by Caisey Quinn
If you ignore the small incidents, turn a blind eye to the tiny fissures spreading through the foundation, the smallest thing, the lightest touch, can send your entire world crashing down around you.
Standing in my living room, the one I worked so hard to make feel like home, I grieve for the splintered shards of what was once my life.
Glancing up, I see Landen, his eyes warring with darkness and light, love and hatred, anger and kindness. Sometimes it’s like he’s two different people, and I can’t help but wonder which version of him will finally win the battle for his soul.
“I’ll get a garbage bag,” I say softly, because someone has to say something.
“Wait.”
His voice is scratchy, almost like he’s been crying. Well that makes two of us. I turn on a sigh.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for this, Layla. For my temper. For the way I am.” He pauses to rake a hand through his hair. “But you need to see. This is how I am. Who I am.”
My throat constricts and I pull in my lips so my mouth doesn’t do the turning-down-about-to-ugly-cry thing it does.
His shoulders slump and he steps towards me, something snapping beneath his foot as he does. “God, I love you so much. I swear I don’t want to do this to you. To us. But…” He offers me a pleading attempt at a smile. “But I can’t be a parent. You see that, right?”
My heart beats so hard it throbs throughout my entire body. I close my eyes for a second and listen to the sound of my own breathing before looking into his. “Landen, we had a fight. You’ve been under a lot of pressure and this isn’t an ideal situation. I get that. You lost your temper and—”
“And you’re making excuses for me. Like you always do.” He’s so close his scent surrounds me, permeates my skin. It’s sharp and clean, cologne and soap, and just…him. Familiar. It takes every single ounce of self-control I have not to pull him to me and let him make everything better. But somehow I manage. Maybe because I know it won’t be enough this time.
“So what, Landen?” I choke out over the sob rising in my throat. “My aunt wants me to have surgery on Monday whether I like it or not and you can’t control your temper? So I have to have an abortion because the two of you don’t want me to have a baby? You must be out of your fucking minds.”
I rarely curse so I’m not surprised when Landen’s eyes go wide.
I take two steps, planning to brush past him to get to the kitchen and grab a garbage bag, but his arm strikes out to stop me. Strong hands grip my shoulders and spin me so I’m facing away from him. When he speaks, low into my ear from behind me, his angry, even tone sends chills up my spine. “Look. Look around you. What do you see?”
Shaking my head, I jerk and twist in an attempt to free myself. His fingers dig in deeper—not enough to hurt but rougher than he’s ever handled me. “I see a mess, okay? One that needs to be cleaned up.”
“Look closer. Look at the walls, Layla. Look at the cabinet doors. Think. Why doesn’t the refrigerator door open unless you lift while you pull? Why do we have so much fucking art on the wall? Are we opening a museum?” His voice is thick with pain, and it cuts into me even more than seeing our home destroyed.
The answers to his questions rush to the forefront of my mind, drowning me. Two of our cabinet doors are broken because he slammed them too hard when he was angry about something that had happened at practice. The refrigerator door has been jacked up since the night I told him I was taking night classes. He was getting something to drink and nearly ripped the thing off its hinges.
I can’t even count the number of holes in the walls or recall exactly where each came from. He always apologized and I would just buy another picture to cover them.
He’s right. No child should have to grow up in a home like this.
“It’s my fault, too,” I say, turning in his arms to face him. “You’re right. I made excuses. I covered it up. Pretended it was normal.” There’s nothing I can do to stop the warm, wet tears that fall. “But we can get you some help. Maybe the team—”
But he’s already shaking his head. “It’s who I am. No amount of therapy or whatever can change that.”
“Landen—”
“I’m my father’s son.” He reaches a hand out to wipe away my tears and I see moisture gathering in his eyes. “And I won’t do that to a kid. I won’t.”
My heart breaks for him. I feel every tiny splinter as it happens. “I know you won’t. Landen, it’ll be different. You’re not—”
“I’m not doing this, Layla.”
“Not doing what?” I whisper, cringing at the thought of hearing his answer.
“Not risking being an abusive asshole that makes another human being feel worthless. I won’t cause that kind of pain.”
“You won’t. I wouldn’t let you. I’ll—”
“I used to wish I was dead.”
The depth of his sadness, the hollow echo of his voice sets off a bone-deep ache in my core. A sob escapes, making me sound like a wounded animal.
Landen huffs out a sarcastic breath and swipes his hand quickly across his eyes. “Actually, I used to wish he was dead. And then I realized that was never going to happen. So I just wished that I was.”
My knees go weak, and Landen sinks to the floor right along with me. We just sit there, holding one another. Smack in the middle of our mess. One that neither of us knows how to clean up this time.
A week has passed since I practically tore down our apartment with my bare hands. We cleaned up the best we could, but it’s a pretty safe bet we won’t be getting our security deposit back. I walk through the door and see Layla standing in the middle of the living room.
“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in Barcelona?”
I take a deep breath and answer, skipping the formalities of greeting her just as she did. “I’m suspended.”
Indefinitely, but I don’t tell her that part.
“What happened?” she asks, but I see the accusation in her eyes. She really means What did you do?
I lay my car keys on the table by the door and set my bag on the one remaining barstool in the kitchen. How it survived my rampage is beyond me. Clearing my throat, I turn to face her. “Got into a disagreement with Vasquez.” More like my fist got into a disagreement with his face. Without me even meaning to, my right hand covers my left.
“And?” she prompts.
“And Coach said I needed to relax. I told him we were having some…issues. He said to take some time and get it handled.”
Her forehead wrinkles and she glares at me. “Get it handled? Landen, I told you I’m not—”
“Coach’s words, Layla. Not mine.”
She drops herself onto the couch and I do the same. We’re not touching, but the ever-present current of electricity warms the space between us. We’ve been sleeping in separate beds. Making small talk and avoiding any mention of anything that could set me off. Which is part of why I lost it on Vasquez today.
So low I have to lean in to hear her, she speaks without looking at me. “I talked to Corin last night about…about everything.”
There’s probably a sniper rifle trained on my forehead right about now. Her college roommate from New York has made it clear to me on multiple occasions that if I hurt Layla my balls will be pureed.
“By everything you mean…”
“All of it,” she says softly. “The baby, the surgery, you…you not wanting this.”
“Ah. And what did Ginger have to say?”
Finally she turns her beautiful ocean water eyes to mine. “She invited me to come stay with her for a while. She doesn’t think it’s good for me to be home alone so much. And you and I…”
You and I are done. I hear it even though she doesn’t say it.
“You’re leaving me?” Fuck. My voice comes out weak and pathetic. My father’s two favorite nicknames for me.
“No! God, Landen, it’s just…I don’t know where we are right now. We pretend like…like there’s nothing to sa
y, like not talking about it makes it not real. But how are you going to feel when I look like I swallowed a soccer ball? I don’t want you flying into a rage at the sight of me, and honestly…”
At some point, my head dropped into my hands. My elbows dig into my knees and I lift my eyes and turn to her. “Honestly what?” Her perfect mouth is doing that heartbreakingly adorable thing it does when she’s about to cry. I can’t help myself. I reach out with my thumb and brush it tenderly against her lips. “Honestly what, baby?”
Her eyelids flicker and she shakes her head before pulling back out of my reach. “Honestly, I don’t want to spend this entire pregnancy feeling guilty…and…and afraid.” The last word isn’t even loud enough to call a whisper, but it cuts me the deepest.
I stand, pulling my hand from her mouth as if she bit me. “Jesus, Layla. The last thing I want is for you to be afraid of me.” I’m pacing, and already I know I need to settle down, but she’s leaving and she’s afraid of me and everything is all screwed up. “You know I would never hurt you. Christ almighty, I’d rather peel off my own skin than hurt you.”
“I know that. That’s not what I meant. Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” I stop pacing and examine her face. She still looks like an angel. Just a sad, tired angel. The stress of our situation is taking its toll on her. Like it or not, I’m hurting her.
“I know you’re unhappy,” she confesses. “When you hurt, I hurt.”
In that moment, the one when she utters those words, I am consumed utterly and entirely with inescapable self-hatred. I open my mouth to speak, but she’s not finished.
“I’m not afraid for me, Landen. I’m afraid for you. Afraid you’ll lose yourself. Sometimes, when you’re angry…” She closes her eyes for a few seconds, and I need her words like I need air to breathe. Except it feels like both are going to choke me to death. “Sometimes it’s like you’re someone else, and it’s like I don’t know you, or know how to help you.”
I kneel in front of her, pulling her to me until our foreheads touch. “Baby, you do help me. I don’t even want to think about the man I’d be if it weren’t for you.” Bile rises in my throat at the mention of me without her. The reflection of my father staring back at me thrusts itself into my head.
“I love you so much,” she whispers into my hair. “So much.”
I let my weight press against her. “I love you, too. God I love you so damn much it hurts. I swear we’ll get through this. Somehow. We will.” It’s then that I see the small, black suitcase peeking out from beside the couch. Fuck. “Please don’t leave me,” I plead. It doesn’t escape me that I’m literally on my knees begging.
“I won’t,” she reassures me. “I could never really leave you, Landen. You know that.” But I pull back and look up into her eyes. They’re shining with the promise of more tears. More pain.
You ruin everything, my father reminds me.
“I know.”
I’ve been on the phone with Corin for over an hour explaining why I’m not coming to visit her after all. I’m freaking exhausted.
“He needs me,” I tell her on a sigh. “And he’s always been there for me when I needed him.” That’s what love is, I want to tell her. Being there. Keeping each other balanced. Not that we’ve been doing such a great job at it lately.
“Until now,” she snaps back, still as heated as she was when this conversation began. “You’re the one who’s pregnant, Georgia. He needs to get his shit together and man up. You can’t baby him anymore. You’re growing a human being inside of you for fuck’s sake.”
I huff out a breath and lie down on the bed. Landen left for his run as soon as I picked up the phone. Glancing at the alarm clock, I see it’s going on two hours since he’s been gone. The more upset he is, the longer he runs. “I know. I think I’m going to take a nap, Cor. It’s all just been…” A nightmare, I want to say, but I don’t because then she’ll launch into her ninety-nine reasons why I should just come stay with her. And this isn’t what I want to remember. I don’t want to look at my child one day and think, Being pregnant with you was the worst nine months of my life. Going over it all again seems like a surefire way to burn the pain into my memory.
“Okay,” she says, finally relenting. “Get some rest. But if he so much as raises his voice at you, I swear—”
“I know. And I love you for looking out for me. I know it sounds bad, but he really doesn’t direct his anger at me. Even at his worst. He just holds everything in and then he breaks. He can’t help it. I can’t imagine what it was like being raised by a man like his father.”
“You always make excuses for him,” she says softly. I almost nod, even though she can’t see me. Because she’s right. I do. But how can I not? It’s not his fault he’s like this. “Layla, if I’d known he had such an insane temper, I might not have encouraged you to—”
“Corin, stop. I’m a big girl and I make my own decisions. I moved here with him because I love him. Because this is my life and I want to spend it living and loving and hurting and feeling everything there is to feel. It’s just a crazy time right now, and we’re both adjusting to…the news.”
“Mmhm,” she mumbles. “If you say so. But seriously, if you need me, for anything, call. Or if you want Skylar to talk to him or whatever.”
“I will,” I tell her as my heavy eyelids start to drift shut. It’s not even all the way dark yet but I’m struggling to stay awake. “Promise.”
We say our goodbyes just as I lose consciousness.
The music pulls me suddenly from the depths of sleep. I might’ve been dreaming of the ocean again. But it isn’t waves I’m hearing crashing on the shore. Instruments, brass and wood fill the room so fully that I’m certain there’s a mariachi band outside my window. Looking at the clock on the nightstand, I see it’s just after ten. My bed is depressingly empty. The sheets on Landen’s side are cool when I brush my arms across them. Loneliness twists in my stomach as I sit up and listen for a few more minutes, wondering briefly if our neighbors are having a party.
My bare feet land on the hardwood and I step over to the window. A small festival is taking place on the street below. I vaguely remember seeing signs about it earlier this week. For a few minutes, I watch the people dancing as the sounds of their laughter float up to me. They look so happy. Carefree.
When Landen and I first moved here, we went to every festival held anywhere near us. We danced in the streets until we could barely stand. He’d twirl me around and around until I lost my balance and crashed into his arms. An unwelcome tear traces a path down my cheek with another close on its trail. Opening my window, I rest my head on the sill to listen. I gaze longingly at the scene in the street, wishing there was a way we could get back to that place. To happiness and dancing and being so consumed by love that seizures, angry rages, or dead or abusive parents couldn’t even hurt us anymore.
“Babe?” Landen’s voice startles me, and I rush to wipe the evidence of my sadness away.
“Hey, sorry. Did I wake you?” I close the window before turning to face him. The glow from the hallway lamp illuminates the outline of his tall, dark figure.
“No, I was up.” He steps closer, and I’m aching to reach out to him. The sleeping apart has wedged something solid between us that I don’t know how to remove. “Guess they’re partying pretty hard out there, huh?” Landen tilts his head towards the window.
“Remember that first night we moved in?” I ask him, stepping closer so we’re nearly touching. “We were nearly dead from the flight and still had a ton of boxes to unpack, but they had that Saints Day thing going on and we ended up dancing until almost sunrise.” I smile at the memory. Landen takes the final step to close the space between us, and I’m ready to beg him to put his arms around me. My need for contact, for his touch, is so strong it’s palpable.
“I remember,” he says.
“Remember after?” I breathe. My body trembles at the memory. After we drank and danced and had been we
lcomed by everyone and their brother, we stumbled half drunk up to the apartment and made love.
“Like I could forget,” he says, finally using both hands to pull me towards him.
“I’ve missed you,” I whisper, tilting my face up to his.
He nods and I watch the muscles move in his neck as he swallows hard. “I’m here now,” he answers just before claiming my mouth with his.
He backs us up to the bed and we fall into it together. The down comforter tangles around us as we pull at each other’s clothing.
“I need you. I need you so much,” I tell him between kisses. The emptiness inside me begins to wane as he pulls me higher so my head reaches a pillow. Our mouths separate only long enough for him to pull off the practice jersey of his that I sleep in.
“I know, baby. I need you too. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise?” I suck his full bottom lip into my mouth before he can answer. His answering kisses are full of a fervor I can’t even match without hurting one or both of us.
“Swear. Cross my heart.” Landen sits up and pulls my white lace panties down my legs. I watch him toss them over the edge of the bed. Even in the darkness I can see the light shining in his eyes as he stares down at my naked body.
The force of his stare is so intense that he pins me to the mattress without even touching me. “Mine,” he says low into the room as he trails a finger between my breasts towards my naval.
“Yes, always,” I breathe, arching up in a plea for him to touch me where I need it most. Every night I’ve spent alone in our bed has filled me with a bone-chilling cold that made me ache. It dissipates inch by inch as he warms me with his touch until I’m burning up.
His hand stops, palm down on my stomach. I’m only about five weeks along so there’s no bump, but there’s something. A fullness. Maybe it’s in my head because I know I’m pregnant. I go completely still and wait for him to freak out and run. To leave me aching and alone. But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans down and presses his lips to my stomach.
