“What plans?” I shake my head. “I never really had any. I was flying by the seat of my pants in hopes that something would turn out. It’ll be okay. Right now, the only thing I’m worried about is getting a job.” Infiniti’s let me go during that week of pure hell, the week I spent hiding away in Eli’s mansion. It’s not like they could call me, with my phone being at the bottom of the lake and all, but even as much as I disliked the place and their exceptionally shitty customers, I’m going to miss it, as stupid as that sounds.
“Don’t worry about a job,” Eli tries to tell me, but I can’t help it.
“I’m running out of time and my savings is dwindling down to its last dollar.” My hippie landlord turned out to be a pretty cool dude. When I explained everything that was going on, he told me not to freak out about it, that this month’s rent was on him. Thank you, Universe, but the month is almost over and I still haven’t gotten any callbacks from the places I’ve applied for.
“Money doesn’t mean everything,” Eli says. “I’ll pay your rent.”
I frown. “Eli—”
“No, just hear me out. I want you to focus on fixing you. Face it, any job comes with an ample amount of stress. You’re finally smiling again, Teag… I don’t want you to lose this part of yourself again. Just let me take care of things for a few months, until you get back on your feet.”
“No,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and jutting out my chin. “No way in hell.”
“You can pay me back when you find a job.”
“Eli—”
“Teagan.” He fixes me with a stern look. “I’m not backing down from this. You need that place and I’m not going to let you lose it after all the work we put into it. So suck it up, cupcake,” he says, throwing words of my own back at me. “And let me do this for you.”
I purse my lips, doing my best to glare at him. He isn’t the least bit affected by it. Damn it. “Only until I find a job,” I agree quietly. “But I owe you, big time.”
He shakes his head and wraps me in a tight hug. “That’s fine, but I have one request.”
“Let’s hear it, big guy.”
“Talk to Dakota. She’s probably worried sick about you and that’s not fair to her. Hell, it’s not fair to either of you. She’s your best friend. Just talk to her? Please? For me?” He gives me his best puppy dog eyes and I give him a shove. He stumbles back a step or two before righting himself, his laughter like medicine for my soul. “You won’t regret it.”
He’s right, of course. Our conversation starts off a little awkward, but I push through it—working through the fear, as Dr. T would say—and we end the phone call on randomosity and laughter. I missed her… “Lylas, Teagan, but don’t you ever scare me like that again! I seriously thought you’d gone and offed yourself. I was worried, okay?”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I guess I hit rock bottom, but I’m getting help now, and I think it’s gonna be okay.” As hard as that is to believe…that’s how I feel. That things are finally starting to look up, that the storm has passed and what’s left is the clouds crying tears of relief.
“I’m happy for you. Just take care of yourself—and get a new phone so we can text again, damn it. I miss you!”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s on my to-do-list. Lylas. Bye.”
As I lay there on the couch, listening to the ambient sounds of Eli’s house swirl all around me, I smile. Yeah, maybe I did hit rock bottom and yeah, maybe it does suck. But down here? I can’t fall any farther. The only way to go is up.
It’s time to start swimming.
Twenty Seven
Teagan
Slowly but surely, things are starting to look up. I go to sessions with Dr. T twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays, and I started taking the meds the psychiatrist prescribed even though I feel like a crazy person, relying on medication to get me through the day, but they do seem to help. It feels like they clear the haze around my mind, helping me think clearer thoughts, and it makes me realize things are getting better, even if it’s not exactly easy.
But then again, life isn’t supposed to be easy. Life is just life.
I finally feel like I’m able to stand on my own two feet again, that the world isn’t going to drop out from under me at any given minute, that for once in my life? I’m safe, not only from the world, but from the beasts lurking in my mind. The old tapes and thought patterns that got me here. The endless worrying. All I can do is take it day by day; that’s all anyone can do.
On a bright Saturday in June, among a little bit of nerves and a little bit of excitement, Eli and I get in the truck and he brings me back to my apartment. I haven’t set foot inside this place since the day I went off the tracks; Eli and Jake have been bringing me clothes and the simple necessities, but I’ve been too afraid to be home on my own. Too afraid of the monsters still hiding in the closets. The razors still lurking in the bathroom drawers.
Eli looks at me as the truck idles. “You ready for this?”
This time, I smile first. “I am ready. Come in with me?”
“Of course.”
I spend the next two hours pacing through my apartment—my home—getting rid of anything and everything I’ve somehow linked to the past. Clothes that I’ve hung onto for too long get thrown into a huge garbage bag destined for Goodwill. I dig through my closet, pitching anything that I feel will remind me of the darker times in my life. I make my bed with fresh sheets and crank on the AC unit in my bedroom so the place starts cooling down.
Then, swallowing back the lump in my throat, I march into the bathroom. I flip all the lights on so the room is blazed with brightness, and I yank open the drawer. Sitting at the bottom is the little red cardboard box of razors, sharp and gleaming like shark fangs, staring up at me like an old accomplice. A temptress that calls for my blood. No more. I’m done.
I yank them free, tape the box shut, and throw it into the trash can where it lands with a clunk. My breathing is fast, but I’m still here. I’m okay. I go through the rest of the drawers and then I tie the trash bag in a knot and personally see it to the dumpster out back. It lands to settle amongst all the other bags of trash and for a moment, I just stare at it. Then I slam the lid closed and head back inside, feeling a fresh wave of certainty.
It’s time to start anew.
The very last thing that needs to go is the one thing I’m the most afraid of losing. I pick up my ratty bedside notebook, the lined pages filled with lyrics of pain and suffering and anger and fear, lyrics that my own twisted emotions have spawned over the years. Words that got me through the hardest times in my life. Running my hands over the cover, I flip through the pages one last time, letting the words sprawled in blood red ink pass through my fingers.
I feel Eli come up behind me, his hands a gentle weight on my shoulders. “This is the last of it,” I tell him, tilting my head to the side. The last piece of the puzzle. My diary, for better or for worse. “I don’t think I can throw it away, Eli.” My voice wobbles a bit, my fingers clinging to the notebook like it’s a friend that’s moving away, a friend I might never see again, even though that friend was probably toxic and I’d be better off without her.
“Then don’t throw it away for now. Lock it away, out of sight. It’s a part of you. I get it, believe me,” he says. “But you need to start fresh if you’re going to beat this. Okay?” He meets my gaze and I nod, watching him through the tears swimming through my eyes. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He ducks out of the bedroom and a little bit later, comes back with a package in his arms. He holds it out to me.
It’s simple and light, wrapped in plain blue paper. I pull the paper away to reveal a rich brown notebook with music notes tooled into the leather cover. The pages are lined in mahogany ink and little clefs dot each corner. I feel emotion roll over me like a rising tide as I press the new notebook to my chest. Then I place it gently down on my bedside table, take my old notebook, and hand it to Eli. “Don’t read it, but I want you to take it to your place. Put it som
ewhere I won’t ever find it, but someplace you’ll remember…just in case.” I sniffle.
“I will.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, meaning for the new notebook.
He just smiles like he already knows.
~*~
The most beautiful moments lately are ones of simplicity. Like your boyfriend showing up at your door, his guitar slung around his neck and as you open the door, he begins to serenade you with music specifically made for your ears, not caring if the neighbors hear him or not.
Standing in the hallway, Eli sings, his voice crystal-clear and mesmerizing just like always, and as he sings, he looks into my eyes like they’re windows to my soul. I throw open those windows and let him in. Both of us grinning like mad, I grab his arm and drag him into the apartment, kissing him the minute the door closes behind us, my fingers strung up in his hair and his hands warm on my face. “I love you, even if you’re a dork,” I say, a little breathlessly as I rock back on my heels.
He grins his goofy, hound-dog grin and chuckles. “Anything to make you smile.” He lifts his guitar up, head tipped to one side. “Thought maybe we could have our own personal jam session, just you, me, and a couple of beautiful acoustic guitars.”
“Sounds like a date,” I tease, skipping into the kitchen. I rummage through the fridge and pull out two cold cans of cola. I pop the tab on mine and take a sip, then motion for Eli to follow me back to the bedroom. On the nightstand lays my open notebook, the first few pages already filled with lyrics and thoughts and stream-of-consciousness journaling, like Dr. T suggested I do. It’s helping, I think.
I lift my guitar off of the guitar stand, shove my pillows onto the floor, and sit cross-legged at the head of my bed. Eli’s weight makes the mattress bow as he sits opposite me and strums a chord, my heartstrings strumming right along with it. “Create anything new lately?” he asks, picking at his strings, a low hum filling my bedroom.
“Nothing big,” I tell him. “But there is one piece I’ve been working on.”
His eyes sparkle. “Care to indulge?”
My cheeks heat up, but I’m beaming as I rearrange my baby-blue guitar on my lap, my hands caressing her neck, fingers finding frets as I lightly play the beginnings of a no-name song I’ve had in my head for a week or so. Just a simple tune on simple chords, but it feels nice to play something for Eli, something that came from my heart, knowing he’ll never judge me.
But as I play, the song twists into a haunting piece, going from a happy little diddy to a darkly quiet song I’d written long ago, like the ghost of this song physically reached out and forced my hands into play. I shake my head, quick and sharp, and stop playing. The room goes silent and I glance up at Eli, whose expression is slightly confused. “You okay?”
“No,” I tell him and watch the way his posture stiffens. His eyes search my face for answers, but the answers lie in my heart. I lay my guitar against the wall and scoot a little closer to him, so that our knees are touching. “I have something I need to tell you. I need to let it out. For good this time.”
I look at him and he takes my hands in his, his elegant fingers brushing over mine. When he nods, I take a deep breath in to combat the anxiety fluttering in my chest like a rampant butterfly, and begin.
“My father did things to me, things that will someday send him to hell.”
Eli flinches, obviously not expecting this, and I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat.
“When I was about eight, he started visiting me at night. Even after Mom tucked me in, he’d sneak into my bedroom and climb under the covers with me and tell me stories by the glow of my seahorse nightlight. I thought it was cool, daddy-daughter bonding time. He would touch me, a brush of skin here and there, but he was always a touchy-feely person, so I didn’t see the problem. Except…he started touching me in places he never should’ve and I got scared. He promised me things—stupid things, like candy or ice cream or a new toy—if I let him do that. I was a dumb kid. I let him.”
“Except it kept going farther and farther.” Goosebumps rise in a line down my arms. “And when I got older, when I started begging him not to hurt me, his bribery turned into threats. He told me that as long as I was a good girl and I never told Mom, he wouldn’t hurt my little sister. Tierney was younger than me, three years younger, and we were close. She followed me everywhere. She trusted me and I knew I couldn’t let anything happen to her. He told me I was his favorite... That he didn’t love her as much as he loved me.
“He’d force me into doing…things with him, even if I’d cry. I think he actually liked it when I cried. It turned him on.” I feel ice slipping into my voice, the pain for Little Me like a fiery inferno in my chest. “I withdrew from everything, everyone. I got angry and lashed out at school, got sent to the principal’s office a lot. My friends stopped being my friends until all I had left was Tierney. I swore to myself that I’d do whatever it took to protect her from our father, but on the inside I was falling apart. I started skipping class. Started cutting. I hated him and I hated my mom for never seeing it, never seeing the hell I was going through.
“Until finally I couldn’t take it anymore—either I got the hell out of there, or I would kill myself, just to end the pain. I wasn’t even sixteen when I ran away. I had money stashed away from some baby-sitting gigs. I packed a bag, snuck out of the house, and just…left. I didn’t have a license or anything, but I took the old beater car that had always been parked in our shed, the car Mom said would be mine someday. It got me as far as a tank of gas, then I abandoned it and kept going on foot.
“I didn’t say goodbye, not even to Tierney, because I knew Dad would start doing the same perverted things to her. I let her down… I let her down and ran away like a coward and I never looked back.” A sob catches in my throat and I let it out. I shake my head, tears falling to drip onto the covers. “I changed my name. My name isn’t Teagan. It’s Meghan, but I hated Meghan so much that I didn’t want to be her anymore. I wanted to be someone else.”
“Teagan…” That one word carries so much pain.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do anything, you know, without thinking about him. About everything that happened. I don’t know if I could ever give you what you need and I’m sorry…but I wanted you to know. The truth.” I swallow and look up at him, into his eyes, burning with such emotion.
“I don’t care,” he says. “Sex isn’t everything. Maybe to some guys, sure, but I’m not them. Even if we never have sex, even if we never even get close? I love you anyway. If that means that someday we get married and have to adopt kids, that’s what we’ll do and we’ll love our adopted children just as much as we would a kid from our own flesh and blood. Okay? That doesn’t matter to me. I love you. I love who you are, and who you’re becoming. You’re beautiful. You’re my Teagan and as long as you love me? That’s all that matters.” Now it’s his turn to cry, never once making a sound.
A wail erupts from me and I crash into him, climbing into his lap just to feel the press of his skin against mine. He wraps his hands in my hair, his lips seeking mine and mine are willing to match him step for step. I cling to him, my body shaking from the release, from his honest to god acceptance, and I wipe away his tears with the pad of my thumb. “I love you, Eli. I do. I love you forever.” I say it because it’s true, because my heart is bursting for him. I kiss his jaw line, his neck, his chest, nuzzling my face into the hollow of his throat.
His hands slide down my back, cupping my curves as he lays me down on the bed and slides up the length of my body, kissing a line up my abdomen and butting his head against me like a big cat might show affection. I lay under him, basking in the radiance that is Eli, and reach for him at the same time he reaches for me and once again, I’m lost in him. I’m aware of the way his thumbs brush across my nipples, aware of the way my body warms to him, reacts to his every touch.
Except this time, I’m calm beneath him. I love him. I trust him. He wouldn’t hurt me, I know
that. I wrap my legs around his waist and arch upwards, feeling the heat of him against my core. Pushing myself a little bit further, to see what might happen. I want him—I want to want him—but I’m scared. “Don’t,” Eli warns, his voice almost breathless as he begins to suckle at the pulse in my neck and I can’t stop the low moan that slides from me, along with a rush of heat and I can’t help it; I grind myself against him again.
His hands slide up under my shirt and I lift myself up as he pulls it gently over my head. My heart is pounding a one-two beat as he unclasps my bra, releasing my breasts into his capable hands. I meet his gaze and his is tentative, worried that he’ll push me too far…but I kind of want him to. At least then I’d know my limits. He lowers his head, taking one nipple into his mouth and I jerk beneath him as his silken tongue winds around the taut bud. My fingers fist in his shirt, dragging it off of him and tossing it to the floor.
His fingers are feather light against the denim of my crotch and I can feel every touch, every brush of his fingertips, like butterfly wings that heat me up inside. My legs fall apart of their own accord and Eli slides down, unbuckling my jeans and looping his fingers in the waistband. Our eyes meet, lock, hold. My breathing is fast, faster than his, and his gaze burns hot for me. “Tell me to stop. I’ll stop,” he murmurs. I swallow, my throat suddenly a desert. Can I do this?
Without a word, I lift my hips and he slides my pants and panties off in one smooth move. My legs are trembling as they fall apart, baring myself to him. He bows his head, fingers stroking through my dampness, because my body wants him, all of him. It’s my mind who’s suddenly uncertain. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. Just tell me to stop,” Eli breathes, ducking his head and I jump at the burning warmth of his tongue sliding into me—foreign but not quite unwanted.
“Oh, god…” I fist my hands in the bed sheets and let my thighs part again and he begins to lick me, the sensations that rock through me are terrifyingly new. And amazing. My breath comes out in a pant as I arch my hips to give him better access and he spears into me again and again and I feel myself unraveling, this time in a good way. “Eli.” My voice is thick, rough, needy.
Neverlost (Melodies and Memories) Page 15
