by Marie Meyer
“That one is for your parents.” He ran his hand over my head. “About a week ago, I went over to Jennifer’s house.”
“Wha—”
He put his hands up, cutting me off. “I knew those pictures I’d thrown in the drawer five years ago would probably still be there. I went to Jennifer’s and asked if I could look for them. Surprisingly, she let me. When I pulled the drawer open, it was empty.” His eyes flashed. “You had packed them up and brought them with you.” He grinned. “You kind of foiled my plan, but I was so happy that you were brave enough to bring them with you.”
I harrumphed. “Not that brave.” I pointed to the closet. “They’re still packed in there.”
He took both of the frames and laid them on the bed in front of us. Pointing to the one that said Promise, he said, “This is you and me. We have the promise of a happy future ahead of us.” Then he pointed to the empty frame that said Forever. “This one needs a picture of you and your parents. They’re a part of you, and are with you forever.”
I had a lump in my throat. I tried to swallow it down but it wouldn’t move. Without a word, I pushed myself off of Griffin’s lap and stood. “Where are you going?” he asked.
I turned and walked to the closet, bending down to drag the box from the back. Griffin got up off the bed to help me, but I put my hand up to stop him. “I got it,” I croaked. He sat back down and watched me pull the box over to the bed. I plopped down beside him and we both stared at the box. “They’re in there.” My voice was hoarse.
“Are you going to open it?” he asked.
I nodded.
Griffin leaned behind me and pulled a pen off my desk. He handed me the pen. I took it and poked through the tape stretched across the flaps. Running the pen down the seam, I split the tape in half and the flaps of the box popped up. Griffin put his hand on my leg, letting me know I wasn’t alone.
I pulled the cardboard back, and inside were the pictures that I’d always wanted to keep hidden. But now that I’d said good-bye, looking at them didn’t hurt so much. I reached inside and pulled out the tiny black frame from the top of the stack.
My little five-year-old face smiled toothlessly at the camera. I was sandwiched between Mom and Dad. The tassel of my kindergarten graduation cap hung nearly in Dad’s face, but he didn’t seem to care. All three of us smiled so big. I smiled, vaguely remembering when the photo had been taken.
Griffin put his arm around me, holding the new frame in his hand. I looked up at him and said, “Thank you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Griffin helped me exchange the old frame for the new one. I got up from the bed and set them both side by side on my dresser.
Griffin patted the bed, asking me to come back. He scooted closer to the wall and opened his arms wide for me. I lay down next to him and he wrapped me in his arms. “You’re amazing,” he whispered at my ear. He pressed feather-light kisses all along my jaw and down my neck. Every kiss was kindling, feeding the growing fire burning beneath my skin. I shifted slightly and he took advantage of my closeness, climbing on top of me. He pressed his body into mine, never removing his lips from my skin. My hands traveled over the flexing muscles of his arms.
I opened my eyes and watched him move his lips toward the cleavage that teased over the top of my cami. I placed my hand under his chin and drew his attention to my face. “Griffin,” I said breathlessly.
Although no words left his mouth, the look he gave me spoke paragraphs. I focused on his breathing, trying to match mine to his. With each hurried exhalation our breath twisted together in the infinitesimal space between our lips, until there was no space left.
Hungrily, I tasted him. I wanted him. Until Griffin, I’d never understood what that expression meant. I’d never wanted anyone. I’d especially never wanted anyone to touch me…to see me. I’d never wanted to explain my past to someone, the past documented on my skin. With Griffin…I didn’t have to.
Griffin’s hands slid over my waist, grabbing the stretchy material and bunching it up so his hands would have access to my skin. During the very few times I’d ever made out with a boy, if his hands ever made it this far, I would completely shut down. The thought of explaining what was underneath my clothes scared the hell out of me. But Griffin was different—he knew my past. He’d never seen the whole story written beneath my clothes, but I still knew I was safe with him. Every breath…every kiss…every touch…felt right.
I wanted him…to read my story.
I stilled his hands between mine. Our hands folded together on my stomach, Griffin’s passionate stare sent shivers across my skin. Goose bumps prickled their way down the length of my arm. “Griffin…”
“What?” he breathed.
“Make love to me,” I whispered.
I slowly loosened my grip on his fingers and moved my hands up the length of my torso. The cami bunched in my fingers as I pulled it over the swell of my breasts, up my neck, and over my head. My chest rose and fell rapidly with each of my staccato breaths. The royal blue lace bra I’d slipped on this morning stood out against my pale skin. My scars were willingly on display before the man I loved.
“Jillian…” he whispered. Griffin’s eyes never left mine, almost as if he were scared to take in my almost naked form.
I supported my weight on my elbows, bringing my face millimeters from his. “I want this. I want you.”
He transferred his hands from my middle and slowly ran them down my flexed arms. He pushed lightly, and I fell back onto my pillow. Griffin’s eyes traversed the plains of my marred skin like a roadmap. Each whitish slash across my chest represented a ruin—something that once had been beautiful, but crumbled to pieces in the wake of disaster. Though ruins, they still retained their majesty—a whisper of their foregone beauty still lingered within. My ruin of a body spoke of a time wrought with sadness, helplessness, and destruction, but I prayed Griffin would find some remnant of beauty.
Despite being an expert in reading his facial expressions, I’d barely pass as a novice at this moment. “Griffin,” I whispered.
His eyes left my skin and he looked me. “Bean,” he choked. His hands slid from one puckered slash to the next, almost as if his hands were performing some sort of silent prayer over the sight of a tragic accident. “I’m so sorry,” he said, barely above a whisper.
His words landed on my ears like a butterfly—barely there. I wasn’t sure if I’d heard him correctly. “Sorry? Why are you sorry?” I didn’t understand. He had no reason to be sorry. Then it hit me. Maybe he was sorry because he couldn’t….not with a scarred, ugly, mess. Why did I ever think he’d want me…or touch me…or be with me? My heart beat into my throat, blocking my airway.
Unexpectedly, Griffin whipped his shirt up and over his head, and tossed it across the room. I jumped, surprised by his abruptness. Griffin gripped his right bicep with his left hand. He pressed so tightly that the knuckles of his left hand turned white. Five fingertips tried their hardest to depress the skin around his arm, but the flexed muscle beneath made it impossible.
“Griffin?” Tears sprang to my eyes, and I scrambled to sit up. My desire to be naked vanished with the disgusted scowl on his face.
I pushed against him, wriggling my way out from underneath his weight. “Let me up,” I demanded. I had nowhere to hide. “Damn it, Griffin! Let me up,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Jillian, what’s wrong?” Griffin asked, suddenly returning his attention to me.
I pushed on his chest, desperate to cover myself. “Nothing. Just let me up.” He rolled off of me and fell back against the wall.
Finally. Freedom.
I scrambled for my shirt and threw it on quicker than I’d pulled it off. Rejection was a bitch. I walked over to Sarah’s bed and fell onto the mattress.
“Jillian?” Griffin asked quietly.
Sarah’s bed dipped as he pushed my body toward the wall, making room for him to curl around me. His hand smoothed the hair away from my face while a
few strands pulled, adhered to my cheeks by sticky tears. “Bean?” he whispered in my ear. “I’m sorry.”
“I get it, Griffin, you don’t have to explain. How I ever expected another person to want me…I’ll never know,” I choked.
“You think that’s what I’m sorry about?” He gripped my shoulder and forced me to roll over. “Jillian Helene Lawson,” he scolded. “Come on, you know me better than that.” His eyes searched my face, the hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Do you remember when I got this?” He pointed to the biblical words branded around his arm.
“Yes.” My voice cracked. “Junior year.”
He nodded his head. “I got this right after I found out what you were doing to yourself. I hated the fact that I couldn’t take your pain away,” he said, brushing my cheek with the back of his hand. “I felt powerless. There was nothing I could do to help you, and I hated that. My own powerlessness made me sick. I was your best friend, and I couldn’t save you.”
“Nobody could, Griffin. The voices in my head were so much easier to believe—their lies so much more convincing than the truth.”
“When I got this tattoo, I made a promise to myself and to you. I would always protect you, always trust you, always hope for you, and always persevere for you.” Each time he spoke, his fingers touched the words written on his skin. “This is what love means to me. That’s why I got this, a physical reminder that I would never give up on you…or us.”
“What about this?” I touched the sentence Never Fails.—the one he hadn’t mentioned.
“To remind me that failure wasn’t an option. I wouldn’t ever stop trying.” His eyes focused on mine, taking on a serious quality. “Jillian, I had no idea. I didn’t know how much you were hurting. Each one of those scars represents a time that I didn’t protect you.” He pointed to the words on his arm. “I feel like I failed you. Something love isn’t supposed to do.”
“Griffin,” I gently kissed his lips, trying to remove the sadness I had put in his heart. “You couldn’t have saved me. I had to do that myself. But if you hadn’t been by my side through all of that, I wouldn’t have survived. You didn’t fail me. You found me dying on the bathroom floor. You forced me to get help even when I didn’t want to. You took whatever wrath I unleashed on you and willingly stood by my side. I’m here, wrapped in your arms…because of your love for me. I don’t deserve it, but for some reason you think I do.” I blinked and a single tear fell down my cheek.
Griffin’s fingers lingered at my waist before they pinched the fabric of my shirt and pulled it over my head. He pushed my shoulders back and positioned himself astride me. Now he stared at my nearly naked form with admiration. He reverently touched each reminder of my sadness. His touch warmed my skin, sending tingles of electricity through each pore.
“Jillian,” he said, bending down to kiss my lips. “I promise I will always protect you.” His lips moved to the scar just above my left breast. “I promise I will always love you.” He kissed the scar that disappeared beneath my bra. Griffin continued to kiss each of my scars; each one punctuated with the promise of his unfailing love.
His lips on my skin drove me crazy. I arched my back as he worked his way across my chest. “Make love to me…please,” I begged.
Finally resting his weight on top of me, he whispered in my ear. “I want nothing more than to make love with you, Jillian. But when I do make love with you, I plan to hold you hostage in bed for several days. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and have to leave your side. Our first time will be perfect.” His lips rested on mine. “I promise.”
My body despised his answer, but my heart leapt for joy. I wanted him more than anything, but he was right; if we made love, it would be a zillion times more difficult to say good-bye in the morning.
For the rest of the night, we settled for exploring each other’s bodies with our lips and hands, rejoicing in the growing anticipation that would make our first time together perfect.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
After a long good-bye, Griffin drove away in Ren’s Miata. The next time we’d see each other wouldn’t be until May, when I finished for the semester. Our schedules over the next few months were insane. Mine Shaft had their Mexico/U.S. tour, and I had plenty of sewing to keep me busy until the Spring Showcase. I was thankful for the distraction of my looming debut. At least I’d have plenty to keep my days filled, so I wouldn’t think about the 102 days separating me and Griffin.
Today promised to be a long day of lecture and studio, and I was prepared to buckle down and get my shit done. That’s why I was here in the first place. I grabbed my bags and locked up the room, ready to put pen to paper and scissors to fabric.
I walked into the empty lecture hall and sat down with my coffee—the only plus side to Griffin departing before the sun rose; I had time to get coffee. Which I desperately needed.
I yawned and took a sip of my coffee before I pulled my iPad from my bag. I checked the time on my phone and noticed a missed text message from Sarah, How was your weekend, birthday girl? I WANT ALL THE DEETS!
Perfect! Lunch @ dining hall? 11:30? I typed back.
Can’t. Class until late. See you tonight?
Damn, I really wanted to see her. See you later, then.
“Hey, Jillian. Did you have a good weekend?”
I jumped when I heard my name. My coffee cup teetered near the edge of the small desktop and my hand shot to save the precious liquid from a fatal tumble to the floor. After I’d balanced my coffee cup, I looked up and saw Chandra smiling, plunking herself down in the seat next to mine.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, pulling her laptop from its case.
“No, it’s okay.” I smiled. “My weekend was great. How was yours?” I asked.
“Quiet,” she said. I noticed a look of relief on her face. “It’s nice to have those every once in a while.” She flashed me a smile and then went back to logging on to her computer.
“It is,” I agreed.
Both of us sat quietly, waiting for Professor Vine to begin class. I drank my coffee and checked my Twitter feed. Listening to Chandra clicking away at her keyboard, I realized I knew nothing about this girl, besides her propensity toward kindness and the enormous amount of talent she possessed. I turned in her direction and asked, “Would you want to get lunch after class?” Since Sarah couldn’t make it, I could use the opportunity to get to know Chandra a little better.
She looked up from her screen, and the hint of a smile lit up her face. “Sure.”
“Good morning,” Professor Vine announced, walking into the room. “Today’s lecture will focus on pattern basics. Since all of you are beginning to put together the bulk of your designs for the Showcase, I want to review basic patterning techniques.”
“Awesome,” I said in a hushed tone. I smiled and settled into my chair, ready to listen, while Professor Vine loaded her presentation.
* * *
For two and a half hours, I dutifully took notes. This was a helpful lesson, since pattern making wasn’t a strength of mine. “That’s all for the lecture today. I’ll see you in an hour for the first of our labs today.” Professor Vine chugged the dregs of her water bottle and gathered her lecture notes.
I saved my notes and clicked off my iPad. Chandra was in the process of shutting down her computer. “Ready for lunch?” she asked, turning in my direction. “I’m starving.”
“Yep.” I stowed my iPad and stood up.
On our way to the dining hall, Chandra and I made small talk. When we got to the dining hall, it was jam-packed. “This place is insane,” I said, stretching on my tiptoes, scanning the room for an open table.
Chandra did the same, looking all over for somewhere to sit. “No kidding. Did they hire a professional chef over break? I don’t recall the food being that good here.”
“Let’s get in line, maybe something will open up,” I offered.
We grabbed our trays and bypassed the hot food l
ine, opting for the salad bar. After we loaded our plates with colorful fruits and veggies, we went in search of a place to sit. As luck would have it, a couple vacated a seat for two just as Chandra and I left the salad bar. We booked it to the table before someone else could snatch it up.
We sat down and dug in. “So, tell me about Paris,” I said, taking a bite of my salad.
“Oh…” She covered her mouth, chewing her food before she continued. “It was so amazing,” she gushed. “Even though it was a small house, I was able to get some real life experience.”
“What a fabulous opportunity,” I said. “What made you want to be a designer?” I asked, wanting to know her better.
“I grew up in Michigan. Just my mom and me. My dad skipped town when I was little. My mom’s a waitress. She doesn’t make much money. Growing up, my mom couldn’t afford much, so we’d spend our evenings making clothes. I eventually got to the point where I didn’t need a pattern, and I was making up my own designs. My mom encouraged me to continue designing. At the end of the day, I got a scholarship into the design program, and here I am now.” She shrugged. “I hope that one day I can make enough money to buy my mom a new house.”
I admired and understood her drive to succeed so much better now. “I have no doubt you’re going to make it big. Hell, you’ve already been to Paris. That’s amazing.” I reached across the table and squeezed her hand.
“Thanks, Jillian.” She swiped at the tears glistening on her eyelashes and smiled. “So, tell me about you,” she asked, taking a deep breath. “What’s your story?”
We certainly didn’t have time for me to lay my story out there, and I didn’t really want to rehash my past again. I was finally moving in the right direction, and wanted to keep it that way. “My mom encouraged me, too,” I said, remembering how often I gave my mom childish drawings, and the way she would praise my efforts. And Griffin came to mind, too—his endless support and love. “But my boyfriend was the one that made sure I followed through on my dream.”
