27
Skye
Did he mean what he said last night? That he loves me? I know I did. I’ve never felt words needing to erupt from me as much as those did. Not even times when I cried out for help when my body was at its ultimate limit. The words swirled through me as he was inside me, burning the back of my throat until I released them. Once they filled the air, there was no taking it back. He’d either accept them or blow them away.
Road noise buries all sounds inside the car. Gentle, repetitive rumbling that vibrates my chest.
“Why are you so quiet?” he asks.
I play with the loose hem of my sweater. “Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?”
“That you love me?”
His lengthy silence almost gives me an answer. A real shitty answer, but an answer all the same. He reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling my fingers away from the loose string of my sweater.
“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it. I’ve spent every day since we met being cautious about what I say to you, treading lightly so I wouldn’t hurt you. I’m sure as shit not starting now.” He looks away from the road to shoot me a sweet smile. His words lighten the weight around my heart. “I’d be balls deep inside you if I didn’t care about hurting you,” he says with a laugh.
Heat falls from my cheeks, runs down to my chest, and spreads across my skin. “You can, you know.”
He glances over at me again, his eyebrows furrowed.
“I’m not breakable. Not easily, at least. I want you to feel the way you make me feel.”
“You feel so incredible, Skye, so don’t ever think you—”
“Then can you just trust me? I’d tell you if something was too much. You know that.”
He doesn’t need to carry me like a broken baby bird that fell from its nest. I just need him to lift me off the ground and give me the strength to fly. Instead of fearing I’ll fall again, he only needs to be there when I need to be picked up.
“Be careful what you ask for.” He smirks at me without looking away from the road ahead of him.
We drive in silence for a while. Trees race past, with branches reaching into the sky as high as I can see. Little buds explode from them, showing signs of spring. A yawn parts my lips, and I nearly nod off by the time Kevin speaks again.
“I’m going to stop and visit my mom on our way back home,” he says as he tightens his grip around the steering wheel. “Might as well if I’m all the way up here, right?” He asks the question as if he’s trying to rationalize with himself out loud.
“Can I go?”
“I think it’s better if you wait in the car. It might get ugly. My mom and I don’t have the best relationship.”
“I’m the walking poster child for unhealthy domestic relationships,” I say with a smirk.
Kevin rolls his eyes.
A few miles slip by before he turns onto a long paved driveway. His posture becomes more rigid with every rotation of the tires beneath us. I look up at the small white house as it comes into view. Pieces of siding are missing from the home. Overgrown grass and bare earth have taken over the broken lawn ornaments scattered across the lawn. Kevin clears his throat, as if to pull my eyes away from the despair that was once his home. He puts the car in park and takes a deep breath.
“Are you sure you want to come in?” he asks, though he knows the answer.
“I am.”
He lets out a groan. The answer is what he expected.
We get out of the car and walk toward the front steps—which are breaking apart beneath their own weight. Pieces of concrete gather under them as they weather away. Kevin knocks in a way that doesn’t feel like this is his childhood home. He’s a stranger. And so am I.
A woman with thick, dark hair answers the door, and I recognize her from the picture in the cabin. She doesn’t express excitement when her eyes land on Kevin, but neither does he. She looks at me with furrowing brows.
“Why are you here?” she asks. She’s clearly a very welcoming woman.
“I just want to talk to you,” Kevin says with ice that rivals his mother’s.
“Who’s this?” She doesn’t take her eyes off me. I don’t know what I look like to her, but whatever it is, she doesn’t like it.
“My . . . girlfriend,” Kevin says. He flashes eyes full of remorse at me. What’s he apologizing for? Did he plan to do a fucking parade to make it official? Now’s as good a time as any, and beneath the awkward glare of his mother at that.
“A little young, eh?” she says as she opens the screen door and lets us in.
My cheeks feel on fire. I hate being called “young” when it’s in a condescending way. If she only knew just how much I was forced to age.
She guides us to an old, scratched-up kitchen table. Kevin sits, and I take a seat beside him. His mother takes a chair across from him without offering us anything. Aren’t Italian women supposed to be doting moms? This one seems like she wants to be anything else besides a mother.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of having you here, son?”
She clearly doesn’t know what that saying means. Or she does and she’s just a dick.
“I’ve been going to therapy, and I’m visiting on the recommendation of my therapist.”
“What could you possibly have said about me?” She chuckles and pulls out a pack of cigarettes from her breast pocket, lighting it at the table. With a short gesture, she points it at me. “If you’re old enough to smoke, you can have one.”
Shots fired.
I wave her gesture away. Kevin’s body tenses and his cheeks pulse with every clench of his jaw.
“I’ve only mentioned that we have no relationship, which we don’t.”
“Whose choice was that?” she asks.
Kevin swallows hard. I reach my hand out and touch his thigh beneath the table to remind him I’m here. A quick squeeze tells him how I feel about her already.
“Are you serious?” he asks her.
“What do you mean, am I serious? You made the choice to go off and play an almighty soldier.” Sarcasm saturates her words.
“I fought for my country!” Kevin raises his voice and goes to stand up. I push my weight into his thigh, and he sits back down.
“What good has that done you?” she asks. “It did nothing but make you a mess.”
She is unbelievably wretched. My father has literally broken my face, and it didn’t hurt as much as these words hurt Kevin. I can see the anguish woven within his expression. She’s saying things he already believes about himself.
“We haven’t had a relationship since long before I signed up. You just started to hate me once I did.”
“Care to elaborate?” She draws her cheeks in to inhale more smoke.
“You were never around. Everyone else was more important than me. You were never there for me. Not once.”
“That’s not true. I was in the back of the courtroom at your trial. Every day.”
“I’m sure it was just to see me get the punishment you thought I deserved all along.”
Wait. What she said smacks me in the face. Trial?