Use Somebody (77 page)

He turned towards the grave again. I bit my cheek and had to look away. I couldn’t handle seeing this side of him. There was an absence of strength in him, weighed down by his demons. It was so unlike the powerful and confident Ricky I knew… the Ricky I thought I knew.

In my eyes, this man had always been capable of fighting monsters. Beneath his tough exterior was just a sorry kid who wanted another chance to do it right.

Because sometimes bad things happened to good people. Sometimes you looked away for three seconds, and a little girl wandered into the street.

Life wasn’t fair.

This was one of those times I wished it was.

Ricky never stopped being a brother. He looked after Phoenix, just like he looked after me. But Phoenix wasn’t like me. He was wild and adventurous and did whatever he wanted. Maybe Ricky had felt protective of us both, but that didn’t make him responsible for the actions of two grown adults. I knew better than anyone he didn’t need any additional guilt tugging at his conscious.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said.

“Why are you here, Scar? Tired of your perfect little life again, back to slum it with me? Give me a fucking break,” he said, in a manner that left no room for discussion. Still he wouldn’t fully turn to face me. “I don’t need your misery anymore. Walk away.”

I flinched back from his tone. “That’s not fair.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it? That’s why you only come around at your lowest, to remind yourself that someone else out there has it worse than you.”

My anger flared at the insinuation. How dare he belittle our friendship in such a way! I shoved my palm into my chest and shouted with conviction, “I have never judged you!”

“It’s time we stopped pretending, Scar.”

“What are you—”

“I will never be James.” The heavy silence that followed was thick with finality. “And you,” he said, his voice quieter, sullen. “You will never be Violet.”

My heart lurched painfully at his words. I didn’t mean to replace her. I just wanted someone to call my family. And I thought he wanted the same.

Things went wrong for our relationship a long time ago. Codependency. Jealousy. Anger. What was once so simple had grown until it imploded in on itself. But why? It was about as clear as mud.

I sniffled. “I don’t understand what happened to us.”

“I know you don’t.” He said with a sigh, and bent to the grave. “That’s the problem.”

When he straightened, the headstone came back into view. I didn’t understand what he was trying to say until I looked down. There they were, laid neatly in the grass, tragically breathtaking…

Black roses.

In a moment of clarity, my eyes shot back to his unclouded gray ones. In them I saw something I’d never seen before. Ricky rarely digressed from his stoic demeanor. In the past, when he did show emotion, it was either violent anger, or with me, fond and familial.

This wasn’t either of those things. Ricky Storm… was vulnerable.

That look terrified me. Because deep down, I think I already knew.

“Can a man and a woman, both single and unattached, ever just be friends?”
Vance had said.
“No, they can’t… Every time, eventually, one of them begins to fall.”

A small part of me had been curious a time or two. Sometimes a particular look or a comment hinted at more, but there were also plenty of hints that suggested otherwise. I’d been wrong about men’s intentions in the past—enough to make me doubt. Something told me when it came to women, Ricky Storm was a man of action. Yet the only action he’d taken with me was one drunken kiss. I’d come a long way in accepting that I was not an unlovable woman. But the man practically had fan girls, for goodness sake. How could I possibly be the one he wanted?

I looked up at him anxiously and shook my head side to side in denial.

He nodded his head, so slowly, to counteract the movement of mine, and took the last remaining steps forward until he was standing right in front of me.

He lifted his hands to my face, thumbs circling softly over my cheeks. His eyes were downcast and his brows drawn together, heavy with thought. And I just watched defenselessly while he crossed that forbidden line.

“This is why it’ll never work for us, Scar. Because I don’t know how to say what I’m feeling, and you don’t know how to listen.”

So he told me with the only method he knew how.

Cradling each side of my face, he bent down and touched his lips to mine. And we shared a kiss, right there in the middle of the graveyard.

I had no idea how to react. I was stunned motionless, shell-shocked by this turn of events. But just like before, I didn’t dare push him away.

He wasn’t forceful with me. It was the kind of comfort two old friends needed on a day like today. I felt the same fond affection I’d attributed to the alcohol during our first encounter in his kitchen. He was just as sweet with me. Not quite how one would kiss a sister or a lover, but somewhere in between. Tender. Careful.

But devoid of any real heat.

The truth of the matter was, I’d loved Ricky all my life—like family. That was how he’d always be to me. I couldn’t wrap my head around it any other way. The subtle stirrings I experienced paled in comparison to my desire for someone else in particular. Compared to him, Ricky never stood a chance. Just as I never stood a chance at not falling in love with the other man.

Long after it ended his eyes were still closed, as if to savor every last sensation. “Was it like that?”

“Yes,” I whispered back.

With a nod, he breathed deeply in and out. “I didn’t want to lose that forever.”

And sometimes, a man of few words canno say the perfect thing.

I placed my palm gently on his cheek, and he covered my hand with his own. It was reminiscent of the night we stood in his kitchen while I iced his eye, and I was grateful for another untainted memory he wouldn’t have to lose.

There we stood, communicating without speaking, letting our silence say everything that needed to be said. As much as I cared for Ricky, he had taken me by surprise today. He never did vulnerable. He never did relationships. And he never did complicated. But it didn’t get any more complicated than this.

I could sense we understood each other without having to say a single word.

That was the one thing Ricky and I had in common—our inability to express ourselves out loud. Just two people hiding away, unwilling to connect to the world. Maybe some people, like my brother James, were born like that. Not Ricky and me. We became this way. That’s what happens when a person experiences great trauma and is unable to properly cope. Life becomes less about building relationships, and more about guarding yourself from them.

As of today, I’d made the decision not to live like this any longer.

I wished the world got to see this side of Ricky Storm. Beneath the smirks and the temper and the tattoos, he had such a yearning in his heart. But there were still so many demons he had yet to face. If my stubbornness was a wall, his was a fortress.

I could feel his hold on me tighten for a few final seconds before he released me. I smiled shyly, and he returned it with the half smile that I loved.

“What now?” I asked.

All my life, Ricky had known me better than anyone. He always knew what I needed and he always, always gave it to me. Too late I realized why he never pursued me when his feelings changed. Because he knew the thing I needed most last year wasn’t another complication. It was a friend.

This time, his answer came in the form of one very final-feeling kiss on the forehead, followed by the retreating back of a black leather jacket.

* * *

[Journal]

Ricky was wrong about one thing—anger isn’t the most powerful emotion. Perhaps it’s stronger than guilt, hurt, or confusion. But there’s something that trumps all that combined.

Love.

Gosh, when did I become such a cheeseball?

But seriously.

Maybe emotions weren’t intended as a form of torture, or meant to be suppressed. Maybe we were created as relational beings, designed to experience and fail and feel. We should be able to mourn for the loss of our loved ones. Feel sympathy for those suffering. Feel the outrage of injustice. Feel the mysteries of life’s unknowns. Feel the beauty in the mountains. Feel the triumph of a great success. Feel the movement of a good song. Feel the connection with a friend.

A best friend.

A real love.

Because it’s worth it.

It’s worth it to feel every pain and heartache if it leads to love.

Because the perfect love trumps bitterness, anger, even self-loathing.

The perfect love indeed conquers all.

* * *

I knocked to announce my arrival. One foot bounced nervously. I had every intention of pouring my heart out. Pleading for forgiveness. Groveling.

Also fully aware that I was more than likely about to get the door slammed in my face.

The porch light assaulted me. My knees nearly gave way when the door opened.

The second we saw each other it was all over.

He said nothing, just palmed the back of my head and forced my mouth to his in a brutal and unstoppable kiss. I yielded to him, and was in his arms one second before the front door slammed shut. He kissed me with fierce abandon against the door, then against a wall, then another. Items got knocked over. Something broke. The next thing I knew, we were in his bedroom and I was standing on his bed.

“Vance, I…”

Before I even knew what hit me, he yanked my legs out from under me and I flew backwards. No sooner did my back hit the mattress, he was on me.

He molded his hips to mine, pressing me down into the mattress. I greedily pulled at him with the same fervor. We kissed deeply, feverishly, passionately… making up for our long absence. I lost myself inside his kiss. And even more-so when his hands started to roam.

There was no hesitation this time. He pretty much just ripped my shirt right off, quickly followed by his own. As much as I always appreciated the respect he showed me, seeing him lose control like this was just as thrilling. The way his body was more receptive to me than his mind… The feeling was heady, and addictive.

Our hands were all over each other, needing something palpable to convince ourselves that this was real. I dug my nails into his skin, feeling him move with me and against me and everywhere, flesh on flesh. His warm mouth explored my curves. His fingers found their own punishing grip on my hips as he rocked his body with mine over and over until I was ready to burst.

Once more I tried to speak, but he cut me off with the force of his kiss, so quickly I forgot what I had to say. Our fingers laced together and he pinned my hands up over my head, taking total control.

He kissed me until I was breathless. Until I was thoughtless. Until he had expelled every ounce of heartache within me. I’d missed him so much I was trembling. Especially with his body hitting just the right spots. I was all in… gone off the deep end… his—hook, line and sinker. He had taken absolute possession of me.

The world fell away with a groan. And there was no more guilt or grief, there were no more pain at all. Every kiss, every stroke, every sound pulled me out of my head and deeper into this moment. Into this feeling of absolution.

I cried out as the pleasure ruptured and rippled through me, just by the steady movement of his hips alone. My body saw stars but my eyes were literally leaking tears. His kisses turned soft and he just held me as I found my release. We were still entangled when we finally fell asleep, neither one of us ever uttering a word.

* * *

You know that feeling you get when you wake up in a strange place and it takes a few seconds to remember where you are and why?

That didn’t happen to me this morning.

Today I awoke with a smile, because I immediately knew I was back where I belonged.

I reached my hand across the sheets, disappointed to find his side empty. I frowned and opened my eyes, glancing around the room. He was nowhere to be found. Not only that, but his room looked different. Bare. The personal items on his walls and shelves were gone. Brown boxes and bubble wrap were scattered on the floor.

I wrapped the sheet around me and climbed to my feet, tiptoeing to the hall. I peeked out, called his name. It echoed louder than it should have. No response. Things were missing out here too. Less of his stuff. More boxes.

Slowly I backed into the room.
What was going on? Where was he? Had I imagined last night?

My memories replayed from the previous day. The funeral. My old clique. Ricky. Vance.

It felt so real.

But if it was real, why would I be here alone? And why did his house no longer feel like his?

My foot hit something. I looked down to find my purse. I must’ve dropped it here last night. I bent to gather the things that had spilled out onto the floor. Including my return flight ticket, Phoenix’s obituary, and a note…