Twisted in You

by Fabiola Francisco

  “When did you get here?” she says into my shirt.

  “Just did. Came straight here.”

  She looks up at me. “Thank you.”

  I sigh when she rests her cheek on my chest and tightens her grip around my back.

  I never thought one person could make you feel a certain way. I don’t know if I ever believed in the power of caring about someone so deeply. However, since Mikayla came into my life, something drew me in. Even the anger I threw her way in the beginning. She didn’t back down. She didn’t feed into my antics. Hell, she didn’t even know who I was.

  The need to protect her hasn’t diminished, but I’m more concerned with making sure she feels loved.

  I take a step back knowing this is where she works and don’t want her to get into any trouble.

  “I know you’re working, but can we have dinner tonight?”

  “Yeah.” Her eyes crease at the edges.

  “I’ll pick you up at Sam’s.”

  “I can meet you somewhere, if it’s easier.” She shrugs.

  Red may not know much about how things work, but I’ll be sure she learns quickly that I’m going to treat her right. That means I pick her up when I ask her out. I pay for things. I give her everything she deserves. What she’s always deserved and never got. And that includes my heart and my word.

  “No. I’m picking you up. Is six okay?”

  “Yeah, that’s perfect.” Her smile does something to me. Makes me proud to be the one who can give her that.

  “I’ll see you at six. I know you’re busy.”

  “Eh, I was sketching during my down time,” she confesses sheepishly.

  “We need to talk about that by the way. No more excuses to stall selling your work.”

  She nods. “We’ll talk tonight.”

  I say bye and hop back on my bike, feeling damn good about seeing Red, the cold no longer painful. We have come a long way on our own and together. She is the person I think of when I want to talk, when I need comfort, and when I think about my future. I have about two weeks before I go back on the road. From now until then I need to make sure she knows how important she is to this world and to my life. I am ready for that, and I sure as hell hope she is, too.

  I arrive at Sam’s house right on time and knock on the door. Mikayla smiles when she opens the door and tells me to come in while she finished putting on her shoes.

  Red and I may be taking an unspoken step forward in our relationship, but it won’t change the relationship we already have. There are no pretenses. She knows my deepest and darkest secrets, and I know hers. We have been as naked as any human can be with someone—a nakedness beyond clothing.

  “Ready.” She walks out of her room. “Sorry, I hit some traffic on the way home.”

  “You’re good, Red.” I stand from the small sofa and grab her hand. She lets me, so I walk confidently towards the door.

  When I lead us towards my motorcycle, she halts, pulling my arm in the process.

  “What?” I look over at her.

  “I thought you were bringing a car.”

  My cackle comes loud and hard when I see her expression.

  “Come on, Red. You know I hardly drive a car.”

  “I’m not going on that.” I mock offense when she looks at my bike in disgust.

  “Don’t look at my bike that way. She’s always been my trusty gal.”

  “Well, I’ll follow you in the car.”

  “To hell with that, Red.” I get closer to her and cup her face. “Do you trust me?” I plead with my eyes.

  “I do.” God, I love that she didn’t even hesitate.

  “I’ll go slow. I promise.”

  “It’s cold, though.”

  “I’ll give you my jacket,” I insist.

  “Don’t.” She rolls her eyes but smiles. “You promise?”

  “Yes.”

  I help her get on the back of the bike and fasten the helmet. Then, climb in after her. It’s not like my bike is for racing, it’s Harley for Christ’s sake. It’s to enjoy at leisure. And with Red sitting behind me, I won’t have any trouble taking my time driving. I’ll drive extra miles to have her holding on to me longer.

  Mikayla’s arms are gripping me and her body is tense against my back. I go slow as promised and with each passing mile, her body begins to relax. I’ve dreamed of taking her on my bike for a long time now.

  When I turn off my bike after parking in front of the restaurant, I look at Mikayla closely.

  “Okay, okay,” she laughs. “That wasn’t that bad.”

  She hands me the helmet and swings her leg over the seat to stand.

  She looks good. She looks strong. Her eyes are no longer hollow; the brown shines with life. Her posture is no longer curled inward. Her shoulders are more squared and she seems taller. I’m no fool; I know she’s still careful, but she’s different.

  “Told ya.” I smile and take her by the hand.

  I ask for a table for two and wait off to the side while they get it ready. Mikayla leans into me a bit, never letting go of my hand, and looks around the restaurant. I want to put my arms around her, pull her closer to me, kiss her, but I know I need to take it slow. We need to talk and I need to tell her how I feel before I take that step.

  Slow. I need to go slow.

  After we get seated and order two sweet teas, Mikayla asks about the tour. I tell her everything. She listens with rapt attention, asking questions every now and then. I tell her about my conversations with Bill and my realizations about responsibility.

  “So pretty much, it wasn’t my job to take on the guilt and resentment he didn’t feel.”

  “You’re right,” she says softly. “I’ve been working on some of that, too. I haven’t quite let go of it all, but the memories no longer guide me. I’ve barely been triggered,” she smiles, proud of herself. “And, I don’t freak when I hear noises. Basically, I learned that the fear is all up in my head.”

  “I’m proud of you.”

  “You should be proud of yourself,” she counters.

  “I am.”

  We eat and continue talking as if no time has passed, yet we have a ton to share with each other. I listen as Mikayla speaks, wanting to know every detail.

  “I finally went to the art gallery you had spoken to. Honestly, I tried not to use them as a means of getting my artwork out there because I wanted to do this on my own. But I had no idea how to, so I went and met with the curator. She loved the few samples I took her.”

  “Of course she did,” I interrupt her. Mikayla rolls her eyes, still challenged by taking a compliment.

  “Anyway, I left those there in the gallery, but what she wants to do is represent me and try to get my work in bigger galleries. There’s an art show or something in Chicago and she says that’s a great opportunity. Apparently, Chicago has a healthy art scene. She’s going to send a few pieces so curators from galleries can see them and decide if they want my work.”

  “That’s amazing. Congrats.”

  “Thanks. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting all of that when I went to meet with her. I thought she’d look over my stuff, take some time to think it over, and call me back. Instead she asked to keep what I took her on consignment and to represent me. We’re both doing this for the first time, but I liked her.”

  I know how big a deal it is for her to trust a stranger. She’s made a lot more progress than she realizes.

  “I’m so fucking happy for you.” I can’t contain my excitement. She’s doing what she wants in life. She took the initiative to do something for herself. Something that will be a positive change.

  Refusing to go home after dinner and cutting my time short with Mikayla, I drive slowly in the direction of a park. Since the sun has set and no hikers are around, I carefully ride my bike through the trails until I reach one of the overlooks.

  I quiet my motorcycle, killing the engine and hop off, helping Mikayla after.

  “What are we doing?” Mikayla scrunches her eyeb
rows.

  “Sit with me for a while?” I point towards the worn, wooden bench with the perfect view to look out between the trees, straight ahead towards the mountains.

  It’s dark when we sit, but the stars twinkle brightly and the moon is positioned perfectly for us to watch as it shines down on us.

  We are quiet for a while, looking straight ahead. When I feel Mikayla tremble a bit, I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her into my heat. I never want to let go.

  After a few beats, she places her head on my shoulder.

  “Red?”

  “Yeah?”

  Neither of us moves, but I need to speak.

  I talk quickly to get it all out before she interrupts me. “I have no idea what would have happened to me if I never met you. I know it was rough at first—you letting me in and me giving you a chance—but you mean something. Actually, not just something, you mean everything. Because of you, I fought to be better. I want you by my side, curled into me like a yin-yang. We can balance the light and dark, if we do it together.”

  I wait for some sign that she heard me. When I feel her hand reach for mine on my lap and squeeze it, I know she did.

  “Okay,” she whispers.

  To anyone else that may seem like a weak response, but to me I know it’s so much stronger.

  “I’m in love with you, Red.”

  She lifts her head and stares into my eyes with only the moon lighting us. “I think I love you, too. Not think, I mean, I’m pretty sure . . . I’ve never felt this before and it’s all so new, but love is the only thing that comes to mind. Sam once told me that you recognize love when you want someone, not need them. That’s how I feel. I don’t need you in order to breathe; I can do that one my own, but I want to share the same breath with you.”

  Well, fuck.

  I want to kiss her so badly, but I don’t know if she’ll be okay with that. I never thought I’d fall in love with someone without even kissing her first. But I did.

  I cup her face and kiss her forehead, and then lean my head to hers.

  “Tyler?” Her voice is small.

  “Yes, Red.”

  “Will you kiss me?” I hear the worry in her voice and pull back.

  “Are you sure? We don’t have to.”

  “I know, but I want to. I’ve never been kissed before.” Her voice cracks at the end and I hug her to me.

  That statement makes her reality ever-present.

  “I’d love to, Mikayla.” I lean in carefully and touch my lips to hers. I stay still, letting her feel. This is for her, all about her.

  She sighs into my mouth, opening a sliver when she exhales and my tongue peeks out to touch her lips. I almost lose it when I feel her mimic me. I give her one deep kiss and pull away, not wanting to push my luck.

  “Thank you.” She smiles and puts her head on my shoulder again.

  Never has a kiss turned me on and satisfied me so much, and it was barely one.

  Fuck. She let me kiss her. Her hand reaches for mine again and holds it tightly. I’ll do anything for this woman.

  I hold on to Tyler tightly as he takes me back home. Tonight was unexpected. My stomach still tingles when I think about the kiss. I was unsure how it would feel, but I wanted him to be my first kiss.

  The past month has been full of healing. When I realized it was more about forgiving myself than my stepdad, I took it upon myself to do that. Forgive what I allowed. Forgive the choices. Forgive what I didn’t do.

  It took a lot of understanding and compassion, but soon I was feeling lighter and freer. I was slowly shedding the old skin.

  I was prepared to tell Tyler how I was feeling, but I needed to make peace with myself. So some nights, the meditations I would use to help me fall asleep were two versions of myself, connecting at the heart.

  I’m brought back to the present when I feel Tyler stop the motorcycle. Being with him tonight, after not seeing him for so long, was great. I missed him a lot while he was away, and now that I have him I don’t want to let go.

  He chuckles and I unwillingly remove my arms from around his middle. I take off the helmet, grateful it kept my face warm while we rode around the city, and place it on the seat.

  “Thank you for dinner. Thank you for coming back,” I tell him.

  “I always planned on it, but I think you were right about us doing what we needed separately.”

  I nod in agreement. That was definitely necessary. Not because we wouldn’t be able to do it together, but because we both needed to understand our independent strengths. We were easily falling into a co-dependency and I want more than that from him.

  Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, Tyler walks me to the door.

  “Goodnight,” he says quietly.

  “Goodnight.” I smile at him, feeling so many things, but all of them good.

  My life is good.

  Tyler pulls me into him using the arm that is draped around my shoulders and kisses my temple.

  “I know I need to let you go now, but I don’t want to,” Tyler confesses.

  I have no idea how his work schedule is while he’s taking a break from touring, but I want to see him again. I want to explore what we have.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say squeezing him one more time.

  “After work?” He looks at me.

  “Sure, I get out late, though, because of my ceramics class.”

  “That’s fine. Come over and I’ll have dinner for you.”

  I want to kiss him again, feel his lips against mine, but I refrain myself. It’s been a lot to take in today and I want to pace myself.

  Instead, I walk into the house, change into my pajamas, and fall asleep with Tyler’s lyrics under the pillow I sleep on, like I have done every night since he gave them to me.

  Tyler and I have seen each other every day since he’s been back. I have shown him my latest paintings and the couple pieces of pottery I have brought home already. We mostly spend time at his house and he continues to say how I should still be living there. I do miss being in that home, but I’m happy living with Sam. It’s been helpful.

  Since Healing Hearts is closed on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, I have the days off to relax. Tyler invited Sam and I over for Christmas dinner with his mom and Ben. Sam works the holidays, but I told him I would be there.

  With each gentle kiss we share, I realize more and more that what we have is about trust. It’s not about a relationship title or letting someone in from a specific gender, it’s all about trust. From early on, Tyler proved to me he was good and I allowed myself the chance to see that. I trusted him and that bonded us.

  Since Christmas is a couple of days away, I stop at a store to buy Tyler a gift. It’s nothing, but I saw it a while back and loved the idea.

  After, I buy the ingredients necessary to make apple pie for Christmas dinner and go home.

  Sam is home today and I know she’s curious about what’s going on, but also respects my space. She knows Tyler and I are seeing each other and has made sure I am okay with everything while also encouraging me to follow my heart.

  I have maintained my routine even though Tyler is here and continued going to kickboxing with Sam. She has been a blessing in my life and kickboxing had helped me more than I could have ever imagined.

  Once I’m home, I unload the groceries and wrap Tyler’s gift. Then, I paint for a little while. Isabel, the owner of the gallery downtown, told me one of my paintings sold and for a great price. She asked to take another one to replace the one that sold and told me the few pieces I sent her for the Chicago art fair have shipped already. They needed all the artwork delivered sometime before the actual fair, and I preferred it being in their hands than arriving too late.

  I close my eyes and breathe in, like I do every time I begin painting. Settling into the chair, I get lost in the colors and strokes.

  “Red.” I hear someone say and gently rock me.

  “Hmm?”

  “Wake up.”

&nbs
p; “Huh?” I slowly open my eyes and see Tyler standing over me. “What time is it?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  “Oh, shit.” I jump off the bed. I must have fallen asleep at some point after painting.

  “Sorry,” I exclaim. “I guess I was tired.”

  “It’s okay. You want to cancel?”

  “No.” We have plans to go bowling and I am excited. I hadn’t been since I was a little girl.

  “Okay. I’ll let you get ready.” He leaves the room and I jump quickly in the shower and get dressed.

  I grab the gift I bought him, even if it’s a little early. It’s not like I follow a tradition, so what’s the difference between giving it to him on the twenty-third or the twenty-fifth.

  I hear Sam and Tyler talking when I walk into the living room, and they smile when they see me. Tyler stands and leads us out of the house.

  I laugh when I spy Tyler’s car.

  “It’s freaking cold, Red,” he excuses and shrugs. It is cold tonight.

  “The car was a good idea,” I reply.

  Tyler and I spend the night bowling and snacking on the nachos and mozzarella sticks they sell at the stand in the bowling alley.

  Every time I get ready to bowl, Tyler accidentally bumps into me. He chuckles and walks back to his seat when my steps falter before letting the ball go. I look back at him, crossing my arms, and glare. I turn around when he yells excitedly and see most of the pins knocked over.

  “In your face!” I point at him, causing a few people to look our way.

  He laughs at my reaction and gets ready for his turn. I watch as he bowls, laughing to myself because he does not look like the type of person who would go to a bowling alley. Heavy boots, dark jeans, baseball cap, and tattoos. Of course, the gauges in his ears, the rings, and leather bracelets he always wears add to the look.

  He hits a few pins only and turns to look at me.

  “Guess you’re beating me, Red.”

  “And you’re trying to cheat.”

  “I’d never.” He chuckles and squeezes my hand as he passes by me. My stomach does that tingling thing again and I catch my breath. I guess this is what butterflies feel like. A touch from Tyler always feels comforting and welcomed. It sparks something in me that makes me want to hold him forever.