Page 7 of Back to Me

“Fuck!” I yell, listening to the sound reverberate off the walls of the empty apartment. Staring at the painted canvas resting against my easel, my vision turns red, and I’m unsure if it’s from the paint or my anger. I think about my dad and his constant disappointment in the man I’ve become. I think about my mom and how she died all those years ago, leaving me and Em behind. And I think about Sara. Feeling the weight of my love for her bear down on me like a hot iron pressing into my chest, I clench my fist and drive it through the canvas. Paint splashes against the hardwood floor as the easel and canvas fall to the floor with a loud smack. I collapse, kneeling and rearing my arm back, ready to deliver it with another blow.

But my arm stops mid-air as a warm hand wraps around me, stopping me from damaging the canvas any more than I already have.

“Graham, it’s okay.” Her voice is soft, and I slowly lower my arm, relieved she finally made it home, that she’s safe.

Kneeling, she slides herself in front of me, blocking my view of the chaos and destruction. I take a sharp breath in when her palms wrap around my cheeks. I’ve never felt her skin against mine, at least not in this way. I’m caught off guard, noticing how instead of her hands on my shoulders, she’s placed them on my face.

She wills me to look into her green eyes. “One,” she whispers. I close my eyes, feeling the heat of her skin pour into me.

I take a deep breath through my nose, willing myself to listen to her breathing. I open my eyes and wait. She inches closer to me, so close, her knees lightly push against mine. Her big green eyes stare into mine when she whispers again, “Two.”

With her hands still holding my cheeks, I raise my arms. I hesitate before placing my hands over hers. Not once have I felt her skin, and the moment my palms meet the back of hers, I feel her electricity. It’s as if a sudden jolt of lightning has been charged in me, and the room fades from black to a dull grey. She’s the light hidden beneath my shadows.

I take another deep breath, pulling in as much air as I can. Although her knees are pressed against mine and my hands are resting over hers, she’s still maintaining her distance. I momentarily remember she isn’t mine. She never has been and never will be.

I don’t want this moment to end. I want to grab her and pull her as close to me as humanly possible. I want to feel her skin against mine forever. Her touch is familiar despite never feeling her this way before. It’s strange to miss something you’ve never had. When she reaches the number five, I slowly pull her hands away from my face.

She doesn’t say anything as she waits for me to calm down. My body, no longer on fire, has cooled down to a dull ember. Resting her hands in her lap, she wrings her fingers, allowing me the time I need to explain the chaos she walked into.

“Thank you.” It’s all I can manage to choke out. My throat tightens when she nods and stands up. She turns around, scanning the room to see what I’ve done.

Quietly, she picks up my easel, placing it back in its original spot. She walks by the broken canvas to the barstool, still lying against the far wall, picking it up and sets it back next to the easel. I take a deep breath and stand, a dull throbbing pain pulsates in my right knee and the knuckles of my right hand. When I glance down at my fist, the only damage I can see is the various shades of paint staining my skin. Clenching and unclenching my fist, I sigh with relief, knowing I didn’t cause any real damage to my skin or bones. Walking across the room, I bend over and pick up the shattered pieces of my phone.

“Well, shit,” I groan, looking up at Sara to see her still standing over my broken painting. I hold the carcass of my phone in the palms of my hands and move to stand beside her.

She bends down, picking up the canvas. I watch in stunned silence as a single tear forms in the corner of her eye.

I take a step toward her. “Sara, what’s wrong?”

She shakes her head back and forth, leaving my question unanswered. “Looked like it could have been something beautiful.”

I examine the painting held between Sara’s hands. I don’t know where I was going with this painting, and despite the gaping hole driven through the middle of the woven canvas, I don’t see the beauty in it. But Sara has always managed to see the beauty in everything.

“I’ll throw it in the trash,” I say, reaching for the canvas. Sara’s grip tightens around the wooden edge, stopping me from pulling it away from her. Confused, I let go.

Turning her face, she stares into my eyes. “I want to keep it. Please?” she whispers.

“Sure.” I clear my throat and ask her the same question I asked her moments ago. “Are you okay?”

Holding the canvas in one hand, she raises her other hand and wipes underneath her eyes. Feeling residual anger from my dad, I push it aside, remembering how I had brushed her off earlier. It feels as if our meeting at the graffiti park was years ago, and I had nearly forgotten how I had left her there. Guilt settles in the pit of my stomach. Knowing how she must still be upset from earlier, I try to reassure her.

“Sara. I’m sorry about what I said to you at the graffiti park. I know you would have been there if you could.”

Her eyes widen slightly and shine like two fragile pieces of glass. Her shoulders fall as she searches my face. “I’m so, so sorry, Graham.” She opens her mouth before closing it, and I can see the words she fights to say on the tip of her tongue, but nothing comes out. She wraps her arms around her waist, and I can almost sense fear as if she’s afraid of something.

Closing the gap between us, I drop the pieces of my broken phone onto the barstool and wrap my arms around her, pulling her face to my chest. Her body stiffens. I rest my chin against her shoulder, squeezing her small frame tighter.

“You’re my best friend. I could never really stay that mad at you.” Her body relaxes, and a deep breath escapes her. She buries her face further into my chest. We don’t stay like this for long, we never do, before she begins to pull away. I stare into her eyes, resting my hands on her shoulders, keeping her at arm’s length.

“Besides, who would I watch all of our late-night Lost marathons with?” I grin, trying my best to make her laugh and succeed. She lets out a small giggle, running her hand down her face. The way her mouth curls into a small smile and the creases lining the corners of her eyes are enough to make my pulse race. As always, I ignore the feelings and quickly pull her in for another hug, this time, a hug of mutual apology.

The moment I release her, I exhale a heavy sigh. Scratching the stubble on my chin, I glance around the room. “I guess I should start cleaning.”

“Graham, what happened?” She winces before focusing her gaze on the floor.

I place my hands on my hips and pace the room. Sara’s gaze follows me as I walk from one side of the room to the other. Having had time to cool down, I keep my emotions at bay. It’s a different feeling than earlier. Sara manages to keep me focused and calm simply by being here.

“My dad called.”

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