A sudden heat pressed against my back, a pair of hands wrapping around the top of the chair. I turned my head to see my favorite pair of rough hands that held me so gently.
I shut my eyes, trying to stop the inevitable smile from blooming. I didn’t last long. When it came to Hector, my resolve flew straight out of the window.
I’d never had a dream for myself. Everything I’ve done has been in honor of my mother. I’ve never dared to want anything for myself. Hector was the exception to the rule. The rarity in my life. Because there wasn’t anything more in the world than I wanted this man to show up for me when I needed him and even when I didn’t.
I tilted my head back and there he was.
My roommate. My best friend. My man.
Okay, maybe he wasn’t my man but a girl could dream.
“Sit,” I demanded, motioning to the empty chair next to me. He listened without hesitation and I had no choice but to let my smile break free. I caught sight of Hector’s crisp white button-down shirt tucked into a pair of navy blue slacks paired with a pair of burnt copper boots I’d never seen him wear before. He had on an all black fitted 76ers hat that almost covered his eyes. I surmised this was his attempt at going undercover.
If I thought he looked sexy in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, I had no word to describe how sexy I found him now.
The sound of a throat clearing made me tear my gaze away from him and look to the stage. I straightened in my seat as she introduced herself and I noticed Hector did the same. Carly started off with a poem about how society viewed plus-sized individuals before she transitioned into a story about how she started to hate herself because society taught her to before finally, she shared her final poem with us. A poem about acceptance, about not giving a fuck about what people who don’t know you think of you, about accepting your own definition of beautiful and no one else’s.
Just like the poetry I devoured any chance I could, the poetry I found myself writing more and more of, and all of the poetry I listened from my last time in this café, my chest ached from the beauty of prose, from the awe I felt connecting with a complete stranger from across the room.
Once she thanked the crowd and walked off stage, I turned to Hector, unsure of what he’d think. I hadn’t even confessed to him the truth behind the past two weeks of my behavior. I hadn’t told him that I’ve fallen in love with poetry, fallen in love, maybe for the first time, with life.
“What did you think?” I whispered.
His eyes were glued to my face, caressing me without a single touch. He didn’t react, his soft eyes boring into mine. Just as I went to ask him again, he whispered one word so softly it felt like a brush of breath. “Beautiful.”
Someone stood from a few tables from us and made their way to the stage. “Be gentle on me. This is my first time.” Screams of encouragement sounded from all over the room. I was just thankful for the reprieve from Hector. From eyes that could bring me to my knees and lips I wanted so desperately to taste again.
His hands were a different story. Something I wanted on me all of the time. I found his underneath the table, intertwining my fingers through his. His rough skin gliding against mine felt like home. I looked down to where our hands set, on top of his thick thigh and I had to fight a dreamy sigh off.
Over the next hour, I listened to newbies and old-timers share their poetry and I felt invincible. Nothing could touch me here. Not with Hector’s hand in mine and my heart opening for each person who was brave enough to grace that stage.
I was happy in a way I didn’t think I ever had been before. Happy in a way I could have never imagined for myself. Not ten years ago, not even three months ago.
When the lights flickered back on, the break between the open mic and the special guest on stage, I looked over at Hector to catch him looking at me. I tipped my beer up at him in offering and a second later his hands wrapped around mine on the neck and I tried to fight off a full body shiver and lost. Even when he brought the bottle to his lips, he still didn’t tear his eyes away.
I lost that battle, too. I straightened from my chair with a promise to be right back and went to the bar and placed an order for food. Meanwhile I let my body sag against the countertop. The bartender looked at me in question but I just shook my head. How could I explain that a man who I had once thought ruined my life was actually the best thing that had ever happened to me?
When the bartender handed me a tray with two plates of appetizers, two glasses of water, and another bottle of beer, I made my way back to the table. As soon as Hector saw me, he stood, reaching out to help me but I brushed past him and set the food on the table. He glowered at me and in return, I shot him a grin.
When we both sat down, I moved the plate of chicken wings closer to me and the jalapeño cheese balls closer to him. He raised his eyebrows at me and I shrugged. “The only spicy thing they had.”
He smiled and in response, I shoved a chicken wing in my mouth. We ate in silence until Hector had one last cheese ball twirling between two of his fingers. I looked at him curiously and a sly smile spread across his face. “Want a taste, bonita?”
My eyes dropped to stare at his curved lips and the pink tongue that darted out to lick his bottom one. Yes.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. He popped the ball into his mouth and I watched as he chewed slowly, running the tip of his finger across his bottom lip, erasing the nonexistent crumbs. I didn’t know being jealous of food could ever be a thing but apparently it was.
The lights dimmed a moment later and Hector was no longer the reason for the fluttery but painful butterflies floating around in the pit of my stomach. I took one more long pull of our shared beer before standing up. I didn’t look over to see Hector’s reaction but I did inhale deeply before letting a shaky breath out. Then, I turned to him, leaned down, and pushed his thighs apart. He didn’t resist; he let me have my way with him, use his body as I saw fit. I plopped down on top of his thighs, my hands sneaking out to grasp his shirt. His hands shot out, gripping me at the hips. His body turned rigid as I settled deeper into his chest. He settled underneath me after a few minutes, his hands securely around me loosening into a gentle hold. I let my head fall against his chest just as Eliza Reyes walked on stage.
She walked confidently, similar to that of a runway model. I couldn’t see much of her since she hadn’t stepped into the light yet but I could tell she had a figure a lot of girls would kill for. She wore tight jeans and a tank top that showed off her boobs. She stopped walking just as the tips of her shoes came into the spotlight. She raised her hand, microphone in hand, and let her voice take over.
She
She is someone’s mother
She is someone’s sister
She is someone’s daughter
* * *
When a man lays his hands on a woman,
labels are attached to their names.
* * *
He’s the bright star on the swim team.
He’s the hopeful politician.
He is the one who just made a mistake.
* * *
It’s different for women.
* * *
She is someone to someone else.
She is not just someone.
She is someone
to someone else.
Every word she spoke, I clung to Hector’s shirt, my fingers curling against him. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. All I could do was feel. If I trusted my feet enough, I would stand and walk far, far away this very moment.
She took a deep breath through the microphone before stepping into the light. My entire body drew into a tight ball at the sight of her. The deep scar that ran along her face wasn’t her only scar. With the lack of a modest shirt, I could see multiple scars running along her arms and the scariest looking one that formed an edged horizontal line like someone had slit her throat.
Eliza’s face transformed. Instead of dark, jagged skin, I saw pale skin that matched mine and scars of lashes
on her back. I didn’t see a face of a stranger; I saw the one that I was the splitting image for. I remembered everything. Her scars. Her pain. Her screams. Her pleads.
Movement pulled me out of the memories assaulting me. Hector’s hands slid from my waist to the center of my back, drawing slow, soft circles against my spine. His breath coasting across my cheek as he whispered, “Breathe, bonita, I got you.”
Slowly, I relaxed, his touch and his touch only, grounding me. Eliza’s face returned to me, replacing my mom’s, to see a woman who had been through hell and escaped it and was now standing before me, brave enough to share her scars with a room full of strangers and potentially people like me. People who shared her experiences who needed to hear the truth about living in a nightmare and moving on from it.
She ignored the stool and the mic stand and worked the stage like it came naturally to her. She didn’t sit once and her steps were never hesitant or faltering. Not only through prose did she tell us she was as strong as strong could get but she showed us with each foot she put in front of the other. The foreshadowing was enough to break my heart. Throughout her poems, her voice flowed smoothly from one emotion to another. Her voice became loud when she was feeling frustrated and angry before turning into a soft whisper when she was feeling hopeful. She walked to the edge of the stage and she sat down for the first time. I found myself leaning away from Hector, scared that I would miss a single word she said.
They tell us how to act.
They tell us what to wear.
They tell us a lot of things
and we’re just supposed to do it without question.
* * *
But let me tell you something.
* * *
I am not a toy.
I am not something you can throw across the room
once you have grown tired of it.
I am a woman with a beating heart and
I’d rather die than to allow a man to break me.
The light to the stage shut off, plunging the room into darkness. All was quiet for a second before all of the lights turned on to reveal Eliza already making her way backstage. I unclenched my hands from Hector’s shirt and I clapped. He followed suit and the rest of the room joined us. Before Eliza disappeared from our view, she turned back and smiled, offering us a little wave. Her smile was so big, you would’ve never guessed she just finished pouring her heart out on that stage.
It reminded me of my mother’s smile, of her happiness when it was just the two of us. When I was younger, I never understood how she could be happy, knowing how the blows and the verbal matches were just a few hours away. Tonight, I realized that just because you were broken, beaten, and scarred, didn’t mean you had to be unhappy. I thought back to what Hector told me about how everyone needed an anchor in life, something to hold on to when you felt like giving it all up. I was that something for my mom.
I couldn’t stop the tears from pouring down my cheeks. I cried for Eliza and for my mom. I cried for everyone who has had to suffer at the cruel hands of someone who promised they loved you as they bruised your skin.
Hector tightened his arms around me in silent support as the café reverted back into its normalness. People ordered coffee and snacks and soft melodies played on the speakers throughout the room.
Without wiping the tears from my cheeks, I turned to face him. He lifted his eyes to me, his expression somber. He frowned when he caught notice of my small smile. It wasn’t the usual smile I gave him. It wasn’t sarcastic or teasing. It was a smile I hadn’t worn since my mom was alive. It was a smile that wasn’t formed with my lips but my heart.
I flicked the tip of his hat. “You clean up nicely,” I told him quietly.
He chuckled and I squirmed in his lap, effectively turning his laugh into a low groan. I tilted the lip of his hat until I could clearly see his face. His brown eyes were light in a way he only reserved for me.
I didn’t think. I didn’t do anything but what I wanted in the moment. I erased the distance until our breaths mingled and then, I was kissing him. Again.
It wasn’t like the kiss we shared the night we met. That kiss was between two strangers. It was sloppy. It was fierce. It was both of us fighting for control.
This kiss was the complete opposite.
This kiss was soft. This kiss was hesitant. This kiss was so fucking hopeful.
His hands danced their way from my back, up my sides until his palms cradled my face. I moved my own hands, wrapping them around his neck, my fingers raking through the soft hair at the back of his neck.
Our kiss turned feverish. I couldn’t get enough of him and by the feel of his hands gripping my cheeks like they were his lifeline, I knew he had to be feeling the same. When I had no choice but to come up for air, I leaned back to look at him. His hands loosened on my face but went nowhere. “Thank you for coming,” I whispered against his lips.
He didn’t say anything in return, instead using our moment of silence to bring my face back to his and slip his tongue past my parted lips. I eagerly met him stroke for stroke, my entire body melting against him.
When I started to make noises not suitable for public, he pulled back, taking my bottom lip for the ride. I squeezed my thighs together which I knew he felt because he smirked at me, before bringing my face back to his, dropping quick pecks to my lips.
He pulled his hat back down, hiding his eyes, and said, “Let’s go home.”
I nodded in agreement but couldn’t get my legs to cooperate, not when my heart hiccupped at the mention of “let’s” and “go” and “home.” He started to stand, me still in his arms and perched on his lap.
“Okay, okay, okay,” I said, giving in and standing on my own two feet. Hector led me outside, his hand wrapped around mine. I immediately sought out that familiar black car of his but didn’t see it in sight. When I looked up at him, he winked before hitting a button on his key ring. A white Lexus beeped, its lights flashing. I tore my eyes away from the beauty back to Hector, my mouth gaped open. “Why are we not riding around in this all of the time?”
“Because it’s for emergencies,” he responded immediately.
“This was an emergency,” I mused, smirking.
He ignored me, tugging me toward the passenger side and holding my door open for me. Once I was inside, I kept my eyes on him as he walked around to the driver’s side. A poetry reading wasn’t an emergency. Me needing him to be there for me, whether I spoke the words aloud or not, was. I tried to keep the smile off of my face as he ditched the hat and ran his fingers through his hair and started to drive us home but it was so fucking hard.
At some point, I reached over for his hand and he let me have it and before I knew it sleep drug me under. I woke up to the sound of my door opening and Hector reaching for me. “I can carry you,” he whispered, already moving his hands under my legs and around my back.
I swatted at him. “I can walk.”
Once we got inside, we both headed straight upstairs and I all but fell on the bed. I was fighting to keep my eyes opened as Hector stripped out of his clothes and threw on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Tonight of all nights, I cursed my little episode in our first and only time in the gym together.
He climbed on the bed, covering himself with his blanket.
When I left this house with Nolan a few hours earlier, I knew Hector and I would never be the same two people. We were no longer individuals. We were a unit. We were an us. As much as I didn’t plan on this and as much as he might think that I’ll want to leave when our six months is up, I knew I wouldn’t be this version of myself. I started to love myself because he made me feel safe enough to do so. I wasn’t planning on saying goodbye to him. Ever.
I lifted the blanket from my body, rising to my knees and crawling across the bed. I scooted myself into his space, his flannel blanket barely covering the both of us. My legs snuck in between both of his and I forewent a pillow, using his chest as a replacement. His arms wrapped around me and in a matter
of seconds, my breathing evened out and I was a goner.
* * *
I woke with a start, pain stabbing my stomach like someone was twisting the skin as hard as they could. I opened my eyes to find that to be exactly the case.
I slipped my hands from around Annie’s back to pull her away from me, grabbing her tight fists clinging from my skin and holding them. My shirt was soaked from the sweat that dripped from her hair onto her skin. Her body shook and her breath escaped her lips in short, anxious puffs.
I untangled her fists from my skin, laying her on her back. Sweeping the damp strands of hair from her face, I tried to call her name. Angling my face so when her eyes did flutter open, she had a clear version of who she was with and that she was safe.
“Annie, wake up,” I whispered, my fingers still combing through her hair.
Her body shivered, worry lines appearing on her forehead as she tried to open her eyes. Eyes that looked sad from a memory that assaulted her consciousness, but warmed the moment they clashed with mine.
“Hey,” she whispered, her soft voice breaking.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She shook her head, reaching her hands up to run across my cheeks, her fingers tickling the thick layer of scruff across my jaw. Her grip on me turned firm in an instant, dragging my head down until our lips touched.
I guessed this was a thing we did now. Kissing.
I melted against the softness of her lips. I pressed my hands, turned into fists, against the mattress to maintain some semblance of control. Her lips closed around my top lip before retreating and capturing my bottom one. The tenderness she kissed me with spread shivers down my spine. It wasn’t just my body I had signed over to her, however unwilling it went, she had my heart, too.
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