If You Stay (12 page)

Mila smiles encouragingly, as if she knows how hard it is for me to talk about myself.  And honestly, I don’t know why it is.  What I’m doing right now is just rattling off facts.  It’s not like I’m getting into anything deeply personal. 

“What about your mom?” she asks curiously.  “Are your parents divorced?  Is that why you moved to Chicago?”

And now we’re in deeply personal territory.  I inhale again and realize that my hand is clenched tightly against my thigh.  I relax my fingers.  This is just a conversation.  No big deal.

“My mom died years ago.  When I was seven.  My dad and I moved to Chicago to get away from the memories.”

Mila freezes, her gorgeous green eyes glued to mine.

“I’m…I… I didn’t know that,” she finally stammers.  “I’m really sorry.  You didn’t say anything earlier at the hospital when I told you about my parents.”

I stare at her.  “I know.  I don’t usually talk about it.”

“Was she sick?” Mila asks.  “Did you have a chance to say goodbye?  I think that was the worst thing about my parents’ deaths.  I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.  It was so sudden.  So shocking.  The shock of it was the worst.”

I try to think back to when my mom died, and like always, I draw a big blank.  The only thing I ever see when I try to think on it is a bunch of vague whiteness.  No memories. 

“Do you ever remember things by colors?” I ask her off-handedly.  “See, because I was so young, I apparently blocked all the memories of my mother’s death.  She died suddenly, also in a car crash, like your parents.  But I can’t remember anything about it.  When I think about it, all I see is a big whiteness, like a blank screen, almost.”

Mila seems shocked.  “I do that too,” she whispers.  “I associate colors with pretty much everything.  I think it’s because I’m an artist.  I paint for a living, so I naturally see things in paint.  I don’t know how to explain you, though.”

I smile.  “No one knows how to explain me,” I tell her wryly. 

“So, you were a little boy when your mom died,” Mila says slowly.  “That must have been horrible for you.  No wonder you suppressed the memories.  How did your dad handle it?  Do you have any other family?”

Normally, I would be put off by someone probing into my personal life.  But I know that Mila doesn’t mean any harm.  I think she’s just trying to figure me out, to see what makes me tick.  I almost laugh, because that’s pretty impossible to do, I think.

“I was a little boy,” I confirm.  “And I think it probably was horrible.  But like I said, I pretty much don’t have any memories of it at all.  I don’t remember much until I turned nine or so.  My old therapist, the one I had when I was a kid, said that it was my brain’s way of protecting itself from the trauma.  My dad didn’t handle it well, either.  It’s one of the reasons that we moved away.  He’s never been the same.  My mom took a little piece of him when she died.  And no. I don’t have any family other than him.  My grandfather, my mother’s father, is still alive. But he was pretty pissed when we moved and stopped talking to me.  He runs an oil company, which is how I make my living.  I inherited my mother’s shares.”

And just like that, I’ve shared more with Mila than I’ve shared with anyone in a long time.  I guess I really hadn’t realized how secluded I’ve become until this moment.  It’s pretty sad.  I’ve never really had a use for anyone else.  Until now.

I stare at Mila.

“So, now you have my life’s story.  What about you?  I know your parents died.  What else is there to know about you?”

I reach for the bottle of wine and fill our glasses up again.  I have a feeling that we’ll both need it by the time the evening is out.  I glance around and find that the restaurant has pretty much cleared out, except for some clattering in the kitchen. 

“Well, I’m still fascinated by the fact that we have more in common that I had thought,” Mila admits, her cheeks flushed from the wine. 

“Yeah, we belong to an elite club,” I roll my eyes.  “We know what it’s like to lose a parent at a young age. Lucky us.”

“You were much younger than me,” she tells me seriously. “I was grown and in college.  I can’t imagine what that would do to a little boy- to grow up without his mama.  Was your grandma alive for a while at least?  Did you have any kind of female influence at all?”

I shake my head.  “No.  My grandma died before I was born.  And no, I didn’t have any kind of female influence, other than teachers as I was growing up.”

And right there, with one breath, Mila touched on something that I’d never thought about.  Had the fact that I didn’t have a mother (or any other female) affect me more than I had known?  Is that why I’m not good at relating to women?

From the look on Mila’s face, I think she’s wondering the same thing.  But she doesn’t say anything.  There’s a bit of sympathy in her eyes though and I hate that.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” I tell her.  “There are millions of people who have had their mother die.  You did, as well.  I’m not so unique.  We all get through it as best we can.”

She stares at me again, her face pensive.  “So you don’t cut yourself any slack at all that you grew up without a mother?”

I roll my eyes. “Are you trying to find some sort of reason that I’ve become such an asshole?  The reason is…I’m an asshole.  There are some things in life that can’t be explained.  Period.  Assholes are assholes.  Rainbows are pretty.  Kittens are cute.  Chick flicks are sad.  It’s the way of things, no explanations.”

And now she rolls her eyes. 

“Things are the way they are, but everything has a reason.  Kittens are cute because they’re tiny fur-balls with smushed faces.  Rainbows are pretty because they have every color in the world in them and they’re made from refracted light.  Chick flicks are sad because chicks sometimes just need a good cry.  And assholes are always assholes for a reason.”

She stares at me again, her eyes full of determination, and I can see that she truly wants to pick me apart and see what makes me tick.  I suddenly feel naked beneath her gaze.  But as luck would have it, our food arrives at this most perfect of times, and I almost sigh with relief. 

Her sister Madison sets our plates down in front of us.  Lasagna for me, penne for Mila.  A basket of bread between us. 

“You should be all set,” she tells us, but she’s looking at Mila, not me.  “If you just want to put your dishes in the kitchen and lock up when you’re done, that would be great.  Everyone else will be leaving soon.  Are you good here?”

She raises an eyebrow at her sister and I know she’s really asking Mila,
Are you okay here with him?

I fight the need to glare at her.  She’s the one who left her little sister alone and drunk with an asshole last night. I didn’t.

Mila nods and smiles.  “We’re good, Maddy.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Madison nods and leaves without looking at me again.  I look at Mila.

“Your sister’s an ice bitch,” I point out politely.

Mila throws her head back and laughs.  “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel, Pax?”  She giggles again, then adds, “Maddy’s just protective.  She’s all I have now and she takes that role pretty seriously.”

I raise an eyebrow.  “She didn’t last night when she left you alone with Jared the asshole.”

Mila shakes her head.  “She feels badly about that. She can’t handle her liquor very well either and she made a mistake.”

I shake my head, but let it go as we dive into our food. 

“This is very good,” I tell her.  “It’s no wonder this place is swamped in tourist season.”

She smiles.  “Thank you.  It was my parents’ dream.  And Madison is keeping it alive for them.”

We continue eating by the candlelight, the silence surprisingly comfortable.  I’ve never been with someone before when I didn’t feel the need to fill the awkward silence.  With Mila, nothing seems awkward.  She’s got an easy way about her that puts me at ease.

When we’re finished, we carry our plates to the kitchen and Mila turns to me, her slender hand on my chest.  I glance down at her in surprise. 

“I’m not ready to say goodnight yet,” she tells me softly.  “Would you like to go for a walk on the beach?”

I nod.  “Of course.  Let’s get our jackets though.”

I help her shrug into hers and then I follow her outdoors, over the worn trail leading down to the water. 

Mila grabs my hand as we walk and holds it, and it feels really intimate. 

“I used to play here on this beach when I was a kid,” she tells me as she gazes around at the frozen wild-grass and gray water.  “Maddy and I used to run up and down this stretch of sand while our parents worked in the restaurant.  It was a great childhood.  Where did you play?”

I think on that as I guide her around a piece of driftwood. 

“I don’t really remember,” I tell her.  “I have bits of memories from my grandfather’s estate.  I think my mother maybe took me there from time to time.  And I remember a few Christmases.  But nothing more than that.”

She looks at me sympathetically again, but doesn’t say anything.  I have a feeling she knows that I wouldn’t like it.

“Do you think there’s a God?” she asks, changing the subject.  And it seems so out of the blue.  I stare at her.

“What kind of question is that?  It’s so random.”

I smile and we continue to walk and I feel the moisture of the wet sand permeating my dress shoes.  I wish that I would have worn my boots, but they would have looked out of place with slacks.

Mila sighs. 

“I don’t know.  It’s not really random.  I just wonder from time to time.  Don’t you?  I never really thought about it until my parents died, but now it crosses my mind sometimes. I can’t help it.  And we were talking about other deep things tonight, so I just thought I’d ask.  I’m trying to get to know you.”

She smiles and squeezes my hand and my heart softens a bit.  There’s something about this girl. I know that she could ask anything, and I’d probably answer.

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I don’t know about God.  I’m sure he’s there somewhere.  Out there.  Probably looking down on all of us and wondering why we’re so fucked up.  And if he’s there, I’m sure he forgot about me a long time ago.”

Mila’s breath catches in her throat, I can hear it.  And she stops, turning to me, her hand on my arm.  She looks up at me, her eyes filled with something that I can’t identify. 

“Why would you say that?” she asks quietly. 

I shake my head.  “I don’t know.  There’s something missing in me, Mila.  It’s just not there and I’m not sure if it ever was.  And I’m pretty sure that God doesn’t mess around with someone like that.”

For some reason, there’s a lump in my throat and I have no idea why. I swallow it and stare down at the delicate, beautiful girl on the beach beside me.  Anyone else might have tucked tail and run.  But not her.  Her feet are planted and her eyes are wide. 

She reaches up and touches my chest, then my face.

“You’re wrong,” she tells me softly.  “About everything. You don’t see yourself the way I see you.  But if you did, you would know that there’s nothing missing in you at all.  I think that you’ve always used drugs to block out questions that you’ve had about yourself, or doubt or fear.  I’m not sure what all your reasons were.  But I know that you’ve got things you’ve never dealt with or thought about, and that’s probably why you feel a void now.  But once you discover what it is that you need to deal with, you’ll feel whole again.  No more holes, no more voids.  That’s what I think.”

My eyes burn as I stare down at this incredibly perceptive woman.  I do have a lot of shit that I’ve never bothered to think about.  In fact, I went way out of my way to avoid thinking about it.  And maybe
that
was what was most to my detriment—not doing crazy shit, like I thought. 

“I think you know me better than you should,” I tell her gruffly.  She smiles her delicate smile.

“I don’t know you nearly as well as I’d like to,” she answers, wrapping her arms around my neck.  “But I’m going to remedy that.”

And then she kisses me.  As she does, everything seems right in the world, like it always does when she’s in my arms. It’s like holding a ray of sunshine.  I kiss her until we can’t breathe and when we finally pull away, we take a breath and kiss again. 

The stars twinkle overhead, the lake is soundless and calm to our left and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel like I’m home.

Chapter Eleven

I wake up craving coke for the first time in a week.

I don’t know why, because last night was fucking amazing.  Mila and I had walked along the beach until we were exhausted.  We held hands and kissed, then held hands some more.  I had walked her to her car, where we kissed yet again.  But I didn’t invite her to my place and she didn’t invite me to hers. 

This is too good to fuck up.  Even an asshole like me knows that.  If she wants to take it slow, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m not going to rush her.  I have a hand for a reason and I’m not afraid to use it.

Just thinking the word
use
makes me remember my craving, the one where I want my nose to burn and the numbness to spread through me.

But it’s just habit.  Because for the first time since I can remember, I don’t want to be numb.  Mila makes me want to feel things… with her and for her.  She makes me want to be a better person simply so that I can be around her. 

So, I throw my covers back and do an impetuous thing. 

I take the lid off of my vial and dump every pill inside it into my toilet, flushing them down.  As I watch them swirl around, I’m overcome by a moment of panic. 

What the fuck am I doing?

I almost thrust my hand into the toilet water to yank them out. 

But then Mila’s face appears in my head and I am calm again. 

I’m doing the right thing. That’s what I’m doing.  And I can do this.  I’m not a pussy.

I pad down to the kitchen and find my backup pills in the freezer, and I toss them into the garbage disposal, turning it on.  I listen to it grinding up the pills, grinding away my escape from reality.