Rylan
I can’t recall us having the conversation, but it seems something unspoken has passed between us this past month.
I haven’t spent more than twelve hours away from Violet since the night she gave me another of her firsts.
We’re joined now – bound in a way I can’t even begin to understand.
I’m not the same man I was a few months ago. He’s still there, deep inside me, but he’s evolved somewhat.
I no longer live and breathe my job – I still love what I do, but for the first time ever, I love something else more.
I love her more.
I love her more than I love anything else in my life.
She makes my pulse speed up and time slow down.
Our two separate paths have been diverted to flow alongside each other almost effortlessly.
It seems too easy most of the time – we fit together so naturally that it almost seems too good to be true.
We laugh and play, we watch movies and talk about books, we take Bear for walks and lie out under the stars, we discuss everything from politics to fan fiction theories and cook together nearly every day.
I don’t have to worry about missing out on time with her because of my job – she’s more than comfortable adjusting to the long shifts and erratic callouts. When I work, Violet paints or volunteers and when we sleep we do it together.
Painting, I’m beginning to learn, is Violet’s escape from the world.
Sometimes my phone rings in the middle of the night, and when I return to her place, there’s a jar of dirty brushes sitting in the sink.
I don’t know if she paints to fill the time that I’m gone, or if she paints because I’m gone.
She’s never offered to show me her work, and I know her well enough to know that it’s not a slip of her mind.
She’s not ready to show me yet and I can respect that for now.
There’s things I’m not ready to share with her yet either – things like my sister.
Every now and then something will happen and the pain of losing her hits me like a slap to the face.
Today was one of those days.
An old friend of Daisy’s – a nurse that had worked with her, came back from overseas this week. She didn’t do anything wrong, but she obviously didn’t get the memo that all my other colleagues did.
She talked about Daisy, she laughed and reminisced about the good times they’d had together.
I know that’s how it should be – that years after someone’s gone you should be able to talk about them, but it doesn’t seem to work that way for me.
Where others seem to light up at an old memory, I feel like I’m being filled with lead, and I’m about to be dropped into dark, murky water with no way out.
It’s moments like these that I feel most lost and alone. Only I’m not alone anymore.
I’ve got Violet, and right now I need her more than I ever have.
I arrive back to a sight that steals all of the breath from my lungs.
Violet is sprawled on her couch, Bear on the floor next to her. She’s sketching in a book that I’ve never been allowed to look in and she’s dressed in tracksuit bottoms and a tank top – the type of top that doesn’t cover the marks on her chest.
I know her scars still bother her, but this small step where she’s chosen not to cover up feels like huge progress in my mission to assure her that I don’t see her for her struggles.
As much as I want to celebrate this incredible milestone, I’m so emotionally spent that I don’t think I can manage anything more than to hold her close.
She’ll make everything better just like she always does.
She hears me come in and there’s already a smile on her lips before she even raises her gaze to meet mine.
I’m not sure what she sees when she looks at me, but judging by the look on her face, it can’t be anything good.
“Rylan.” She scrambles up off the couch and the normally treasured sketch pad falls to the ground with a thud.
She doesn’t say another word until she’s in my arms.
“What is it?”
I want to tell her, I do, but I don’t know how. I can’t figure out how to make my mouth open so the words can come out.
I try, over and over, but nothing happens, so I give up trying.
Instead, I bury my face in her hair and just breathe. Each breath is more calming than the next and I find the tight coil inside my gut loosening with each fill of my lungs.
She’s gripping me tight, like she can’t get close enough.
I hoist her up and she clamps her legs around my waist, her arms are wrapped firmly around my neck, holding me as close to her as I possibly can be.
When I’m here like this, with her in my arms, the thought of talking about my sister doesn’t seem so life shattering anymore – I can’t help but consider the possibility that I could do anything as long as Violet was right there with me.
“Rylan?” she whispers after what feels like forever.
“I’m okay…”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
As much as I want to tell her yes, I can’t right now, I’m dead on my feet and I know I’ll need every ounce of strength to share my story with her.
“Could we just go to bed?”
“If that’s what you need,” she replies softly.
“I just need you.”
“You’ve got me, Rylan.”