DREAMS of 18

by A. Kent, Saffron

  I grab it as a lifeline. I grab it with both hands and breathe out a sigh of relief. It’s big, huge. I almost dissolve in the bed. “Oh, thank God. Thank. God. You have no idea how relieved I am. Gosh. I got so scared for a second.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, I heard that.”

  I go to smile but then I remember something. Something he said before I got all sidetracked.

  “Did you just say that you’ve been acting like an asshole to your dad? Why’d you say that?”

  He goes all silent and I don’t know what to think.

  All I know is that something bad is coming. Even worse than when he said he wanted to ask me out. Although, for the life of me I can’t imagine what it could be.

  “Bri? Why did you say that?”

  “Because he likes you too.”

  I’ve never been shot before. I don’t know what it feels like to have a tiny bullet, traveling at the speed of sound, hit your body.

  I imagine it’s jarring, to say the least.

  I imagine it’s painful. It’s shocking. It makes your bones rattle and it makes your breaths fall out of your lungs. It makes a hole in your body.

  That’s what it feels like right now.

  Like I’ve been shot and I don’t know how it happened and I don’t know what to do next.

  “What?”

  I’ve barely said it; my voice is thin as paper, thinner, even. But my best friend hears it.

  “Yeah, he does. He wants you. I asked him point blank that night and I could read it on his face. I could see it. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. It was all there. He looked so guilty. So fucking tormented over it.”

  He wants me.

  Mr. Edwards wants me.

  The man who hates me, the man whose life I ruined. The man I’ve had feelings for ever since I was sixteen wants me.

  “He wants me?” I breathe out.

  “Yeah. And the things I said to him for that. The things I put him through.”

  He utters those words on a sigh, a regretful sigh.

  “W-what did you say?”

  “I told him he ruined my life. I told him that he betrayed me for wanting the girl I want. That I hated him. That he’s a fucking pervert for wanting a girl his son’s age. When he lost his job, I told him he deserved it. When the article came out and they called him all those names, I… I did too. I called him sick, a pedophile. Fuck…”

  He pauses to draw a breath before starting up again. “He never said a word, Vi. Not once. He took it all. All my tantrums and hatred and disgust. God, I don’t even know what to say to him now. I feel so wrecked over it. We were always so close and now we haven’t seen each other in almost a year. We don’t talk. I don’t know how to talk to him. I don’t know what to say and how to make it go away and…”

  Brian says a lot of things, but I don’t hear any of them because I finally understand. I get it now. I get Mr. Edwards’s anger, his hatred, all the drinking.

  His roses.

  I even understand about the roses. The flowers he grew to cure his loneliness when his dad was sick.

  I understand why it doesn’t feel like he hates me anymore.

  Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t hate me.

  If he did, he wouldn’t have asked Brian to talk to me. He wouldn’t have asked his son to stop punishing me.

  No, he doesn’t hate me. He hates himself. He’s punishing himself.

  Because he thinks he’s betrayed his son.

  He thinks he’s betrayed his son for wanting me. He hates himself for wanting what his son wanted.

  Oh God, he hates himself.

  I grip the phone so tightly and press it so hard against my ear that it should be painful and maybe it is, but I don’t feel anything right now except this urge to make Brian understand.

  “Brian, you need to talk to him,” I cut him off. “You need to talk to your dad. He’s not… He’s not in a good place, Bri. He’s not doing okay. He lives out here, in this cabin, all alone. He used to drink up until a week ago, did you know that?”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. You need to fix it. You need to tell him that you don’t hate him. You don’t even like me anymore. You need to tell him that. He’s heartbroken, Brian. God, he’s so… he’s heartbroken. He’s in pain. He hates himself. Do you realize that? How could you do that to him? He’s your father. How could you call him all those names? You’re his son. You guys were best friends. You were supposed to stand beside him when everything happened. He doesn’t deserve your condemnation. He doesn’t deserve your hatred, you got that? Promise me you’ll fix it. Promise me, Brian.”

  “You love him, don’t you?” Brian responds. “You’re in love with my dad. You’ve always been.”

  All the fight goes out of me at his abrupt question.

  I sag under my own weight. I sag under the weight of my feelings.

  All this time, I thought Mr. Edwards hated me. All this time, I thought if he poured out all his anger on me, he’d be free.

  Most of all, I thought I came here just to apologize.

  None of that is true, is it?

  He doesn’t hate me. He’s not angry with me, either. And I didn’t come here just to apologize.

  I came here because I’m not over him. I was never over him.

  In fact, what I feel for him is bigger. So much bigger than I gave myself permission to even think about. It’s always been bigger.

  It’s been that way since the day I saw him through the window of my bedroom.

  “Yeah. I do. I love your dad, Brian. I’ve always loved him. Ever since I was sixteen.”

  And he wants me.

  I found out about Brian just after my father had died.

  I was alone, sad, angry, all ready to leave for college in the fall when Cynthia – the girl I’d hooked up with weeks ago – called me out of the blue and told me about him.

  If I was scared and feeling alone before, I was fucking terrified after that. I didn’t know how to take care of a kid. I didn’t want to take care of a kid. I’d just finished taking care of my drunk father. I didn’t want another responsibility.

  I wanted to get out of this town. I wanted to forget my life and do something… different. Than what I’d been doing up until then – cleaning up after my dad and playing ball.

  But then, I saw him.

  As soon as Cynthia put him in my arms, he began wailing and I forgot the things I wanted. I only knew I had to take care of him.

  He was my kid. I had to be whatever he needed me to be. A protector, a cook, a storyteller, a soother.

  I had to be there for him, my son. My blood.

  I wasn’t going to let him down.

  Until I did.

  Actually, it was better when I was drunk. Things didn’t have an edge. Guilt didn’t pierce me this deeply, this excruciatingly.

  I’m starting my truck to get back to the cabin after a long fucking day at the camp when my phone buzzes. It’s Brian.

  I hit accept so fast that I almost smash the screen. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hey, you okay?” I ask, hoarsely, thinking that maybe he’s calling because something is wrong and he needs me.

  Because why the fuck would he call me after how we left things last time?

  “Yeah, Dad, I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

  I whoosh out a breath. “Okay, that’s good. Great.”

  After a few moments of tense silence, he says, hesitantly, “Dad, I… I broke up with Fiona.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. You were right. I had to do the right thing. I was doing it all for the wrong reasons. I was doing it to hurt people.”

  A rock lodges itself in my throat and I somehow push it down to speak. “That’s… That’s good. How do you feel, though?”

  “I’m okay. It wouldn’t have lasted long anyway.” Then, “Dad, I also realized something else.”

  “Yeah? Wha
t?”

  “I talked to her.”

  The knife in my chest starts twisting at a mere mention of her and a throb starts up just under my rib cage.

  “You did,” I almost choke out with relief.

  “Yeah, I did,” he replies. “I talked to Vi and she forgave me for Fiona so easily. So fucking easily that it made me realize how much of a douchebag I’ve been. I let my ego rule. I got so pissed that I hurt the two most important people in my life. And the truth is that I didn’t know how to reach out to you, Dad, after everything I said. After the way I behaved, I didn’t know what to say to you…”

  That rock tries to crawl up but I force it down again, even though it’s infinity times harder to do it this time. “Hey, it’s over now. It’s done. I’m proud of you.”

  I am.

  He did the right thing and besides, I didn’t know what to say to him, either. So it’s water under the bridge.

  I’m glad we’re talking now.

  “She deserves better, Dad. Vi deserves better. She deserves someone who doesn’t hurt her like I did. She deserves someone who puts her first.”

  Now the pain in my chest is so tremendous that it radiates out to my whole body. I remember her words from last night.

  Are you saying I’m… visible?

  Jesus Christ.

  I wanted to break something then. Punch something. Maybe even her parents.

  “She does,” I say, at last.

  “She deserves someone like you, Dad.”

  “What?”

  “There’s no excuse for how I behaved. I’m so fucking ashamed. There’s no way I can ever make up for it, for all the things I did to you over the past year, the way I froze you out, the things I said just to hurt you because I was angry. But Dad, I want you to know this. I want you to know that she deserves someone like you in her life. Someone good and noble. Someone who won’t hurt her. I claimed to have feelings for her and look at what I did. I got so lost in my ego. I was like, how does she not like me when every other girl does. How the fuck does she not like me, you know? And I stepped on everything that made our relationship special. She deserves someone who –”

  The pain becomes so unbearable, so intense that I clench my teeth and cut him off. “We’re not talking about this.”

  “Why not? Dad, please. You gotta believe me.”

  “Brian,” I warn.

  “Please, just give me one good reason why we shouldn’t talk about this. I know you like her, Dad. I know that.”

  “I don’t,” I clip.

  “Stop lying, Dad. If you didn’t, you never would’ve called me and asked me to patch things up. I know how difficult I’ve made things for you. I know how hard it was for you to reach out to me after the way I acted. So I know. What I don’t know is why you’re resisting this. I know she’s there with you. She told me. Do this for me, Dad. You asked me to do something for you and I’m asking the same now.”

  “Let it go, Brian.”

  “I will,” Brian says urgently. “Just tell me why you dating her is such a bad idea. Just give me a reason.”

  “Because she’s half my age,” I bite out. “Do you realize what that means? Because I’ve got a son her age. Because she’s still naïve and innocent and full of life. She talks about dreams and wishes and…”

  And she saved me.

  She fucking saved me from drinking when she had no reason to.

  After the way I grew up with my drunk father, I’ve hated drinking. I’ve always considered it a liability, something I wouldn’t do. Something I promised myself that I wouldn’t ever put my son through.

  But then, it became necessary. It became imperative to drown out everything that happened past summer. The guilt, the fact that my son hated me.

  She saved me, though.

  She came in and she saved me.

  She saves people. She makes the world a better place. She dreams.

  I don’t even remember the last time that I had a dream. I don’t remember my wishes or things that I wanted while I was growing up.

  All I know is that my mother left when I was five and my dad was an alcoholic. All I know is that I took care of him and when I couldn’t and I needed a distraction, I played.

  I played not because I wanted to or I loved it but because it took me out of the house.

  It exhausted me so I didn’t feel lonely. I didn’t feel aimless or angry at having a father who drank and a mother who didn’t care enough to stay.

  “Dad?”

  Brian brings me out of my thoughts. “She deserves someone who’s good. You’re right. Someone who won’t hurt her. Someone who’ll give her whatever her romantic heart wants. I’m not that person. I’ve never been that person, all right. And I’m not starting now. She probably never even had a heartbreak and I have no interest in being her first. So drop it.”

  I have no interest in making her cry and leaving her like the people in my life have left me. I’ve no interest in breaking her heart and making her a cynic like me.

  I have no interest in taking on that burden. That blame.

  I’ve got enough blame to deal with. I’ve committed enough crimes.

  Brian says that he doesn’t mean any of the things he said. That he was angry, he wanted to hurt me.

  The reason those things hurt me was because they were true. Every single one of them. Even that article was true.

  They called me a pervert, a sick, twisted individual. A danger to society.

  I am all of that.

  Because two years and ten months ago, I saw a sixteen-year-old girl climbing out of her window and I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to look away.

  It felt like someone had stabbed me in the chest.

  Someone infected me and I lost my mind over her.

  I’ve got a red dress on tonight.

  And make-up.

  It’s not much, really. Just some mascara and lipstick.

  I’m not a dress girl or a make-up girl at all. In fact, I don’t even own a lot of dresses.

  But I own this.

  It’s red with flimsy spaghetti straps. It has frills along the hem that stops midthigh and along the neck that goes down to show a little bit of my cleavage.

  I got it on my seventeenth birthday, a little present to myself. A dress in his favorite color.

  I’ve hardly ever worn it, except for in the privacy of my room back in Connecticut.

  When I was coming here, I didn’t know why I packed it. Or why I packed this little cherry-red lipstick and mascara.

  You know what, scratch that.

  I do know why.

  I know why I packed these things.

  I packed them because I love him. Because I was thinking about him and I was going to see him and even though I thought he hated me, I wanted to have this dress with me.

  God, it’s so freeing to admit this.

  To admit that I’m in love with him.

  I’ve always, always been in love with him. Since the beginning. Since the very first moment. The very first sight.

  Maybe it’s naïve and romantic. But fuck it.

  I am a romantic. I’m a dreamer. And I accept that now.

  Acceptance is wonderful, isn’t it?

  The most wonderful thing.

  I’ve always felt ashamed of my feelings for him. Even before everything went down. I felt ashamed that I wanted my best friend’s dad. I wanted to move away so I could forget him. So I didn’t break any rules. So I could bury my dreams. I even thought that I’d find someone else, maybe. I’d find an appropriate guy to crush on.

  Instead, I should’ve believed in my dreams, my desires. I should’ve believed in my heart.

  It’s okay, though. It ends tonight.

  All of this. This guilt, this shame, this anger. This whole fucked-up mess that started on my eighteenth birthday, that started with my poison kiss.

  Only it wasn’t poison.

  It was just that: a
kiss. A lonely, filled with longing and overflowing with dreams kiss.

  Besides, the timing wasn’t right then. I was too young, barely eighteen, but I’m not too young now. There’s no one in the world who can stop us.

  No human, no law, not even God.

  After I made Brian promise that he’d call his dad and fix things, we talked for hours. I told him not to tell his dad about my feelings and he agreed. He asked me if his dad was the reason why I wouldn’t come over to his house and I said yes. I told him how it all started and how guilty I felt for crushing on his dad.

  He told me that he’d cut ties with everyone back in Connecticut. He’d blocked all the people on social media who’d message him about me and the kiss.

  In fact, there were several people who messaged him about my breakdown too and for a second, I really got freaked out. I thought he knew, but as it turns out, he doesn’t. Because when he shared those things with Fiona, she wrote them off as rumors.

  Thank God for her.

  We even talked about all the stupid, nasty rumors about him and me. And for the first time ever, I laughed about them. It felt okay to laugh about him being my alleged fiancé.

  It felt like old times.

  Then, I did something important.

  Something that has been missing in my life for months now. I got out a new diary from my fat hobo and I gave it a different name: The Diary of a Blooming Violet.

  I wrote it with a red glitter pen, even.

  To honor my new dreams and a certain someone who said I was beautiful.

  The certain someone who came back from work a little while ago.

  He took one look at me, my red dress, clenched his jaw in anger, shot me an almost accusing glare and disappeared down the hall like I set him on fire.

  He’s in the bathroom now, taking a shower. I can hear the water as I walk toward him.

  With every step that I take, my heart grows bigger. Bigger and bigger until it’s like a balloon in my chest, so swollen that it’s painful to cage it in my ribs.

  I reach the bathroom door after what seems like ages. I’m expecting it to be locked but it’s not. In fact, it’s not even closed the whole way. Like he just wanted to get out of my presence as fast as possible and didn’t care about locking doors or where he went.