Chapter Fourteen: Caleb
Out of difficulties grow miracles.
It’s the kind of saying that usually makes me roll my eyes. Bullshit, the me of this morning would have said. Out of difficulties grow more difficulties.
In fact, I would have said that right up until about thirty minutes ago. After Katie stormed out with the guy she’s screwing, I called her a few times. She’d turned her phone off. I texted her to say she could come home at any time, no questions asked.
I called Katie’s psychiatrist, who gently reminded me that she’s an adult, and that if she hasn’t made a threat to harm herself or others, there’s not much he or I can do. He reassured me that going cold turkey on her meds wouldn’t be medically harmful but said I could call him if she needed an emergency appointment. Then I tried to track down this Dr. Lancaster who Katie said she’d been seeing, but I couldn’t find a single listing for a therapist by that name. So now I’m wondering if she was lying about seeing a therapist in the first place.
I cleaned the apartment after that little revelation. Like, really scrubbed it, because if I hadn’t done that, I might have gone apeshit and thrown furniture out the windows or something. By the time I had to leave for the co-op, I was actually calm again.
Katie’s an adult. She makes her own decisions.
It doesn’t ease the guilt crushing me from the inside out, though. If I hadn’t freaked out and acted like a psycho, she wouldn’t have left. Once again, it’s my fault, and I’m helpless to fix it. It’s killing me. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get through the night without going insane.
And then Romy came along and nearly killed me with her car door. My ribs are still aching. But now she’s here, in my apartment. Even more puzzling, she’s in my arms. I don’t know what to say to her, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She guides me back to the couch and pulls me down. “What if we parked ourselves here for a bit?” she asks. “Since we’re not going to talk.”
She holds her arms out, and my heart squeezes. I’m such a fucking mess tonight, and it’s all I can do not to break down. I’m good when I’m being beaten on, but when Romy is nice to me? I nearly fall apart. What the hell is wrong with me? I clench my teeth and sink onto the couch. She puts her arm around my shoulders. “Come here,” she says, stretching out her legs.
This feels dangerous. Like one wrong move could spoil the best thing that’s happened to me in a while. I move cautiously, lying down next to her, but my feet hang over the edge, and she notices. “That doesn’t look comfortable.”
I stare up at her, those somber green eyes peeling off every layer of armor I have. “I’m fine,” I say.
“But we both deserve to be comfortable.”
“I … um … there’s my bed, but—”
She pushes on me and sits up. “Lead the way.”
Is she serious? But as I squint at her, I see she is. She’s got this determined air about her, like she’s in charge, and hell, I’m not going to argue. I am going to be on my best behavior, though. I head down the hall, completely relieved that I engaged in a fit of obsessive, trauma-driven cleaning this afternoon. I even made my bed. So when we get into my room, it’s easy; I sit on top of the covers.
She walks in, looking around, and I feel naked. Not in a sexual way. Just bare. Her eyes skim over my old textbooks, my closed sketchpad on my old, scarred desk, my walls … which are covered in images I’ve pulled out of newspapers and magazines, leaves and flyers I picked up off the street, pictures I took during this mad photography phase I went through, during which I mostly photographed abandoned and rotting buildings … things I like to look at. Things I can relate to. Things I love. Things that mean something to me.
And to my horror, I remember one thing that I’d forgotten until she walked in here.
“Is that me?” she whispers, her gaze landing on my sketch, which is pinned right next to the door. All by itself. Nothing else around it.
Shit. “Yeah. It’s you.” Because I’m good enough that it’s obvious. She might as well be looking in a mirror.
“You made me beautiful,” she says quietly, moving closer.
I laugh. “You are beautiful.”
She turns around quickly. My fingers curl over the sides of the bed. I don’t know what she wants, and I’m scared of what I want. She stands in front of me, and my eyes are at the level of her breasts, which is just … God, I want to … I spread my legs so she can get between them. She takes my face in her hands. “I think you’re beautiful, too.”
No, I think as we sink together onto my bed. You don’t understand. I don’t think you’re beautiful. You are.
I lay my head on my pillow, and Romy lies beside me. She puts her head on my shoulder and her arm over my chest. She can probably feel my heart beating frantically against her. “Does this feel all right?” she asks.
I close my eyes. “It feels so perfect that it almost hurts.” The words rush out of me, unfiltered and too honest.
“Almost.”
“Almost.” I inhale, drawing in her scent, warm, maybe some kind of flower, light and sweet. I could get used to this, maybe, but right now it’s almost unbearably intense. Almost.
She raises her head, and I feel the tickle of her breath on my cheek. “What would make it better?”
“There’s nothing that could make it better. Almost hurting isn’t the same thing as real hurting.” And it’s because she’s being kind. She’s not blaming me for anything. The shock of it, the goodness of it, pushes at all my walls. But it’s only like this because she doesn’t know anything. About Katie, about what happened to her, about my role in all of that. She doesn’t even know Katie exists. I should tell her, but I like the way it is now, the way Romy’s touching me, the way her voice sounds. “It’s a big feeling, Romy. Big enough that I’m not sure where to put it. But it’s good.”
I’m making no sense at all, but she doesn’t call me out on it. Her lips touch my cheekbone, the place where Katie hit me. It feels amazing and aches like hell, all at the same time. I have to bite my lip to keep from making some pathetic sound. I think Romy sees it, though. I think she sees nearly everything. “Almost hurts,” she whispers.
My body’s starting to operate on its own, and I try to calm it down. Romy is a warm weight on my chest, one of her legs draped over mine, her hair soft against my face as she lays her head on my shoulder again. Have I ever done this with a girl? Just … laid here?
I haven’t. Never had a girlfriend, not really. My foster parents were strict and had all sorts of rules, and I followed every single one because I was terrified that they’d decide they didn’t want me around, that they’d give me back to the State, or worse, back to my folks, and I couldn’t let that happen. But once the first girl did corner me in a dark basement closet at Daniel’s graduation party, I discovered that girlfriend is a pretty meaningless word anyway. Some girls are like guys. Some girls like to fuck and walk away. Those girls and I got along fine. Those girls didn’t stick around long enough to notice how completely and chaotically and astronomically messed up I am. It made things much easier.
I’m twenty-four years old, and tonight is the first time I’ve actually laid on a bed, fully clothed, and … what am I doing? Am I cuddling with Romy? Snuggling? I don’t even know the word for it.
But goddamn, it’s nice. I turn my head and brush my jaw against her hair. Her hand slides along my ribs and ends up on my chest, over my heart. She nuzzles into my neck, which makes my body roar to life with frightening speed. Instantly, I’m hard as a rock and praying she doesn’t notice. I stare at the ceiling and count the textured curves in the plaster.
“The Sojourner House is having a charity auction,” Romy says, her voice quiet and maybe a little sleepy.
“What?”
“Sojourner House. It’s the place I’m doing my internship. It’s a shelter for women who’ve been abused. They’re having an auction at the beginning of November. The house manager was talking about it today.”
“That’s nice.” Is that what I’m supposed to say?
She giggles. “I think your paintings … maybe you could donate one to the auction.”
“Donate? Like, so they could auction it and get the money for the shelter? I …” No one would want it, and then it would be disappointing for me and for the shelter people. “I don’t know ...”
Romy raises her head again and looks me right in the eyes. She stares at me long enough to make me squirm, and then she lowers her head again. “It was just an idea,” she says, mildly, like it’s no big deal. Her hand has been over my heart the whole time. She doesn’t move or pull away. In fact, she scoots closer. “Tell me when you need me to leave, Caleb. I won’t be hurt.”
“Okay,” I say, trying not to laugh. “I’ll tell you.” I hug her close, because she is so fucking sweet and I want to gather every second of this and hide it in a box so that I can pull it out and wrap it around me on those days where I feel like driving my truck over a cliff. I focus hard, trying to pull together the right words so I can reassure her the same way. I’m nothing like that asshole who hit you. “You can go whenever you want, too, Romy. You don’t have to take care of me or anything. I know how to do that pretty well.”
I feel her smile against my collarbone. “We have a deal,” she says.
And that’s it. So simple. So easy. We lie there and breathe, and there’s no drama and no screaming and no blame. I don’t know what this is. I don’t have a name for it. Romy’s body relaxes onto mine, her muscles going loose, and I can’t believe she trusts me this much, that she’s willing to stay here and let me hold her.
When I’m certain she’s deeply asleep, I get up. I get ready for bed and brush my teeth and all that, and then I grab my phone from my jacket. No messages. No texts. I try calling Katie. Her phone’s still off. I’d try Amy, but I have no doubt she’d scream at me for calling so late.
So I call my mom. It’s three hours earlier in Cali anyway. “Hey,” I say when she picks up.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asks, because I don’t call for any other reason.
“Has Katie called?”
“No, why?”
“We kind of had a fight today. She said she was moving out. She ran off with a … friend.”
My mom curses. “I knew letting her stay with you was a mistake. She doesn’t trust you, and you don’t know what she needs. Do I have to buy a plane ticket and come take care of this?”
The way she says it tells me my answer had better be no. “I’ll try to track her down tomorrow. I just wanted you to know in case she called. Tell her she can come back at any time. Tell her I’m sorry.”
She lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I wish being sorry actually changed things.”
“Me, too,” I whisper after she hangs up on me.
I look down at my phone, so fragile in the palm of my hand. I want to slam it into the wall and destroy it. But then I’d have one more bill to pay, and more importantly, Katie needs a way to reach me. So I set it to vibrate and take it back to my room.
Romy’s rolled onto her back, her arm splayed to the side. Her lips are slightly parted, and her eyes are moving beneath her eyelids. Dreaming. She’s so damn cute that I can’t stop myself from brushing my lips over hers. I want to press myself onto her. I want to feel every part of her against me. I want to bury myself inside her and let the rest of the world disappear.
But more than any of that, I want her trust.
I lightly caress her arm, wondering if she’s cold. Just in case, I get a spare blanket from the closet and drape it over her. I change into sweats and carefully get back onto the bed. I inch over, breathing her in, and fold her limp arm over her body. I lay mine over her waist and bow my head next to hers. My forehead against her cheek, our bodies barely touching, but it’s enough for now. I close my eyes and sync up my breathing with hers. Tomorrow is rushing toward me like a tidal wave, but at the moment, I’m safe on this little island with this beautiful girl who trusts me.
“Goodnight, Romy,” I whisper. “Please don’t disappear.”