I turned the corner to Troy's street. His truck sat in the driveway, a good sign. The house looked normal from the outside. I walked up to the porch and knocked on the door. Not so-normal-sounds came from inside. I heard something crash.
"Troy," I said. I wanted to warn him first. "It's Miranda."
The shuffling on the inside stopped, and I pictured him standing in the living room deciding whether to open the door or not.
"Troy, Ry asked me to check on you. See if you were okay."
"I am fine... Thank you," he said. He wasn't near the door. His voice sounded hollow, and he articulated every syllable.
He didn't sound okay. He sounded drunk.
"Troy, open the door." I knocked on the door harder, ignoring the pain in my knuckles.
"You better stop that, you're going to hurt your hands."
My heart skipped a beat, and I had to lay my hands flat on the door to steady myself. My brain flashed back to all the times he warned me to be careful about my hands. Him holding them and kissing each finger, one at a time. I shook off the chills as they ran through my body.
"Then please open the door," I said, shaking the memory out of my head and all the warm feeling it generated.
The door opened before I had a chance to remove my hands. He peeked around the door. I saw his face and half of his torso, but nothing else. His breath confirmed what I thought.
He looked past me. I turned around expecting to find someone standing behind me.
When I faced Troy again, he was staring at me.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi."
I studied his face. He had about two days of growth on his beard, and his shaggy hair stood up in odd directions all over his head. His t-shirt appeared to have been in a fight, the collar stretched out, wrinkled, and stained.
"What do you want?" He emphasized the word "do" and it made me forget why I was there.
"You okay?"
"You asked me that already."
"I'm just checking."
"I am fine."
"Are you drunk?" I asked. Not sure why I needed him to confirm the obvious.
"I passed drunk a long time ago," he said giggling at his joke. His face dropped, and I could only see the top of his head. "You hear about Scott?"
I leaned against the door, my face under his. "Yes."
"You want to come in?"
"Yes."
He opened the door before I had a chance to shift my balance. I fell into the house, but he caught me. His reflexes were good for his level of inebriation.
"Sorry." He wore gym shorts, but no shoes or socks. His hand lingered on my waist long enough for it to feel familiar, but then it was gone, and I missed it.
He walked back into to the house stumbling over the corner of the couch as he headed back into the kitchen. Clothes, shoes, and a pizza box, he navigated through just fine. I followed, picking the items up and placing them on the couch as I went. The beer cans scattered across kitchen table confirmed what I heard earlier.
He sat back down at the table and began stacking cans.
"Did you drink all of these?" Thirty cans lay across the table.
"Well, yeah, but not all today."
"Oh, that's good."
He laughed again but stopped as he concentrated on stacking a second row of cans on top of the first row.
"You want to help?" he asked. He emphasized the "want," and it came off like a statement.
"Sure." I took off my coat and sat down at the kitchen table. I watched him place a can and followed by placing one myself.
"There's more beer in the fridge. You need to start drinking up, so we have enough material to build the guest house."
He stood up and grabbed four cans from the refrigerator and sat them on the counter. He opened all four and handed one to me. He drank one while standing, stacked it onto the pile. Retrieving the other two from the counter, he sat back down.
"Troy, you want to talk?" I placed my hand on his wrist, and he pulled it away. He had no clue how hard it was for me to touch him in the first place.
"What could we possible have to talk about?"
"Scott—"
"No, I don't want to talk about him." He drank another beer in three gulps. "Especially not with you."
He let out an evil grunt and went back to his cans.
"What do you mean, especially not with me?"
"Well"—he stopped stacking and looked out the window—"it's kind of your fault."
My cheeks grew hot, and I cleared my throat.
"How is it my fault?"
"Because of what you let happen."
"What did I let happen? I was a kid, Troy." I wanted to slap him. Hit him so hard until he realized how much his words hurt.
Troy stood up, moving to the window.
"So was he." Troy crossed his arms over his chest and continued, "I figured it all out. You two did whatever, and your mom found out and told my mom. Instead of staying to work it out, you left me. My mother couldn't get over it, and she left my dad. I never saw Scott again, and my dad hates me. See, all because of what happened to you, and you didn't do anything about it."
I walked over to Troy. I was ready to let him have it. Scream, yell, and shake him if I had to, anything to get him to understand how none of this was my fault.
As I got closer, I noticed tears flowing from his eyes through the reflection in the glass.
Troy tried to hide his tears from me. I covered my ears but could still hear his muffled sobs.
I did the only thing I could think to do. I did to him what I wanted him to do to me. I wrapped my arms around his waist from behind. This made him cry out even more, but he didn't push me away. I wanted him to know I wasn't running away from him, that I wouldn't leave him.
His whole body shook when he cried. I held on tight.
His breakdown subsided enough for him to turn and pull me into his arms. He sat down and pulled me into his lap and held me. I didn't want to let him go. I was sorry he had to deal with this.
His sobs decreased into tears.
"Why didn't you tell anyone? You know, back then." Troy leaned back in order to see my face. He stroked my cheek, and I leaned into his hand. Warmth spread throughout my whole body.
"I don't know. I don't think I understood it was wrong until I got older."
"Why didn't you tell me?" He looked hurt and confused and most of all helpless, desperate to hear an answer to malign his guilt.
"There wasn't anything you could have done, Troy."
"Yes, I could." Tears fell, which made me want to wipe them away, but I let them fall.
"No, you couldn't."
"I could have stopped him, I could have protected you, I could have"—but he could no longer speak; the tears had taken over again. He buried his head in my neck. His tears soaked through my shirt onto my skin.
We stayed in each other's arms for a long time.
"Troy, It wasn't your job to protect me." He lifted his head to look at me. "You were a kid."
"I'm so sorry. For what I said, for the way I treated you."
"I know."
"You must hate me."
"Why would I hate you?"
"For letting you down."
"You didn't let me down." I held his gaze.
"You are so beautiful," he said while running his hand down my sides. His other hand ran through my hair, and he pressed into me as he leaned in to kiss me.
My body reacted to his touch, and my lips wanted his. It felt familiar and nice and safe, but sirens were going off in my head. I had closed my eyes to quiet them. When I opened them, his lips grazed mine. I stood up and moved back to the chair across from him.
It took him a second to realize what had happened. His hands reached for me in the confusion, but when they couldn't find me, he rested them on the table. I took his hands into mine.
I didn't want him to think I was rejecting him. My body wanted him so bad; I marveled at my restraint, but it was too soon, way too soon.
There were so many things I needed to work out.
I wished my brain had this radar system up when I was a kid. It might have saved me a lot of heartaches. I added up all the things in my head wrong with this situation. The answer: intimacy at this point would be for the wrong reasons. Not a good idea.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry." He pleaded with me not to make a big deal out of it.
"For right now, I need my friend back. That's all I can handle."
"Okay." He grinned at me.
"And, as your friend, I feel it's my duty to tell you. You need a shower and a shave."
His hands rubbed his beard. "Got it."
Troy leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. He pulled his t-shirt off as he walked toward his room. I caught sight of the muscles in his back.
Yep, incredible restraint.
***
I cleaned up the beer cans and straightened the living room. I finished wiping down the kitchen table when he walked in.
I leaned down to grab a stray beer can and the image of his brother lying here entered my head. It must have crossed Troy's mind, too.
"You're cleaning up after me again."
The tears and the shower sobered him but did nothing to release the sadness in his eyes or the guilt in his voice.
"He busted the girl’s nose," he said. "Did he ever hurt you? You know, physically."
Not the questions I thought he was going to ask.
"No, he never hurt me."
His shoulders relaxed. He needed to hear that, but within in seconds, he tensed again.
"Miranda, I wanted to hurt him," Troy said. "I hated him so much. Hated him for what he did to you. Hated him for taking you away from me."
Troy turned away from me, but continued, "I hated myself most of all because I was jealous of him."
"Why were you jealous?" I asked.
"Because you were mine, but he got to have you first."
I concentrated on not allowing the panic and disgust to show on my face, but my insides screamed. I couldn't begin to understand what he was going through, but I had no idea his mind would go there.
"I don't know." Troy stood up and started pacing around the kitchen. "I think I hit him because, even though I was eight years too late, I still wanted to protect you." Troy kneeled next to me. "I'm so sorry I didn't believe you."
I didn't know if he expected me to answer him. He probably wanted me to forgive him. I didn't say a word.
"Now Scott's dead, and I don't know how I'm supposed to feel."
"I don't think you have to feel anything."
"How do you feel?"
"I don't know. Relieved. Sick to my stomach. Mostly sad."
"This whole situation is fucking crazy."
"Yeah." I needed to change the subject. "You should call Ryan."
"I would, but my phone is on the patio."
I looked out the window and sure enough, there it was in about one hundred little pieces.
"I kind of trashed it."
"How’s your dad holding up?" I asked.
"I don't know, I don't care."
"Troy—"
"I don't."
"He's your dad," I said. Funny how we had switched sides when it came to dealing with family issues.
"He created the monster that hurt you."
I let that thought linger in the air and disappear on its own. We'd dealt with enough family issues tonight. I didn't have the energy to delve into any more at the moment.
Troy yawned.
"You look tired."
"I haven't slept in a couple of days."
"You should get some rest."
"Will you do me a favor?"
"Sure."
"Will you stay with me, tonight?"
I leaned back.
"You can sleep on the couch or in Ry's room."
"Okay. Call Ry, I’m going to the bathroom." I handed him my phone.
He dialed the phone as I headed down the hall but instead of the bathroom, I took a detour and found myself standing in the doorway to Troy’s bedroom.
One of the first times I had hung out in his room, Troy had asked me to stay the night. We had cuddled on the recliner and watched a movie. I had fallen asleep in his arms, but when I woke up, I had found Troy kneeling beside the chair staring at me, but not in a creepy way.
"What are you looking at?"
"I've been staring at that curve on your chest for the last hour."
"Troy." My first instinct was to cover up, but I didn't. I watched him look at me. Gaining confidence by the way his eyes studied me.
"Seriously, it is like the sexiest curve I've ever seen. I've been trying to figure out a way to touch it without waking you up, but that seemed wrong."
"You can touch me whenever you want."
He reached out and rubbed the top of my chest with the back of his fingers. Then he turned his hand and traced the line with each one of his fingertips. The concentration he held in his face made me want to laugh, but his touch stirred something in me. I didn't want him to stop.
The thought of being with him again gave me goosebumps. We shared so many amazing moments.
I turned, and Troy stood in the doorway watching me. It was like he knew what I was thinking, and it made me uncomfortable because after everything I heard, everything we talked about, when I closed my eyes, I couldn't see it. I couldn't see us being Troy and Miranda ever again.
***
I told him that he didn't let me down, but part of me felt like he did. To think Scott had somehow spoiled me for him made me feel dirty, and I didn't like it.
It would be so easy to jump into his arms and drag him to bed, close my eyes, and let that physical part of me take over. I still wanted him so bad, but I wasn't supposed to do that anymore. I wasn’t supposed to use sex to mask my problems. Damn therapy.
"You could stay in here," he said.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"I've really screwed things up, haven't I?" Troy stared at the ground.
"Troy, please don't do this."
"What?" He looked up.
"Make me feel sorry for you."
"At least I'd know you felt something for me."
"I do feel something for you." I sat down. "I love you."
He knelt in front of me, taking my hands. I watched as he brought them to his lips. "I love you, too."
I pulled my hands out of his grip.
"I can't do this. Not now. I know I said I was okay, but I don't know. Being here and remembering all the time we spent together in this room. You made me feel safe. I felt so connected to you. I thought you'd never hurt me, but I am hurt and sad and scared we'll never be able to get back what we had. I'm different, but you're different now, too."
"Please don't say that."
"I don't see how—" I began.
"No, we can fix this. I can fix it." Troy's tone showed his desperation. "Just, don't say there's no chance."
"It's how I feel. Even if we were to get back together again, it's not going to be the same."
Troy stood up. He had a defeated little boy look like someone stole his favorite toy, but he turned to me and made one more plea. "What can I do?"
"Give me some time, okay?" I stood up and headed to the door.
I didn't wait to hear his response. I closed the door behind me. As I headed to the living room, I grabbed a blanket from the hall closet and wrapped myself in it. I curled up into the corner of the coach and cried myself to sleep.
***
The sound of the front door closing woke me up. I stretched out and picked up my phone sitting on the coffee table. Troy wrote me a message on the notepad.
Went for a run. I'll bring coffee back.
I settled back into the couch and checked my messages: two missed calls from Darcy.
"Hey, sweetie," Darcy answered. A loud screeching noise in the background made me pulled the phone away from my ear; the sound becoming muffled. "Sorry, that damn tractor is so loud."
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"You're not going to pick me up in a tractor, are you?"
"We only drive the tractor in town, not to the big city," she said in her thickest accent.
"Your folks think you lost your accent?"
"Yeah, I'm trying to make up for it." She laughed. "Where are you? I've been calling you."
"I know, I'm sorry. I got up early to try and get in some practice since I won't be playing for a few days." I hated lying to her, but I didn't want to tell her about last night, or where I was this morning. I didn't want to have to explain myself because it didn't mean anything. Nothing had changed.
"I told you we have a pian'er."
"You also said you didn't know a piano had to be tuned." I tried to match her accent, "There's no tellin what that thing sounds like."
"I love it when you speak country." We both laughed. "I'll see you in a few hours. How are you getting to the airport?"
"I'll probably take a cab."
"Ok, bye, love you."
"Me too. Bye."
As I hung up, Troy walked in and handed me a cup of coffee. I watched as he started peeling layers off, down to a white tank top.
"How was your run?
"I'm so out of shape," he said.
"How'd you sleep?"
"Solid. Woke up hung over, but I sweated it out. You?"
"Not too bad." I sipped my coffee. "I have to get back to the dorm and pack."
"Where you going?"
"Arkansas for a few days to hang out with Darcy. I was supposed to go up for winter break, but my parents surprised me."
"They were here?"
"Yeah.
"How was it?"
"Weird. Brandon, my therapist, said I needed to confront my parents for not making me deal with everything back then, and I made the mistake of telling Alaina. She called my parents, and they flew down."
"You're seeing a therapist?"
"Well, you kind of told me to."
"Rand, I didn't—"
"Relax, I'm kidding. I'd planned to see someone anyway. He helped me talk to them. So crazy to think how one situation can effect everything in my life from that point forward. Like every bad decision I've made in my life can be traced back to what happened to me as a kid. Not the abuse as much as my parents ignoring what happened and not encouraging me to cope with it. That was worse. It was hard to talk to my parents about it, especially my mom, but we needed to get it all out in the open."
Another New Life Page 19
