Deeper (15 page)

“Hey, don’t go spreading your misfortune around.”

“Why not? It’s what I do best.” He winks at me and heads in to change. I have the weirdest boyfriend in the world.

I love lunchtimes with Rain.

Today we’re at Peiwei, and the north Cali weather is at its best. Breeze that’s humid enough to feel soft but dry enough to feel cool rustles the trees around the outdoor patio where we’re eating.

Pretty day, and it’s nice to be outside for once. I’m so tired of being indoors. Ironic that a job as a lifeguard would be so indoors, when you typically picture something like Baywatch.

She takes a bit of a lettuce wrap, obviously being very painstaking about not making a mess, but still dribbles a bit onto the front of the plate. She drops the lettuce wrap and looks up at me with embarrassment, masked by indignation.

“These are impossible!”

“Let me get you something else.”

She waves me off, stands, grabs her wallet. I look over the checkout line, a bunch of guys are ordering and I don’t want her in there alone with them. As far as I’m concerned all men are evil. They’re all trying to take what I want, and I don’t trust any of them.

“I’ll go, you stay here. Try mine.” I stand and put a hand on her shoulder, not trying to force, but definitely coaxing, her back into her chair.

She sits, but looks up at me with suspicious eyes. “Knight, why are you so overprotective?”

I bite my lip. It’s a habit, a sharp moment of pain that distracts from other pain rising within me. “I’m not overprotective, I’m jut the right amount of protective,” I say, and leave her to go wait in line.

Truthfully, it’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to try so hard at something I failed so epically at. For a long time I assumed something like protecting the person you love was impossible, but something about Rain makes me want to try again. Makes me want to do better this time.

I put a hand up to my forehead, because memories are pressing in, and I don’t want them. Not right now.

“Can I take your order?”

I try to stop pressing my temple because the worker looks concerned. “I, uh.”

Crap, I didn’t ask Rain what she wanted. I stand there, feeling stupid, feeling that I’m showing weakness in front of the other guys in the building. I can’t show weakness, or it’ll look like they can take what is mine.

The dude opens his mouth again and I barely hear him this time. My head is foggy, and I want to stumble back. I feel lost in time. Why is this happening now?

A solid arm comes around my waist, and Rain tells the man her order, apologizing for not telling me what she wanted, making me look normal to everyone, like a normal boyfriend trying to remember an order, not a disturbed boyfriend trying not to remember a death.

She takes my hand to pull me away from the counter, and her fingers through mine are painfully soft and familiar. They remind me of other fingers against mine, in the dark. I put my forehead to hers and ground myself against her strength. Just six more hours of our shift. I need to get back to work. I need to forget this.

But on the way back to work, it comes back anyway.

I run my hands over Camille’s, brushing her fingertips with mine, inside of her forearms to inside of mine, soft and yielding all over. She gently squeezes my hands, which are over hers beside her head, and looks up at me with tears in her eyes that fall when she smiles apologetically.

“I’m sorry Knight,” she says softly, her voice quiet and hoarse. “I thought we had it that time.”

Did we? I don’t think so. And I’m tired of trying. It’s not blue balls, I don’t care about that. I’m tired of hurting her, tired of feeling like I’m the animal who hurt her, tired of seeing her face screw up in terror and pain, and tired of reliving with her that horrible night that tore us both apart. If only I’d been there.

She still won’t tell me who did it. That kills me. She’s protecting him. If only I’d protected her.

I pull back, sitting up on my knees, doing up my belt. I’d been enjoying just laying over her, fully clothed, not putting any weight on her but just feeling her chest rise against mine, feeling her hands on my back, hearing her sighs, till she stopped, till they turned to cries.

It breaks my heart over and over, till I don’t know if it can break any further. I gather her up and sit cross-legged and pull her into my lap. She burrows in and I stroke her hair, which is sweaty and stuck against her face and neck. She tried so hard for me. It kills me.

I’m trying to be her rock, but I’m so lost these days. I’m trying to pretend I know what I’m doing, that I can be her hero, but I feel like I’m losing her. I’m holding her here in my arms but still she’s slipping away from me.

“It’s okay, babe,” I say, holding her head against my chest, because it calms her. “It’s fine. We’ll be fine.”

She sighs, and looks up into my eyes to see if I mean it. I do and I don’t. I hope it. I know she thinks that if we fail it will be because she can’t have sex, but it has nothing to do with that. I’d give up a lifetime of sex to just hold her again like I used to.

“I’m sorry, Knight.” She digs her hand into my shirt and holds so tight that it hurts. “I’m trying.”

I tilt her chin up and look into her eyes. So brown, still sparkly, but from tears, not laughter. I love those eyes. “How about we stop trying?”

Her eyes close, then open with new tears. “You’re giving up on me?” She grabs on with both hands. Tighter. Hold me tighter Camille. Don’t ever let go, and I’ll never let go either. It’s a promise.

“No. I’ll never give up on you.” I pull her tighter against me. We are both holding so tight that we’re hurting the other, but we can’t let go. We’ve already let go of too much. “Are you giving up on me?”

She doesn’t answer. I try to keep my chest moving steadily while I wait.

“I’m not giving up on you, but I might be giving up on me.”

“Camille, let’s just stop trying for sex. I don’t need it. I’m tired of it hurting you.”

“But I need to be able to do it, Knight!” She pounds on my chest with her small fist and I take it, deserve it. “I need to be a person, what kind of depressing life is this?”

The life of a rape victim. I wish we could get her therapy. It’d be cheaper than the E.R. runs, but she won’t go.

“I don’t want this life anymore.”

Our life. She doesn’t want our life together anymore. But I’m here and I’m still her Knight. Sometimes I wonder if she can still see me as her knight after all of this. It makes me hate my name.

“Don’t give up on me,” I say. “Don’t give up on yourself. We’re almost there. It’s always darkest before the dawn, that’s what they always say, right?” I run my hands over and through her hair, reassuring myself she’s still here.

“Bullshit,” she murmurs against my chest. “It’s bullshit. It just keeps getting darker. Should it get darker than I can stand? I can’t stand it any longer. I don’t want to stand it.”

I have nothing to say. I can’t say anything. It’s my fault she’s in pain and I can’t do anything about it. It’s painful but I have no right to tell her that she has to put up with her pain, for me. To live with me.

I just don’t want to see her lose it all. Her future. There can still be sunlight there. I have to think so. But I’m not in her body, being raped again every time the person I love tries to love me. I wish I could love her that way, but it’s enough to just love her. It’s enough to just be here with her. If only she’ll stay.

“Tell me who did it. I’ll end it, it’ll be over.”

She coughs and shakes her head. “Knight, there’s no point. What’s done is done. Nothing I can do about it. It won’t make it better for me.”

“It would make it better for me.”

“Stop trying to fix it.” Her voice breaks and more tears come, but I can tell from her tone that she’s smiling. “Always trying to fix things.”

“I’ll fix you. Give me time.”

“Time, time, time.” She draws her nail along the plaid of my shirt, mesmerizing both of us. These are the quiet moments, the moments we’re just together and nothing else matters. I love these moments. I can’t believe she’d ever want to give them up.

“Isn’t it good right now? Like this?” I take her hand in mine and put it up to my cheek. So warm. I want it to always stay warm.

She strokes my face and it’s so tender I want to cry. But I won’t. I’m going to be the man for her. Except if I was really a man, I wouldn’t have let her be hurt like this.

Her face is so beautiful to me. It’s a more beautiful version of the girl I hopped fences with, climbed into dumpsters with, sold lemonade with, and stole brownies off the kitchen table with. It’s natural that we fell in love. Everything was natural, except what that unnamed monster did. I clutch her to me as rage floods through me again. I try to let it roll over me like grief, but I’m struggling.

She tenses against me. “Knight?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I am.” I haven’t been through anything like she has. I still remember the call like it was yesterday. “Knight, I was raped.” The worst words I could have ever heard. Failure. Despair. Hopelessness.

A door closed that day, and if it wasn’t final, then it soon will be if I can’t help Camille find a reason to live.

“Am I enough?” I ask.

“What?” She keeps her eyes on my shirt.

“Do you forgive me? You must hate me.”

“For what?”

“For not being there.”

“Knight, we’ve been over this. How could I hate you?”

“Then why do you want to hurt yourself? Why do you keep trying to leave me behind?”

She sighs and her hands release my shirt as she relaxes, or gives up, in my lap. “I don’t want to leave you behind. I don’t know how to stand it. And I feel like you deserve more than half a girlfriend.” I hear pain in her voice, and weariness, and I hate it. Almost as much as I hate the fact that I can’t do anything about it.

“Good thing you’re two hundred percent girlfriend to start with so even if you get halved you’re one hundred percent to me.”

“You’re sweet.” But she says it like she’d mention that it had rained today. Cool humid air comes through the window and brushes over us, lifting her hair under my hand. She’s not really listening to me. Not really hearing. I don’t know what else to do, how to get through to her.

“Can’t we try therapy?”

“No!” She burrows her face in my shirt. “No, no never.”

I don’t know what to do. I look up at the stuccoed, aged ceiling of her bedroom and wish someone could tell me. I’m only eighteen, and I don’t know what to do.

How can I tell someone? How can I tell them what happened to my girlfriend when she won’t let me? I’m so powerless. I couldn’t have any less power if I was tied to a railroad track in front of a moving train with no one around for miles.

“Camille,” I say, and brush my hands through her hair. So thick and dark. I have to be careful not to pull it accidentally at all, or she’ll trigger. I try so hard not to let her trigger. Whenever she triggers, it’s not long after that she tries to end everything again. I hate that she doesn’t want to live anymore, but what can I say about it? Is it fair to tell someone to live when they are in incomprehensible pain with no foreseeable way out of it?

I wish I could tell her though. I wish I could make it so she can’t leave. This tiny person in my arms is my world. I’ll just have to find a way out of this. I’ll find it, and we’ll be together forever. I’ll save her. I just know it.

I press my lips to her hair and promise to give us both the future we deserve. I promise to be better. I promise to figure things out.

As I make promises, light streams in through the blinds and a gust of wind moves the drapes. Night air cools the room, and I realize Camille is asleep in my arms.

That’s it baby. Sleep for now. Tomorrow will be better. I promise.

Knight went off somewhere in his mind today. He was silent the whole car ride back. I drove because after seeing him slack-jawed and frozen at the counter, disguised terror morphing his face, I couldn’t let him behind the wheel.

Now I know why he says sometimes I remind him of himself. We both go away in our minds sometimes. Sometimes to somewhere better, sometimes to somewhere worse.

I don’t know what triggered it for him today. I know he’s been through a lot, but he’s never talked to me about it. I haven’t talked to him about what’s happened to me either. We’ve both been hiding the shadowy parts of ourselves away, and I wonder how much longer that can go on.

I really know so little about him. He’s hot, and I thought I could just be with him and allow myself some time with the tattooed bad boy of my fantasies. But the closer I get, the harder it is to ignore the haunted look in his eyes sometimes. It makes me want to take him in my arms and kiss away the sadness. It also makes me want to run away, makes me worried that we’re just too cumulatively broken to be together.

I watch him pace the deck, on guard duty today while I handle patrons. You’d never know anything happened. He’s confident, powerful, and totally himself again. It happened the second he walked through the door, in an odd transformation that seemed to come with the purpose of our work.

I don’t want to take that away from him. I’d tell him to take the day off, but I have a feeling if I send him out of here I’m sending him back to the horror in his own mind. I can’t do that to him. Plus he seems to be fine.

He rounds a corner to split up a pair of guards who are slowing rotation by talking instead of handing off their water. He tells them off and disappears behind the slides. My heart is aching for him, and I don’t even know why.

A little girl comes up to me in a little pink swimsuit, with what looks like her sister behind her. I smile, but get ready to gently turn down their requests to play. Children are drawn to me, and often want me to get in the water with them.

I take a knee to listen to her. She’s maybe eight, and she wrings her hands and looks to her friend, who nods and nudges her forward.

“What is it? It’s okay.” I’m careful not to touch her, but I lean in so she knows I’m listening.