27
Emily
“You went out with David?”
Kevin walks into the kitchen. His footsteps are heavy. I’m cutting carrots for dinner as he corners me by the counter. His frame is that much larger when he’s angry. I can feel his heavy breath on my neck.
“You went out to lunch with David without telling me?”
I turn to look at him. His eyes are bloodshot, and he hasn’t slept in two days.
“I did tell you,” I say.
“No, you didn’t. I had to find out by reading your texts.” He throws my phone on the counter and the screen shatters.
“Yes, Kevin, I did tell you! Maybe if you weren’t off your face every day, you’d remember!”
He puts his shaking hand over the knife. His face contorts until he becomes someone I don’t recognize. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until Kevin put his fist through the wall behind us. I rush to take in air. The noise he makes is otherworldly, brewing from somewhere deep within his throat. The drywall crumbles around his wrist. He retracts his arm, taking more drywall with it.
He’s been trying to stay sober for us, but without the numbing effects of alcohol, his PTSD is becoming more apparent. He’s on edge and I’m on eggshells. He’s unpredictable, and I fear him. I wonder if sobriety is the lesser of the two evils after all.
He leaves me alone in the kitchen without uttering a word, slamming the door on his way out. I’m shaking and my face is flushed. With deep breaths, I pick up my phone and look at the damage. A spider web crack creeps across the glass. Great.
I text David.
Me: Want to meet up at the river? Need to get away.
David: Of course. See you in thirty minutes?
* * *
David
When I pull up to the spot on the river where we used to park, I smile at the memories. Back then, Emily and I would lie in the bed of the truck, staring at the stars and talking. I also think of all the women I brought here, their moans silenced by the sound of the river lapping at the rocks along the shore. Their thighs would quiver until I couldn’t tell if it was from me or the wind off the water.
I get out of my truck and hop into the bed. I lean back on my toolboxes. A bird lands on the rocks and cranes its head, flying off as Emily drives up and parks beside me. I turn to see her walking up to me and reach my hand down so she can hop up. She sits beside me and leans back.
“Thank you for meeting me here. I needed to get out of the house for a little while.”
I smile at her. I will happily be the distraction she needs.
“No worries, Em. I actually had a rare day off, so it works perfectly.”
She doesn’t speak for what seems like forever. She just stares out at the water. The river reflects in her eyes. I don’t know that we ever came to the river in the middle of the day.
“Water is so grounding to me,” she whispers.
She seems sad. I reach out and cover her hand with mine. She doesn’t pull away.
“Em, are you alright? You don’t seem like yourself.”
“I don’t even know,” she says.
She rests her head on my shoulder. I can smell her hair. Coconut and vanilla. I can’t do anything but be here for her. It’s what I would want her to do for me. I start to sing a twangy country song, changing the lyrics to match her mood.
“I ask her what’s the matter, and she says I don’t even know!” I intentionally draw out the last word for far too long and tip my imaginary cowboy hat.
She laughs for the first time in a long time. She jokingly gets up to leave, and I pull her back down, wrapping my arm around her. I lift her chin with my fingers. Her lips are so full. I stare at her and she blushes. My lips hover close to hers, but I stop myself and let go of her face, casually resting my arm over my crotch.
“Well, you know I’m here to listen, and I'll do whatever I can to help you.”
We are so confusing. The line that divides friendship and relationship is blurred for us. We can’t be together, but we can’t not be together. My skin ignites like a match when I touch hers, but to take it further would cause wildfires. She’s an extension of myself. When she’s not around, it creates a void that can’t be filled, no matter how many people I tried to fill it with. When she hurts, I hurt. When she’s happy, I’m euphoric. It’s getting harder to ignore the intense desire to be with her, but I don’t think I occupy her heart the way I used to. And I have no one to blame but myself.
* * *
Emily
I notice David covering himself,and I bite my lip. I’m flattered that I get him going, even when I look like this. I didn’t even have the energy to find matching socks or put on pants with an actual waistband.
“I have to get back home,” I say. “Thank you for coming out with me.”
I smile, aching for him. It seems mutual, but David Norstar will forever be untouchable, even in the moments I can reach out and touch him. We can’t be together, and sometimes we just need to remind our bodies of that.
He helps me down from the truck bed and waves as I hesitate after opening my car door. The sun’s rays explode behind him. He looks incredible. I take a mental picture of him. I will think about this moment later.
When I get home, Kevin is in the kitchen, patching up the hole in the wall. A replacement phone sits on the counter. He turns around when he hears the door close. He has white paste on his cheek and shirt. He comes over and wraps me in his arms.
“Emily, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
He kisses me. We’re at the top of the hill on Kevin’s rollercoaster ride. The worst part about being around David is that I come home and direct that raw, sexual energy onto Kevin. He isn’t deserving of it.
His kiss deepens as his hands fall to my hips. He squeezes my ass and slips his hand down the front of my pants. His fingers find wetness that isn’t meant for him. He growls into my neck. He pulls his shorts down and wiggles my pants down just enough before bending me over the countertop. The cold marble gives me goosebumps.
He’s inside me, thrusting as the glasses on the counter quiver. He puts his hand over my mouth, and I moan against his skin. His fingers trail down my chin and neck and wrap around my throat. He squeezes the sides of my neck. I finish, overcome with disgust.
What are we doing? This is just a bandaid I continue to reapply as I’m slowly bleeding to death.
I strap on the seatbelt, preparing for Kevin’s next descent. I know he’s been to war, but he’s brought the war home and immersed me in it. Our house has become hostile territory. I’m forced to be a warrior. I know who my enemy is, and I still choose to lie with him.