Warmth in Ice (A Find You in the Dark novella)

by A. Meredith Walters

  Clay and I continued to talk every night but after our argument, the conversations changed. There was a distance and decisive chill that I couldn’t undo. I tried to bridge the widening gap but every time I thought I was getting closer, Clay took another step back.

  And I made a million and one excuses for his altered behavior. He was tired. He had a lot on his plate right now. I wasn’t being fair or understanding enough.

  At one time, I had been the master of enabling explanations where Clayton Reed was concerned. It was a habit I had hoped to have outgrown by now. But it was like last year’s pants that had become too tight. It was uncomfortable as hell but I still tried to squeeze my fat ass in them.

  “How’s group going?” I asked Clay on the last night of break. I was helplessly trying to hang onto the conversation, though it had died of awkwardness about twenty minutes ago.

  “It’s going,” Clay responded noncommittally. Damn, I wanted to throttle him.

  “What sort of stuff do you talk about?” I tried again. Clay was quiet for a while and I was starting to wonder if I was speaking into dead air.

  “Last week we talked about the holidays. You know because Thanksgiving is a month a way and shit. Holidays are usually hard for most of us, so we were working through triggers and coping plans,” Clay said and I was thrilled. Not that he was planning ways to get through a painful holiday season, but that he was actually talking. Actually sharing. I was tiptoeing back in.

  “And what’s your plan?” I asked him, pushing that door wide open again. I didn’t do timid. I wasn’t going to walk on eggshells around the very focal point of our lives. His treatment and his recovery were the most important things our worlds. I wanted the XYZs and the 123s.

  “Seeing Ruby. Remembering to be thankful for those who love me,” he said quietly and then added, “Seeing your face even if it’s just on a computer screen. Being appreciative that you’re there even when I don’t deserve it.”

  My heart became tight in my chest and my cheeks hurt from smiling. After a week of bullshit, this was nice to hear.

  “Is that your way of saying sorry?” I asked, with only a hint of teasing.

  “It’s my way of saying I should never have been an asshole in the first place,” he admitted and I felt the knot in my stomach begin to loosen.

  “I’m not going to argue with you,” I said more harshly than I intended.

  Clay became quiet again and we sat there, listening to each other breathe.

  “Do you think we can do this?” he asked finally and the knot gripped tightly again.

  “What do you mean?” I asked sounding sort of panicky.

  “I just think we were incredibly naïve to believe that we could handle being this far away from each other. This is so much harder than I thought it would be.” I hated the stark sadness in Clay’s voice.

  How often would he doubt what we had together? How many times would I have to convince him that together we could handle anything?

  That together, we would make it.

  “I refuse to have this conversation with you again, Clay,” I said in frustration.

  I could almost picture Clay putting his hands through his hair in his characteristic agitated gesture. His fingers curling into fists as he fought against the urges screaming in his head. The thought of him struggling in any way made me want to back off and play nice.

  The instinctual fear that resided in my heart clawed its way to the surface. Our history dictated my response. Clay had never handled dissention between us very well. It was ingrained in me to retreat, to placate, and to surrender.

  But if we were ever going to move away from our past, I had to check those instincts and give us both a hefty dose of tough love. And that meant calling my boyfriend on his shit.

  “I’m serious, Maggie, this is eating me alive!” his voice rose and I winced at the desperation I heard.

  “Fucking hell, Clayton! Yes, this sucks, but it’s not forever. And I swear to God if you try this whole I’m letting you go because I love you too much line of crap again, I will smack the crap out of you!” I threatened.

  Finally Clay laughed but it was a sad sound. “I learned the hard way that letting you go isn’t possible,” he said softly.

  I ran my fingers over the ink on the inside of my wrist. The rune Uruz, black against my skin, seemed to remind me that healing took time but that it was possible. It was necessary. And I couldn’t give up on the boy who had come so far.

  “This isn’t going to be easy, Clay, but you have to trust me. You have to trust us. Because I would rather be there, beside you, than anywhere else. We made promises to each other and we have to remember that at the end of all this, there will only be you and me.”

  I felt the truth of those words in the pit of my soul. Because Clay wasn’t just my first love. He was my forever love. And I would fight for that forever until I was bloodied and broken. And then, only he could put me back together.

  We didn’t function in half ways and maybes. We were always. We were constant.

  We were endless.

  And one day we wouldn’t be struggling for every heartbeat. We wouldn’t be walking uphill against the weight of his illness and our combined insecurities.

  I wasn’t delusional. I knew that a lifetime with him would be to face a barely restrained uncertainty. But I was convinced that eventually, we’d be able to relax and finally just…be.

  And it was that that kept my dreams peaceful and my sleep undisturbed. Because there was no other option for the boy and the girl who had walked through fire and now waited for the smoke to disappear.

  “I know, baby,” he said and then chuckled. “Look at you, two months in school and you’re already a fucking genius.”

  I snorted. “Sweetheart, I’ve always been a genius. I chose you didn’t I?”

  “That you did. I’m one lucky asshole.”

  “But you’re my asshole.”

  Clay laughed again and we were finally right again.

  I was glad to be back at school. I loved my parents but they could be more than a little smothering. And now that Clay and I were good again, I felt like I was able to relax.

  “How was your break?” Ashley asked as soon as I entered the dorm room. I noticed that the Justin Bieber posters had been taken down. The Biebs had been replaced with Harry Styles. Sheesh, her taste in music just kept getting better and better.

  “Fine. How about you?” I asked. No sense in sharing that I spent most of my time moping and eating my weight in mint chocolate chip ice cream.

  “It was great! You have to see the new clothes I bought!” she squealed, going to her closet and pulling out shirts and skirts and dresses, throwing them on my bed.

  “Wow, Ashley. It’s all so…bright,” I said looking at her new neon wardrobe.

  “You can borrow whatever you want!” she said, grabbing a tangerine colored dress and pressing it against my front. “This would look fabulous on you with all that dark hair.”

  I instantly backed away. “I won’t play dress up, Ashley. I’ll stick with my own clothes, thanks,” I warned.

  Ashley pouted and I knew she was gearing up for an argument when there was a knock at the door.

  Josh and Brent came into the room, grins on their faces. “Girls! Finally! We’ve missed you!” Josh said in a loud, booming voice, throwing an arm around Ashley’s shoulders. Josh was your stereotypical skater boy with shaggy blonde hair, shorts that were sagging off his hips and battered Vans on his feet. His crush on my roommate was painfully obvious and unfortunately for him, Ashley wasn’t interested. But it didn’t stop the poor boy from trying.

  Brent sat down at my desk and swiveled in the chair, taking in the huge pile of clothes on my bed. Brent was shorter than me but built like the Incredible Hulk. He worked out religiously and it showed. His brown hair was shorn close to his skull and his smile was marred by a scar on his upper lip that he had told me came from a nasty bike riding accident when he was a kid.


  Out of all the people I had met since coming to college, Brent was my closest friend. He reminded me so much of Daniel with his laid back attitude and protective affection. He watched my back at frat parties, keeping an eye on my drink and making sure random drunk guys didn’t molest me.

  But there weren’t any romantic undercurrents to Brent’s actions. He wasn’t a Jake Fitzsimmons who waited in the wings hoping I would see him as more than a friend. Brent was crazy in love with his long time girlfriend back home. Sasha was a senior in high school and planned to enroll in JMU in the fall.

  We spent many an afternoon talking about our significant others. Brent was the first person at college who I felt comfortable enough with to really talk to. I would never share Clay’s difficulties and the roller coaster that had defined our life for the last year with just anyone. Ashley only knew Clay as my hot boyfriend that lived in Florida. Josh barely remembered his name.

  But Brent knew it all. And it was nice to unload on someone who hadn’t been there to experience the chaos first hand. Rachel and Daniel had been too embroiled in the mess to be objective. But Brent listened without judgment. And that’s how I knew I had made a lifelong friend.

  I hefted my suitcase onto my bed and opened it, looking at Brent over my shoulder.

  “Did you see Sasha?” I asked him, tossing my dirty clothes in the hamper and dumping the rest of my stuff into a drawer. I’d worry about sorting everything later. Brent turned and straddled the chair, crossing his arms over the back.

  He nodded and smiled happily. “Yeah. It was pretty great. She’s getting her JMU application together to send off. She’s going for early acceptance. She was stressing about not getting in, which is ridiculous. She has a 4.0 GPA,” he bragged, obviously proud of his girlfriend.

  “Wow, smart girl,” I replied, setting my toiletries bag on my desk beside my laptop.

  “I’m guessing you didn’t get to see Clay,” Brent surmised. I shook my head, letting out a huge sigh.

  “No and we barely talked either. He spent most of my break being pissed at me,” I said irritably.

  Brent frowned. “Why was he mad at you?”

  “He’s feeling insecure with me being here and him being there. Long distance relationships are hard enough for people who started normally. And normal is one thing we never were. So for Clay and me it’s twice as hard because we’re still fighting all that old stuff too,” I explained.

  Brent swung his legs around and leaned his elbows on his knees, giving me a stern look. “That doesn’t mean he can be shitty to you, you know,” he lectured. I had to smile. He reminded me so much of Danny that it made me feel warm inside.

  “I know, Dad,” I teased and Brent rolled his eyes.

  “I’m not making excuses, I promise. But the thing with Clay is he doesn’t always see and hear things the way they really are. When he’s doing well, it’s easy to forget that he’s a guy who is still learning how to think and act like the rest of us. And I’m here, experiencing life-changing shit and he isn’t with me. It’s just hard.” I sat down on my bed and faced my friend.

  “He was upset I wasn’t coming down to Florida for fall break. I was upset he couldn’t come to Virginia. So we ended up spending the last seven days upset with each other and not really talking about it,” I finished, throwing my hands in the air in my frustration.

  “Well, you don’t seem depressed and you’re not throwing shit so either you cope really well with stuff or you talked it out eventually,” Brent accurately deduced.

  “Yeah, we did,” I admitted, smiling.

  Brent gently tapped my knee. “Relationships are tough. The long distance ones even more so. There has to be give and take. Just make sure you’re equal in who does the giving and who does the taking. From what you’ve said, Clay has had a rough go of it. So if you’re serious about this relationship lasting, you need to put the effort into it. More so now that you’re not together every day,” Brent said sagely.

  “Shit, Brent, you should start your own relationship advice column,” I smirked, earning me a dirty look.

  “You know I’m right. So, you’ve said Clay can’t come up to see you because of his program, maybe you should surprise him. Fly down to see him,” Brent suggested.

  I made an inelegant snort in the back of my throat. “Yeah, with what money?” I asked, rolling my eyes. “There’s no way my parents would pay for that,” I complained.

  Brent threw a pair of socks at me and I had to bat them away before I was hit in the face. “There are these crazy things called jobs…maybe you could get one.” Jeesh, Brent’s sarcasm could rival my own.

  Instead of responding with my own smart-ass remark, I paused. Brent was right. I got to my feet and pulled him after me.

  “Where are we going?” he asked, grabbing his baseball hat from the desk and putting it on as I hurried into the hallway.

  “We’re finding me a job!” I answered excitedly.

  Clay is worth it. Clay is worth it. Clay is worth it.

  THREE weeks later, I was repeating this mantra over and over again.

  I had gotten a job waiting tables at a small Italian restaurant down the road from the university. I somehow, in my exuberance to make money, momentarily forgot that I sucked at waiting tables. That me and trays full of glasses was a match made in hell.

  My manager was a dick, the customers tipped like crap and I left work smelling like I had been dipped in garlic. It took days after a shift to get the smell out of my hair.

  But Clay was worth it.

  I had gotten two paychecks and had saved all of my tips. I already had enough money for the plane ticket to Florida. Now it was just a matter of getting my parents on board with the plan.

  I would be going home for Thanksgiving and I planned to drop the bomb then. I knew my mom was feeling her empty nest but this bird was gonna fly. All the way to Florida for Christmas.

  I hadn’t said a word to Clay yet. We hadn’t mentioned my visiting since our argument before fall break. The undercurrent of tension was still there. It was palpable and laced every conversation.

  Clay was more abrupt and less willing to engage in long conversations than he had been before. I felt the boy I loved drifting away, just as he had promised me he wouldn’t do.

  I would sometimes bring up the distance I was feeling and Clay would apologize, telling me that he loved me and that he had a lot going on. But I was starting to doubt his words.

  Which is why this trip to see him was so important. I needed it to reassure Clay. To reassure myself. To solidify the connection that was so essential to both of us.

  I had called Ruby and told her of my plans. She was excited and thought it was a wonderful idea. She had originally planned to drive up to see Clay for Christmas. But she thought it would be nice for us to have that time together. Instead, she would drive up December 26th.

  She agreed to not say a word to Clay about her change in travel plans. Both of us knew how this could have catastrophic effects on his tenuous recovery.

  Clay’s feelings of abandonment triggered extremely negative reactions. And that was the last thing we wanted when he was trying so hard to get better.

  “Hey,” Clay said tiredly when I called him just before Thanksgiving break. I had a mountain of classwork to get through but I had needed to hear his voice. I was supposed to work tonight and could have used a nap but that would have to wait. Something had been nagging at me the entire day. An inexplicable sense of dread that I couldn’t put my finger on.

  “Hey, is everything all right?” I asked, trying not to sound as concerned as I was actually feeling. Lately, Clay had been sounding increasingly more tired and stressed. He had decided to take a few classes at the community college. And while I thought this was a step in the right direction for him, he didn’t seem to be embracing his life the way I had hoped.

  In fact he sounded entirely too much like the boy he had been when we had first gotten together. The boy I had held after he had destroyed his b
edroom and collapsed on the floor. A boy I never wanted to see again. I couldn’t help but worry about how he was coping. Clay’s demons were even more frightening now that I wasn’t there to help him fend them off.

  Clay sighed. “No, not really,” he answered and my heart seized. The despair in his voice terrified me. The all too familiar knot in my stomach made itself known.

  “Why? What’s going on?” I asked softly, my words barely above a whisper.

  “I got a letter from my parents’ attorney today.”

  I grit my teeth. His parents. Shit. Why can’t those people leave him alone? It seemed they had a “let’s screw with our son’s head now that he’s feeling good” radar. I had never encountered such a cold and unloving pair of people in my entire life. I hated them with a ferocity that bordered on violence.

  “What?” I rasped.

  “Well, it was a more of a check with a letter stating I was not to have any further contact with them. It was a fucking pay off, Mags. They want me to stay out of their lives.” He sounded defeated and I had never hated the distance between us as much as I did in that moment.

  “I’m so sorry, Clay-” I began but he cut me off with a harsh bark of laughter.

  “Don’t be sorry, Maggie. I don’t want them in my life anymore than they want me in theirs. I’m not surprised. I kind of figured by the lack of communication in the last year that I was cut from the will.” He laughed again and the sound sent chills down my spine.

  Because for all of Clay’s brave words, I knew this hurt him deeply. What child wanted reaffirming proof that their parents didn’t love them? We all possessed a fundamental need for our parents’ approval and affection. The root of Clay’s problems rested solely on the inhuman people who had callously given him life and then left him to fend for himself.

  He tried so hard to move past the emotional isolation and neglect that had defined his childhood. But I knew without a doubt, that this ripped him apart. Because there was still that small boy inside that yearned for a love he’d never have.