“It’s all my fault,” he told me. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went out on the patio for a smoke. I didn’t even hear him come in.”
“Where is he now?” I asked.
“I threw him in the bed of his truck and drove him home. He was passed out when we got there so I unloaded him in the front yard. He was lucky I didn't toss him in the canal. I walked back.”
“Is that why you and your dad don’t get along? He drinks and beats up on you?”
“Among other things.”
“Like what?”
He took a deep breath. “The night I decided to leave town he tried to kill me. Told me that it was me who was supposed to die instead of my brother and he was just righting a wrong. He was so drunk, but he meant what he said. He took a swing at me with an ax, and when he missed I came pretty close to killing him with it myself. Then, I took off, and I haven’t seen him since. Until tonight, that is.” He reached out to touch my cheek. It had started to swell. I flinched, turning away from him. He frowned and withdrew his hand. “Bee, how come I can’t touch you?”
“Because you can’t.” It was the truth. My truth.
He couldn’t, because I wouldn’t let him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, concern in his eyes.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to be like this! There is no way you can be fine right now!” Jake smoothed his hand over his goatee. “Someone bursts in here in the middle of the night and attacks you, and you’re just fine? Cause I’ll tell ya, I’m not fine!”
“Calm the hell down! I’m okay, really. I promise.”
“Okay is worse than fine. For fuck’s sake, I would rather you scream, and yell, and cry, and blame me!” Suddenly, he was quiet. “I just...I just want to hold, and comfort you.” He made a move toward me, but this time I refrained from flinching.
As long as he didn’t touch me, he couldn’t break me.
“Why do you want those things from me? It doesn’t change anything. I’m okay because I choose to be okay.”
I'd been saying it my whole life. It was all I knew.
“No!” Jake shouted. He jumped off the bed and started pacing the room. “No, you’re not okay because you choose to be—you just think you're okay because you choose to avoid the situation. You’re not honest about your feelings, and that’s not okay at all!”
He reached for me, and I scurried to the other side of the bed as if he were wielding a knife instead of offering comfort.
“No,” I screamed. My heart was racing. I didn’t want to feel the burn. I didn’t want to be pulled down into a place I didn’t know if I could ever climb out of.
I didn’t want to feel.
“Just let me hold you, Bee.”
“No. Fuck you. Leave me alone!”
“Why don’t you want me to touch you?” he asked again, this time louder, his voice laced with anger.
“Why do you want to touch me? I’m nothing. I’m no one.” My voice was shaky. I was on the verge of my first real tears since I was a child, and I was hell bent on not letting them come.
“Why do I want to touch you? Are you fucking kidding me right now? I want to help you. I want to hold you. I want to make it all okay for you. I want to fucking touch you because you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and I can’t imagine never being able to hold your hand or kiss you.” I thought that was everything, but then he added, “And yes—I want to fuck you, too, like I’ve never wanted anything in my whole life.”
Why would he want me?
Sincerity played behind his eyes, the same eyes that had held so much hatred for his father no more than an hour earlier. “You’re not nothing. Don’t ever fucking say that again, because you’re everything.” He said it again, quietly this time, “You’re fucking everything, Bee.”
It was all I ever wanted and didn’t want to hear at the same time. We hardly even knew each other. We couldn’t have a real relationship. I could never give him what he needed or wanted, and there was no way in hell he was ever going to be able to make things okay for me. He didn’t even know what he’d be trying to make okay.
Who the fuck did he think he was?
“How?” I snapped at him. “How the fuck are you going to make it all okay for me? Huh? Are you going to travel back in time and make my parents treat me like I'm worth more than the neighborhood dog? Are you going to tell them to take me to school instead of keeping me home to torture me? Are you going to read to me and teach me how to cook? Are you going to close my bedroom door when they're having a fuck-party in the middle of the goddamned living room? Is that what you’re going to do, Jake?”