Adam

I should be going back up the mountain to see Taylor, but I don't even want to think about her right now. She's in a whole different sphere and I won’t allow her to be tainted by the toxic shit that is my family. Not even by me thinking about her when I'm with them.

I could still just leave.

Instead, I'm sitting on the front porch steps waiting for my dad to come home. I could use a drink. Anything to take the edge off. But I've faced worse things sober. Or at least on the face of it they're worse. In practice, I'm not so sure.

I can't shake the feeling that I'm sixteen years old again, I haven't been able to do that since I came back here. It's because I haven't been back for more than a week or two since then, but it's still pretty unnerving.

A cloud of dust grows larger on the horizon. It's almost time.

I shouldn't be scared, but I am. Just like I'd been at sixteen.

Julie comes out, wiping her hands on a rag.

"I guess it's showtime," she says, digging my wallet from her pocket and handing it to me. "She made a pretty good casserole, it turns out. Once the potatoes are done, it should be fine."

I can smell wine on her, but I don't comment on it. In fact, I don't say anything, and after a few more moments she disappears back into the house.

I get up as Brad's mustang pulls up in front of the house. Dad's lost weight since I saw him last, but he's still an imposing bastard, and I find myself wishing he's in a good mood. Just like I used to back when I was still a scrawny kid and constantly getting picked on for it.

"Well, if it ain't the prodigal son returning," Dad says, glaring at me as he approaches the house. "If the Marines don't want you anymore, what makes you think I do?"

It sounds like he's joking, but I know he's not. And if he's starting with the jabs this early into the reunion, I'm sure there's worse to come. I should've left when I had the chance.

"Who says they don't want me? Maybe I don't want them," I say, because backing down with my father was never an option. He just barks a laugh like I've said the funniest thing in the world. But it happens to be true.

"Lunch is ready!" Julie yells through the kitchen window, effectively breaking the stand off.

Brad bumps into me as he enters the house, still sore from the way I frightened him earlier, and probably thinking he'll get away with it now that Dad's here. I should yank him back and make him apologize. But I don't need to be starting shit. I can wait them out.

So I just follow him inside, and take my seat at the table. Mom's not there yet and I'm glad for it, but I'm sure it won't last.

Dad plops down in his seat at the head of the table and slams his palms onto the surface. "Take that back, Julie!" he growls. "She should do it! Where is she anyway? Gwen, I'm home!"

"She's sleeping," I say and get up to take the casserole off the counter where Julie obediently set it down.

"Don't start anything," Julie whispers to me, but it's too late, and I think we both know it.

"Put that back!" Dad yells at me. "Gwen! Gwen, come down!"

The whole house is reverberating with his yells.

"Let's just fucking eat," I say and slam the pot onto the table, causing the gravy to splash over the rim and all over the table.

"Oh, so you're giving me orders? In my own fucking home? You got some shit to learn, boy!"

Brad chuckles at the comment. All I need now is my brother Theo to walk in, and then this happy family image will be complete. Jesse's got the right of it, staying away.

When I turn back, Mom is gliding into the kitchen, moving very slowly again, like a sleepwalker, her head tilted to the side as though she's listening to something far off. She collects the potatoes off the counter, her hands shaking so hard I'm afraid she'll drop the pot. Both Julie and Brad are very quiet, like they're not even here.

"There she is, my blushing bride!" Dad exclaims, disgust oozing from his voice. "What the fuck happened?"

Mom's still wearing the dress over her nightshirt, and she forgot to take one of the rollers out of her hair. It's hanging down at the nape of her neck.

"At least try to look presentable!" My dad grabs the roller as she leans over the table to set down the potatoes and yanks hard. She winces, but hardly makes a sound. Julie cries out and even Brad pales.

"Leave her the fuck alone! Jesus, she's not well!" I yell at him, ignore Mom who's shaking her head at me, her eyes pleading that I don't start this shit.

But I'm not scared now. Back when I was sixteen, I'd be halfway across the field by now. Running away. But those days are long gone. I can face this now.

"You don't tell me what to do in my own house, you understand that!" Dad yells, getting to his feet. He backhands Mom viciously, sending her stumbling into Julie who barely manages to stay upright herself. "She needs to pull it together!"

Brad's completely frozen, growing even whiter, shrinking into his chair.

"You need to stop hitting her," I say in my coldest voice.

I watch my dad struggle with the decision of how far he wants to push me, but in his case it goes from surprise to grimace. His arm swings out, but I catch his wrist long before his fist connects with my face, twisting it back and out. I know how much that hurts, so it's a testament to his viciousness that no pain shows on his face.

The only sound in the kitchen is the tapping of the leaky faucet and his labored breathing. I'm as rigid as a concrete block.

"I think you should apologize," I blurt out. It won't happen, but I need to break this tension.

Brad's chair scrapes across the floor as he gets up too.

Dad yanks his arm from my grasp, and I let him. He lunges for me as soon as he's free, unaware that he has no chance. I slam my fist into his throat, and kick his kneecap causing him to drop to the ground hitting his head on the edge of the table.

Brad comes at me from the side, so I elbow him in the face, watch the blood erupt from between his fingers as he clutches his nose. He deserves it, he should be on my side in this.

Julie's still holding onto Mom, and I'm not sure which one of them is shaking harder.

"Get the fuck out of my house, right now! Get out!" Dad yells hoarsely, using the table to lift himself up.

I look at my mom. She's nodding her head, her left cheek growing purple. Go, Adam. It's better, she seems to be saying. And I know it's bullshit. That it's not better. But I want to go.

"Don't look at her. Get out!" Dad yells.

He's still scrambling up when I leave the kitchen, and grab my backpack from the foot of the stairs. But I'm slow in leaving. Because maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I should see this one out. What's gonna happen after I leave? I caused it, goading Dad to come at me so I could show him he can't anymore. And what? Nothing changes. It's still the same shit, and I'm running away again. And Mom's gonna bear the brunt of it.

Crashing sounds from behind me, and I hear Julie cry out something. When I turn, the barrel of Dad's shotgun is in my face.

I don't think, I just react, training taking over. I grab the barrel, pointing it toward the ceiling, yanking hard to twist it from his hands. He has no time to react, no time to pull the trigger, no time to duck before I slam the butt into the side of his head.

He crashes down to his knees, holding his temple. I should've hit him harder, made him pass out.

"You gonna shoot me? You piece of shit!" I yell. "I could kill you right now. Maybe I should. Everyone'd be better off without you!"

For the last eight years I've been shot at. Guns don't scare me anymore. Nothing scares me. Certainly not my father.

I crack open the barrel and let the casings fall out.

"I’m going now, but if you ever touch Mom again, I'm coming back!" I tell him, a whole lifetime of hatred coloring my voice. "And then you'll be sorry."

He can't quite focus his eyes, but there's fear in them. Maybe the warning will work.

I turn and stride out, tossing the shotgun into the thick, dried up rose bush at the side of the porch. I feel like I'm gonna throw up, waves of nausea blurring my vision. This sickness always came towards the end of my active duty, each time I came back from a mission after successfully managing not to die. I'm not well, haven't been for awhile. I can’t believe I just hit my father, something I haven’t dared even think about before. Can’t believe how easy it was. But maybe this time it really is over. Maybe this is the last battle I have to fight.

* * *

Taylor

He's not coming back! Of course he isn't, why would he?

I'm starving, and it's been hours since his uncle left, but at least he managed to fix the plumbing so I could finally take a shower.

I should just go into town, get some food.

But I'm too afraid I'll miss Adam coming back if I do. The thought literally makes my hands shake, and I should just lock up, and go back to the city. He's not coming back, and I'm done waiting for him. This isn't normal.

Henry's been calling me every hour since noon, like he senses something's changed. I don't want to talk to him. I had a few unanswered calls from him yesterday, so I sent him a text this morning, saying I need a break. Because I need to do this thing I've started with Adam…whatever it is…probably nothing…right. Henry and me are on a break. I'm free now. Free to pursue my desires.

Yet, Henry's been calling, and Adam's not showing, so maybe I have it all wrong.

"Finally, Taylor. I was beginning to think something happened to you," Henry says as I pick up when he calls again. He's trying real hard to sound pleasant, but his tone still makes my chest constrict painfully.

"No, nothing happened to me," I say. "Except you sleeping around with another woman."

I feel a little like a hypocrite saying it now.

He sighs in that condescending, wounded way he has. "How many times do I have to tell you before you understand? You were just imagining things!"

His tone is not pleasant now. It's biting and curt, and I suddenly realize that's the only tone I've been hearing from him lately. Since before we went to France. Long before.

"I'm not in the habit of imagining things," I tell him.

He laughs harshly. "All you do is imagine things. Like whatever it is you think you're doing now. Breaking up with me over text? We're on a break? Seriously, Taylor, you're so childish and naive!

"I don't think I've imagined anything about that text you sent. It wasn't meant for me!" I sound petulant to my own ears, like a little girl throwing a tantrum. Maybe he's right about me.

"Yes you did, you're just too stupid and stubborn to let it go. I know you, Taylor! You set your mind on something and you dig in like a bull, even when it's based completely in fantasy. How dare you even suggest I lied to you? Who do you take me for?"

I can just see him as he delivers this speech, his pale skin pink under the black stubble, his eyes bulging behind his round glasses, the lenses magnifying the many tiny rings under them. Jabba the Hut, only skinnier, much skinnier. That's what he looks like.

"I don't think you're someone who can insult me all the time," I say quietly. I deserve better, I almost add, but that would really sound naive and childish.

He barks another of his indignant laughs. "Insult you all the time? For God’s sake, Taylor, seriously, start thinking before you speak. It's about time."

"I'm gonna hang up now. I need time on my own," I say, not really sure why I'm even explaining myself. I should just disconnect. "I'll call you."

"Don't call me, I'll call you? Is that what you're saying?" he yells. "You're not even worth calling. I should be with someone else. Someone with half a brain."

I press the big red button, since I'm on the edge of tears. The last thing I need is him making fun of me while I cry.

I start rocking in the chair I dragged out to the porch earlier, trying to keep the tears in. I shouldn't let Henry make me cry. But he's right, I am just a stupid, naive little girl, waiting for a guy who's clearly not coming back. I missed my chance last night, should've gone all the way with him. Then at least I'd have that memory.

Memories of the kissing last night rise to the surface of my mind, washing right over my need to cry. The only time I've ever spent an evening just making out with someone was back in high school, and I was so nervous about not doing it right, I hardly even had the chance to enjoy it. Not the case last night. Not by a long shot.

Last night was one of the top five nights of my entire life.

"Get it together, Taylor!" I say aloud to myself and get up off the rocking chair. I need food, I'm so hungry I'm not thinking straight.

It's not really doubt that's nagging me. I know Adam will be back, deep down I know it. It's just the waiting that's killing me.

Besides, I'm seeing this through to the end. Bitter or joyful, it doesn't matter. I'm free to make my mistakes, free to live. With Henry it was all prim and proper, art shows and wine tastings. Sex with the lights off. But I also want wild and free, adventure and passion. And I will find it. If Henry can cheat on me, I’m free to do what I want too, right?

I stick a pink post-it note on the door, writing I'll be back soon on it. I feel kind of dumb for doing it, but it's right and I want to, and he'll be waiting for me when I get back, I know he will. I should stop seeing only the negative in everything. There was nothing negative about last night. All was exactly as it should be. Perfect.

It's full dark by the time I finally find the supermarket, and they're about to close. I get way too much food, but I'm so hungry that I crack open the chocolate chip cookies right there in the store.

I sort of freeze at the display of condoms near the cash register.

"Hey, we're about ready to close," the cashier calls out to me. "Please bring your purchases to the register!"

I grab the first box of condoms I can reach and toss it into my basket without a second thought, though my whole stomach is twisting with nerves. I've never bought condoms before. This is so embarrassing.

The cashier is an older lady, grey mixed in with the blonde locks spilling over her shoulders. She eyes the condoms I place on the belt next to the empty box of cookies, her eyes flicking to my hands right after. Probably looking for a ring. Well, I don't have one of those. So what? I probably don't even have a guy to use the condoms with, and that's the sadder part.

I stuff my purchases into a bag hastily, burying the condoms somewhere at the bottom of all the food and nearly run out of the store.

But I'm glad I got them. Glad I went out of my comfort zone for once.

And at least I was able to kill an hour or so of waiting by going to the store. And I don't believe anything other than Adam waiting for me now is even possible. It's almost nine, after all. And he promised he'd be back.

But the parking space in front of the cabin is empty. The pink post-it I left fell off the door, and I kinda want to cry. I don't remember feeling this lonely, ever. I'm scared to enter the cabin, because it'll be even lonelier in there.

Which is too stupid for words.

So he didn't come back, so what?

I do have work to do, and I love being alone. It's the only time I can truly be myself. And I'm not a girl who sits around waiting for guys. Or anyone for that matter. I'm just fine on my own. Better, even.

I make myself tortellini and eat it while doing some more research for my book. The romance novel can wait. I was never a huge fan of sweet happily ever afters anyway. That's not how life works. Just look at my parents, they can hardly stand each other now, and I know they used to be in love. I remember it.

Or me and Henry. I was head over heels for him in the beginning, gasping at how cultured and smart he was. Now, I don't even miss him.

And Adam? Well, I guess that's over before it even started.

Big deal!

But I still can't help looking out the window every few minutes though, hoping he'll show up, and it's driving me insane.

So I end up putting on a movie, a nice action packed thriller, because I need to get my head back on straight. And tomorrow I'll just go back home.