by Ella Fields
“Since when do you drink like this?” Blue eyes surveyed me from head to toe, and I straightened my spine, trying not to wither like a scolded child.
“Since when do you say you love someone, only to disappear, again, and refuse to take their calls?”
Taking a step forward, eyes imploring, he whispered, “We need to talk, and I’ve been trying to talk to you. To explain.”
I groaned, trying to ignore the burn gathering behind my eyes. “So talk!”
“Not now, not like this.”
“What difference does it make?” I stepped closer to him, inhaling that spiced, buttery scent of his and wishing I hadn’t. Keeping my eyes on his gray band t-shirt covered chest, I dragged my finger ever so slowly from the dip in his neck to the sculpted shapes of his abdomen. My voice was faint, barely a whisper. “Because it doesn’t matter. You’re wrong if you think you can come back here and do this. If you think that all I’ve been doing is waiting for you.”
“Pippa, I never—”
My finger lifted to his lips. Those soft, beautiful lips. “So they’ve fixed you. It’s too bad they can’t fix everything else you broke, too.”
His lips parted, warm breath soaking my finger. Three heartbeats later, I watched as they closed and kissed the tip. I blinked at the gentle press, confusion sweeping over me as his hand rose to wrap around mine.
My blood turned to ice at the warmth of our skin meeting, and I moved back, staring at his expressionless face before racing up the stairs to my apartment.
He didn’t follow me, a fact I was grateful for as I skidded inside the bathroom, fell in front of the toilet, and hurled all the bad decisions I’d made into the ceramic bowl.
Daylight should provide clarity. Yet all I knew the following morning was that the constant ache in my chest felt stronger.
Some aches couldn’t be forgotten with a Band-Aid or a painkiller. They remained imbedded under your skin, lying in wait.
To stop the tears, I blamed it on the hangover and got my ass into the shower before sleeping the rest of Sunday away.
I made it to Wednesday before he found me again; although, I didn’t know whether found was really the right word.
Perhaps cornered. After spending the last two days watching me disappear whenever he appeared, he finally caught me.
Today, he was outside my apartment building, leaning against the pale brick wall. “We can’t keep ignoring this. It’s time to talk.”
I continued past him, trying to unlock the door when the keys were tugged from my hand. “Please,” he whispered.
As I stared into his pleading eyes, Daisy’s words from last week made their way to the forefront of my mind. My throat swelled, feeling thick. Was that why I’d been avoiding this? I had to wonder if deep down, I didn’t really want to give him closure or forgiveness. Wondered if I was still too hurt to let go of that anger.
Do it for you, I told myself. Because really, I couldn’t keep doing this either.
Sighing, I snatched my keys back from him. “You’ve got twenty. We’re not fixing this. I just want to end it the right way so we can both move on.”
Though his brows pinched together and his lips thinned, he didn’t argue. I continued down the street, and he fell in step beside me until we reached the little park at the corner, and I took a seat on a bench.
The playground was abandoned, save for a city worker plucking up bits of trash. A cloud covered the sun, taking the warmth away and making the autumn breeze crisp.
“Pip, I’m so sorry, and I lo—”
“Let’s just cut to the chase,” I said, kicking at some orange and brown leaves. “Why didn’t you want to speak to me?”
“Is that really what you want?” When I didn’t deem it necessary to respond, he cleared his throat. “In short, I guess you could say that I couldn’t see past anything besides myself for a long time there, and I thought, well, that you were better off.”
Better off. A hoarse laugh erupted from some deep well inside me. “Wow,” I croaked, wiping at my eyes. “You guys really need to get more original.”
“I know,” he said carefully. “As dumb as it sounds, it’s still true. Think about it.”
Nodding, I leaned back against the wood, still refusing to look at him. “No, I see it.”
“See what, exactly?”
“I made you worse, and you … you made me someone I never thought I’d be.”
A pained sound left him. “That isn’t right at all. You didn’t make me worse; you made me realize that I wanted better for myself. For you. And I’m sorry it took me a long time to get there, to realize that.”
With my clipped response dissolving on my tongue, I sighed. This was harder than I thought it’d be. “Tell me about it,” I surrendered.
“About?”
“All of it. Why’d you take those pills to start with.”
“I didn’t want to die,” he said softly. “I didn’t know what I wanted, and hell, maybe at the time, I didn’t care if I did die, I just … got so down, so desperate.”
We sat quietly, and I didn’t push, knowing he likely didn’t want to rehash all of this when he was clear of it now. “I remember, for a few minutes there, it was peaceful.” A smile lingered in his voice. “So blissfully quiet, and I thought to myself, if this is how the other half lives, then there’s really something wrong with me. Then … nothing. I woke up in the hospital with tubes in my nose and throat.” He paused, his voice turning to gravel. “I’ve had a lot of bad experiences, living with this, but I gotta say, that’s up there with the worst of them.”
As if on instinct, and against my brain’s will, my hand connected with his, fingers slowly linking together as I continued to stare down at the ground. “I was so scared,” I admitted. “Petrified like I’d never been before …” I stopped, blinking back tears.
“I know, and I’m so sorry I did that to you. To me. To anyone. But most of all, I hate that I did that to you.”
I considered his apology, weighing his words over my floating thoughts to inspect their merit, and found them lacking. Even if they were heartfelt and sincere. “You wouldn’t let me see you. After finding you like that”—my voice cracked, and I stopped, eyes fluttering closed briefly—“I needed to see that you were okay.”
His hand squeezed mine, and I relished the warmth of it, the strength. He’s here. “I should’ve let you. I can understand that now, but I couldn’t then. And I’m not just saying that so you’ll forgive me. I’m saying it because I get it now, in a way I was too self-absorbed to realize before.”
His hold loosened, his thumb whispering over my knuckles. I brushed my sleeve under my nose, wanting to ask more, but too scared to talk for fear of setting the tears that were ready to fall free.
I didn’t need to because he continued. “In the hospital, my dad suggested the psychiatric hospital. Initially, I balked at the idea. What male on the cusp of twenty wanted to be thrown into the loony bin? It seemed absurd until, suddenly, it didn’t.”
“You agreed to go?”
“I had to agree to something in order to leave the hospital, but yes, in the end, I agreed to go. I thought I’d just stay the thirty days, take my meds, and be good enough to go home. What I didn’t factor into my plans was that anything would actually work, that I’d stay long after my required time, and meet a doctor like Dr. Jenson.”
I listened as he told me about this doctor he deemed whacky and different. And although he said those things, there was unmistakable respect, gratitude, and a sense of awe in his voice as he spoke of him.
A tear fell, and I let it roll down my cheek, dropping to my lap and splashing on my skirt, staining the light green a dark emerald.
He sounded so different, his hand leaving mine had my gaze lifting to watch as he used his hands, every feature on his face, and his heart, to talk about the crazy things this Dr. Jenson said, some of the patients, and the different types of medication he’d tried.
“I was so sick. I vomited
for what seemed like three days straight.”
“You seem happy about that,” I remarked.
Toby shrugged, smiling through his words. “I’d go through it again to get where I am now.”
That sobered me, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity—a brand-new type of honesty—that had me swallowing.
My shoulders tense, I looked away. “What stuck?”
“What meds, you mean?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Which one holds the magic?” Then maybe I could give it a try, I joked to myself.
“They.”
I faced him again, my brows scrunching. His lips curled into a half grin, and he started listing the drugs on his fingers. “I take a whole cocktail. Morning and night. A mood stabilizer, an antidepressant, and an antipsychotic.”
My mouth fell open, and he chuckled, the sight of his white teeth flashing and the sound sent my heart thrashing. “You’re okay with that?”
For someone who’d abhorred the idea of medicating his life away, who believed they hindered rather than helped, he seemed so at ease as he exclaimed, “More than okay.” My face fell at those words. “What’s that saying? Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it? Hitting rock bottom means there’s only one direction left to go?” He let out a loud exhale. “It’s really quite accurate.”
“What happens now? Are you still going to see Dr. Jenson?”
“Bit too far to travel, but once a month, I’m seeing someone local he recommended. I’ve only had one session so far, but she seems all right.”
At a loss for what else to say or ask, I simply said, “I’m happy for you. And I’m … proud. I really am.” It was true even if I still felt like I’d never find my own missing pieces.
He took my hand again, but I pulled it away and stood. “Pippa, I did so many things wrong. I can’t change them; I could only change myself. Yes, I didn’t think I deserved you, but I never stopped loving you. No matter how bad things got, that never changed.”
I couldn’t stand there and listen to any more. “I need to go. I meant what I said, though. I’m happy for you.”
He stood, walking over to me slowly, with his hands tucked into his pockets, as if hiding them would help in not spooking me. “Don’t go. Not yet.”
“I don’t think you understand.” I grabbed hold of every bit of strength I had. “I can forgive you for putting me through hell, for making me think the worst. What I can’t forgive you for is your silence.”
When I desperately needed sound, no matter how low or infrequent the volume.
His head fell, long lashes bobbing as he blinked at the grass. After one last look, I turned, making my way to the sidewalk, my heart dragging behind me the whole way home.
Shutting the vacuum off, I pushed loose strands of hair back from my face as a loud bang resounded on the door. I grabbed my drink bottle from the fridge, gulping down mouthfuls as I padded down the carpeted hall to the door. I mentally prepared an excuse, knowing I’d probably pissed off one of the neighbors with my late-night vacuuming again.
That excuse was standing there when I yanked open the door. “How’d you get up here?”
“Someone let me in as they were leaving.”
I shook my head. “What, no. I mean, why? Didn’t we just talk—”
My next words, my next breath, and my next heartbeat, they all crashed together in a tangled mess as he came for me, hands gripping my face as his foot kicked the door shut.
His mouth was an exhale away from touching mine, and something inside me snapped. The water bottle slipped from my hand as I rose onto my toes and sank my fingers into his thick hair, my lips melding to his. I felt ravenous, as if I’d been starved for months, prying his mouth open and forcing his tongue to reacquaint itself with mine. Like old lovers, they did, sliding and rubbing as our hands grappled with our clothing.
I didn’t stop. Didn’t think. I didn’t want to. I just needed. Needed and wanted and gave into it, whimpering as he picked me up and carried me down the hall. “There,” I panted, pulling my lips from his to point at the room he just passed.
Tossing me on the bed, he kicked his jeans off before crawling over me, tugging at my panties, and throwing them on the floor. “You’ve got something of mine, but that’s okay.” His voice was hoarse, hands rubbing up the inside of my thighs as I drowned in the heady waves of having him touch me again. “You can keep it.”
He kissed me roughly before flipping me over to my stomach. Lips and teeth scored a path down my back, goose bumps rose, and my nipples pebbled against the starchy feel of my sheets.
“Toby,” I breathed, feeling like I might die if he didn’t stop torturing me.
His mouth stopped at my lower back, and he spread my legs, opening me to him as his teeth sunk into the pillowy flesh of my ass cheek. From behind, his finger rubbed me while his tongue laved at the tender skin he’d bitten. “Shit, shit …”
“You’re ready, turn over.”
“No,” I said, trying desperately to keep some control when I knew I had absolutely none. “Like this, from behind.”
A slap rang throughout the room, the sting reverberating through me and causing my legs to spasm. “Roll over, beautiful.”
Fuck. I rolled over, and he nestled between my thighs, his hardness twitching against where I was throbbing, aching, and needing him. Blue eyes drank me in, roving over my breasts, my neck, my mussed-up bun, and finally, meeting my eyes. His hand reached between us a moment, and then he pushed.
“Do you feel that?” he asked, buried to the hilt, nostrils flaring.
“Yeah, feels good. Move,” I said, reaching down to grab his perfect ass and grinding against him.
Eyes closing, he groaned, his hips rocking back and forth.
His head dropped to my neck where he bit and sucked, the slick sound of our flesh meeting in hurried smacks sending my world hazy.
I was there, so there, when he stopped. “What?” I almost shrieked. “No, so close.”
“I’m …” He lifted his head, resting it on mine as he said, “I lost control. You make me lose control. It’s been so damn long, but I won’t fuck you. Not right now.”
Then he was moving again. Deep, haunting strokes that hit that magical spot. Combined with his hands digging into my hair, and the words, “I love you,” that rolled repetitively from his lips to mine, I disintegrated. All of it. Everything. It reached inside my chest, tearing down all my efforts to keep him out.
I came with a cry, and he followed, emptying inside me, tremors attacking his body that mirrored mine.
“Shit, no,” he said, his breath short as he pushed some strands of hair back from my face. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” How he knew I was crying when I had yet to open my eyes made it so much worse.
“I hate you.” The three words scraped out of me on a choked yell. I punched at his chest, my eyes opening, the sight of him blurred by a torrent of tears. “I hate you so fucking much, it’s hard to breathe.”
Rising off me, he vacated my body, scooping me into his arms when I tried to make a break for it. He didn’t say anything, just held me, thumbs swiping at my face, and his hands smoothing up and down my back.
“You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me.” I felt him flinch with every bit of hate and hurt that left my mouth, but he remained steadfast. A pillar of strength that I tried to blow to pieces, to make him feel some of what he’d made me feel this past year.
“I hate you because I still love you, and that makes me hate myself.”
Eventually, my sobs waned, and when my eyes reopened, dawn was sending light through the still open curtains of my bedroom. My eyes felt crusty, puffy, and my head heavy as I tried to lift it from … Toby’s chest.
Giving in, I discreetly reached between the skin of my cheek and his pec, wiping away some drool, or maybe it was snot—who knew after the downpour I had let rip just hours before.
Black ink caught my peripheral, my fingers freezing on his chest as I carefully lifted m
y head high enough to see what it was. The scripted words were surrounded by a few leaves, mint leaves, I realized as I peered closer.
I will not fall victim to the undertow, for I am unsinkable.
Letting my head drop, I stared at the inked words on his chest, wondering when he got them. My brain said to get up, move away, and get my wits about me again.
But my heart, it was too exhausted to move.
I laid awake, watching the sun’s hues change from dusky pinks and oranges to golden yellows as it rose into the sky. Pippa didn’t move; in fact, a few times, I checked to see if she was even breathing, she slept so soundly.
I needed to get home. Judging by the lightness of the sky, I knew it had to be close to nine, and I was supposed to take my medication two hours ago. Yet I couldn’t bear to move her. To force myself away from the softness of her skin, and the tickle of her silky hair on my shoulder and arm.
Her words echoed in my head like a song you wished you could forget. Yet her actions were a contradiction to every bit of hate she threw at me. The way she clung to me, the wetness of her tears on my skin, and the scratching of her nails over my neck—they all sang a different tune to the one she was trying so hard to sing.
I loved her. I loved her like I’d never loved anything else before, and with that kind of love comes a price. I was under her skin the same way she lived in mine. I beat in her heart the same way she controlled the tempo of mine. But I understood—boy, did I fucking understand—that it was never that simple.
What you loved and what you needed were two very different beasts.
She wasn’t what I needed before; she was what I wanted. Obsessively and without a moment’s pause.
And now that I both wanted and needed her, it was clear she did not reciprocate.
The realization didn’t have me walking away, though, and it wouldn’t.
“Toby?” Her head rose from my chest, her arm slithering away as she sat up. “Christ, what time is it?”
“I’m guessing after nine,” I said, watching as she sat on the side of her bed, the curve of her naked back causing my morning wood to hum.
