penance. a love story (The Böhme Series) (28 page)

"I need to remind myself
to do it all the time. My mom was an asshole. She did horrible things to me, things that I haven’t even gotten into with you yet. But yeah she was an asshole. But I have to focus every waking moment on not letting her rule my life. I have control of my own life now. You have control of your life and you can find other ways to cope with the emptiness and blame from the loss of your sister. We can choose not to let our pasts run our lives."

"I want to hope for better things, but I just feel
like I’m beating myself," she said with sad eyes as she leaned into her hands. “I fucking hate hope."

“Might as well give
up and continue as you are then.” I laced my comments with sarcasm. “Who wants hope anyway? Can it ever be accomplished? It’s always out there teasing us. There is always something else to hope for in life. Talk about an asshole. Hope is an asshole,” I said as I turned her chin so she was looking at me again.

“
The word
yet
is better.” She gave me a scowl. “Okay, I’m being serious now. It's a little cheesy but serious. Sarcasm aside ‘
ye
t’
is
a far better word than hope.
Yet
means that it will happen, it just hasn’t…
yet
.” I raised my eyebrow at the last word. “I mean, when we say
yet
, it means it will happen at an undetermined point. For instance, I haven’t
really
kissed you,
yet
.” I continued as I pulled her closer to me, she gave me a wide smile and it was the most wonderful smile I had ever seen, even through her tear stained cheeks. I smiled back. “That holds more than saying, ‘I hope I kiss you someday.’ Hope has that open-ended possibility of not happening. But y
et
does not, because I have every intention of making it so.”

She interlaced our hands, “I have never felt loved, yet.”

I sat for a few moments and thought of her confession before I responded. “Neither have I,
yet
,” I said and kissing the top of her head I felt closer to peace than I had in a long time, if ever.

“Hey,” Wynn whispered in my ear to wake me. As I listened to the fast staccato of his heart, I must have fallen asleep. He lifted me from his knee and as I sat up, I tried to focus on his face. I held no embarrassment in my expression. I cried my eyes out to him tonight, several times, and I was sure my makeup smeared over my face. But instead of embarrassment, I felt empowered being near him. He pushed hair behind my ear and spoke, “You should get to bed. It’s getting late.”

“I don’t work tomorrow, so I’m good
,” I said with a half-assed smile.

“I’m sure you are, but you can’t sleep on your hall floor, can you?” He gave me a genuine smile.

“Sure, I can. It is possible, but I won’t.” He laughed at my response and my smile was no longer half-assed when I looked at him.

He stood and put his hand toward me. “Come on, I’ll put you to bed, and be on my way.”

Reluctance filled me as I took his hand and stood next to him. My reluctance wasn’t because I didn’t want to touch him; it was because I didn’t want him to leave. I kept hold of his hand as I led him into my room. “I’ll be right back,” I said as I gathered my pajamas to go change in the bathroom. I stopped and looked at him as he sat on the edge of my bed. I pulled my bottom lip in as I willed myself to voice what I had to say. “Please don’t leave yet.”

He met my eyes and gave me a small smile as he lay back on my bed. “Okay.”

I ran to the bathroom and changed. I looked in the bathroom mirror at my puffy eyes and black streaks leading from them. I looked a mess and washed my face in a rush. I breathed the scent of the eucalyptus in and began to calm. I could do this. I didn’t have to give physically. We could just
be
. Why was that so difficult?

Physical was easy for me, but the anticipation of sitting with him without repercussion was scary as hell. As I looked at my uncovered face, I realized I gave him something far greater than my body. I gave him my walls. Piece by piece he was taking them and I could taste my freedom on the horizon.

I leaned forward onto the sink and looked closer into my eyes. I searched for myself in them. “You can do this, Hannah. Be yourself. Give yourself. Love yourself,” I said as I laughed at my reflection as I pulled my hair up into a messy bun on top of my head. I looked so much younger this way. “Okay, now go,” I said with a smile.

When I came back into my room I found Wynn lying back in my bed with a book. It was
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
and I smiled as I climbed into bed next to him and took the side near the wall. “I love that book.”

“I remembered
,” he said as he laid the book down on his chest and looked over at me. His eyes were hypnotic as he met mine and I melted into my bed. “It’s a good book.” He lay on his side and looked at me and pushed on the poof of my bun as one would a button. "I like seeing you this way, you're stunning.” He looked up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. “I should get going.”

He raised himself from the bed and set my book back on my nightstand in such a rush I thought I imagined the compliment he gave. As he turned to leave, hollowness started to form inside me and for the first time in years it was unwelcome. All the tears that fell tonight caused a switch to flip in my mind and heart. I still held so much guilt, but his acceptance pushed me to want to stop continuing as I was.

“Please stay here with me, Wynn. I need to be held by you tonight.” I needed the closeness of him. I needed the life his arms wrapped around me gave.

Without a word he laid back into bed with me and stayed atop the covers. He pulled in close behind me and drew me closer to him by putting his arm across my abdomen. I pulled his arm up and wrapped my fingers with his. I traced his tattoos with my other hand falling into a relaxed state where it was just us and this moment. The world disappeared and neither of us had pasts to haunt us.

“Do your tattoos cover everywhere?” I asked with a smile.

He laughed behind me and the low rumble resounded through my back making me relax even more. “Not everywhere, but I have several.”

“How many?” I asked, knowing my expression lost to the dark, but hoped he heard the smile in my voice.

“I lost count. They are so interwov
en they are like one big tattoo,” he said with another laugh.

“Well, how many quotes do you have now?” I loved the ones displayed and wondered what other ones hid below his clothes.

He took a deep breath, “Seven. I have seven quotes, each one for every year after my mother’s death.” He sighed as if annoyed by something. “Can I open your closet door?”

Why the hell does he want my closet open? “Sure, that’s fine
,” I said as he stood from the bed to open the door. 

“Can I open the door to your room too?”
he asked in another annoyed rush.

“Of course
,” I said trying to keep my questioning tone to myself. I began to figure out that his annoyance came from himself. He had his reasons for wanting to be in open spaces and I wasn’t going to judge him for them. Who was I to judge? I had ways that would make other’s cringe, I’m sure. “We have our own unique ways of coping don’t we?” I chose to say aloud.

He settled in behind me again before responding. “I’m sorry. I want to be able to relax with yo
u and I can’t with closed doors.” He pulled me closer to him and wrapped his arms around me once more. I was safe when he held me and I wondered if holding onto me caused the same effect on him.

“You’re right. No one can relax when they keep their doors closed
.” I laughed at my play on words and enjoyed the resonation of his laugh through my body again.

“Thank you, Wynn
,” I said as I settled back into his arms. “Thank you for staying here with me.” I took a deep breath as he traced my arm, mimicking how I had his. We were connecting. I couldn’t get enough of him. He wasn’t consuming me and it wasn’t an addiction, but it was an understanding. It was as if coming home from a years' long voyage.

I wanted to help him as much as he was helping me. “Sorry to pry, but why do you need open spaces?”
I asked in a rush.

He cleared his throat before speaking and the action caused his arms to pull me in closer. “You can ask me whatever you want, Hannah. My mom used to put me in
rain barrels if I made her mad,” he said and I breathed out as if his confession forced the air from my lungs. I couldn’t understand how a mother could do that to her child.

I tensed in his arms and with hesitation asked, “What do you mean?”

He sighed, “If I didn’t take care of the lawn or pick up my toys outside, she flipped. My punishment was to sit in a rain barrel for ten minutes for each offense. Now, I hate circles and closed doors. Hate isn’t a strong enough word, yes I do hate them, but they scare the shit out of me," he said and I noticed that as he spoke, his traces on my arm turned into circles. His tension heightened through every repeat of the motion.

“That’s horrible, Wynn
,” I said as anger enveloped me at the thought of his mother and I was thankful she died. I looked toward my window and took in the city lights that flickered as the wind blew. It’s a sick realization that no matter what goes on in homes, the world still goes on outside without issue. People continue with their lives and the world keeps turning, despite the pain inside the walls we build.

He gave a pain laced chuckle
. “Hey, don’t feel sorry for me,” he said, pulling me closer to him. “I've made it this far, haven’t I?” he said the last part in a quieter voice and I tightened my fingers around his. His tension was a reminder that getting this far had been an unspoken struggle for him. I understood waking each day to battle the twenty-four hours. Each one of those hours is like a noose tightening around a neck. The minutes and seconds tick by and we are that much closer to the inevitable everyone faces, but some people's nooses are tight from the beginning.

“You’re right. Our parents were assholes
,” I declared.

“To say the least, yes they were
.” A reluctant laugh escaped him. “What was your parents’ story?”

“Oh, well, t
ypical small-town church family, you know? They focused on appearances and keeping secrets and less about making sure our family wasn’t dysfunctional. So I understand every family has issues. Our dad was an abusive asshole. Our mom wasn’t strong enough to stand up to him. Sometimes I wonder if they even knew who the hell I was or if they even cared. They had their idea of who I was, but have never known me. I guess it’s my fault as well for never letting them see me for who I am. So there you have it.”

I stopped speaking for a moment as my thoughts ran away from me. I focused on our breathing. “
So, whose fault is it—mine or theirs?” I asked and kept our hands intertwined and put my other hand on his forearm as I pulled my back closer to his chest. “Do you think we can have light conversations some time?” I asked with a laugh.

He was quiet behind me for several minutes before he responded and I respected him for it. He wasn’t flippant with his opinion. He wanted to make sure his thoughts lined up before speaking. “First,” he said with a smile I heard in his voice
. “Yes, we will have many light conversations on unicorns, geekdom, zombies, and our favorite movies. I will ask you a question and you will ask me. It will be an epic battle of what’s your favorite.”

I gave him a playful hit with my elbow and he continued
. “But I don’t think it’s your fault with your parents. But I don’t think it’s theirs either. Who knows what their story is? Maybe it was their parents and how they raised them. Their fault does lie in how they chose to react. They made their choice to continue that path. Everyone has the potential to be bad
and
 good. It isn’t good
or
bad. We may make bad choices, but we don’t have to let them define us. Just because you’ve been living one way doesn’t mean you have to continue on that path.” His sincerity was infectious.

“I don’t want yo
u to be one of my numbers, Wynn,” I said and his muscles froze as he inhaled a sharp breath at my declaration, so I continued without pause. “I see you as more and it fills me with this reality."

I stopped for a moment as I tried to calm my own antic
ipation of what I needed to say. “Reality is difficult for me to accept, but earlier when you said that about me being real, I feel the same way about you. When I’m with you reality makes sense. I was in a dream state, floating in the world. I’m waking from that and it may take time, but everything is becoming clearer. I don’t want to continue without telling you the truth. I want you to know that I never realized how alone I was, until I met you. One thing you need to know about me is I say what I mean and I never waste words. If I say I am sorry, I am sorry. If I say I promise to try like hell to never hurt you, I mean it. I screwed up tonight and I will never do that again.”

He began to run his fingers across my arm and up my shoulder. He repeated the pattern over and again. He sighed as his forehead rested against the back of my head
. “I have to confess something, Hannah.” He lifted his head back up and continued. “I’ve never been with anyone.”