Captive Hearts

by Harper Bliss

  Dad fumbles with his napkin, pushing it against his wet cheeks. Mom’s head hangs low, as if her body has given up already. Next to me, Kay sits with a straight back, the expression on her face not giving away much.

  “I came back,” I continue, “because this family is as broken as I am. Because we all need to heal. Not to assign blame, but because this is where my life started. This is where I grew up. You’re my parents and, well, we may not get along as well as we’d like, but what I did was not your fault. I’ve been depressed for a long time and my mistakes are my own.”

  “Was it a mistake, Ellie?” Dad’s voice crackles. “Or did you really want to die?”

  I can’t reply to that. Not even Dr. Hakim has asked me that question and gotten anything resembling an answer to it. I certainly didn’t want to live anymore. Is that the same as wanting to die? Or is there nuance in everything?

  I suppose, in the end, I couldn’t care less if I lived or died. Except that every minute I had to drag myself through my sad existence was one minute too many. Every day I had to go through life with a brain that constantly questioned even the smallest decisions was one day too many. But what weighed on me most of all was how the imbalance in my brain chemistry had me convinced that, despite short bursts of happiness—which were possibly only so vivid and joyful because of the contrast with the utter bleakness of any other day—the future was always, unquestionably, black.

  I did want to die. But I lived.

  “Maybe we should call it a night.” Kay stands up and curves an arm around my neck. “Maybe that’s enough for now.”

  “It’s just that, Ellie,” my father doesn’t stop, “your mother and I live in constant fear that you’ll, uh, do it again.”

  Has this brought them closer together as well? I’m not used to either of them making a statement for both of them as a couple. I want to get up, but I’m afraid my legs will fail. Both Kay’s hands rest on my shoulders and she squeezes the tight muscles there softly. I try to visualize Dr. Hakim’s solemn face. The response we came up with—I came up with after long minutes of silence from him—sits too far back in my brain, in that obscured place I can never reach under pressure. They would never say something like that, I had assured Dr. Hakim. Never in a million years. My family doesn’t say things out loud. We prefer to imply things wordlessly—not enough room for misunderstanding and frustration otherwise.

  His reply: They may surprise you. Traumatic events change people. Makes them say and do unexpected things.

  So far, Dr. Hakim has been proven right many more times than I care to count.

  “I won’t try again.” It’s easy enough to say with Kay gently massaging my shoulders—and I know it’s the exact reason why I can’t get romantically involved with her. Not now. “I’m getting better. Working hard at it.” These are not the words I’m supposed to say, but they’re all I’ve got. A stop gap. A quick reassurance, like my mother used to give Nina and me after we’d taken a clumsy fall that had shocked us more than hurt us. Stop crying and it will all be over in a few seconds. She was usually right, but this hardly compares. “I know it’s not easy, but you’re going to have to trust me. There’s no other way.”

  I imagine my mother having to triple her dosage of sleeping pills to get any sleep at all. She shouldn’t even be drinking with all the medicine she swallows on a daily basis. A few years ago, when staying with them over the holidays, I checked her medicine cabinet—the one in the bathroom she stocks for daily, frequent use. I found Valium, Xanax, Prozac. The works. And to think she scolds my dad for drinking too much.

  “Okay.” My father pushes his chair back and, to my amazement, puts his hand on my mother’s shoulder. The only time I can remember them touching is when my mother prodded him in the arm violently when he was snoring so loudly she couldn’t hear the TV. “We trust you, Ellie.”

  Mom is crying now, short, sniffling sounds from her mouth and nose, but it’s not what takes me aback the most. What baffles me more than anything is that she accepts my dad’s display of affection and puts her hand on his.

  “It’s not easy getting through this,” she says through her tears, curling her fingers tightly around Dad’s hand.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Kay’s fingers dig deep into my flesh, but she can’t stop me from apologizing because, for this, I will always be sorry.

  “Do you want to stay?” Kay asks in a barely audible whisper.

  I shake my head. Perhaps I should stay, but this is enough for one night. My ability to think clearly and objectively always seems to shrink whenever I set foot in this house, but now it’s also muddled by sadness and lessened by this sight of my parents’ version of a tender embrace which, quite frankly, touches me more than anything has the past few years.

  “I’m going now.” I inhale deeply, but, still unsure about the capability of my legs to carry me, don’t get up.

  “Let me get you some apple tart to go.” Mom drops Dad’s hand and straightens her posture.

  “No, Mom.” I try to look her in the eyes, but end up glancing at the light switch on the wall behind her head. “Why don’t you bring some to the cabin tomorrow?”

  Slowly, my mother nods while my invitation sinks in.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Whiskey?” Kay asks after she has parked the car.

  “How about a swim instead?” I look at her face under the dim pale-yellow light of the West Waters parking lot.

  “Clothing optional?” she counters.

  “Somehow, for me, wearing a bathing suit after dark is no longer an option.” A timid smile breaks on my face, cutting through the sadness that has been with me all night. “You’ve ruined me forever.”

  “Ruined? Freed, you mean.” A low giggle bubbles up from Kay’s throat. “You city girls. Tsk.” She shakes her head in mock disdain. “I can teach you a thing or two.”

  “No doubt there.” It’s cozy in the darkness of the car. Intimate. Just the two of us in a closed space, the AC gently humming, Kay’s hands still on the steering wheel.

  “Come on, Little Ella.” She cocks her head a little, drawing her lips into a grin—probably as a stand-in apology for still calling me by my childhood nickname. “Let’s wash away those tears.”

  When we get out of the car and walk toward the lake, Kay grabs my hand. It feels comforting and disturbing at the same time, but, if I’m certain of only one thing, it’s that Kay’s intentions are good.

  “How are you feeling?” We stand at the edge of the water for a second, facing each other, my hand still in hers.

  “Emotionally stripped bare, I guess.” I have no problem looking Kay straight in the eyes. “The cruel thing about surviving is that you have to face the hurt you caused your loved-ones head on.”

  “I said you were brave. You could have chosen not to come. To hide away in Boston. To continue the trend of not speaking to your parents. But, instead, you came home.” When she smiles, Kay’s teeth glint in the weak moonlight. “I, for one, am very happy you opted to return to Northville.”

  With every fiber of my being I fight the urge to kiss her. Even though I know that with Kay it’s not like it was with Thalia, and Myriam before her, and Christine prior to that. Kay is not a diversion. She’s part of my quest for truth. She sees me in a way no one has before. Not only because I’m a new person, but even more so because she’s the first woman I’ve allowed to look so deep into my wounded, flawed soul.

  Still, I can’t kiss her. Just being around her already feels too good. Being under strict instructions, I can’t thank her anymore than I already have, either.

  “Come on.” Ending the moment, Kay drops my hand and pulls her sparkly top over her head.

  When Kay stands in front of me in jeans and bra, my heartbeat pulses in body parts I haven’t been aware of for a long time. Quickly, I turn away and undress, trying to ignore the fact that getting naked with her in the dark is probably not the best idea. I jump into the water as fast as I can, not looking behind me once
I’m in. With swift strokes, I swim to the middle, the balmy water of the lake immediately soothing.

  But, as Kay swims toward me, the throbbing recommences. Perhaps it’s my raw emotional state that has heightened my senses. Or the memory of Kay’s hand on my knee when I needed it most. If she comes too close now, or says something encouraging and flattering again, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, please.” We’re both treading water about two feet away from each other. “But I’m going to swim away and not come back.”

  “Ever?” Kay quirks up one eyebrow, pulling her entire face into a comical expression.

  The surface of the water around me trembles as I chuckle. As if I could ever stay away from her. Lips pursed into a pout, I shake my head.

  “Do what you need to do, but remember that your key is in your purse and your purse is over there.” She points her thumb to the spot outside the lodge where we jumped in. “And I haven’t unlocked the house yet, so there are no towels outside. Unless you don’t mind walking to your cabin dripping wet and stark naked.” She has dipped so low under water her chin rises in and out as she speaks. “And Uncle Pete may have a heart attack when he encounters a nude female in the dark.”

  “I guess I didn’t really think it through.”

  “Go have a swim and cool off. I’ll get out and leave a towel by your clothes.”

  “No, really. You don’t have to get out for my sake.”

  “I live here. I have access to this lake all year round.”

  “But soon it’ll be too cold and—”

  “What are we bickering about exactly?”

  “I may have forgotten.” I haven’t though. Under water, my nipples are rock hard and my skin has broken out in goose bumps.

  “If you need space, you’ve got it. You’re going through a lot at the moment. I have no problem understanding that.”

  “It’s just that, uh, I’m not sure I have the energy to fight this. God knows I don’t want to, either.”

  “I bet it would help if you were to put out of your head that this absolutely can’t happen.”

  “A little reverse psychology?”

  “Call it what you like.” From her tone, I can only derive that Kay wants to kiss me as much as I want to kiss her.

  “I’m scared, Kay. Having you around is the best thing that has happened to me in a long time. There are a lot of things to consider.”

  “You think too much, that’s your main problem.” Kay moves a little closer. “But consider this. I’m not usually someone who shies away from making the first move, but with you, I feel as though I have to make an exception. Ball’s in your court.”

  The mere fact that we’re having this conversation not even an hour after leaving my parents’ house, is reason enough to listen to my brain instead of my heart. Because, in this very moment, Kay is an escape route. On the other hand, it beats sitting alone in the cabin feeling sorry for myself.

  “You’re doing it again.”

  “What?”

  “Overthinking it.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  “I do, Ella. I do understand.” She lets herself drift away from me in the water. “You need more time. I can see that. If, in your overused, tired mind, kissing me equals an abrupt stop to your healing process, then you shouldn’t do it. If, on the other hand, you could come to understand that allowing your feelings—your impulses and your reflexes—to guide you again, is just another step toward a less broken version of yourself, then, I guess, you should think about trying it.” She floats away further. “I’m going to get us some towels now.”

  I watch her swim away. She makes it to the landing within a few minutes—minutes during which I can’t seem to move—and hoists herself out of the water elegantly. And I can’t tear my eyes away from her even if I wanted to. She crouches down to look for her keys in her jeans pocket and, naked and dripping, walks toward the back door of the lodge.

  We’ve only just got reacquainted, yet it’s as though I’ve known her forever. Before I can change my mind, I swim to the edge and, just as Kay returns, wrapped in a plush white towel, an extra one rolled up under her arm for me, I push myself out of the water. I notice how her glance lingers on my body, how all movement of her muscles momentarily stops.

  “Here’s your towel,” Kay mumbles.

  “Forget the towel.” I step closer, pull her toward me, close my eyes and kiss her. The earth doesn’t stop turning, but my head does spin. Because, in the pit of my stomach, I feel that this kiss is the beginning of something I already know I will never be able to live without.

  When Kay grabs the back of my head with one hand, the touch of her fingertips travels through my system with tingling pangs. When we come up for air and our eyes meet, any thought of what should or should not happen has fled my brain.

  “What does it feel like?” she asks, her voice low and husky. “To stop worrying and give yourself the time and space to enjoy the moment?”

  “Fucking hot.” I barely recognize my own voice. I’m still naked, every nerve-ending in my body pulsing with that old, forgotten ache.

  “Come here.” Kay unrolls the second towel and brings it behind my back, tugging me closer toward her with it. “I’m all for a bit of indecent exposure, but there are limits to everything.” She casts one last, longing glance across the front of my body before tucking a corner of the towel underneath the hem of the other end.

  “You come here.” I lift my arms to pull her closer again, undoing her efforts as it makes the towel slide right off me, exposing my tortured nipples to the breezy night air. Neither one of us cares about indecent exposure anymore as our lips lock and our tongues explore each other’s mouth in another moment I will never forget.

  I want her hands on my breasts. I want to tug the towel from her body so our skin can collide, but it’s simply not in my nature to discard all rational thought so quickly, and I know that a kiss is as far as this can go for now. That doesn’t mean we have to stop kissing though.

  Our lips crash together again and again, under the moonlight reflecting off the surface of the water, at the edge of this lake that is so intertwined with Kay’s entire being, I fall in love with it a little bit too.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” I whisper in between deep, exploring kisses.

  Kay emits a groan before speaking. “We have to stop now.” She doesn’t say it with a lot of conviction, but I know she’s right. I have my natural tendency to respect strict boundaries to call upon, but for someone who is, in many ways, the exact opposite of me, this lesson in self-restraint can’t be easy. Kay finds my ear and whispers, “The things I want to do to you.” It’s almost enough to pierce right through my armor of self-consciousness.

  “I’ll have that whiskey now.” I step away from her—it’s the least I can do after all she’s done for me—and pick up my towel, fastening it securely around my torso.

  “Perhaps a cold shower, too.” Kay flashes me a pained grin and it’s as if I can see what kind of lover she is in the way she glances at me in that moment. Even with her patience tested, she would go the extra mile—for me.

  Perhaps, as a safety measure, I should go back to my own cabin, but I simply can’t imagine—can’t even bear to think of—myself alone tonight. So, I follow Kay inside, gladly accept the robe and glass of whiskey she hands me, and sit with her in silence for a while—until we both come back to our senses enough to resume conversation.

  A different dimension has opened up between us. A fence has been torn down, lifting us to a higher level of intimacy. I want to know so many more details about her life. After all, I’ve stripped myself bare for her, shown her what’s inside my soul as best I could.

  “And we haven’t even gone on that date yet,” Kay says, her eyes peering at me over the rim of her glass.

  “Seeing as we’re doing so many things in random order, I’ll still cook for you.” Suddenly exhausted, I relax against my chair an
d decide to leave the more probing questions for date night.

  “You could serve me warmed up grass from the lawn outside your cabin and I’d still think it delicious, as long as you kiss me after.” The longing in Kay’s glance doesn’t seem to subside, even her voice is drenched in it. I can’t help but think of all the love I squandered by deeming myself not worthy of it. Of all the pointless fights I picked to drive away women who genuinely cared for me so I could, once again, prove the eternal hypothesis—the one claiming at least half of my brain activity at all times: why would anyone in their right mind love someone as dysfunctional, as imperfectly put-together, as me?

  “Good to know.” I want to scoot my chair closer, feel the warmth of her skin against mine. “At least dessert will be halfway decent.”

  “Do you want me there?” A more serious expression descends on Kay’s features. “When your mom comes over tomorrow?”

  I do. God, I do. “I think I need to face this one alone.” Also, now that we’ve kissed, a reluctance to let her see me like that again, at my uttermost vulnerable, has started to crop up.

  “I’ll be around if you need me.” Kay extends her leg and lets her foot glide over my shin.

  “Can I stay here tonight? In your guest room, I mean.” The touch of her skin against mine starts off another round of deep throbbing in my flesh.

  “Yes and no.” She catches my leg between her ankles. “You can stay but not in the guest room.”

  “Look, Kay,” I start. “I’m not sure—”

  “I want you in my bed, Ella. Nothing will happen, I can guarantee you that, but I want you in my bed.” She leans her elbows on her thighs, bringing her face closer to mine. “I don’t need much, but I need that.”

  I’m desperate to do something for her for a change, so I nod determinedly. “Okay.”

  “Best lay off the booze then.” She cracks a smile.

  In response, I empty my glass and stifle a yawn.

  “You must be tired.” She deposits her own empty glass on the table. “We haven’t even talked about what was said at dinner. We can if you want to.”