him first.
I open his call list as Trey knocks on the bedroom door, cracking it open as he does. “What was that sound?” he asks when he sees I’m awake.
“I found Jacoby’s phone.” I show him the device as I move to sit on the bed. Trey sits down beside me. Just like his inbox, the call list is short. However, one name stands out as an incoming call around noon yesterday. “Who’s Brent?”
Trey studies me. “Did you two ever talk about your pasts?”
“We did,” I confirm. “I know about how he grew up, and I know about Harper. What does this have to do with his past?”
“Brent is Harper’s brother.”
I’m stunned before confusion sets in. “What does this mean? Do you think he didn’t leave because of me?”
Trey grabs my hand and holds it between both of his palms. “I think it’s extremely likely. The call was incoming, which means Jacoby didn’t call Brent as a means of escape. My gut says something happened back home, and Jacoby left in a hurry.”
Hope stitches its way into my heart with his words. Please let everything be okay, I pray. Not only for whatever made him leave in such a rush but also for us. Maybe our secret hasn’t been discovered after all.
***
Trey watches me like a hawk. He forces me to get up and go to school, even though I know Jacoby won’t be there. He says it’s because he doesn’t want me to get into trouble, but I know what it is. He’s trying to keep up with normalcy. He’s trying to keep me from breaking, and he thinks if I’m at school, I can’t hurt myself. He is right.
But I don’t want to hurt myself. Last night was a moment of weakness. Of desperation and pain. It was the first time since the morning after Jacoby and I first slept together that I had something trigger me. I knew I’d have slip ups. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I’m just ashamed that Trey was here to witness it.
As I trudge up to the building, everything seems wrong. The air is too cold, the clouds look like snow, and the students are too loud. When I enter the building, I’m hit with a blast of dry, recycled air, and it smells funny. The building looks old, as if I can see every crack in the paint, every chip in the floor. Everything is the same, but yet, it’s also not.
Because Jacoby isn’t here.
He isn’t here, and it’s like my entire soul can feel it.
I walk past his classroom on my way to French, and there’s some old lady with black hair, wearing a matching red skirt and blazer, standing by the door. She looks so wrong standing by that door. She doesn’t belong. Yet, she smiles kindly as I pass, and I force myself to do the same.
However, the smile drops from my face when I look back down the hall and see Mr. Stephenson waiting outside the French classroom. My lungs freeze; I’m sure terror is written all over my face, because it’d be a strange coincidence that he’s looking for me the day after Jacoby disappears.
Please, no.
His eyes meet mine.
That’s all that happens before I’m summoned, and my feet carry me to the place where I’ll hear my fate. Jacoby’s been fired. He fled the state. I’m getting kicked out of the post-secondary program. I can picture it all as I walk into his office and sit in the hard, uncomfortable blue chair. My hands tremble so I clutch my books tighter to my chest.
“I’m going to cut right to it, Miss
Krause. I had a visitor yesterday who shared with me some…news. Do you know what I’m talking about?” His cool gaze pins me to the seat, and I barely mange to shake my head no.
“There are allegations about you having a romantic relationship with Mr. Ryan.”
His sentence steals my breath, and I can’t take it anymore. I’m going to break. “It’s not true! Who told you that?” I wish he’d reach out and hold my hand, because I’m having difficulty being strong. This can’t be happening.
“Do you know Wyatt Chasely?”
“It’s not t-true, Mr. Stephenson. I swear. Wyatt is, he’s messed up!” I cry. Tears slip from my eyes and track down my cheeks as I stare into Mr. Stephenson’s open, concerned face.
“He said you left him to start a relationship with Mr. Ryan. He said he came here to confront you at school back in September, and he caught the two of you.”
“No!” I scream, the sound harsh to my own ears. “Wyatt c-came here with m-me when I m-missed all that school. H-he sexually a-assaulted me here and Mr. Ryan s-s-saved me. Oh, God.”
I break. I break so completely that I’m pretty sure my heart is lying on the floor. I cry until my eyes burn, and my throat hurts. Mr. Stephenson wraps an arm around my shoulders, and then I sob into his shirt. I break down and tell him my own version of the truth. I tell him about how I was handling things before school started. I tell him about my relationship with Wyatt, and how I tried to break it off. I tell him about missing those days of school, Wyatt messing with my car, the assault, and Mr. Ryan saving me.
What I don’t tell him is that I fell in love with my teacher. And that I’d give anything in this moment to have him back here with me.
Instead, I tell him we developed a bond, but I lie and say it isn’t romantic. That it’s based solely on trust. Somehow, Mr. Stephenson seems to believe me. And then he says the words that free me from my personal hell.
“I’m glad you were honest with me, Tatum. I suppose it was lucky Mr. Ryan had an out of town emergency, and I was able to talk to you first. I have a feeling he wouldn’t have been so quick to betray your trust. Things might have been a bit trickier then. I know how much you’ve struggled over the past year, and I’m glad you finally found someone to confide in.”
I dry my tears on my sleeve and breathe deeper. The worst seems to be over.
“He talked me into seeing a counselor. I actually had my first appointment last Monday,” I tell him, breathing my first true breath in twenty four hours. I’m overcome with relief.
“Did he now? Well, fill me in. We have some catching up to do, and I’d rather not send you to class until you’ve calmed down.”
***
“Trey! Are you here?” I call out into Jacoby’s empty living room while kicking off my shoes. I need to tell him everything that’s happened. He has to know that everything is going to be okay.
Rounding the couch, I head towards the kitchen for a bottle of water. If Trey didn’t answer, he must not be here. He’d have no reason to be upstairs. When I reach the entrance to the kitchen, I stop dead in my tracks.
Jacoby.
“Care to tell me why you’re calling out Trey’s name in my house?” His tone is stern and low, but it isn’t mean. He looks so tired. Exhausted would be more appropriate. Dark purple rings surround his eyes, and his hair looks like he’s run his hand through it a hundred times. His clothing, a black T-shirt that clings to his biceps and dark blue faded jeans, is wrinkled as if he slept in them. Even in his disheveled state, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. My eyes drink him in, and I can’t actually believe he’s here.
“You’re here.” My voice is whisper soft and pained. Tears prick my eyes. He’s really here. My mind spins with all the what-ifs I’ve been trying not to think about for the last day. I reach out to steady myself on the wall as a wave of dizziness crashes over me.
“I had to leave town, but I’m back. What’s going on? Is it Wyatt?”
“You’re here!” I cry and rush him. I slam into the warmth of his hard body and tightly wrap myself around him. His scent envelops me, and I bury my face into his neck. The tears flow freely down my cheeks, but I don’t care. He’s really here.
“Sweetheart, what’s going on?” His hand strokes my hair comfortingly, and I cling to him. I never want to let go.
“I-I thought you were g-gone!” I cry into his neck.
“Shh. I’m here now. I’m sorry I had to leave, but I’m here.”
The sound of the front door opening makes me pull my head away from his warmth.
“Tatum! You here?” Trey’s voice booms throughout the main level of the house.
“Seriously, what the fuck is this?” Now Jacoby sounds pissed as he pushes me gently away from him. I want to tell him everything, but just then, Trey rounds the corner.
“Motherfucker! You’re back. Jesus Christ, don’t fucking leave like that again.” Trey walks over and pulls Jacoby into one of those back-slapping man hugs. Jacoby’s confusion is written all over his face, and I’d laugh if I wasn’t so relieved.
“What is this? You two are acting like I just came back from the dead. I had to handle some shit back home. You want to explain to me why you both come into my house looking for each other?”
“Cool your shit man, it’s not like that. You left without telling anybody. What do you think we’re doing?” Trey seems up to doing all the talking, so I let him. I don’t know if I can get my words out without breaking into sobs again.
“I sent you a text, asshole,” Jacoby replies.
“Dude, you told me you had to leave. Didn’t say where, didn’t say when you’d be back. Then you left your fuckin’ phone here while you took off to who fuckin’ knows.”
“I just told you, I went back home.”
“We know that now. Didn’t you think we’d worry? You left after that motherfucker threatened to expose the two of you. Do you get what I’m saying to you?” Trey’s anger is rising, but realization just dawned for Jacoby.
He turns to me with a grimace on his face. “Sweetheart, I am so sorry. I didn’t think. I had to get home, so I left as soon as I could. I didn’t realize I left my phone until I was already on the plane. My mind was a mess. Are you okay?” He reaches for me, and I go willingly into his embrace. I can’t blame him for having his own problems to deal with. I’m too relieved to get upset with him. I trust he had his reasons, and I know he’ll explain it to me later. Right now, I just want to be back in his arms.
“I’m okay. I was just worried. What happened back home?” Trey gives me a look, and I know what he’s thinking. When am I going to tell Jacoby about last night? And how is he going to react when he hears I fell asleep cradled in his best friend’s arms?
“Maybe we should sit in the living room so I can fill you in. You want a beer, Trey?” Jacoby lets me go to lean in the fridge and fishes me out a bottle of water.
“Yeah, man. You sure you don’t want me to go? I don’t need to intrude on you two.”
I want to scream at him to stop making eyes at me. We can talk about me until my voice box freezes up, but right now, I want to talk about Jacoby.
“Nah, I owe you an explanation, too. It’ll be easier to just say it once.”
We all walk to the sofa. Trey sits on one end and Jacoby on the other. I climb onto Jacoby’s lap, his arms automatically cage me in, and he buries his face in my hair. God, I missed him. I’m so glad this nightmare is over.
“So what happened?” I ask. I want to talk, and then I want him to take me to bed. Even if all we do is sleep.
Jacoby runs his fingers through my hair. “Right after we had our run in with Wyatt, I got a phone call from Brent. He’s Harper’s brother,” he says to me before continuing. “Their mom, Carol, has been sick. He called me a month ago to tell me she wasn’t expected to make it until Christmas.” Jacoby stops and clears his throat. We’ve only touched on the topic of Harper’s family, but I can tell whatever happened is hard for him.
“He called to tell me she was out of time. She was being given last rites. I-I just had to go. We had so much left unsaid between us; she blamed me for what happened to Harper, and I was so angry. Angry enough to ignore her all this time. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t let her go without my forgiveness. I needed to see her one last time. So I left. I spoke to Mr. Stephenson, came home to call a taxi, and I was gone. I must have dropped my phone when I changed from my work clothes. I couldn’t think straight. All I could think about was getting there in time.”
My hands feather along his jaw; I’m hoping to soothe him. My heart hurts for this man who gives so selflessly and hurts so deeply. He’s carried around the guilt from Harper’s crash for years, and now he’s losing another member of that family. Even if Carol was angry with him, that loss must cut deep.
“I’m here for you,” I tell him, because what else is there? ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t enough, and I don’t want to speak words that are spoken so automatically. At least when I tell him I’m here, I can show him with my actions, too.
“Thank you.” He kisses my jaw. “I’m sorry I worried you. At the time I didn’t think, but now I can see how stupid I was to leave like that. I don’t know if there could have been worse circumstances.”
“It’s okay,” I reply, resting my cheek on his chest. “Just don’t do it again.”
I can feel his smile against the top of my head. “I won’t.”
I’m overcome with a wave of exhaustion, a tiredness all the way to my bones. These past two days have knocked me out. Lying here on Jacoby’s warm chest, with his strong fingers sifting through my hair, I can finally relax. The pounding of his heart is a steady rhythm of comfort beneath my ear. He’s home. He’s safe. We’re together. I’m awash with contentment, and I let my eyelids drift closed.
