penance. a love story (The Böhme Series) (24 page)

“Yeah, I hear that
,” she said as she pulled one knee up under her chin. “I don’t technically date either. The bullshit annoys me. I don’t want false impressions, I want the real person, but we already touched on that before, didn’t we? Seriously, though, show me skeletons in the closet, nuances, craziness, issues, and all that comes with it. I don’t want a facade.” She grabbed another cracker. “Don’t get me wrong. I have shit I don’t want to put out there, but at least I’m real with people. I tell guys up front that I don’t want forever. Forever is bullshit. No one can have forever.” She toyed with the cracker and broke little pieces off, crumbling them into her hand.

“
So nothing serious?” I asked. She looked at the crumbs in her palm before she turned her hand to her mouth and ate them. She chewed in quiet contemplation as she thought of her response, and then swiped her hands across her legs to clean the remaining crumbs.

“Well I had a boyfriend for a few years. After that there were a few dates
,” she said as she raised her hands to quote, “with number Two. The others never made it past a first date. You could say.” I had the suspicion that our definitions of first dates were different.

“Your one boyfriend… what happened with that?” I asked and turned to put the meatloaf in the oven.

“We broke up when I was eighteen because we didn’t want the same future. The big part was, I was young, and I needed to experience more. He wanted the happily ever after and I didn’t, yet. He was a bullshitter who believed that as teenagers we knew what forever was. Romeo and Juliet were teenagers look where it got them. I don't want their definition of forever,” she said with a shrug.

I nodded as she sipped her coffee. “Where did you grow up?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes and smiled, “A small ass town an hour outside the city. A land filled with milk and honey. Like literal, milk, and honey,” she said as she nodded her head. “My family has a dairy and pig farm and they also raised bees. My graduating class had forty people in it. I was the black sheep and happy to leave it all behind me.” She gave the short, edited version of her history, holding back the parts that caused the shadows in her expressions.

“Do you talk to your family?” I asked as I began to peel potatoes.

“Wow, you are on a roll Wynn.” She lifted her mug and pointed her finger at me. “Remember, I will get my turn to ask the questions soon. And no, I don't talk to family other than Maggie and her parents. She’s my cousin by the way in case you didn’t realize.”

“Yes, she told me the day I picked you up
from your apartment. You don’t even talk to your sister?” I asked as I dropped two potatoes into a colander.

“
My sister died two years ago,” she said and sadness washed over her face and I regretted asking her that question. There was light conversation between us for the last hour that was now blocked by the return of her walls. “She died two years ago today,” she said with stoically.
Fuck
. She set her mug down and met my eyes with defiance. She was fighting her sadness and dared me to pity her.

“I’m so sorry
,” I said and clenched my fists at my side. I wanted to hug her, but I could see that she was dealing with her pain in much the same way I did. Holding her wasn’t what she wanted right now. She looked toward the others as she fought the tears begging to fall from her now filled eyes. No one wants to have a break down in front of people who couldn’t comprehend that depth of pain. “Do you like kale?” I changed the subject and if I could have kicked myself for asking such a stupid question, I would.

It seemed to work though as her defiant expression slid away and a huge smile, though fake
, spread across her face. “Yes, I do like kale.”

I set out kale chips for her and she let out a little squeal. “Oh my god, I love kale chips.”

And just like that, the pain went back into hiding and I was a little less of an ass as I was a few minutes ago.

After dinner, Blake and Abby left with a palpable tension between them. It wasn’t unusual behavior with Blake and a girl, he wasn't one to baby or coddle. 

“So why do you think she chose absolution as the toast?” Hannah asked as she handed me a plate.

“I’m not sure, but it was pretty random.”

“I don’t know if it was that random. She looked at my wrist before she said it
,” Hannah said. Both our eyes went to her wrist and her tattoo.

“Maybe she’s catholic
,” I deadpanned. She laughed at my comment and it made life fill me. Her laughter had the ability to awaken stillness that encased the most silent heart. It was a genuine laugh and I wanted to pull it from her again.

“That’s funny, Wynn
.” She looked at her tattoo and ran her finger over it.

“Do you have more tattoos?” I asked as we finished the dishes and went to sit on the couch.

She leaned back into the couch without a response and lifted her knee and pulled the leg of her overalls up on her right ankle. There was a butterfly tattoo on the outside part and I could tell a professional didn’t do it and she gave me a shy smile. “That was my first. I wanted to piss my parents off and a friend wanted to be a tattoo artist. It’s freaking horrible isn’t it?”

I pulled my lips in
, trying not to smile. “Well, I don’t know if I would use the word artist to describe them. But yeah that is pretty bad.” I let out a long breath of air and lifted an eyebrow to examine how bad it was. She laughed at me again and hit me with a pillow.

“Thanks for your honesty, Wynn.”

“No problem. Sid could cover that for you. He does an awesome job.”

Grabbing my wrist, she turned my arm to examine my tattoos. Every one of the quotes covering my arm held meaning. They intertwined with the design Sid had done to work with my scars.

“He does do a good job,” she said. “I love that you have words.” She began to run her finger across every word on my forearm as if she could read it through her touch. “I love words. Sometimes words fill every part of my chest to the point that I could combust in on myself if I don't continue listening or get them out of me."

She closed her eyes as her thoughts consumed her
. "They wrap themselves around me and I’m left lying in a nice comfortable hammock, just waiting for the day to end. It’s like being surrounded by crickets chirping, but not just a single one,” she said and a joyful smile formed as she put her thoughts together. “But the choruses of ones that create a rhythm on a summer breeze and lull you into a deep sleep. Words are home to me. Quotes, lyrics, and even single words on their own—they hold something in them that can make your heart bleed or soar. Sometimes the absence of them can hold as much meaning.” Her voice trailed off as she lost to her own words.

Her thoughts began to drift away in the rhythm of her touch passing over my skin. She moved her hand toward mine and without hesitation, she wrapped our fingers together. “I remember why I first started loving words. My
dad and I watched Wheel of Fortune and raced to guess the words first. I was five and tried like crazy to figure the word out before him. I never could, he was always faster.” She looked off with a distant expression. “It is one of the few happy memories with my dad.”

She lifted my hand up to her lips and kissed my knuckles before resting our hands in her lap. She cradled my arm with her other arm and leaned back, closing her eyes. We sat there for a while and I watched her breathing as her shoulders rose and fell. Her heart beat through my arm
that pressed against her and with every twitch of her arm, I felt my own heart. With every breath, we were sharing part of ourselves.

“It’s my fault she did
it,” she said without opening her eyes. “She wouldn’t have killed herself if I hadn’t done what I did.” Her blatancy shocked me. She confessed without a second thought what she held so tight to her. It was so tight she wrapped herself in it like a security blanket. Her guilt held her together and without it she would crumble. She opened her eyes and looked at me with a vacant expression. “I’ve never said that to anyone. No one knows it was my fault. Looks like I couldn’t even go a day before telling you my something,” she said, lacking any joy or humor that was present just a moment ago.

I thought of saying something in response, that it wasn’t her fault. There were no words of comfort to chan
ge her mind. They would be shallow, so I waited for her to continue.

“I’m not s
ure why I’m telling you this.” She pulled my arm closer to her. “I think it’s because I can tell you understand me on a level.” She leaned her head on the couch and looked over at me. “Plus I’m thankful for your honesty. You haven’t tried to be something you’re not with me,” she said, closing her eyes again.

“My sister was two years older than me. She was twenty one and she dated the same guy since she was a sophomore in high school. She dreamed of marrying him since she was little. He became the captain of the football team and a total jock. He was also class president and everyone loved him. He was perfect for her because she was the cheerleader and prom queen. They planned to marry and have perfect little babies after she finished college. My parents adored her and she was their princess
.” She opened her eyes and looking down she let go of my hand and began to roll up one of the legs of her overalls. She rolled and unrolled it as she continued to ramble, trying to race to the end of the story.

“Religion was my father’s way and if we didn’t uphold his rules he'd have our hides. She and the football guy became close, but they wouldn’t have sex until after high school. She had this whole idea to make it special on the day after graduation. The day drew closer and she was so excited she wouldn’t shut up about it. I remember wishing I could understand or grasp that emotion. But I never saw my first time that way because I never wanted romance. It was a stepping stone I needed to cross to get on with the res
t of my life.” She looked up and toward the window and I saw the tears that rested on the tip of her eyes. If she were to blink, they would cascade down her face. Grasping onto her defiance I was becoming accustomed to, she refused to blink.

“I was different. I started dating my first when I was sixteen and once I got enough experience, I wanted to move onto more experiences. I wanted to live life and do whatever the fuck I wanted. Lily called me a slut for breaking up with my boyfriend and wanting to experience more. She told my dad, who called me a
fornicating slut
. His words by the way,” she said as she gave me a pointed glance.

“H
e thought that by using fornicating and slut in the same sentence it made it more righteous,” she said as she turned toward me with her eyebrows raised, but didn’t meet my eyes.

“He said I was an abomination and as soon as I graduated high school I was out. It was almost that time, so I didn’t give a shit what he threatened. My sister was in college and out of the house for two years, but she was still their little princess and tattled on me. So my sister was away at college and her boyfriend didn’t go because he stay
ed to work at the local sawmill.” Her hands worked with more determination on her rolling as if every roll was going to wrap up her story and put it back in the comfort of her guilt.

“I saw him one night at a party and he fucked me, and that’s all it was because I wanted to hurt my sister. I wante
d to knock her off her pedestal.” Hannah looked over at me for the first time in her story, giving me eyes of defiance once again. She was hoping I would judge her, but I couldn’t, which was unusual for me, considering the circumstances of her story.

“He broke up with her, shattering their happy future. He and I hooked up several times for almost a year. When she came home on one break, something was different. I told her that her boyfriend cheated on her with me and I was the reason they separated. I watched as her whole face contorted, though she didn’t say a word. I never saw such raw emotion from her in my life. I wished she would slap me or something but she just stared at me before turning to leave the roo
m. I didn’t follow her. Then…” She paused because her tears fought to fall and she battled to hold them inside her eyes. I could tell it was getting even more difficult to tell her story, but she wanted to continue. I remained silent and didn’t try to comfort her, but waited to follow her lead.

She took in a deep breath and held her eyes closed in quiet desperation. “Then, my parents learned of
her
fornication as well. But I didn’t tell them, they found out otherwise. When my dad found out he screamed and tore apart the house in his anger. I don’t need to go farther into that part of the story. He’s a bastard, that’s all she wrote, you know,” she said, pulling both her knees up and hugging them. She rested her forehead on the tops of them muffling her voice.

“That night was a full moon. She came into my room and sat on my bed. She asked me,
Hannah, do you remember when we were little, and we used to run in the field when the moon was full? Those nights were always beautiful. We sang my song and laughed. I loved that.”
She raised her voice an octave as she quoted her sister and eased back into her natural voice, though strained as she continued.

"I tried to sleep but the sound of her pathetic voice annoyed me. I didn’t want to talk to her. I thought she was trying to pry pity from me and I refused to give it to her. She was the bitch. She made my life difficult with telling my parents of my history and I was glad she was getting a tast
e of it. God
I
was the bitch,” she said as she turned her head away from me.