Page 10 of Your Soul Is Ours

“Wherever is fine.”

He directs me around the corner from the building. “So, ready to tell me what kept you away from here? I’m sure it wasn’t that you wanted to donate to the charity.”

The corner of my mouth turns up, and the rest of my face stays in resting bitch face mode. “The saddest thing about me is that I was born to someone who could never love me. She’s never cared enough to try, and the only comfort she brings is pain.”

He’s silent for a while, and we continue to walk. “The only sad part is that she really misses out on being with a wonderful person like you. Fuck her.”

“It would make sense if I wasn’t so unlovable. She can love my siblings. She’s been the catalyst for everything that has happened to me, which makes me feel like a horrible person because I’m probably going to end up just like her if I blame her for my trauma. And at the end of the day, I just want her to tell me she loves me and mean it.” Oh good, I’ve trauma-dumped on the first person to show me any attention in years.

“You aren’t a horrible person. When my dad used to beat me with different tools, I didn’t become him when I grew up angry. When my mother took off when I was little, it didn’t make me unlovable because she couldn’t stand up to the job. I’d never end up like them, nor will you end up like her. It’s her loss if she can’t see that there are so many reasons to love you.”

His honesty makes me feel less alone, like I didn’t just dump half my life story on him. We connect in a way. As we continue walking, his fingers lace with mine. I don’t pull away, and we soon arrive near my apartment. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t trauma-dump on you. It’s not a competition.” We walk to my apartment, and his gaze slides over to me as we continue at a slow pace.

“It’s not a competition we’ll ever win. Every piece of trauma is a shattered piece of memory holding us together in the only way we know how. Trauma becomes a comfort blanket that wraps us in the darkest hug. The experiences that formed us, that changed our brain chemistry, are all our own. No one can ever feel the pain we feel, because every fractured piece is only our own.” His words sink in. I’ve never heard someone explain it that way.

“You are right, it doesn’t make it hurt less, but it makes things clearer.” When we reach my door, I don’t know what to do. My eyes dart around, and I wring my hands together, I couldn’t be more socially awkward if I tried.

“I don’t have to work tonight. Do you want to order dinner?” he asks me.

I nod. “Yeah, actually, that sounds really nice.” I unlock the door, and we walk inside. “My apartment isn’t anything special, but it’s mine,” I say after we do a small circle around the tiny place.

“It’s you, and that’s all that matters.”

After I walk to the kitchen to make us tea, I look over my shoulder, “Whatever you want to order is good with me. I’m pretty easy,” I say as his eyes burn into mine. Sitting on the chair in my living room, he looks like he’s always been here. It’s unsettling and comforting all at once. Everything about his appearance is everything my mother would hate.

“What’s your favourite meal in the world?” he asks as I bring the tea to the living room. I’ve never really thought about it. I wasn’t allowed to have a favourite anything growing up, and I wonder if that’s what doesn’t make me qualified to be an adult now. “It’s a simple question. I didn’t ask you if you’re ready to move in together.”

I bite the inside of my lip to stop from laughing. “Nah, that’s definitely third date shit.” His grin stretches across his face, and the light glints off the silver ring piercing in his lip.

“Um, tacos?”

“Are you asking me if you like tacos? Or are you shouting that you, in fact, want tacos to be your favourite food?” His eyebrow arches and a coy smile crosses over his lips.

“I want tacos to be my favourite.” I beam, and he laughs. While I pull out my phone to order, he drinks his tea. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you get, I’ll get. It’s my treat today. I’m not the one with the fine.” I almost roll my eyes. I’d already paid it, but I appreciate his offer. “Did your mother not allow you to have any favourites? Or did she just make you feel like you didn’t deserve to have any?”

Tucking my hair behind my ear, I roll the question over in my mind. “The latter, I guess. I believed, since no one cared about me, it didn’t matter what I liked. My grandparents were the best thing to ever happen to me, but they lived far away and only came over occasionally. We used to watch British comedies and stay up past my bedtime.” The memory washes over me. My heart aches for the time I had with them.

“We could probably stream some reruns with tacos. Sounds like a good time to me.”

I smile, the ache inside replaced with a warm sensation. He picks up the remote for the television and fiddles around with it until the internet loads on the screen. “Do you recall the name of the show?” I shake my head, trying my best to wrack my brain and memories, but I don’t remember.

There is a loud knock at the door. “It’s all good. I'll look and see who is here.” He hands me the remote and walks to the front door. I scroll through the choices. When I find the one I want, he is back with the tacos.

“It’s a nice building. How long have you lived here?” he asks, splitting up the food and handing me the container.

“Five years. You don’t have to lie, it’s a shithole. But it’s affordable, and although the landlord is a creep, the other neighbours are good.” He only nods as he digs into his food. We watch television until we’re done eating. He grabs the garbage from dinner and walks to the kitchen.

“Is this your patio?” His head tilts to the glass doors.

“Yeah, the garbage is out there. I’ll join you.”

Walking to the kitchen, I grab my smokes and a lighter, and we go outside to sit on the white plastic chairs. He throws the garbage in the can, and we look over the back road. “Beautiful view, eh?” His laugh makes me smile.

“Could always be worse, like having to look into the house behind you. When I was growing up, one place I lived with my dad had that. We’d look out the kitchen window, and you’d be looking into the kitchen of your neighbour. Many people don’t like blinds, apparently.” This time, I do laugh.

When we finish smoking, I walk him to the door to leave. “I’ll see you soon, eh?” Sebastian says as his hands brace the door frame. My eyes scan over his body until I focus on his lips, the way his tongue plays over his piercing makes me wish he was playing with me.

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