Reprieve

by A. E. Woodward

  “I begged her to keep it. Promised her the moon. Told her that I’d help her, that I’d get clean with her and that we could raise the baby together. It wasn’t like I wanted to be with her forever, but we had a responsibility to that baby and I felt like we needed to make good on it. So we came here—together. We checked in and started the program. Went through detox side by side. Talked about whether we would have a boy or girl, hell, we even started talking about what names we liked. Life was starting to look up for me. Two weeks later she was found dead in her room. She’d overdosed.”

  “God.” It’s the first thing out of my mouth but then I realize I’m being callous by not showing sympathy for his loss. “I’m so sorry. How?”

  “I’m not sure exactly. Somehow she managed to score some smack and snuck it in. My guess? It was a shock to her changing body. She just couldn’t handle the same amount as before.”

  His eyes are on his lap and he fidgets nervously, running his hand through the hair in the center of his head. “The whole situation was pretty fucked up, that’s for sure. But once I had reached that point I knew there was no way I could go back to the way my life had been.” Slowly, he lifts his head. His eyes lock on mine and I feel every emotion in them like a bullet to my gut. “I knew deep down I wanted more out of life. That I’m meant to be someone to somebody. And so day after day, I show up here . . . waiting for my chance.”

  “Your chance for what?”

  “My chance to finally be that someone.”

  I swallow hard. “I think you already are,” I say, and my voice is barely a whisper but I know he’s heard me when his eyes darken and he leans across the space that divides us, placing his lips softly against mine in a light touch before pulling back and smiling. And as crazy as it might seem, the thought crosses my mind is that I don’t mind being in here, fighting back against this thing that has a hold on me, and the reason I don’t mind is because me being here means I get to see those smiles. And even better—those smiles are directed at me. “I think you’re definitely my somebody.”

  I smile back, wondering where we go from here. What’s going on is bigger than the both of us and the confusion continues to make my head spin.

  On cue, he leans back in his chair. “So, tell me about your family.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think I can.”

  “I think you should.”

  This was the moment I spent years fearing. The time when I would be stronger than the hold my past had on me. I swallow the lump forming in my throat. I want to scream. I’m not ready to start reliving my past. It’s one thing to remember it; it’s a whole other ballgame having to talk about it.

  Asher leans forward and places his hand gently on my thigh. I glance down at the point of contact before looking back up into his eyes. His lips press together in a fine line and he says gently, “You can trust me.”

  He’s right. He’s proved that.

  I clear my throat and take a deep breath. “I’ve always been the black sheep of my family. Even from an early age, I always knew I was different. The red hair sticking out against the sea of blondes was a constant reminder of that. They did their best to hide the truth but deep down I felt it. It was only a matter of time before the truth came out and I’ll never forget the day the rug was pulled out from underneath me.”

  BEING THE YOUNGEST was hard enough. But being the youngest with a chip on my shoulder was far worse. I never understood why I didn’t fit in. It didn’t make sense to me, why everyone in the family had some sort of musical talent and I couldn’t carry a tune; why my brothers and sister got straight A’s easily when I had to work for any grade I got. It was frustrating, but the thing that bothered me most was never understanding why my father chose me. He could have chosen any one of my four siblings. But I was the “lucky” one. I couldn’t get my head around it.

  Until I did.

  I WAS TWELVE, and gawky as hell. I was all skin and bones. Partly because I was built that way but mostly because I hated to eat. I felt more in control of my life when I wasn’t eating. No one noticed anyway, and if they did they didn’t say anything because they didn’t care.

  Our house was massive. The kind where you could lose track of where everyone was easily. My favorite place to be was under the bench in the mudroom—I liked lying on the cold tile. It was always quiet in there, allowing me to escape not only from the chaos that surrounded my happy siblings but also the palpable hatred I felt from my father. Occasionally, while hiding, I would hear some juicy gossip; my favorite being the time Tess thought she was pregnant. I used that one to my advantage for weeks until her period finally showed up.

  On the day, I was just about to doze off. I didn’t sleep well at night, which often meant I hit a wall during the day, and would need a short powernap to get me through. My eyelids were just fluttering closed, my breathing slowing to a sleepy pace, when I heard my mother and father come in through the door. They were arguing but their tone was hushed. It took me aback because I’d never heard my parents argue openly before. If they did, they made sure to do it behind closed doors, more than likely to keep up the appearance of a perfect family.

  “Why don’t you go back and suck his dick some more,” my father hissed as the door shut behind him.

  Frozen by his harsh words, I gulped, knowing that I needed to stay where I was. The tension was building, and something told me that this wasn’t going to end well.

  “Keep your voice down,” my mother scolded, “the children will hear.”

  “They have a right to know what a whore their mother is.”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say.”

  I rubbed my eyes, hoping that I was perhaps just waking from a bad dream, instead the rubbing did nothing but free the emotions that were bubbling inside of me.

  “Oh, it’s horrible for me to say it. But it’s perfectly fine for you to not only suck and ride someone else’s dick,” he paused and I flinched. “but, oh no, that wasn’t enough, you had to bring home a little souvenir from your little sexcapades as well.”

  Why is he talking about a present?

  I heard my mother gasp. “Don’t you dare.”

  “It’s bad enough knowing that you thought so little of me that you’d go out and bend over for some old boyfriend but to add to that, I get a nice little reminder whenever I look at the redhead.”

  I’m the redhead. The souvenir . . . definitely not a present, more like a unwelcome houseguest. And with that one barb, it all came full circle. Everything suddenly made sense. I placed my hand over my mouth to keep myself silent. Tears spilled from my eyes. I may have been young and naïve, but I was savvy enough to read between the lines. I hadn’t been crazy thinking that I wasn’t meant to be here. I wasn’t wanted after all.

  “She is your daughter,” my mother scolded.

  “No,” my father argued back, “she’s not.”

  There was more arguing but the rush of blood in my ears prevented me from deciphering their words. Then, with the slamming of a door and the telltale sound of heels against the polished wood floor, they were gone. Vanished somewhere deep inside the house. The house that had been built on lies and broken dreams.

  After I learned the truth the girl I thought I could be disappeared forever, leaving behind only a shell. As the days passed I felt hollow; the knowledge that I was little more than the product of my mother’s sordid affair eating away at my insides, opening up a chasm within me. Even though I had always felt like I didn’t belong, knowing it was completely different. With a sudden spunk and resolution to save myself from what had become my hell, I immediately started looking for my real father, a task that proved to be very difficult considering I wasn’t supposed to know. I took to my mother’s old photo albums to look, hoping that her sentimentality would bring some answers. She never could throw away anything of meaning. I hoped that I’d know him just by seeing him. That I’d see a reflection of myself. That the thing I had been missing for years would suddenly be in front of me
and everything would make sense. It took days of scouring, but I finally found myself in a picture of a boy in my mother’s high school yearbook.

  Jeremy Bryan.

  Of course it would be the boy with two first names. He must be the one. I flipped through the pages looking for more pictures of him, and then I saw it. The proof I needed: a picture of him smiling into the camera, his arm wrapped around my mother’s neck. They look as though they were the happiest they’ve ever been. Next to it, an inscription that read, No matter where you are, I’ll always love you. ~ J.

  They’d been high school sweethearts. That made sense, given my father’s comment about old boyfriend. Their affair had obviously been a moment of weakness years later for my mother. Once I had a face and a name, I scoured the Internet for hours, finally finding information that I could use. He lived just two hours away, in the city. I knew that I had to see him. I needed him to know about me. But most of all, I needed him to rescue me.

  I called him and told him I was a friend of my mother’s. That I needed to meet him in order to discuss something of great importance. Even through the phone I could sense his hesitation, but knowing that it somehow involved the love of his life was enticing enough and he agreed.

  We met at a little diner in my town called Famiglia and, no, the irony was not lost on me. Meeting up with my biological father at a diner called “family” wasn’t subtle on my part, but part of me hoped that he might get the hint; especially when he saw me. Even from that grainy high school photo I could see resemblances between us, so there was no doubt he would see it. Or at least, that’s what I hoped. I arrived at the diner early, too nervous and anxious to wait at home. My mother had asked where I was going and I’d told her I had to get a book from the library, figuring if she could lie to me about meeting up with Jeremy then so could I.

  I sat in a booth in the back corner, out of sight of foot traffic on the street, and ordered a black coffee. I didn’t even like black coffee, and to this day I refuse to drink it, but I wanted to appear more grown up, thinking that if I seemed sophisticated, charming, then there was more of a chance he’d want to get to know me. I recognized the waitress as a girl in Tess’s class at school and I sent up a silent prayer that she wouldn't tell Tess she'd seen me. Tess was a nosey bitch at the best of times but she'd been there when I'd lied to my mother and that kind of leverage would be invaluable, especially given my previous use of her almost pregnancy. I saw him the minute he walked in, I saw my eyes in his as he scoured the diner looking for the person he was supposed to meet. I imagined he drove the few hours desperate for some sort of knowledge about my mother; what she was doing now, what this friend might need him for. With shaking hands, I stood up and waved to him and once his eyes landed on mine, I could see the realization in his face. He wasn’t stupid and I watched as he walked toward me, doing the mental calculations more than once. Once we met, sat opposite each other in that booth, I saw the look of knowing on his face and I talked as fast as I could because I could see the fear in him.

  As I talked his mouth fell further and further open, shocked at what I was saying. I told him everything: how I didn’t belong, how my father took his hatred out on me. I begged him to save me but he sat there, expressionless, before finally saying he was sorry and getting to his feet, exiting the diner as if his ass was on fire.

  That was the moment that I knew I was meant to live a miserable life.

  ASHER STARES AT me as I utter my last sentence, my story finally making sense to him. His silence says everything. He can’t find the words. I understand that feeling.

  Welcome to my world, I think to myself.

  “So there you have it.” I wipe at the tears that have etched a pattern down my cheek as I relived everything that made me the train wreck I am today.

  “Emotional and physical trauma lie at the heart of addiction, Tegan. You’re not alone.” He continues to look at me, his eyes more sad and broken than when he had told his own heartbreaking tale. I nod and swallow the lump in my throat.

  Then without making a sound, he stands from his chair and walks toward me, the space eaten up with only two of his large strides before he’s sitting on the couch and pulling me into his arms. At first I don’t hug him back, but then his arms pull me tighter, pressing my cheek against his chest and as the warmth seeps from his body to my own I inhale sharply, the scent of him flooding my nose, comfort slowly enveloping me. I bring my arms up around his waist and squeeze tight. I expect my emotions to get the better of me, but they don’t. Instead I feel powerful—strong even. Like I can take on the world now that my secret is out. I have nothing to hide anymore. With it all out there, my past no longer rules me. Asher knows the worst, but he’s still here.

  Slowly I lift my face and lean back so that I can look up at him. His face is set in stone as he glares at the wall behind us and I watch his nostrils flare with his deep breaths that on their own tell me that he has only a lose handle on his own emotions. I clear my throat and he looks down, our eyes locking and immediately my own breathing accelerates. A fire builds slowly in the pit of my stomach and I watch his face soften, the hard line of his jaw relaxing, his eyelids shutting momentarily before opening and showing me emotions I’ve only ever seen in movies reflecting back at me as his eyes start to shine.

  For me.

  And then, in an instant, the slow burn ignites. Like gasoline has been thrown on the small flames, there is a burst of energy and his hands grip the sides of my face, his mouth covering mine in a kiss that is definitely not slow or soft when his tongue slides between my lips and searches for my own. I oblige and he groans loudly into my open mouth, the sound seeming to echo through his chest in its intensity and a spark shoots through my body, straight between my legs.

  My hands grab fistfuls of his dress shirt, pulling it free from his pants with an intensity I’ve never felt before, my fingers snaking underneath the fabric to scrape the sides of his torso with my fingernails. His skin feels smooth and hot and he flinches at my touch, breaking our kiss for a moment before he continues his work. There’s so much passion behind his kiss that I slowly begin to lose control of my muscles.

  I’m intoxicated.

  He pulls back using his strong grip to pin my arms to my sides, stopping them from touching him. He holds my gaze for a couple of beats, both of us panting, our clothes in disarray. We watch each other, the silence of the room broken only by the sound of our slowing breaths and he blinks once, twice, his eyes leaving mine, running his gaze up and down my body. He gives my arms a gentle squeeze before releasing them, lifting his thumb to his mouth to wipe at his bottom lip as he growls, “You drive me absolutely fuckin’ crazy. I can’t believe I just did that.” He falls silent, deep in his own thoughts. My heart rate increases again with the thought that he might turn. That this, again, might be the catalyst for his withdrawal. The thought itself is unsettling. I don’t know how I’ll cope if Asher backs away from me again. I’m just about to open my mouth to ask him to tell me what this means for us, for me, when he mutters, “And I thought coke was bad for me.”

  I know he feels my body lock tight at his words. I don’t want to be bad for him. Not knowing everything he’s been through. If I were to wish for anything right now it would be for confirmation that he felt everything I just felt. That his skin was ablaze with want. With the same need as I feel every time he looks at me, touches me, kisses me.

  “Shit, that came out wrong. Let me explain. I just—this . . . it’s . . . it just shouldn’t be happening.” His hands go to his hair, tugging at the roots and his voice is breathless, almost pained as he says, “I don’t understand it, but you make me want to lose it all. You’re all I think about, Tegan—every second of every damn day. When I wake up: you. Walking to my bike: you. Counseling other patients: you. You’ve invaded every ounce of my being. You’ve poisoned me.”

  If I have to pick a poison, I choose him.

  “You want me?” I say, so confused by him laying it all out that t
he words sound more like a question. But I’ve been wrong before. I need him to say it.

  He walks back to me and take to his knee, bringing his face level with my own, so close that I can feel his breath cool against my flushed cheeks. He takes my hand in his and brings it up between us, gently kissing the back of it. “Want isn’t the right word for how I feel, Tegan. I need you.” Unable to speak or even breathe, I just sit there in front of him, completely in awe. “Are you with me, Tegan?” he asks, even though I think he already knows the answer. I do the only thing I can and nod.

  I’m so with you.

  The past doesn’t matter anymore…

  It has passed.

  IT’S PITCH BLACK in my room when I hear the soft rap on glass, my eyes popping open to look at the alarm clock on my nightstand as I hear another light knock against the windowpane. It’s just after midnight. I smile to myself already knowing who is out there. Room checks have come and gone long ago. He knows that.

  My feet swing out over the side of the bed, hitting the cold hard floor and before I even stand up I’m able to make out his face, illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight and I rush to the window, flinging it open, feeling the bite of the night air rushing into the room. Immediately his hands are on my face, pulling me toward him. His mouth covers mine briefly before he pulls back and gazes at me with adoration.

  “What are you doing here?” I whisper, looking around. But as worried as I am about us getting caught I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. He sees it and beams back.