Stolen (11 page)

I close my eyes and feel the moment, feel his fingers
brush through my hair, his hand stroking softly down my cheek, feel his breath
on my lips, on my racing pulse right beneath my ear.

I’ve been rushing through my life for so long, always
waiting for the next catastrophe, I haven’t taken any time to notice what’s in
front of me. I’ve been living in misery, counting each day as a curse, another
day of many I’ll have to endure, when maybe I’ve been missing something this
whole time, something more than all of this, more than existing in a life I’m
too afraid even to breathe in. Maybe it’s okay to breathe, to live.

Like a dream I don’t want to wake from and a nightmare
I’d give anything to wake from, I’m caught somewhere between the two. I
betrayed everyone. I didn’t mean to do it, but I did.

I put my hands on Alex’s chest and shove him away from
me. I can’t breathe, or maybe I’m breathing too much. Oh my God, I’m breathing
too much! Why am I taking these deep breaths? Why can’t I stop? I’m not
supposed to be breathing like this. Shallow breaths, that was the agreement I
made when I accepted this life sentence.

I let myself get wrapped up in something amazing,
something that made me feel. Made me feel everything. I’m a horrible, horrible
person. I’ve hurt everyone I love yet again, and now I just added an innocent
person into the mix.

Alex is staring at me, a mix of concern, sympathy,
fear, and . . . no, not that. Please not that. My stomach is moving in ways I’m
sure are unhealthy, but that look, that look I’ve seen so often, that look I
saw in Kyle . . .  pity. That along with sympathy and fear make my list of
emotions that should be blacklisted from the realm of emotions out there. I
truly despise them all.  

I take a breath, shallow this time, straighten my
shirt and my hair in a nervous attempt to keep my hands busy, settling my hands
around my arms in an effort to keep them still. Finding comfort in this, I
decide to leave them there. My nerves are rattled, my heartbeat erratic, and my
head pounding, like, like that day. I don’t want to think about that day. I
don’t want to think at all anymore. I just want to go home.

“Alex, I’m sorry, but I need to leave. I’m so sorry
for leaving like this.” I stumble over my own feet in my hurry to get to the
door, almost face planting into the linoleum floor; the linoleum floor I just had
sex on with a complete stranger. I pause, taking in this mental observation
while it’s fresh in my mind. I just slept with a total stranger I hadn’t even
talked to outside of ordering my coffee. I don’t even know his last name, and
all this less than an hour after I was about to do the same thing with another
person entirely.

After all this time, this is how I choose to go about
it? Three years since I’ve been with anyone and I sleep with a stranger? What’s
wrong with me? Where’s the Jess I know, the Jess everyone knows? More
important, which Jess is leaving here tonight? Who am I now? Can I go back to
being the girl I was before tonight happened? Will I ever be able to go back? I
want to go back. I want to forget all of this.

I didn’t think it would ever happen that I would hate
myself more than I already did. I was wrong. I’ve discovered a completely new
plane of existence that mocks the idea of hate, which mocks the idea that
anyone could ever be as blind as to think hate is where it ends. I’m beyond
hating myself and beyond being hated. I’m no one anymore.

I run. I’ll leave before I hurt him anymore than I
already have, and although I deserve the pain, I can’t handle hurting any more
than I already do.

I’m pulling at the front doors, but they’re pulling
right back. Why can’t I open them? Warm skin brushes against me from behind as
Alex reaches his arm around me to unlatch the lock. He’s so near, near enough I
could lean my head back and be resting safely against his chest, but I can’t. I
have to leave. It’s for the best.

I feel him move away from me. Before I crack and turn
around to see him, I run through the doors as tears start running down my
cheeks. Sobs are ripping through my throat, the pain welcomed. I deserve this
pain. I can hardly see out of my eyes, but that doesn’t stop me from running. I
don’t know where I’m running to, but I run anyway.

The cool, dew covered grass is a welcomed relief to my
heated body when I crash down onto the earth. I think I knew this is where I
was coming. I haven’t been here in so long, but nothing has changed, nothing
ever changes here.

I crawl on my hands and knees, the tears still coming,
collapsing onto the cold, smooth, stone.

Rogan
Eli Morgan

February
8 1995- October 6 2011

The
love and memories you left behind will keep

you
alive forever in our hearts

Baby, I’m so sorry, I say through the torrent of
tears. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to be the person I’ve become.
I’ve tried so hard to be the girl you knew, but I’ve changed, and I don’t like
who I’ve become. You wouldn’t like who I’ve become. I miss you so much. I wish
you were here with me. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know where to go
from here or who I should trust. You were the only one I ever trusted and
you’re gone. You’re gone and I’m here. This shouldn’t be like this. I should be
dead, not you. Oh God, not you! I love you! I love you! Can you hear me? I love
you! Come back. Please come back!

There’s no answer. There never is.

Present
day . . .

There’s so much noise. Why is there so much noise so
late in the night? Are those birds chirping? I try to move, but I’m frozen
stiff, partly from the position I’m in, but also because I really am freezing.
My clothes are damp. My skin is damp, and it’s so cold. Why is it so cold?

It hits me where I am. I must have fallen asleep here
last night. It’s not an easy task, but I pry my frozen face free from Rogan’s
headstone. This is as close as I’ll ever be to him again.

 I can’t go there right now. I have to go home. I
have to pull myself together, but I miss him. I miss him so bad. It hurts so
badly. Why did I come here last night? Did I really deserve this as my
punishment for my actions yesterday? I guess the answer is obvious. Why else
would I be here if didn’t?

I stand, knees shaking, threatening to bend from the
weight. Propping myself against a nearby tree, I wait for my body to cooperate
with normal motion.

I don’t run home, as I had run to Rogan’s grave last
night, I’m too exhausted for that. I have no clue what time it is, and I don’t
care until  I realize that if no one is home, I’ll have no way to get into
the house. Upon further review of the bright, clear sky above me, I’m going to
say it’s late morning, meaning I’m going to be locked out for the rest of the
day. All the neighbors work, so there goes any help there. I’ll just wait. I’m
so sleepy, maybe I’ll just take a nap on the porch swing. My body is humming
with relief at that thought, but the music stops when I reach the end of my
drive and see a dark blue sedan parked in the driveway. I know that car.

Damn it!

The door is unlocked when I turn it, but that doesn’t
provide much relief; this isn’t going to be pleasant.

“Jess?” a tired, worried voice shoots through the air.

“Yeah, mom, it’s me.” I don’t have it in me to
apologize for making her worry.

“Jess, where the hell have you been?”

“I’m fine, mom, don’t worry, okay?”

“Okay? Okay! Do you have any idea how scared I’ve been
wondering where you were or what happened to you?”

A voice of reason chimes in. “Beth, she’s here now,
and she’s fine, okay?” Bruce says emotionlessly.

I’m fine? I’m so far from fine, but I suppose no one
needs to know that. My eyes are so heavy I can barely keep them open. I stumble
to the sofa and drop onto it with a loud thud.  

It’s dark when I open my eyes. I’m not sure what time
it is, or what day it even is, but at least I’m home, warm, and safe. Maybe
I’ve been here the whole time. Maybe this has all just been a bad dream.
Sitting up, I throw a blanket I’m wrapped in off me, stretch my arms above my
head, and rub my hands over swollen eyes. Maybe this hasn’t all been a bad
dream after all.

Voices are carrying through the house. I don’t know
where they’re coming from, but I recognize them—mom, Cass, and . . . Kyle?
What’s he doing here? I sprint toward the sounds, ending up in the kitchen to
find Kyle sitting with mom and Cass laughing about something. Anger is rising
up my throat, or maybe that’s just bile. I do feel like I’m going to throw up.

“Good morning, honey. How did you sleep?”

Well, she seems different now from when I got home. I
can’t tell if she isn’t mad at me anymore or if she’s putting up a front since
Kyle is here. I’m going to go with the latter; no way will she let me off the
hook so easily for not coming home last night.

“Fine,” I say irritably.

Looking less than thrilled with my rudeness, she
composes herself, more than likely adding this to my list of offenses to be
dealt with later; if only she knew.

“Well, Kyle here has brought over your bag; he said
you left it at his house after studying last night. I didn’t realize you were
studying
last night?”

That was smooth, mom; real smooth. I doubt anyone here
noticed the implication in your voice when you said “studying” like that. She
clearly thinks I was with Kyle all night. I shouldn’t care, but I hope he
didn’t hear her suggestive tone.

Nope. No such luck. He’s smiling at me, knowing
exactly what she meant. I grin, shaking my head in spite of myself.

The air shifts when Bruce walks into the room; he must
have been smoking on the back deck, a nasty habit he picked up a year or so
ago, a fact I point out every time I catch him doing it. His eyes lock with
mine as if there aren’t three other pairs in the room, and my breath catches in
my throat. I’ve never seen him look so mad, at least never at me before. This
is going to suck.

He doesn’t speak as he shrugs toward the back door,
eyes piercing mine, silently commanding me to follow him outside. The door
slams shut behind me, causing a cold draft to prickle the hairs on my neck.

“Where have you been? Do you have any idea how fucking
worried I’ve been? I mean, really, you couldn’t call your mother or Cass to let
them know where you were? I get a call at two in the God damned morning that
you’re missing, that you never came home, and that your phone is turned off.”

He’s never been like this with me before. I don’t know
what to do. “You weren’t sleeping, were you?”

“What?” he shouts.

“Well, it’s just that you used to say that you didn’t
sleep much because you were afraid someone would call you in the night, so I
was just wondering if this time you were asleep?”

I see a faint smile shine through at my joke. I hope
he’ll calm down a little now. I don’t like this side of him being targeted at
me.

Putting his hand on my lower back, he guides me to the
built-in bench seating on the deck. He sits by my side in silence for a long
while. I don’t try to fill the void; nothing I say right now would help this
situation.

“You still have my number, right?” he asks without
looking at me.

“Yes,” I whisper. It just seems the appropriate thing
to do right now. He’s still visibly shaken by my actions.

“Good. That’s good.”

I think he’s starting to feel like he did something
wrong, like I purposefully didn’t call him when I needed him or just plain left
him out of my life.

Guilt is a bitch.

Reaching my hand out, I place it on his knee, doing
everything I can to get across how sorry I am. This probably seems strange,
considering the age gap and the circumstance that brought us together, but he’s
been with me through so much, seen me at my worst, that he’s more like family
now than just some cop.

“Bruce, I never meant to hurt you. I wasn’t trying to
leave you out of anything. I wasn’t hiding anything from you. I didn’t have my
phone with me most of the night, though. I had left it at the coffee shop, and
by the time I got it back, it was dead. I would have called you if I needed
you; you know that. I always have, haven’t I?”

He nods, but doesn’t speak. I nudge his knee with mine
and, when he still won’t speak, I do it a little harder; still no response.
This time I push my shoulder into his. There’s a hint of a smile, but he’s
being difficult. Finally, I do what’s sure to make him smile.

His head is hanging low, almost touching his chest. I
drop my head down so he can see my face and I pout, an exaggerated pout,
begging him to forgive me, lacing more “pleases” together than any one person
should ever speak in an entire lifetime, let alone in a matter of seconds.

Soon I’m begging him to stop tickling me and to put me
down when he throws me over his shoulder, threatening to throw me over the
railing. It’s not a far fall, but still, I imagine that would hurt. After
repeatedly promising never to put him through this again, he stops tickling me.
He refuses to put me down, though. I can’t stop laughing, even as I’m slapping
my hands against his back in an attempt to get him to put me down. He doesn’t
set me back on my feet until we are back in the kitchen. I don’t think anything
of this show, knowing mom and Cass won’t either. This is hardly the first time
for an antic like this between us, but I’m at a loss for words when I see Kyle
standing in front of me. I didn’t expect him to be here still. What is he doing
here anyway?

Bruce makes no apologies as he extends his hand out
toward Kyle, who looks between Bruce and me before stretching his hand out,
giving Bruce a very solid looking handshake.

The room is silent for an uncomfortable length of time
but I don’t say anything, I see the way Bruce is scrutinizing Kyle, he’ll be
the first to speak I just know it. As if on cue . . .

“So, Kyle, how do you know Jess?” he asks, at the same
time draping his arm loosely over my shoulder in a protective stance.

Kyle notices, seeming to assess the situation, figuring
out who Bruce is to me. His face is stoic, until he directs his attention to
me. His eyes soften. The seductive smile that does fun things to my belly is
back, and when he speaks, his words are gentle and calm, nothing like I
expected after what happened between us.

“We go to school together,” he responds coolly to
Bruce but keeps his eyes gentle toward me. I want to smile, but I fight it.

Bruce seems to notice the change in my body. I can’t
fight the nervous energy Kyle brings out in me, the way my skin flushes, my
heart thrashes to get out, and my breaths begin to sound more like pants than
breaths really.

My foot begins to tap against the floor, and my desire
to get out from under the weight of Bruce’s arm becomes unbearable. I step out
from under his strong arms, the very arms I’ve run to more times than I care to
share, but the weight is too much. This is all too much. I don’t want to feel
like an obligation; I just want to feel like a normal girl, living a normal
life. Impossible, I know, but I need a moment to dream it into possible. It can
be possible, can’t it?

I don’t know who’s surprised more, Bruce or me, at my
distancing us. I’ve never left the protectiveness Bruce has offered, not since
day one. As soon as everything was revealed to me, I turned to him for
everything. I had lost Rogan, and mom and Cass seemed too fragile to handle my
talking so frankly about how I was feeling, how my life had changed so
irrevocably. They needed normal. I needed stability and comfort. Those two
lines never crossed, but I found a balance of the three in Bruce. He really did
become my rock, as cliché as that may sound, and has been since, since now,
that is.

I stepped out on my own, and while part of me may have
been drawn to Kyle, I didn’t step out for him. I stepped out because I’m tired
of my feet floating so close to the ground, so close to walking on my own, but
trapped between a world of fear and a world of possibilities. I stepped out
because these last twenty-four hours have reminded me that, while I may not
deserve to live, I’m living nonetheless. They reminded me that there’s still a
bit of the old me left somewhere inside. They reminded me that I could feel,
that I could feel amazing things, and, most important, they’ve taught me that I
want to feel those things.

I miss Rogan terribly, but maybe it’s okay to move on.
I admit I haven’t exactly gone about this new awakening experience in a good
way, but what’s done is done. I’ll have to live with whatever comes from all of
these choices, and I think I’m okay with that. Life is messy. It’s complicated.
It’s hard. I’ve been reminded, though, that it can also be beautiful. I want
that beauty back. I didn’t realize how much I’ve been missing it.