by Lindy Zart
The building is a sprawling mansion of window upon window, pillars and multiple levels; surrounded by colorful flowers and greenery. As I look at it, I am struggling to aptly describe what I am seeing and feeling. Just standing near it fills me with nostalgia. It seems like I am trespassing upon history. It is eerie, almost surreal, like we have stepped into the past and are not exactly allowed. We walk along the outskirts of the lawn, neither of us anxious to get too close to the beautiful, untouchable house.
“Thomas was driving the boat.”
I keep my face forward and my pace even, waiting. What he is about to tell me is big, and I don't want to screw it up by talking and having him clam up in return.
He draws in a lungful of air before continuing. “It was the twenty-seventh of April, but we'd been having warmer weather and wanted to take advantage of it. Of course, on that day the weather was a little cooler, but the sun was shining, so we still went. It was Thomas and me and a friend of mine—Dustin Richter.”
Rivers seems to struggle for words, his lips pressing together. He finally looks at me, his expression sad and tormented. His voice is ragged as he says, “I don't know what happened. I got up to get a drink out of a cooler and I swear he chose that moment to jerk the wheel and aim us right at the waves. The river was already choppy and we hit hard. I lost my balance from him turning the wheel so sharply and when we hit the first wave, I fell into the water. I didn't even have time to react before I was already sucked under. And then...then I remember fighting to breathe...and the pain. I blacked out, woke up in the hospital. It was crazy. People were shouting and I didn't fully know what was going on. The pain was excruciating and I felt like I was in this fog...”
I suck in a sharp breath as I wonder how much he remembers about his arrival at the hospital, but Rivers doesn't notice, lost in the nightmare of the watery depths of the Mississippi River. He finally glances at me, silently gauging my reaction to his words. It takes me a moment to find my voice. “Are you saying you think he wanted you to fall out and get hurt?”
“No. I don't know. I don't know what I'm saying. I mean, I'm sure he didn't really think I'd fall into the water or that he intended for me to get hurt, but he at least wanted to scare me. I would even feel better about the whole thing if he would just admit he did something wrong, but he won't. He acts like it was my fault I ended up in the water, which makes me think he doesn't give a shit about me. I don't want to care, but...he's the closest thing I have to a father, even if he's a sucky one, so I guess I do anyway. I know how stupid that sounds.”
He pauses, reaching down to pick a dandelion. He twirls the stem between his fingers, releasing it to sway to the ground. “I've never told anyone else that—any of it.”
“Why are you telling me?”
He shrugs. “You're easy to talk to. You seem like you understand a lot.”
“Children love their parents, no matter how good or bad they are. They're forgiving, resilient, adaptable,” I tell him softly. “Children see the good in a being when others can't, maybe even when they shouldn't. Don't feel bad about wanting approval from him. That's natural. All children really want is to be loved, and most importantly, by their parents. What you can feel bad about is that he is losing the chance at loving you, and it's a shame he doesn't realize what he's missing.”
The unflinching way he studies me takes my breath away, but I cannot look away from him. I watch as his features transform from scowling to longing, certain aspects of his face darkening while others lighten. My heart hurts seeing that look on his face. Swallowing, he finally turns his face from mine, but not before I see a sheen of moisture over his eyes.
“You're killing me, Bana,” he says after a long pause.
That is completely the opposite of what I am doing, and we both know it. He's living again. Not because I made him, but because he chose to. Maybe I am the one that gave him a shove back into consciousness, but he is the only one that can decide how he is going to be. He is choosing to live in the light instead of sleeping in the dark. We all must return to the dark at some point—why go there before we have to?
I sweep the fallen dandelion up into my hand and swipe it across his face, leaving a yellow streak in its wake. Rivers blinks at me before narrowing his eyes and grabbing a handful of the weedy flowers, striding for me with his weapons of mass flowery.
I sprint away, laughing. “Come on, Young, show me what you got. Terrify me.”
“I don't need to terrify you. I'll just wait you out. You can run, but eventually you'll get tired. I'll be here, waiting,” he promises.
“I'm counting on it,” I taunt from under the reaching limbs of a Willow tree.
A stillness creeps over him as he watches me, and my eyes drink in all the dark, scarred beauty that is Rivers. The sun is at his back, creating a contrast between light, silhouettes, and shadows. He stands in a bed of grass, looking mythical or magical, and the placidity in him reaches out to me. It's strange how our movements coincide; he moves for me at the same time I move for him, and I know, when we reach one another, nothing will be the same again. I could stop. I could hesitate. I could walk away. But I don't. I meet him in a field of flowers and sunshine and we kiss, arms locked around each other, bodies pressed together like two missing puzzle pieces finally fitting as one for the first time.
I feel whole wrapped around him. I feel invincible. I feel unbreakable. I feel like I could never die, never fade away, never become nothing, as long as we are together. As long as he keeps holding me, I will stay.
His eyes drink me in when the kiss ends, studying me like he is only now seeing an exceptional quality in something he used to view as plain. “Have you ever felt like you were searching for something, only you didn't know what it was until you found it?”
I run my finger down the length of his damaged cheek, brushing short black bangs back to touch the marred flesh of his temple. “If you didn't know you were searching for something, how would you know when you find it?” A teasing smile takes over my mouth as our gazes collide.
“It's...” He swallows, briefly resting his forehead against mine. “I don't know how to explain it. It's a feeling of...fullness. Being centered. My heart, my head, every part of me, feels it. It's because of you, or maybe how I feel about you.”
"And how do you feel about me?" I ask, holding my breath as I wait for his answer.
He steps back as he tilts his head, studying me. "I'm not sure."
I snort. "Thanks. Way to brighten my day."
"I feel better when I'm with you," is his simple response, and it is perfect.
But I have to ask, “How can you feel anything for me? We haven't been talking that long." How can I already feel for him what I do? And what is it, exactly?
Rivers shrugs, looking toward the water. “When you know, you know. Does the amount of time really matter so much?”
A twinge of pain sweeps through me and I step away from him. “Yes,” I whisper. “And no.” Time is an interesting thing—it takes time to love, it takes time to heal, it even takes time to die.
The warmth of his hand as he takes mine into his and holds it washes away the ache. “Are you thinking about the past? About how I was in school? That wasn't really me. I mean, I guess it was, but it isn't me anymore. The accident...it changed me. Does that make sense?”
I nod. “Yes. It does. But I wasn't thinking of you, I was thinking of me. How I used to be, how I'll be in the future. We're all allowed to change. You don't have to feel bad about who you used to be. You never have to feel bad about which version of yourself you are at any given moment. All the parts that make you up are a blessing.”
“Do you really mean that?”
My voice is solemn as I say, “I do.”
He watches me. “I know what you're doing.”
Though my body goes still, my pulse races. “What do you mean?”
“I'm observant enough to realize you're slowly pulling me out of the depressing hell I was wallowing in. But I
don't understand why. Why have you been so adamant about helping me? What do you get out of it? Why would you want to help me? I've never been particularly nice to you.”
“You're asking me this after we've kissed? Twice?”
He shrugs. “I'd like to know why you even gave me a chance in the first place.”
“Maybe I thought you were worth knowing.”
“You've already said you didn't like me. Why even try to reach someone you don't like?”
“You didn't like me either. Why open up to someone you don't like? Why be nice to me now when you never were in school?” I shouldn't have brought it up; no memories from the past are helpful to us now. But I guess since Rivers means something to me now, it hurts more than it did when we didn't interact. I know him now. I know him and that changes everything.
“It's funny...you say I was always mistakenly judging you, but weren't you doing the same? I was the jock, the prick, the guy who didn't care about anyone or anything but myself, right?”
I let out a deep sigh, knowing his words are true. I look down as I nod. “I was wrong.”
“You were, in a way. In another way, you were entirely correct.” He tips my chin up, forcing me to look at him. “Does any of it matter now?”
“No.” And it doesn't. Because I won't let it.
He smiles, the sweetness of it like a knife to all of my convictions over what I should and should not allow to happen. “Tell me...why did you want to help me?” His voice is soft, as is the kiss he presses to my brow.
I want to ask him what is happening between us. I want to ask what our kisses and touching—not to mention our sleeping arrangements—mean, but instead I answer his question. It seems the simpler option of the two.
“I don't like to see something usually so strong, broken. It's like watching someone fall and being unable to get to them in time. It hurts me to see others in pain. I want to fix them,” I whisper.
“You can't fix me.”
I look up and my eyes clash with his. “I know I can't fix you. I can't fix anyone, but maybe I can heal them somehow.”
He leans down and scoops up gravel, watching it fall between his long, calloused fingers. “You had a brother, right?”
I blink my eyes as a wave of pain goes through me. “Yes.”
He nods, his eyes still downcast. “I remember. He was a few years older than us. I was at the park that day.”
A tremble forms in my lower lip and I press my lips together, turning so that my back is to him. An image of a smiling face with golden eyes and unruly brown hair flashes through my mind, but I shove it back into the darkness. The blackness is always near, hovering beyond the brink of consciousness, but I am not able to face it yet, and I don't know if I ever will be able to.
“You must have hated me at first.”
I glance over my shoulder at him, but remain quiet.
“The first few weeks you worked for us. You must have hated me. Watching me act like my life was over just because my life was changed from that point on. You know more about loss than I ever have. I was such an asshole.”
“You lost your father,” I remind him, facing him.
“That's different. I didn't really know him. I miss that part of my life and my heritage I'll never know, but I can't miss a person I never met. I mean, I miss the idea of him, but not the actual man.”
My voice is soft as I say, “I think I would have missed you even if we'd never met.” I should have kept the thought to myself, but whether he likes it or not, it is true. Whatever I am feeling for him—it would have been a shame if I had never had the chance to feel it.
Rivers stares at me and I feel the heat of his eyes all the way into my chest, where it warms and spreads. He looks away as he mumbles, “You should have left me in the water.”
“You wouldn't have drowned.”
He cocks his head as he listens.
“There were two parts of you struggling. I watched them. Part of you wanted to give up and the other part of you didn't know how. You would have eventually come back up.”
“Then why'd you jump in after me?”
I shrug. “I think maybe you needed to know someone wouldn't let you drown, even if it wasn't really a possibility.”
A long moment passes before he speaks again.
"You're different from school."
"I'm different? Maybe you're different."
He pauses and then narrows his eyes. "Nice try. No. You're different. But then, yeah, I suppose I am too. You know those flowers that close at night and open again during the day? I don't know what they're called—"
"Morning glory," I murmur.
He squints his eyes at me, slowly repeating, "Morning glory."
"There are other kinds, but that is the first that comes to mind. They close at night to conserve their fragrance and during the day they open, producing fragrance to attract bees and other pollinators."
I can see I've lost him by the faint glazing over of his eyes.
"Are you saying I'm seducing you with my alluring scent?" I tease, a grin in place.
"I'm saying during school you were closed up to the point that no one could see what an amazing person you are, and now you've opened up like a morning glory, and you're...breathtaking." He clamps his lips together, looking like he thinks he has said too much.
If I could put a feeling into a physical embodiment of something, I would say that right now, what I feel is like a warm, light rainfall. The drink of cool water against a dry throat, or the gentle lapping of waves. Peaceful, calm, serene.
"You know what I see you as?"
Wariness creeps into his stance and expression. "What?"
I smile. "A moonflower. They close during the daytime light and open during the night. That's you—you shine in the dark."
He digests this, a small smile lifting his lips and entering his eyes to alter them from a dark brown to a warm chocolate. And there he is, the radiance that manages to hit me all the way into my core. I feel that smile.
“What's happening between us?” The directness of his question surprises me, but I like that he asked it. I like that he wonders—at least I am not the only one trying to figure out this unthinkable, yet totally workable association we have. His eyes are steady on mine, his face a mix of curiosity and confusion as he waits for me to respond.
“I don't know,” I tell him. I have not one clue what is going on with us, but I want to wrap myself around whatever it is so it can't escape.
Rivers reaches up and touches a lock of my hair, his fingers slowly sliding through the hair above my left ear, causing tingles to dance along the sensitive flesh of my skin. His other hand gently clasps my chin as he lowers his face to mine. “I don't know either, but I do know I like kissing you. A lot. And I know you do too,” he murmurs against my lips, his eyes black with emotion. I feel his mouth smile against mine, see the corners of his eyes crinkling up, and my stomach drops.
And he kisses me again.
“ARE YOU A VIRGIN?”
I frown at the pages of the book I am holding between my hands, glancing up. “Wow. Way to be tactful. No really, just blurt it out out of nowhere.”
“Sorry.” Rivers taps his fingers against the wrought iron patio table, squinting against the sunlight hitting him, despite the umbrella above us. He doesn't sound sorry. He sounds and looks agitated. “I've been wondering for weeks and I didn't see any good way of asking it, so...are you?”
“No.” His eyebrows furrow and I laugh, setting the book down. “Not the answer you were expecting?”
“Honestly, I think no matter if you had said yes or no, I would have been surprised.”
“Why's that?”
He frowns as he ponders my words. “I don't know. I guess because in some ways you seem innocent and in other ways you seem worldly.”
“Hmm.” I turn to the crystal liquid of the pool. It looks tranquil, undisturbed.
“Who was it?”
“I am not answering that!” I lightl
y punch his shoulder and he grunts.
“Why not? I'll tell you who I slept with.”
“Everyone knows who you slept with.” Bitterness creeps into my tone, putting a sour taste in my mouth. I am annoyed that it upsets me more that Rivers was with Riley than it does that Riley was a bitch to me all through middle and high school. Where is the logic in that?
“Yeah, but they don't know she was the only one.”
“Yeah, right,” I scoff. Rivers only having sex with one female? Incomprehensible.
“Riley cheated on me. I never returned the favor. I never got serious enough with anyone else for it to come to that,” he tells me softly. The somber cast to his expression gives me pause and I know he is telling the truth. He has no reason to lie anyway.
“Why did you take her back, knowing she did that?” Was it some great love others can only hope to have? Doubtful.
“I don't know. I guess because she needed me. I did care about her. I even loved her, in a way. Riley doesn't mean a lot of what she does. She can be horrible at times, but I understand her and why she is the way she is. She's scared. And when you're scared, you do things you wouldn't normally do. Sure, I didn't feel the same for her after that. How could I? But I didn't want her to think she was unforgivable.”
His words make me hate Riley a little less, and at the same time, a little more. I sigh, deciding I can be honest too. “It was Jeff Monroe. The whole experience was uncomfortable and forgettable.”
“Jeff Monroe? That guy is a serious dumbass.” Rivers shakes his head at me. “I mean, really? Jeff Monroe?”
“Yes. I realize that Jeff Monroe was not the best choice to have sex with. I was there. I remember how it all played out,” I answer dryly.
“Why'd you do it then?” He sounds angry and I wonder if he is jealous. Crazy. Of course, I'm jealous of the person he had sex with, so I guess we're equally insane.
