Page 63 of Wrap Around
I kiss him again, gentler this time but still filthy, trying to get words out between swipes of my tongue. "Go now. Straight to the truck. If he sees you coming down the stairs, say you're looking for me and act like you just got there."
He nods frantically, and pushes me away again, laughing when I lick the corner of his mouth. There was a drop of somethingthere, could have been cum, sweat, or spit. Don’t know, don't care. Silas wipes his hand on a towel. We pull up our pants, trying not to look at each other because we're both wrecked and hard all over again.
I open the door and peek out to see if the coast is clear first, then gesture for Silas to go. Before he can get out of arm's distance, I pull him back to kiss him one more time. Then I shoo him away like he's the one holding up the escape plan.
Jolting awake, I groan and reach down to feel my knee. I know the difference between the pain now, but it's like I can't calm down until I feel the smoothness of the skin there. Like I need tangible proof that there isn't gravel stuck in my skin, or the swollen, rough divots that would take hours to go back to normal.
It's the first time I've slept alone since the night all our truths came out. From New Year's Eve on, I've been in his bed every single night. I've slept wrapped around him, woken up next to him and eaten breakfast with his family—myfamily. I even got my first zero-dark-thirty toddler wake up the other day, when a certain little munchkin pickle crawled up to snuggle her daddy in the middle of the night and got excited to find me there. So excited that she shrieked loudly and threw herself directly on top of my chest. Quite a wake-up call for two A.M., but not unwelcome. If anything, it was a good reminder to keep the door locked if anything frisky is happening, and to always wear pants to bed. She slept the rest of the night burrowed between our pillows, and I swear on my life I've never felt so complete. Even when I woke up to Silas lurking over me with his phone, taking a picture of me waking up to Addy's little diapered butt pressed against the side of my head.
Today I'm waking up alone, though. Not for any other reason than Dr. Shelton is making a house call early this morning, and we didn't want to risk her catching Silas on his way out. It's healthy to have a bit of space, right?
Ugh.I don't like it.
How is it that I made such a complete one-eighty? I guess it goes to show just how much I didn't truly hate Silas, I was just hurting. He thinks that's enough to forgive myself for how I acted, but I just can't. Even if I thought I could talk myself into it when I'm awake, I'm not sure that my dreams would be as forgiving.
My nightmare last night, for example. It started good, with us kissing and touching in the bathroom of Leif Frank's house again. Only this time, instead of getting away with it and driving away snickering, he pries open the door and finds us both with our pants down around our ankles. And he's not alone, the whole team is with him, Coach Dempsey is there, and so are both of our parents. My mother looks horrified, and my father looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel. Silas' dad holds a cane or something in one hand, hitting it against the palm of his hand. Only, when that rhythmic smack against his palm turns into real hits, it's not Mr. Caldwell hitting Silas. It's me. I'm punching him, over and over again. He's bleeding. I cut my knuckles on his teeth, which crack and fall out of his mouth. His face gradually becomes something more akin to ground meat than the beautiful face I've seen smiling back at me for the past few weeks. He's not smiling now. He’s also not fighting back, or even flinching away, which is somehow worse than if he were cowering in fear or pain. He just stands there, staring, with a recognizable expression of disappointment on his face. The same way he looked at me for months before I finally listened.
From there, the dream morphed into something more recognizable. Me, kneeling on gravel because rice wasn't enough. Only this time, Silas, still beaten and bloody, watched on as my fathercircled me, spitting out the same sermon that convinced me I was a bad person almost a decade ago. And when my father turned to Silas and pointed to the door, casting him out, I tried to stop him. But my knees were stuck in the gravel, ropes around my bloody hands pulling me down no matter how hard I strained to pull them up. I tried to scream, to tell Silas to wait for me, but my mouth wouldn't open. It was sewn shut.
Dr. Shelton coming here today should be a good thing, but I'm not sure how to talk to her about this without giving away my secret. Silas told me last week that he's never mentioned our personal relationship past being childhood friends that fell out when he married my sister, but he thinks it's safe to tell her anything I want to tell her. He doesn't think she can or would disclose anything we tell her unless we're a danger to ourselves or someone else. Doctor-patient confidentiality, or whatever. I don't trust it. She's paid by the team, so wouldn't she report back to the owners, or to Coach?
It wasn't until I woke up sweating and afraid that I’d even considered it. But I'm staring at my hands, my blurry vision convincing me that my knuckles are bleeding. They feel wet. I stumble out of bed to the bathroom to wash my hands and splash water on my face. Finally, my vision clears. There's nothing on my hands.
I grip the edge of the sink and stare at my reflection until the water dries on my face. My eyes look sunken. Tired. Hollowed out. The way I felt before my sister said all the words that put all my pieces back together. At least I thought they were. But one day away from my new normal, my newfound peace, and I'm the same Gideon Shepherd I was almost three weeks ago.
Maybe Silas is right.
Pushing off the sink, I go through the motions of brushing my teeth and getting dressed. I haven't spent much time in my place since New Year's. Was I aware of how cold and empty this place is?Or had I just grown used to the blank walls and minimal furniture? Was it a defeatist subconscious that grew comfortable with the darkness, or was it a subconscious hope that I would eventually climb back into the light?
I pull every curtain in my two-bedroom condo wide open, letting in whatever light that manages to peak through the milky-white sky. It's going to snow again today. Maybe after I'm done with Dr. Shelton, we can take Adaline sledding. Lily, Silas, and me, together, the way we've been every day that we've not been on the road. The whole family. Or maybe Lily will go out again like she did last week, and it'll just be me and Silas taking Addy. We had three days off before a long week of away games, and we sent Lily to a day spa for two of them. She had a love-hate relationship with sleeping away from her little girl, but she came back looking rejuvenated from the inside out. I tried to encourage her to join an interest meetup group, such as a crafting group or book club. I'm more than happy to keep Addy any of the days we're home, and I could hire her a babysitter or nanny for meetups on days that we're gone. She's not ready to put herself out there yet, though, and I understand.
I consider what that would look like while I fold some laundry and try to ignore how quiet my condo is. There's no sound of coffee brewing, or the smell of breakfast being made. It's Silas' turn today, so it'll probably be some kind of oatmeal with random toppings that make no sense but always end up tasting delicious. Like tahini and maple syrup. Who the hell puts tahini on oatmeal? But it was delicious. Tomorrow I'm making homemade grits with butter and pepper, and over-easy eggs. It's one of three things I can successfully cook, but I've been looking up recipes and trying to learn. I don't want them feeling like I'm taking up space.
I miss hearing Addy tear apart the living room right after I've put all the toys back in the basket. Honestly, I think we could get ridof the toys and just keep the basket and she'd be fine. I find myself singing their little clean up song while I make a bowl of instant oatmeal. It tastes like sadness. Halfway through, I give up and rinse it down the garbage disposal.
By the time Dr. Shelton knocks, I've packed up almost all of my remaining clothes and toiletries and have been pacing so much I've worked up a sweat.
She greets me with a calm smile, as always. I hang her coat and offer her some water or instant coffee, since I don't have anything else. I haven't had a need to keep groceries here for a while, and even before then I ordered in for most meals. She accepts a bottle of water, and then I run out of small talk. I'm more nervous than I've ever been to talk to her, and that's saying something because her calm, observant nature puts me on edge. I feel like she can see into my brain when she stares at me with that serene, patient expression. The one she's currently aiming at me, while I scramble for what to do or say next.
"Should we sit?"
I let out a small scoff because I didn't think of that and lead her to the living room. Sitting at the bare kitchen table feels awkward. Then again, sitting on my uncomfortable leather couch while she sits across from me on an equally uncomfortable accent chair that came as part of a complete set that I chose off the internet doesn’t sound much better.
"Did you move in recently?"
"Um. No. I've lived here for about a year and a half. Since I got my first contract with Red Valley."
"Really?" She looks around the space like she's seeing it in a new light. It looks more like a show model home than an actual lived in space, I realize. "Do you not spend much time here? Or are you expecting to not stay?"
Well, to be honest, Doc, I'm strongly considering moving in with my sister and her husband, who is also my boyfriend.
"I don't know. We do travel a lot, I suppose. I'm not big on decorating."
"Are you always this tidy, too?"
I huff a laugh. "I have a cleaning person that comes once a week whether I'm here or not, and I'm pretty good about cleaning behind myself, I suppose."
"I can't help but notice the lack of any photos or personal effects."
