Page 25 of Touch Me

She taps a fingernail on the counter, and it rings like a gong in my head. “Okay, I’m gonna go to the beach and get some sun while I work. I’ll see you later.” With her head down, hair curtaining her face, she brushes past me like a child chastised.

And...cue guilt.

She might be my motivation, but I can’t weigh her life down with my shit because she deserves more than me. I’ll take every minute with her and soak up every ounce of her sunshine as long as I can.

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How haveI never realized how uncomfortable this desk chair is? I’ve been sitting here for hours, looking out over the water. The sun is high in the sky, and the beach is packed. The water is speckled with windsurfers, sailboats, and catamarans. The pier is full of people, and the beach is full of color. So why am I sitting here staring out as if I can find her?

I’ve successfully traded a few stocks. Bought a few here, sold a few there. I could do this shit in my sleep. I’ve covered half my desk calendar with bullshit doodles, something that keeps half my brain occupied while I work. I go through one every other day, so I buy them by the case. At this rate, I’ll deplete my stock by next week.

This is pointless. I get up and take the stairs two at a time, heading for the darkroom. I grab my camera bag, containing both my digital and my 35mm. I use the 35mm more, hence the darkroom, but I use the digital occasionally when I want a picture that can be uploaded, edited, or shared.

I took most of the photos I use on my website myself, so it comes in handy. But I would choose my baby nine times out of ten. There’s something so satisfying about spending a few hours snapping away and then taking the time to develop them yourself to see what you end up with. I can’t describe the feeling when the images appear in front of me on a once blank sheet.

I was lying when I told Cassie it’s just a hobby. It’s become way more than that. An obsession. A way to satisfy my curiosity without offending. Maybe I’ve known all along I didn’t want to be alone. Maybe that’s why most of my photos are of people.

Am I trying to fill a void? Trying to surround myself with people? Still photos that can’t mock me? People that would never accept me for who I am. For the aloof, apathetic side I use to protect myself, and the intense side when I get lost in thought and end up caught in an unwavering stare. But the people I surround myself with don’t judge me. I can ignore them or stare. Either way, there’s no reaction.

Maybe that’s the problem. Everything I’ve done has worked against me. It’s all been done toavoidreaction. And now I don’t know what to do, or more importantly, whatnotto do. I’ve spent the last few years evading judgements instead of learning from them. Now I’m a fucking wreck.

I can’t even talk to a girl. A girl I’ve known practically my whole life. I can’t accidently graze her skin without losing my shit. I should have been working on it all along instead of avoiding it.

What if it takes too long to overcome? What if I never overcome it? Will I never be able to touch her? Hold her? Let her know what she means to me? What she’s always meant to me.

What if it’s too late?

EIGHT

INHERENTLY JACE

After spendinga few hours at the beach working, I pack up my things and explore the area. Surf shops and tiki bars dot the boardwalk, while servers in board shorts and bikinis glisten in the sun as they serve drinks to overheated guests.

Tiny straw huts lay sporadically along the sand with touristy attire blowing in the ocean breeze. Tie-dye and palm trees as far as the eye can see. Beachgoers flit in and out of the shops dragging tired kids with oversized hats and giant refillable cups. Cute little boutiques, ice cream shops, and diners line the strip behind the boardwalk.

Mindlessly strolling, I soak up the sights and the smells as they tempt me with chocolates, perfumes, and handbags. Music spills out of the bars with open doors to allow the salty sea air to filter through the space. I catch a hint of spice in the air and see a family diving into red and white paper cones, sugar coating their smiles when they pull back.

My stomach grumbles and I let my nose guide me until I’m standing beforeThe Nut Hut?I can’t hold back my snicker and am still smiling when I walk out with my own paper cone filled with cinnamon and sugar coated almonds.

With one hand holding a soda and the other the cone, I have no idea how to get my nuts into my mouth.Ha! That’s nevernotgoing to be funny.With a quick glance in each direction, I take my cue from the family on the street and shove my face in the cone. What is it they say about sugar and spice? Filling a void with sugar? Whatever, I’ll make up my own shit.

I cross the street and head back toward home.Home?Such a nice word. Warm. Welcoming. For most people I’m sure it conjures the warm fuzzies. For me, it never has. I don't think I’ve had a day in my life where the place I lay my head at night felt like I belonged there.

Like I washome.

Knowing my time at Jace’s is only temporary should alleviate those feelings. It’s not my home. I know that. I have no business being disappointed I wasn’t welcomed with open arms. It was stupid of me to expect talking late into the night catching up. That’s not even close to any past experience I’ve ever had with Jace.

There’s an end date. And though I feel unwanted, something I’m not unfamiliar with, it still carries the same bite. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.

The sun sinks a little lower on the horizon, and the lights on the pier come alive. Neon lights flash and race around the rides, with children laughing and screaming in the background. As I walk, I can’t help but think how different my childhood was from every kid on that pier. The thought is both disturbing and comforting.

Every little girl clutching a giant, stuffed purple dolphin her daddy won for her. Every child whose mother is wiping the ice cream off their sticky hands and faces. Every kid riding and laughing on their dad’s shoulders. That’s how it should be. How it should’ve been for Ally and me. Instead, we were on our own and took care of our mother more than she took care of us.

It made you strong.

That’s what people say. People on the outside. People who’ve never had to live it. Never felt neglected or made to feel less than. Never filled with shame and humiliation for wearing the same shoes for three years and the feeling of pure and utter relief when you got hand-me-downs from friends. Friends who pitied you.

Did it come from a place of love?

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