Sitting with my back against the headboard, I stare at the shoe box at the foot of my bed, my hands shaking with the need to open the lid and read the rest of the letters piled inside. As much as I want to read them, I’ve done nothing but sit here for five days and stare at the box, afraid to see what else Eli tried to tell me six years ago. Afraid to see his words, feel his pain, and understand how hard it was for him to have no idea if he’d ever see me or speak to me again.
I can remember exactly how it felt to have those same worries, my heart clenching in fear each time I thought of him being overseas and surrounded by danger. I couldn’t imagine never hearing his low, gravelly voice whispering in my ear, feeling his rough hands running over my body, seeing the dimples in both of his cheeks when he smiled at me, or watching him run his fingers through his hair when he was frustrated. Even when my heart was broken and I believed the lies he’d told me. Even when my life was shattered and torn apart after the accident, and then again, when the news hit that he’d been killed, I still couldn’t let go of the hold he had on me. I still couldn’t move on, and I still couldn’t believe I’d never hear him, feel him, or see him again.
I’m afraid to read the rest of his letters because I know there will be no turning back after I do. I won’t be able to keep my distance if I open the lid on that box and see more of his heart, cracked and bleeding all over those pages that traveled thousands of miles to get to me. The tiny voice in the back of my mind that has reminded me time and time again to do whatever it takes to keep Eli safe will disappear as soon as I read those letters. I won’t have that voice of reason keeping me focused and I won’t even care as long as I’m with him. I knew from the moment I came home from college and he picked the lock on my studio for the first time that he would ruin me in the best possible way. I knew from the first second he kissed me that we’d be able to accomplish anything as long as we were together.
The ding of an incoming text sounds from my phone resting on the bed next to me. Glancing down, I don’t even bother picking it up when I see it’s from Landry. He’s phoned and sent me text messages several times a day since he left. I haven’t answered or responded. What in the hell would I even say to him at this point? I know I didn’t give him any kind of an explanation as to why I ended things with him before he left, but I assumed my silence would at least show him that I meant it. I’m sure the longer I wait to reply, the sooner he’ll go running to my mother and I’ll have to hear about how I’m inconsiderate and rude and ruined everything.
I look down at the box at the foot of the bed, then back at my phone, then at the box again. Two more rapid-fire dings come from my phone and I don’t even bother looking at it. I quickly reach for the box and pull it onto my lap, settling back against the headboard as I lift the lid and toss it to the floor. Sifting through the first five letters I already read, I grab the next one going by date order and pull it out of the envelope.
October 23, 2010
Shelby,
Remember that day in your studio, the week after you’d gotten home from college? In case I forgot to tell you, that was the day I knew I was going to fall in love with you. I don’t know if you’ll ever read this and I’m not really good at this whole letter-writing thing, so I’m just going to tell you a story in these letters. I’m going to tell you the story of us, from my point of view, so you know exactly what I was thinking. I’m hoping it will be a better way for you to see that I meant everything I said in my first few letters. I love you, Shelby. Only you. Always you.
I’d never had as much fun in my life as I did the week after you came home from college. The highlight of my day was sneaking away from work, picking the lock on your studio, and seeing you dance for the first time. The highlight of my LIFE was watching the look on your face when I pissed you off and suggested you try dancing to some classic rock next time before I waltzed out the door like it was no big deal.
You had no idea how much strength it took for me not to stalk across the floor, pull you against me, and kiss you. You had no clue that the only reason I quickly turned and walk away was because I couldn’t hide the massive hard-on I got just by watching you dance for a few minutes. I was afraid I’d fucked up and just blew any chance I’d had of convincing you to spend time with me by being a sarcastic asshole.
My hands were shaking and sweaty when I snuck away from Paul the next day and picked the lock again. I felt like the biggest pussy in the world when I got butterflies in my damn stomach as soon as I pushed the door open and heard “Hotel California” blasting through the speakers down the hall.
I leaned against the wall at the back of the studio, holding my breath as I watched you lose yourself in the music until the song ended and you noticed me standing there. Just like the previous day, you put your hands on your hips and glared at me and it was the hottest fucking thing I’d ever seen. Since the whole sarcastic asshole thing worked the first time, I figured I might as well try it again.
“I dare you to try some rap tomorrow.”
I winked at you like a douche bag, turned, and walked back out of the room. It killed me to walk away, especially when I heard you shout, “GO TO HELL, ELI JAMES!” when I got to the end of the hall. I laughed under my breath and it took everything in me not to turn around and run back into that room.
More than wanting to watch you dance again, I wanted to watch you get fired up and indignant, stomp your foot, and huff at me, because there was something underneath that attitude you tried throwing at me. SOMETHING that made you do what I suggested no matter how much it annoyed you. I wanted to know what you were trying so hard to hide from me with the rolls of your eyes and pretending like you didn’t care if I came back or not. Instead of turning around, I went back to work and spent the rest of the day fucking everything up and listening to Paul yell at me about getting my head out of my ass because I couldn’t stop wondering if you’d listen to my suggestion again.
The next day, I repeated the process of slinking through the stables when Paul wasn’t looking, picked the lock, and couldn’t stop the huge smile that spread across my damn face when I poked my head in the room. You usually danced in bare feet, but that day, you had on a pair of high-top Nikes.
With Eminem blasting from the speakers.
That day, you didn’t move in your usual graceful way, but with a lot more hip action that brought up the same hard-on problem from the first day. At the end of your dance, you turned around and raised one eyebrow at me expectantly, not saying a word. Just waiting for me to give you another music choice, even though I could tell the very idea pissed you off.
God, I wanted to kiss you. Instead, I went with what was working for me and told you I wanted to hear some country. You might think I didn’t know anything about you, or never paid attention to you in all the years I’d worked here, but you’d be wrong. It was all I could do NOT to follow you around like a puppy, even before you went off to college. It didn’t take long for me to realize you were nothing like the spoiled princess I thought you were. I might not have said much to you all those years, but I listened to every damn word. And one thing I knew for sure, just because a girl grows up in the South, does not mean she likes country music. You hated country music when you were twelve and you still hated it when you went off to college. I wanted to see just how far you would take this thing that you didn’t even realize was happening.
I’m not even ashamed that when I got home from work that night, I Googled all the dance shit I could and learned that what you were doing that day was called hip-hop. I watched a ton of videos and realized I’d also seen you dance ballet and contemporary. I also learned that none of the women in those videos came anywhere close to your talent, or had the same focus and love for what they were doing in their eyes.
When I grabbed on to the handle of the door the next day, I realized just how far you’d take it when I found it unlocked for the first time. It didn’t even matter that what I heard piped through the sound system wasn’t country. You wanted me in that room with you just as much as I wanted to be there.
The music was horrible and almost made my ears bleed, but just like every other day, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. Instead of waiting until the end of the song to confront me, your eyes met mine in the mirror as soon as I walked through the door. You turned around in the middle of the room, lifted your hand, and crooked your finger at me.
I smirked at you and shook my head, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans before I did something stupid like run to you as fast as I could and put them all over your body.
“What is this shit you’re making me listen to?” I asked, deciding to try something new and actually have a conversation with you.
“It’s Justin Bieber,” you replied with a roll of your eyes.
“It’s crap, is what it is.”
Surprisingly, you didn’t have a comeback. You took a few steps in my direction, pointed at me, and did that whole finger curl thing again, silently telling me to get my ass over to you.
“I don’t dance, Legs.”
It’s a good thing I couldn’t take my eyes off of you, otherwise I would have missed the little shiver that ran through your body when I called you “Legs.”
You immediately stalked the rest of the way to me, grabbed my forearms, and yanked my hands out of my pockets. Sliding your soft, warm palms against mine, you interlaced our fingers and tugged me towards you, walking backwards as I let you lead me.
“I said I don’t dance, Legs. I leave it up to the professionals, like you,” I informed you when we got to the center of the room.
You stopped walking, standing just a few inches away from me, and craned your neck to look up at me. I could feel the heat from your body and I wished I’d had the guts to mold myself to the front of you and wrap my arms around you.
“I’ve spent a week dancing my ass off with your stupid music requests. Now it’s my turn,” you informed me, giving me a taste of my own medicine with a sarcastic smile.
The beat of the music picked up, and with our hands still locked together, you started moving your hips to the rhythm of the song, dancing right in front of me. You used my hands to help you dance, lifting them up as you shook and twisted your body until I couldn’t fight the smile I’d been holding back.
“You just need to feel the music, Cowboy,” You spoke loudly over the thumping base and keyboard blasting through the speakers. “Feel the music and go with the flow.”
You let go of one of my hands and held tightly to the other as you swung herself out and away from me with a flourish. Quickly twirling back towards me, my arm wrapped around your body as you spun until there was nowhere else for you to go and you slammed into my chest.
We stood there, chest-to-chest, me staring down into your gorgeous green eyes and you staring up into mine, both of us breathing a little too heavy. You felt so right against me. So good in my arms. I wanted to stand like this with you for the rest of the day, but I knew if I didn’t do something fast, there’d be no hiding my hard-on that was two seconds away from poking you in the stomach.
I tightened my hold on our hands that were still linked together, gave your shoulder a little nudge, and spun you away, yanking you right back to me. As soon as your chest collided with mine again, I wrapped my free arm around your waist and held you tightly against me.
“Just feel the music, huh?” I asked with a wink.
“Um, yep. Sure,” you muttered quickly, not making any move to push away from me.
I could tell by the look in your eyes and the way you pressed yourself even closer to me without realizing it that you felt the same thing I did. Not wanting to freak you out by professing my undying love for you before we’d shared more than a few sentences in the last week, I decided to do something that I hoped would put a smile on your face and maybe even shock you a little.
I started moving my hips and you moved right along with me, until your eyes widened when you realized we were dancing together. With our bodies flush from hip to chest and our eyes locked on each other, I started shuffling my feet, taking you with me in a dirty-dancing, ballroom-type move. I never thought the rare time my mother showed interest in me when I was younger and she forced me to take a ballroom dancing class that it would actually pay off someday.
With my arm still around your waist, our linked hands in perfect partner-dance formation up by our shoulders, you pressed your free palm to my chest. I hoped to God you’d think the rapid beat of my heart against your hand was because of the dancing and not because of you being close to me, or I’d never have the upper hand with you. I was beginning to realize it was going to take a lot of willpower to have any kind of advantage over you.
“I thought you couldn’t dance?” you asked, as we expertly moved in sync around the room.
I immediately pushed against your hip, still clutching your hand as I pushed you away from me again and then pulled you right back. Your face lit up with a smile, and unguarded laughter flew out of your mouth when you slammed against my chest, staring up at me in awe.
“I said I DON’T dance, not that I couldn’t. With the way you’re lookin’ at me right now, Legs, I’m pretty sure I’d agree to just about anything,” I told you, before I spun you back out again, lifted our hands above your head, and twirled your body around and around in front of me.
Your laughter filled the room and it was the best fucking sound I’d ever heard in my life.
I take back what I said before I told you this story. I actually did fall in love with you that day…the first time I heard you laugh.
—Eli
When I get to the end of the letter, I want to scream through my tears. I want to curse and yell and smash everything breakable in this fucking house until I’m so exhausted I can’t think anymore. My heart hurts so much that I don’t know how to handle it. I drop the letter on top of the pile and press both hands to my chest as hard as I can to make it stop hurting.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to feel and I just want the pain to go away. I need to be angry. I know how to handle anger and I know how to get rid of it when it overwhelms me. But I don’t know how to stop hurting. I don’t know how to stop wishing I could go back in time and stop him from leaving. Make him stay with me no matter why he felt he had to leave so we could have that moment in the studio back and have it be as perfect as it was that summer day six years ago. I don’t even care if I can’t dance anymore. I just want to go back and remember how good it felt to stop trying to hide how in love with him I was, back when I still had hope and I still had something left to give him.
My phone dings with yet another text message and I furiously swipe at the tears on my cheeks, pick the damn thing up, and lift my arm to hurl it against the wall. My eyes flicker to the screen and I slowly lower my arm and stare at the new text message from an unknown number
Hey, it’s Eli. Would you look at that. It seems I still have all my old contacts. Now you can’t ignore me. Five days is long enough, Beautiful. Meet me in the studio after the sun goes down. Don’t worry. I have a key.