TWENTY-FIVE
Violet
Somehow, we make it back to my place in no time at all. I must have fallen asleep because Cullen has a small bag of food and he’s carrying it up to my door without me. I sit in the passenger seat staring after him. He’s standing at my door waiting for me, watching me right back.
I shake my head, roll my eyes, and pop the door open. Hopping down with a huff, I bump the door closed and stalk up to my townhouse. My hands shake when I try to unlock my door. Cullen is so close; tension, concern, and I don’t know what are rippling off him in waves and on top of that, I truly feel like my brain is bleeding through my eyes. The keys fall.
“Fucking shit,” I grind out and put my forehead on the door. Tears blur my vision. Headache and heartache are battling for my soul today.
A warm, thick arm wraps around my shoulders. I hear the keys jingle and then the solid wood gives way. We walk into my living room and Cullen leads me to the fluffy chair across from my couch. I curl up in it like a ragdoll. Cullen leaves again but comes back after a few minutes, so I assume it was to unload my bike. When he opens the door a final time, it’s like I’m under the spell of a silent movie.
Neither of us says anything at all as he stands in the emptiness of the doorway. Only the light from the entryway overhang shows up behind him; Cullen himself is one large shadow. Then the door closes, locks, and because of the darkness, there’s just the perception of movement in the room. Keeping the ambiance calm and peaceful, he turns only the bulb above the sink on. There’s some rustling around from the paper bag he brought in, and then, sitting on the coffee table in front of me is Cullen holding a spoon and a foam container. I wish he looked out of place. I wish a lot of things.
“It’s soup—chicken and dumplings. You were asleep when I stopped so I just got what I thought would make you feel better.”
My sleeves cover my hands as I reach out blindly and whisper, “Thank you.”
Cullen looks at the floor, “It’s no big deal. You need to eat something and go to bed.”
He moves like he’s going to leave, and I panic. My foot flings out and against his knee, “Stay! Please, stay a minute?” My foot scorches, even on top of his pant leg.
“Weren’t you pissed off enough to, like, decapitate me about an hour ago?”
He leans forward to rest both elbows on his thighs and puts his chin on his hand. I settle my leg back into the chair and take a bite of food. It’s the best meal I’ve ever had.
“Yes, but I don’t have the energy to be mad anymore. Now I’m just sad and pathetic.”
Cullen eyes me warily. “Violet.”
“I know. Eat my soup,” I take another bite of the soothing deliciousness. The ache behind my eyes is beginning to subside finally.
Cullen tugs on the lanyard that’s still around his neck and draws out his whistle. I knew it was in his hoodie somewhere. I still haven’t gotten a chance to pull on it, bring him towards me, lean in. My heart speeds and I hiccup. Cullen stops rolling and unrolling the ribbon to glance my way with his eyebrows raised. I just shrug and take another bite quietly. He goes back to his tinkering.
Following the last silent bites of my meal, I get up to throw my container away and put my spoon in the sink. Cullen is back to looking at the photos on my wall with his arms crossed. I want so badly to reach out and wrap my arms around his middle, rest my head between his shoulder blades, and breathe in his scent.
He turns around to see me staring, “What?”
“I went to the cemetery today,” I blurt out, “before I ended up at our pond. That’s where I went, why I was too distracted to remember my phone.”
“Did you take care of what you needed to?”
He tucks his hands into the pouch of his hoodie.
“Yes, and I won’t be going back.” He starts to say something, but I continue. “I don’t have a reason to. My memories, my life, is you. That’s what I wanted it to be anyway.” I lift and drop my shoulders in defeat. I take a purposeful breath. “If all I can keep is the short time I had with you, then ok, I guess. I’ll treasure that and learn to be satisfied with it. It’s all my fault anyway, and you probably despise me on some level. I’m so, so sorry I let you down. I would have let me walk away, too.” My voice cracks, and I wipe my eye with my sleeve.
I feel so small and wretched standing here under his gaze. I can’t imagine what he thinks of me and the disappointment I’ve caused him.
“I’m hurt, Violet, but I don’t despise you.” Cullen’s voice sounds like coarse-grit sandpaper on wood. “I understand why you didn’t want to tell anyone else about what he did. I even understand why you avoided talking about that asshole regardless. But I thought you trusted me. I wanted you to. It seemed like you did.”
“I do trust you, Cullen. I couldn’t have done any of the things with you that I did if there wasn’t any trust. I just wanted that disgusting part of me to go away. I thought if I buried it, it would just disappear. But I was wrong.”
“Wrong because it didn’t disappear? I know that’s what haunted you—the nightmares, the times you’d zone out on me.”
I shake my head, “I was wrong to hide. I should have told you, but I let shame and fear talk me out of it.”
Backing against the counter for support, my head droops and I put my hands in my front pocket. We’re both just standing in repose—me in the kitchen, he in the middle ground between here and the living room. Cullen is the first to break the silence.
“Let’s get you upstairs. It’s late and we both have to work tomorrow. I have semi-finals.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” I push away from the surface and slide my feet along the linoleum to the carpet.
“Enough apologizing for today, ok?”
“Ok,” I agree as I start to trudge up the stairs. I realize that Cullen is following me and almost fall down the steps turning around. He automatically holds out his arm to save me from tumbling. Always my rescuer.
“Are you actually making sure I go to bed?” I ask incredulously.
“No,” he hesitates. “I’m going to use the bathroom then leave.”
I pause, wondering if he’ll pick up on what I’m going to hint at, “Look, we both have to get up in the morning and it’s late.”
He sighs, “Are you suggesting I stay? Sleep on the couch or the floor with one of your fifteen pillows?”
I shrug, a bit dazed that he got it and a little intrigued with what he’s going to do next. I leave him in thought and continue to creep up the stairs.
After a brief pause, Cullen relents, “Alright, I’ll get my bag.”
The first time Cullen stays will be in sadness, is my only thought.
When my pajamas are on and my face and teeth are clean, I relinquish the bathroom to Cullen. After only five minutes, he comes out. I’m already tucked in on one side of my bed, forcing myself to stay awake. I see him standing in the doorway, and I think it must be the first time I’ve ever seen him awkward around me. I hate it.
“So,” he waits.
I flip the covers behind me back to reveal the sheet.
“Get in.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Violet.”
“Cullen, we’re both exhausted. Will you please just get in the fucking bed?” My tone is muffled by the pillow my face is stuffed into and my eyes are almost completely shut.
Cullen closes my bedroom door and clears his throat as he comes closer to the bed. “Yes, ma’am” is all he says before climbing in. I roll back on my side fully, and the light goes out. It’s dark and uncharacteristically quiet for the two of us in bed together. I ache for the giggling, teasing, the sighs and breathing.
I think about how much I don’t like the space between us, but then it’s suddenly gone. I’m sliding a short way across the mattress by the power of one of Cullen’s arms until my back is pressed into his chest and his legs are tangled in mine. He draws my head up under his chin and my hair ruffles with each of his breaths. I swallow thickly and have no choice but to clutch his arms around me and hold on tight until morning. It’s either a step towards forgiveness or our complete undoing.
“Cullen?” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“How did you know where to find me?”
“You weren’t in any of the lumberyards around town. Our pond was the next logical place.” He squeezes me tighter. “Get some sleep, 2 Color.”
Fresh cut wood. Our pond.
“Goodnight, Metz.”
Cullen
The soup brings color that’s not bright red back into her face. Other than the shininess of her lips from being chapped and the puffiness of her eyes from rivers of tears, Violet is starting to look a little healthier. My heart is a little less broken over what I’ve done to her. No, not really.
She gets up to rinse her spoon and I follow, but only as far as the pictures on her wall. I’m wasting time because I don’t want to leave. I know I want to move forward, I just don’t know how. I can’t believe I’ve let us be apart this long, and I’m afraid I’m too late.
“I went to the cemetery today,” she blurts out.
Huh? Her admission catches me off guard. She’s still talking, but I’m stuck at “cemetery”. She visited the douchebag? That’s where she biked first? Why wouldn’t she get a ride? Never mind, I know why. I wasn’t there for her.
“Did you take care of what you needed to?”
The question slices my tongue as I ask it and sounds harsh as it falls into the space between us. I just need to know, though. I need to know if the past is really done for her. If she can finally walk away.
She tells me she won’t be going back there, and the python coiled around my chest eases up. I can breathe in relief again.
I’m going to pull my hands from my front pocket, shake out the pins and needles that are starting up from holding them in fists for so long, but just as soon as the unbelievable pressure around my ribcage slackens, the bones there audibly crack with her next words. “I’m so, so sorry I let you down. I would have let me walk away, too.”
It takes all I have not to stumble back against the picture frames, fall to my knees. A tear rolls down her cheek and she wipes it with her sleeve. It leaves another red mark and I can hardly look at her because of it. I have to swallow over and over to get through the conversation. I did this to her, plays in my mind on repeat.
Fucking tears.
I convince her to go to bed and follow her up the stairs so I can splash some water on my face. She invites me to stay. I say yes.
She takes her turn in the bathroom then I take mine. When I walk out, she’s tucked into bed, looking at me from her pillow. She looks like a tiny, sorrowful angel. I should go to the couch or sleep on the floor at best. She’s got a million pillows; it would be easy. If I was decent, I would go straight to either one of those two places.
“Will you please just get in the fucking bed?”
I guess I’m not decent because there isn’t anything I want more than to wrap my arms around her, pull her in close, kiss away the misery, and rewind this whole nightmare. And even though I know I can’t do any of those things, I’m still getting in that fucking bed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
My body is hot, and I’m sweating in my basketball shorts. The sheets are unbelievably cool and should bring relief, but they don’t. Time ticks away—Violet on her side, me on mine. She’s curled into herself. I hate it.
I take my arm and pull her across the abyss of the mattress. I need her beside me where she fits best. Her hair tickles my nose when I breathe. Her breasts press on my arm when she breathes. Neither one is fair. Both are perfect.