penance. a love story (The Böhme Series) (21 page)

When I made it home I felt the welcome relief that one gets after being away for a while. It was as if the outside world no longer existed and I was free to explore my own thoughts and emotions unobstructed. I needed to shut the world out and live in my thoughts for the rest of the evening. I stared out my window as I sat on my couch recalling my day.

I liked Hannah, but being around her brought so many thoughts of my mother. It was as if I couldn't be near her without having feelings flood me of inadequacy and fear. After an hour on my own with these thoughts I called the one person capable of understanding my annoyance.

Two rings and Stinson answered
. “Wynn. Why are you calling?”

“Well, I went on two dates with the girl. I want to see her again, but I can’t.”

He sighed in annoyance, but I knew he wanted nothing more than to see me grow. “Why can’t you?”

“I can’t handle this push and pull inside me. I want to be able to let go and run with my emotions. But I need to process everything before I get carried away. I’m losing control.
She
is this constant presence there between us. I can block her out part of the time, but she rears her head and I can see her scowl at me. She was nowhere to be found though when Hannah and I held hands.”

“Woah, you held hands? That’s awesome, man. I’m proud of you. But remember emotions are fickle things, but you can’t avoid them. As much as you might try, they can never be fully avoided. That’s part of making your thoughts your bitch. You have to make your emotions your bitch too. Don’t let fickle things ruin your life.”

I laughed. “Did you just tell me that my emotions could ruin my life?”

"Yes, I did. You may think you are controlling them by avoiding them, but you have to evaluate emotions, don't let them run away from you. You can’t let them rule you. I’m proud of you for taking such a big step with her. Why do you think your mother left your thoughts when you held Hannah's hand?”

“I thought about that, actually.” I smiled. “I fought with myself all day to touch her. I touched her lower back, but when it came time to take her hand, I counted my fingers to calm myself and I did it. And when I did, I could breathe. This weight on my shoulders lifted from holding her hand. It was the first time I felt connected and understood. It scared the fuck out of me, because I felt so full in that moment. When we let go of each other's hands, an insane pressure weighed on me and that fullness I experienced felt like it could pull me to the ground. Those few minutes were a dream and I faced the truth that I could never be enough."

“You have more going for you than that. You need to process it. You will get the hang of it. Take time to think, but not too much. Don't leave the girl hanging. Remember, she may have as much crap going on as you and don't assume she has her shit together.
Everyone has issues, but the trick is letting the right one in to see your issues.”

"I’m not sure if she wants more from me though."

"Wynn,” Stinson said in a stern tone.

"Yeah?" I asked with the determined tone I did years ago when I first started meeting with him.

"Shut the fuck up.” He laughed as he ended the call. To most people they may wonder why my doctor told me to shut the fuck up and it didn't bother me. It works for me. I don't want to be toyed with and coddled. I needed truth and a good figurative smack to the head.

I climbed the stairs to my bedroom and lay on my mattress.
Process it.
It could be compared to processing film the old-fashioned way. With digital film, you download your images, open your photo editing program and begin the process. The old way, you took the time to develop the film. Each individual image was exposed and processed on its own. Expose the image onto the paper, run the paper through the chemical cycle of developing. If there were something to adjust, it took more time than a few clicks of your mouse.
Processing takes time.

It had been three weeks since I saw Wynn. Holding each other’s hand was as far as it went with us physically, but it was the most intimate and intense few hours of my life. Every one of my experiences with men joined couldn’t compare to those moments with him. At the end of that wonderful day together, he dropped me at work and that was the last I saw him.

Those two days held more life than the others combined and made the emptiness of every other day more vast and consuming. In a way, I saw them as the best punishment for me. The freedom I felt that day is replaced with an empty eroding ache.
 What better way to punish myself than to flaunt what I cannot have in front of me?

I didn’t seek him out or try to contact him and
I hadn’t seen him in the bookshop either. Petra knew of my dates with him and she asked me to tell her the details. I told her as much as I knew—that I found him interesting and wondered how he was. Petra gave me sad smiles as if she saw something more that I was missing.

The positive from not hearing from him was that my numbers continued to increase. The experiences gnawed away the pain with blunt teeth and left the constant numbness in their wake. I preferred the numbness. Hollow and icy is more pleasant than my pain and guilt.

Gabe and Maggie asked me to go out with them several times and they even brought the party to me. I always closed myself off from them though, shutting my door and opening a book. I left the apartment to work and to meet someone, but otherwise the four walls were all that existed. Days turned into weeks without notice and I fell into a routine. Figure modeling, bookstore, numbers, bookstore, numbers, figure modeling, and at last sleep met me in between the moments.

I hadn’t slept much last night and I tried to focus on the task at work today. Petra decided the Chick Porn section needed moved closer to the Horror section, so I found myself dusting and moving books that I moved two weeks prior. I wore my ear buds to try to drown out the world, even though it was a slow day in the store. Today was the official day. As official as it could be, I suppose. Two years ago today, my sister took her own life. Every one of those days lost with her was a weight pulling me to the bottom of the ocean.

There was a tap on my shoulder and removing my ear buds I turned to try to give the invader of my thoughts a cordial expression. I hit pause on my player and saw the tattooed arms that haunted me for the last few weeks. Attached to those arms were the hands that once held mine with a gentleness that shattered me.

I tried to display happiness as I met Wynn’s eyes. We stood there for several seconds without a word. Tears began to form, because it hurt to look at him. It hurt because I realized, I missed him. I spent two days with him, and I missed him.

“I need to talk to you,” he said in a hushed voice. He
needs
to talk to me. His perseverance despite his nervousness showed how much he meant his words. He was opening himself to me and though it foreign to him, he was doing it. I was not fit for that part of him, because I was so damned scared to open to him in return.

“Sure, what do you need?” I tried to sound as if my conflicting emotions weren’t pulling me apart.

He took my wrist leading me farther through the store and up the stairs to the balcony. He didn’t know what was going on with me today, but by him grabbing my wrist with my tattoo on it, the tears fought to be freed from my eyes. I wanted nothing more than to open myself to him, but his grip on that word on my wrist was a painful reminder that I couldn’t.

We stopped in the banned books section, hidden from the rest of the store. He stepped close enough that our knees touched. I was unsure what he had in mind, and I hoped he was as the others and wanted a quick screw so I could get him out of my thoughts. He could be a number—forgotten.
  

“I have a confession and I am going to jump right into it. My mind races with moments we shared the other day that trigger more thoughts and I can't stop the constant bombardment. I’m ashamed that my fears and ideas of inadequacy kept me from calling or texting you
.” He looked at my hands as I leaned back against the bookshelf. Was he thinking of my touch as I kept repeating the motion over and again in my mind? I continued to touch my hand for days after the moments we shared at the Böhme.

“Why didn’t you?” I asked without judgment.

“I wanted to, but I didn’t want to disturb you. I’m not sure what normal is and I’m not used to…” he looked toward the stairs, “talking to people and making plans. I keep to myself and I know that sounds crazy, but I'm not a people person. But you know that. But that fact makes it difficult to be close with others.”

I had to laugh as he spoke. “I'm not either.”

He gave me a shocked expression. “I can’t believe that. The way you spoke of strangers opening up to you, sounds like a people person to me.” He raised his eyebrows and looked to the wall as if in shame as he compared our differences.

“I hate bullshitters. Those strangers weren't bullshitters, so when I was with them I was a people person.” He gave me questioning eyes filled with trust, but I wasn't comfortable giving him my answers. I couldn't tell him why I closed myself off from people.

“Can I tell you something?” I nodded to encourage him to continue. “I want to be with you and I'm out of my comfort zone,” he said as he turned away from me and ran his hands through his hair. “God that sounded better in my head.” His hair had grown longer in the weeks since I saw him last. It suited him as he ran his hands through it and pulled it away from his face. He pulled it back with fists, as if the motion could direct him to the right words.

“No, it sounds perfect. I understand, because it's the same for me
.” I stepped away from the shelf and it brought us closer together. I was treading close to breaking a promise as I placed my hand upon his chest. It was over his heart and he tensed at my touch. “Maybe we both see the world different than others. It’s a natural understanding, drawing us together.” He held his eyes on mine as I continued.

“
Let’s make a deal,” I said and it felt like the words were choked out of me as I spoke. As much as I didn’t want to do this, I had to do this.
I could do this
. “We both agree something is between us, let’s not analyze it. We can be friends. That's all I can give now. Friends.”

The lost expression on his face showed hurt for a moment, and as if he could see right through my lie, he blinked as he took a deep breath and smiled a closed smile. “Will you come to my loft later?” Without another mention, he changed the direction of the conversation and I couldn’t thank him enough.
 

“Are you inviting me up to your loft for
coffee
? I told you I can only be friends,” I said with a smirk and sarcasm. He tilted his head in question at first and as understanding met him he raised his eyebrows in shock.

“Oh god, no, I’m not doing that
.” He ran his hand over his face. “Oh shit that sounds as if I find you disgusting, that isn’t what I meant. I meant, that’s not what I meant by what I asked.” He fidgeted and placed his weight on one foot then the other. “Blake will be there with this new chick he’s dating. He wanted me to meet her and I thought you might want to come over too. I’ll be making dinner.” The thought of Blake being there made my unease kick into overdrive. Last time I saw him was after our night drinking. From what Gabe said, I shared my history with both of them, but Gabe ever the smart friend, shut me up and took me to my room to speak in private. I was grateful for his foresight in keeping that part of me private. Blake couldn’t have understood the details.

“You’re making dinner?” I asked and le
ft the fear of seeing Blake to the wayside.

He laughed at me, “Yes, Hannah, I can cook. Sid taught me.”

“Okay, sounds good. What time? I get off work at five.” I ran my hand across the shelf, looking for dust.

“Perfect, I’ll pick you up when you finish here
,” he said, waiting for my response.

We stood there with awkwardness, and our eyes focused on each other for a few moments. I wanted to observe every one of his actions and I wanted more than anything to kiss him. I looked at his lips, but his running his hand through his hair was a distraction. He was gorgeous when he fidgeted and his unique spirit threatened everything I created. I wanted to hold him close and breathe in every truth from him.
But he could only be a friend
.

As promised, Wynn was there to pick me up at five sharp. He came in and gave Petra a quick hug as she told us good-bye. She held a smile so stretched and formed to her face it looked as though her cheeks could break. As she watched us walk toward his bike, her hope for a future for us together filled her eyes and it filled me with more tension. I didn’t like expectations.

I climbed onto the bike and held tight to Wynn and noticed the tension of a few weeks ago was still there, but not as strong. He placed his hand over mine for a moment before he started the bike and headed towards his home. The touch of his hand made me close my eyes and for the briefest moment I allowed myself to believe that good things were possible for me.

I tilted my head back as I looked up at the buildings passing overhead. The sky was cloudy as it had been on her last anniversary. It was as if the Earth itself knew I needed the covering of clouds to cope.