Tied

After I climb into bed, I reach into my nightstand and pull out the card and photo. I wish Tyler was in this photo, kneeling in the snow next to Poppy. I try to imagine him there, with his long hair that almost matches the color of mine, his strong, colorful arms, and those bright blue eyes that mesmerize me. He’s far too beautiful to not smile, I decide, and I set a new goal for myself: make Tyler smile. A real smile.

14

Holly

Two days after Christmas, my family has gone back to their normal busy routine, my mother has dodged any further in-depth conversation, and I’ve been driven back to Merryfield. I decide the best thing for me to do is to put my Make Tyler Smile plan into action. I need something to feel good about.

On the way out of town, I ask my usual taxi driver to stop at the ice cream shop. My worries about going in there again after I was let go were for nothing because, when I place my order, the new girl working there doesn’t know I’m the Girl In the Hole Who Passed Out In the Soft Serve.

The driver laughs at me when I get back into her car carrying two large purple drinks with fluorescent green straws. Before I’d gone in, I’d offered to get her something, and even offered to pay for it, but she declined.

“I’m not drinking them both,” I inform her. “One is for my friend.”

“Hey, I don’t judge. People bring all sorts of weird things into the car.”

My stomach twists into knots as we get closer to the edge of the woods leading to Tyler’s house. What if he doesn’t want to see me again or refuses to talk? Obviously, he can talk but chooses not to. His voice is hoarse and different but, to my ears, it doesn’t sound so bad that he should be ashamed or afraid to speak. I actually like the way it sounds and the way it makes my insides flitter around like I swallowed a butterfly. Unless, perhaps, it causes him physical pain to talk. Or emotional pain which, in some ways, can be worse.

The driver has brought some paperbacks with her and agrees to wait for me once again. She doesn’t seem to mind waiting as long as she’s getting paid, and sitting here reading is probably better than driving random strangers around all day. I really need to talk to my parents about getting my driver’s license and a car, because this is becoming expensive. I feel that I’m more than ready and able to drive a car.

Carrying the two teas, with my backpack over my shoulder, I make my way down the path. It has a light dusting of snow over it, and I’m curious whether anyone else lives out here or if his house is the only one. He certainly has gone out of his way to put himself as far away from other people as possible, and I can’t help but wonder why. Whatever that reason may be, it led him to saving my life that day.

As soon as I enter his yard, via a short dirt road that’s overrun with weeds, Poppy comes running to me from out of nowhere, with another dog chasing after him.

“Hi, Poppy!” I say, not able to pet him with my hands full of drinks. “You have a friend.”

The small reddish-brown dog starts to run circles around my feet, round and round and round, making a strange squealing noise, while Poppy stands to the side and watches, with his tail wagging, looking very amused.

“Wow, you’re very excited,” I say to the red dog, who has turned and is now running counterclockwise around my ankles, in a blur, preventing me from walking. I have never seen such an odd dog, and he’s making me very dizzy.

A whistle suddenly pierces the air, and the dog stops cycloning around me and runs to the source of the whistle: Tyler.

He’s standing at the open door to his garage, with dark sunglasses hiding those beautiful eyes and a cigarette hanging from his lips. He must not feel the cold since he never wears a jacket—just jeans, boots, and a thick flannel shirt with the sleeves pushed up. The dog bolts to him, its massive tail flying behind him like a fluffy flag, and that’s when I realize it’s not a dog at all—it’s the red fox that’s in the Christmas tree photographs I bought. Poppy and I approach Tyler and his fox together, and an odd sensation of comfort encompasses me, like the four of us are old friends or family.

Dare I say, a feeling of belonging?

“You have a fox,” I say, watching the animal play with Poppy. He’s beautiful —hyper and goofy —unlike Poppy, who’s much calmer. They seem like best friends as they frolic around the yard, and it warms my heart to see Poppy in what looks like a very happy home. Tyler nods and snuffs out his cigarette then throws it in a small garbage can next to the door he’s leaning against.

“Is he a pet?” I ask. I’ve never heard of anyone having a fox for a pet, but my life knowledge is still pretty limited.

He nods again while taking the sunglasses off and placing them on top of his head. His eyes settle on me, slowly looking me up and down, but not in a creepy way. More like he’s just…taking me in. Getting used to me being in front of him.

I hold one of the drinks out to him and smile. “I bought you a bubble tea. This one has the bubbles that pop. They’re not the squishy tapioca ones. It’s my favorite.”

He takes the drink from me and examines the clear plastic cup, watching the bubbles swirl around. “It’s purple,” he states, and that dry, hoarse voice of his shoots through me like a laser, bringing a mix of guilt, unease, and excitement. I never knew little things about a person could make my body feel such boggling sensations. His eyes, his voice, the width of his arms—even his handwriting has a baffling effect on me. These feelings are totally alien to me, and experiencing them with a man brings on small waves of uncertainty. Are these feelings normal? Are they safe?

The words of Dr. Reynolds echo through my memory. Not all men are bad. Be cautious, but also be open to enjoying what a healthy relationship can feel like, physically and mentally.

I exhale the breath I was holding while my mind and body struggled. “It’s called taro,” I finally say, enjoying his skeptical face as he inspects the straw.

“Bubbles are fucked up enough, but purple too?” He shakes his head and holds the drink up again.

“Try it.” I take a sip of mine, my eyes still peeking up at him. “It’s good. Trust me.”

A small, crooked grin touches his lips, making him look like a little boy who’s up to no good. It’s not a smile, though, so it doesn’t count toward my goal.

“You sure this is safe?” he asks.

“I promise.”

I watch him take a sip and suck one of the bubbles up through the wide straw. Out here, in the daylight, I can see the jagged, leathery scars that run along the side of his face, disappearing beneath his hair, and a scar in the shape of a jagged X at his throat. Something happened to him. Something bad. More scars are visible on the back of his hand and his fingers, wrapped around the plastic cup, the skin rippled and rough-looking. A gust of wind blows his hair away from his face, and he quickly looks down and to the side so his hair falls back over his scars. Then slowly, he raises his head back into the wind, letting his curtain of hair fan away from his scarred forehead, cheeks, and neck. His eyes meet mine as he sucks the tea up the straw, waiting for my reaction. He’s letting me see him. I breathe slowly, watching him, seeing him clearly for the first time. He’s more beautiful than I originally thought, and it makes my heart actually swell and ache.

“Well?” I ask when he pulls the straw from his lips, a quarter of the drink gone.

“It’s a good weird.” He mimics my words, winks at me, and pops one of the bubbles in his mouth.

A big smile curves my lips. “I’m glad you like it. I don’t work there any more.” He raises a questioning eyebrow at me, and I continue. “I had an…episode and they let me go.”

“Episode?”

Sighing, I watch a small windmill at the edge of his yard spin in the wind. “It’s stupid, really. I was working alone, and a bunch of people came in all at once. I got stressed, knocked some dishes over, had an anxiety attack, and passed out. They called an ambulance.”

“That happen often?”

If I tell him the truth, will he think badly of me? Will he think I’m a mess?

“I guess I feel overwhelmed sometimes. I’m not used to…people. Or doing things. Or much of anything, honestly, but I’m trying. I don’t pass out much, though. That was only like the second time in the past year.”

“You shouldn’t be walking around the woods alone. It’s not safe. You do know that, right?”

I think about it, sipping my drink. He’s right, but the difference is that with Tyler here with me, it feels like a different place. To me, these aren’t the same woods that haunt my dreams, where my nightmares, both in reality and in sleep, took place. Here, with Tyler, this is the forest I read about in books and daydreamed about for so long. These trees, this soil, this everything, is part of my happily ever after. I can feel it. I’m not going to tell him that, though.

“No, not really,” I finally say.

He doesn’t blink; his sky-blue eyes never leave me.

“Believe it or not, I’m not scared here, even though I know you found me not far from here, and I was kept in a dirty basement just a few miles from here. Hearing the birds chirping, seeing the clouds through the trees, even the breeze here is…comforting. It almost feels like home. I feel safer here than I do anywhere else.”