Page 53 of When I'm Gone

There’s a learning curve here, I’m aware. He’s coming out of an abusive relationship that molded his perception of love in a very convoluted way. I don’t know how to be the personhe needs me to be, really most of the time it’s guesswork based on his facial expressions and body language. But that? Knocks me straight on my ass without a moment’s notice. His self-esteem has been through a fucking meat grinder.

“Sweetheart, they are important. You know that, right? I’m not putting on a show to make you feel better. You are important, so your experiences, your emotions, your needs, all of that is important too.”

There’s about a thousand more words threatening to claw their way up my throat. How he never deserved to have someone make him feel otherwise, how if I was thinking clearly that day by the pool I would have saved him from all the pain he’s endured since. How I want to wrap him up in bubble wrap just so no one hurts him again, but also show him the ends of the earth so he never feels trapped again.

Easton shrugs simply. “I’m a lot sometimes, I know that. You’ve already put up with more than you should have to.”

I’m going to break him of the habit of using language like that if it kills me. “How about you let me decide what’s too much for me.” He looks reluctant, so I add, “I promise I’ll tell you if I get there.” Not possible. “But until then, I’m good, Chaos. I’m a big boy, I can take more than you think.”

I seal it with a kiss, channeling all the words he isn’t ready to hear into it, hoping that if nothing else, I can show him that he’s so much more than the bullshit he’s been through. Doesn’t he see that he’s everything?

CHAPTER 16

EASTON

The presents sitting on Chase’s dining room table are mocking me, I’m sure of it. They follow me as I move around the house, trying to make it feel less empty. He’s only at work, there’s no reason to miss his absence this severely. After all, I used to love it when he was at work. It was the only time I could take a deep breath. But when Chase is gone, it’s not like I’m going to fall to pieces or anything, everything is drastically less enjoyable, though. I’m bored without him, he’s my favorite person to talk to and be around. Even when he’s not here, I can still see the evidence that he cares all over the place. He always keeps the coffee warm for me, leaves meals and snacks all ready for me to eat. I tried bringing it up, wanting to assure him that he doesn’t have to do that for me. If I get carried away and forget food, it’s no one’s fault but my own. He only shrugged and said I like doing it and that was that.

Honestly, this can’t be normal, can it? I used to do all the cooking for him, but it damn sure was not because I liked it. But there’s no ignoring the way it makes my stomach swoop when I open the fridge to get creamer in the mornings andsee the things he’s made for me. And I’m not going to lie, it’s been nice that I’m eating enough that I’m not getting lightheaded anymore.

But Chase won’t be home for another few hours. He’s picking me up to go to the bar with his coworkers. It’s weird. He doesn’t act embarrassed about being seen with me if I’m not perfectly presentable. He’s actually excited for me to meet his friends and get out of the house together. Very weird, or unusual I guess, but also ridiculously cute.

I came in here to get a snack, but somehow ended up in a staring contest with a pile of presents. Call me materialistic, but I love getting gifts. It was what originally attracted me to him. Maybe it was years of getting stuff that was clearly bought last minute and without consideration for the things I might enjoy, but when shiny things started being dangled in front of me, I snatched them up like a magpie and called it true love.

These don’t feel the same, not that I can put my finger on why. After slathering my last apple slice in cookie butter and downing it in one bite, I decide to go for it. No one’s here and they’ve sat there unmoving for days already. It’s time. I start with the smallest first, the envelopes with little dancing Santa’s on them. Unsurprisingly, but no less significant, they’re gift cards. There’s a fair few of them and when I add up the total, a lump forms in my throat. Definitely the right choice to do this alone, then.

I can get my G.E.D. with this,I think absently. My single biggest regret some would assume is the whole disaster of a relationship that had me running across the country to people I wasn’t even sure liked me, but no, it’s that I had to drop out and never got the diploma that allowed me to check that tiny, haunting box on job applications that says I finished the minimum required education for any real path forward. Well, that’s not entirely fair. I’m sure there’s plentyof people that lead happy and successful lives without the equivalent of a high school education. I’m just not one of them.

Picturing my future beyond the day-to-day has been next to impossible when I just wanted to survive. But now… I’m safe, aren’t I? Chase hasn’t once threatened to kick me out, though it is early, I don’t really see him doing that. So if I can do this one thing to help my future self out, maybe I could manage more and more. Maybe one day… Who knows what’s possible?

My hand hovers over the boxes, unsure which to open next. I decide to pluck one at random, and tear it open. But once I see the contents, I don’t stop until there’s a pile of wrapping paper at my feet and all the gifts lay bare before me.

It’s been no secret that my feelings about the Adlers are complicated at best. Their generosity and open arms hit me like whiplash. It was overwhelming, confusing, and simultaneously wonderful. But seeing it all laid out in front of me like this is more than my neglected heart can take.

There’s a new phone and tablet but those are the minor league gifts. There’s also several leather-bound sketchbooks, a variety of gloriously vibrant watercolors and a set of Kolinsky paintbrushes. I pick up the closest thing to me, a burgundy red sketchbook with my name engraved on the front, and clutch it to my chest like a well-loved stuffed animal. Tears fall freely from my closed eyes as my chest constricts painfully. Never, not once in my almost twenty-one years of life have I ever seen such amazing things, much less that they’re mine. How did they even know…

Chase. He must have told them.

When I got kicked out, it was like this huge part of me went into hibernation to save room for survival. It was like a phantom feeling, the twitch in my fingers itching for paintwhen I saw a cotton candy sunset or the trees started to turn in the fall. Nothing I ever gave a full thought to, just a wistful desire that was easily brushed aside. I brought it up once, after the newness wore off of living with my boyfriend. My rose-colored glasses were still firmly in place, of course, but I was getting bored being left at home alone all day. All I asked was what he’d think if I bought some minor stuff to help keep me busy.

That was a really fucking bad day, and I never brought it up again. To hell with it, as far as I cared. It was nothing in comparison to laying on the bathroom floor unable to move.

The word artist is uncomfortable for me to think about. It’s not a word I’ve used to describe myself in years, and even then, it felt like a stretch. The only person to use that word in reference to me besides my art teacher was Brady. But that was a long time ago. That was before finding out the hard way that the real world hurt. Before realizing that I’m nothing special because I liked to draw, there are plenty of people more talented than I ever was. More creative, more unique perspective. And that was before I got rusty from lack of use. No doubt my hand has forgotten how to even hold a brush these days.

It stings, being unsure if I’m worthy of my passion. This was always my one thing. If I had to sit through a sermon that had sweat rolling down my back or Dad caught a mannerism that was a little too feminine, I had this to comfort me. Filling the walls with whimsical creations gave me the ability to exist in a fantasy world, somewhere that I fit in. That’s all I ever wanted.

A fissure is being ripped open somewhere inside me that allowed years of carefully packed away insecurities and pain to flow freely to the surface. It fucking burns. My fingers search for the physical wound, nothing internal should feel like this. It’s just some goddamn art supplies, for fuck’s sake.

“Make it stop,” I murmur into the leather. The pages inside are my oldest friends, but they don’t hear my cries anymore.

~~~

Chase

If Marianne wasn’t married, I might try to throw my name in the hat for the hell of it. Lack of sexual interest couldn’t be that much of a deal-breaker, could it?

Nah, I wouldn’t be able to do it. I’m already in too deep with my sweet Chaos to go back in the closet now.

But either way, she’s a fucking saint living among us. My love may or may not be traced back to getting off early today because she said it was dumb to start a new project on a Friday afternoon, but I’m a simple man. I can’t be blamed.

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