thing.
You want to hold it. See it. Know for a fact that it exists. But you can’t. It’s not a tangible object. It’s a firm belief in something. And to someone who doesn’t seem to believe in much, trust can be as useful as tits on a bull.
I left her place with an unsettling fear.
It’d been so long, too. I thought the idea was gone from her mind. But when holding her little face in my hands and staring into her, I saw the coldness in those lifeless eyes. The ones that retreat from pain in their own way in order to survive.
I’d rather she hit me again. I wanted that pain I sought from her. It made us real. It showed her emotion, her truth. But the minute she turned calm, I knew I was in trouble. She was switching up on me again. Finding any way she could to protect herself.
It was only a matter of time before she disappeared.
It was heartbreaking really, watching her retreat to her old ways in order to block out pain. The defense mechanism from her traumatic past, so integrated into her that not even the cancer I was growing inside of her could overpower it. It was terrifying, how fast the change was from warm and open to cold and closed, and it made me question, yet again, what she’s been through.
I would walk through hell to find out what made that girl. The answers to why she can’t let go, the reasons she cowers at the idea of love. I want to be so aware and awakened to her. I want to hold her secrets as my own, feel her pain in my chest, and help her find the way out of that darkness, hand in hand. But you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.
I reluctantly texted Tarah back, informing her I was on my way to pick up the stuff before I met up with Hawke. I’d asked her to meet me outside of her beachfront condo, but when I got there, she wasn’t out front. She wasn’t even at the door when I knocked. She was inside, yelling for me to come in.
I groan internally, and push my way in through the large glass doors.
“You made it.” She smiles as she speaks, sitting back on the couch in nothing but a tight little tank top and ripped shorts that are shorter than short.
“Yeah, sorry I gotta run and meet Hawke,” I say, shifting in the large entryway of her immaculate place, my hands in my pockets. “You got the stuff?”
She cocks her head at me, a smirk in place on her rich, entitled face. This won’t be that easy.
“I have something you need, it seems,” she says as she stands from the couch, placing a glass that’s a quarter full of what looks to be wine down on the end table near her.
It’s ten in the morning and she’s drinking wine. Rough life she lives. She’s nothing compared to a woman who’s actually been through shit. Real shit. Shit that has the potential to break a person. She’s nothing like Han. No, Han is so high above this try-hard wannabe.
She slowly stalks over to me, her bare feet pedaling across the dark wooden finished floors, her long tanned legs reminding me of a tricky spider ready to strike. I smell a waft of sweet-smelling flowers, my eyes falling upon a lit candle behind her.
“What I want to know,”—she trails a finger up along my arm to my chest, causing me to look down and away from her—“is what you’re willing to do for it.”
She presses her chest to mine, and I shift my gaze to the ceiling. She gets on her tiptoes and places her hands on my neck. Her lips brush against my skin and I back away as she tries to kiss the spot beneath my ear.
“Tarah, I gotta—”
“Yeah, yeah. You gotta go. I know.” She rolls her eyes. “I just don’t know why all the Cali coast gets a taste of that big dick of yours but me. It’s all everyone talks about, you know.”
Jesus, I’ve represented myself well out here.
“Are you gonna give me the shit or not?” I demand, feeling agitated. “Because if not, I’m out.”
“Chill, Kid.” She smiles, rolling her eyes again. “It’s right here.”
She grabs her tits with her hands, squeezing them together until I see the tip of a baggie sticking out between them. I sigh as she chuckles.
“God, you’re seriously no fun at all.” She rips the baggie from between her tits and hands it over.
I hand her a load of cash in exchange and turn to leave when she says, “Finally found something better than your own, huh?”
Her statement makes me pause.
“Don’t take anymore of this shit, you got that?” She stumbles back slightly, her eyes narrowed in confusion at my sudden seriousness. “Stay the fuck away from it like your life depends upon it, because it literally does.”
Later that afternoon, I assisted in pulling up the old floors of a new property Hawke had recently come across. There was a slight mold situation in which we needed to remove the wood flooring and replace the plywood subfloor in order to revamp it so it passed inspection. Still feeling sick about the situation from this morning, I sent a text to Han.
Kid: If you’re looking for your shoes, stop. I stole them.
I hoped the message would make her smile. Or, shit, at least grin a little. I couldn’t have her running from me. So I literally stole her favorite chucks sitting by the door before I left. We needed each other now. I was so in tune with her and her emotions and hellbent on solidifying the fact that she believed it was only us, so much so that I hadn’t even realized I’d woken up and started my day without a hit.
I felt it, though, in my hands later that day. I got the shakes from not getting the coke in my system. I felt way more tired and drug out, but something inside of me made me want to prove to my body I didn’t need it. I didn’t need drugs like the way I needed her. Was it stupid to have switched addictions from a substance to a person? Of course. I’ve never claimed to be healthy or mentally stable, but this was the first time in my life I’d actually cared to lay off the shit, and I don’t even know what made me make that decision, if I’m being honest.
“I can’t have you helping me if you’re hungover.” Hawke sighs in frustration, watching me try to line my tape measure against the window and failing miserably.
The end keeps falling with my shaky hand, the tape bending and popping roughly every time I attempt to reach the other side to get these measurements for the new windows he needs to order.
“I’m not hungover,” I retort, trying it one more time, feeling the disappointment in his tone.
“I’m serious. If you’re not feeling well, I don’t want you here. If you get hurt, then I—”
“I said I’m not hungover!” I snap.
His forehead wrinkles, staring at me before he shakes his head and turns away. He doesn’t believe me. Hawke’s tone is scary when he’s happy. When he’s disappointed or upset with you, better believe that shit makes you feel two inches tall before him.
I throw the tape measure at the wall, making a loud sound before it drops against the floor, the sound echoing throughout the empty renovation property. I catch his eyes again as I sit on the floor, my back against the wall, my elbows on my knees. He studies me for a second, tipping his head to the side before I feel him register it.
“You’re gettin’ off the shit,” he says in a softer, more compassionate tone.
I sigh, feeling the strange weight of a new change. I don’t even want to take credit for trying. It just so happened I didn’t snort a line this morning. My mind was preoccupied. I don’t want him to think there’s any real effort in this yet. There’s not.
“I don’t know,” I reply, running a hand through my hair. “I mean, it wasn’t really planned. I just didn’t take any today. Maybe I won’t tonight either.”
He nods, peering down at the floor between us, and then back again.
“It’s okay if you fail,” he says softly, somehow reading my mind. “Own that you made a decision to try, even if it wasn’t planned.”
I swallow down what feels like sandpaper in my throat. My jaw tightens as two random memories flood my mind: My father telling me I’d never mean more to him than a check from the government before he passed out in the chair as he drank away my lunch money, and Hawke as a twelve-year-old, handing me a rolled up brown paper bag secretly by the lockers before we hit the lunch room. It was a sandwich his dad made him, telling me he ate so much at breakfast, and it’d get thrown away if I didn’t take it. He always knew, just like now.
I don’t know why I think of these things. But Hawke was always more of a brother and father to me than my own dad. He took care of me like I took care of him during the event that changed his life. I’d made it my mission to make sure he never went without in prison. I sent whatever shit money I made from drugs and summer work to his books, calling him often to talk, and visiting him there to show support, sending new books and magazines, buying his car from him even though I didn’t need it at the time. I made sure I was the brother he needed when he had no one, because he was always the brother I never had.
“You know, I said some real nasty shit to Han, after the party,” he admits, running a hand along the back of his neck. “I basically blamed her for everything when I shouldn’t have.”
I lick my lips, remembering the conversation she told me about Hawke assuming she’d been the one to lead me even more astray than I’d become on my own. But the truth of the matter was, she was the only thing pulling me out of it. Her words, a resounding presence in my head. I think you’re a passionate person. Someone who gets their addictions confused with a true need to feel things. That energy, that passion, it’s yours to own, not the substances around you.
We have our issues, no doubt, but somehow we know how to handle one another better than anyone else. I’m afraid to lose her, but I’m more afraid of her losing herself.
“The choice has always been yours. Not addiction, because it’s a disease, but everything that surrounds it. The people you hang out with, the settings you place yourself. I’m just glad to see you’re starting to make the right ones. The ones that push you to be who you are,” Hawke continues. “I’m always proud of you, even when you fail.”
My eyes gloss over, so I wrinkle my nose and fluff my hair instead. He smiles and nods, turning to go finish buffing the floors in the other room when I reply, “It’s her, you know.”
Stopping in his tracks, he turns to face me again.
“She’s the right choice. For me,” I say, my voice breaking.
He listens, taking a breath, before his lips curl into a half-grin.
“Can’t believe I’m actually saying this,”—he rubs his forehead with this forefinger and thumb—“but I think you’re right.”
The sun is setting on the day, just like it feels like it’s setting on my newfound relationship. I wish things weren’t so complicated. And like Hawke said, I let this happen by putting myself in situations that allowed it to. If I hadn’t agreed to work with Dario, if I hadn’t taken that shit at the party, if I didn’t allow my addictions to rule my life, we wouldn’t even be here.
Yet here I sit, watching Hawke pull away from the rental property, leaning against the back of my car, alone with my thoughts.
She didn’t text me back. The message was opened, but no response came through. I can’t risk driving to her place to see that she’s left. I know it’s what comes next. Leaning there against my car, frozen in a space and time, I want to keep from moving. I want to hold on to the idea that we aren’t broken yet.
It’s a funny thing, knowing what happens next will break you, and yet wanting to remain behind the line, not crossing over into that new reality just yet. Especially knowing exactly how bad it’s going to hurt, knowing it might change everything. It’s like living in some sort of sweet ignorant bliss, a world I knew all too well.
I wish we were better for each other. I wish we were both in a place that came from some sort of solid footing, so we could run together, far away from all the pain. But the truth is, Han and I are both so fucked up in our own right, maybe we can’t save each other. And like she said, maybe we weren’t supposed to.
The last truck that’d delivered the new flooring for the property began pulling away before me, the man giving me a little wave before leaving.
As the truck slowly made its way down the street, my heart stopped in my chest at the vision before me. My throat felt thick and constricted as a strange anxiousness flooded the entirety of my body.
There she was.
My Johanna.
Leaning against a strange-looking camper van with one foot kicked back, arms across her chest, her hair down around her beautiful face, her body covered in a tight black crop top with dark, distressed shorts that ride up the side of her perfectly toned and tatted thighs, and bare feet beneath.
She’s not wearing shoes.
I swallow, wondering if she came here to murder me for stealing her favorite pair of black High Top Converse. It’s a real possibility, especially with the way she’s currently marching up to me.
She stops before me, peering at her feet, then mine, then trailing her eyes all the way up my body until her eyes finally land on mine. She’s scowling, and my wide, terrified eyes leave little to the imagination about how I’m feeling. My heart is racing a mile a minute, my stomach in knots at the sight of her.
“I feel like running,” she says simply, the tension in her face relaxing some at her own admission.
I bite the corner of my lip, my eyes narrowing suspiciously as I slowly nod. “And you stopped by because you need your shoes?”
She just stares at me, her eyes wincing in the corners as her chest rises and falls.
“No,” she says softly, shaking her head back and forth.
She’s so close, yet so far from me. I want to grab her upper arms, needing to touch her, and pull her back into my body where I’m leaning against the hood of my car. But I don’t. She would sigh into the fall, the sensation of her body pressed against mine again feeling like the kind of heaven you can only hope to find. But, I can’t. I’d wrap my hands around her little exposed waist. Her eyes closed at the feeling of my hands on her skin. I’d love seeing what I do to her, feeling it without her ever needing to tell me. I know the look. But, I don’t.
We stand there, inches apart, both of our eyes studying one another, not sure of what to do.
“Remember when I told you that the next time I feel the need to leave…well, to come with me?” she asks softly, dragging her tongue over her plump little bottom lip.
“Yes, and I took it as a sexual innuendo.”
She smirks at me, breaking character, and butterflies give birth, multiplying in my stomach. Flapping wings everywhere.
“Well, I feel the need to disappear again,” she says in a cracked tone, looking back at the creepy van before turning her face back at me, her eyes glossing over. “But I need you with me.”
My lips part, and I still at her words.
“Come with me, Kai,” she begs softly, the sentence tearing through her. Tearing through me.
She wants me with her. She trusts me. She needs me. I feel my Adam’s apple bob in my throat. Her eyes follow the roll before blinking wildly, biting her bottom lip with concern.
“Wherever you are, I am,” I whisper, my brows knitting together, like she should’ve always known that’d be my answer.
She sighs, the tension in her shoulders becoming lax.
“This is big for you,” I whisper, grabbing a couple of fingers that are laying loose in the hand next to her thigh.
I pull her hand towards me, moving her slowly into me. Wrapping her arms around my waist, I grab her face in my hands, rubbing my thumbs over her rosy little cheeks. She closes her eyes at the touch, leaning into it. The feeling is better than I had imagined.
“Yeah,” she says breathlessly, the comfort of our contact never more present. “But it’s time.”
Her timid eyes gaze up at mine as our heads rest together. She’s shaking again. Her little body racked with the fear of her own past, the one that won’t let go of her, haunting her every move.
“I adore you, Johanna,” I whisper against her lips. “And I’ll still love you in your dark.”
Her eyes close tightly at the pain of hearing my truth. I press my lips to hers, keeping my eyes open, watching her face change as I do it. The tension around her eyes loosens as my tongue sweeps against her bottom lip. She opens her mouth to me, whimpering ever so softly when our tongues touch. With my hands in her hair, I hold the back of her head as we continue our sweet assault on one another, reigniting that flame again, the one that can save us both.
I pull back from the kiss as her eyes slowly flutter open.
“Is that the getaway van?” I ask, nodding towards the creepy thing that looks like it abducts children, maybe even adults, and sells them as sex slaves.
A smile cracks across her face. “I promise you it’s way more dope inside.”
“That’s what she said,” I reply softly.
Her face breaks into a huge smile as laughter spills from her chest. The feeling I get in mine from the sound, like a bolt of lightning, electrifies my insides.
“Well played,” she says proudly.
“Alright, babygirl. Take me hostage,” I say, holding my wrists up between us. “I’m assuming I at least get candy and a kitten with my abduction,” I continue teasing, keeping my face straight. “Am I right?”
“Well, you might get some kitten,” she smirks as she walks backwards towards the van, pulling my hand along with her as she does. My brows raise at her statement. “Actually, you’ll definitely get some kitten,” she says, eyeing my body from head to toe like a tasty treat she’s about to devour. “Lots and lots of kitten.”
I groan in delight, rolling my eyes to the back of my head. “Best kidnapping ever.”
We make it to the van and she pauses. She turns back to me, and her smile drops. Opening her mouth to say something, she hesitates for a moment. The instant shift in energy, sending that flood of anxiety through my bones again.
“I’m ready to break for you,” she whispers, still gripping my hand between hers. “But are you willing to crack for me?”
“Shatter,” I reply, pressing myself against her again, my hips pinning her to the van, my eyes cast down on hers as my hands hold her broken little face, making sure she knows the truth in the deepest part of her. “I’ll shatter myself into a million pieces just to meet your broken.”
