“I just wanted my stuff,” I explained against his t-shirt.
“I know.”
“But everything is gone.” The tears that were contained spilled down my cheeks. “Everything. Why?” I moan. “Why?”
Andrew tightened his hold as my misery soaked into his clothes. A fireman removed the barrier and we stepped into the crowd. A load rumble shook the earth and without looking, I knew the building had collapsed, taking with it the ugly and beautiful reminders of my past.
I am reborn. I am nothing.
Climbing into Andrew’s bed, I pulled the duvet over my body. I wanted to disappear into a dreamless sleep and wake up to an alternate reality. In the dim light, Andrew removed his shirt and slipped in next to me.
“Come here,” he opened his arms. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”
Like two puzzle pieces, our torsos molded together. I sighed as his warmth seeped into my bones. Andrew stroked my back in lazy circles and I cuddled up to him closer.
“You can stay here as long as you like,” he said. “My house is yours.”
His house wasn’t mine. My house had a bipolar stove while his was top of the notch, I had laundry in the basement, and he had laundry in the hall closet. The differences were endless. Nonetheless, I appreciated the sentiment but as soon as my debt was paid off, I would find a new place to live. I wasn’t my mother.
My mouth stretched into a yawn. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Why?”
“Because I like having a home to call my own.”
“Didn’t you have that when you were younger?” Andrew asked.
“Kind of, but those houses I lived in were exactly that, houses. They weren’t my home. There were never any family photos hanging on the wall, knick-knacks thrown into drawers, or discarded shoes by the entryway. They were empty and sad like my mother.”
“How ‘bout when you moved in with Sumiko and her father?”
“Same thing, except I then had Sumiko, my partner in crime.” A ghost of a smile lifted my lips. “Once, we wanted to add color to the house because we thought it was too white. With our savings, we bought cans of brightly colored paint. When her father got home that night, our bedroom was painted fuchsia pink while the bathroom was orange.”
Andrew’s voice held laughter as he spoke. “What happened?”
“Sumiko and I each got a smack across the cheek along with the punishment of staying up all night, repainting. By the time morning arrived, I thought my hand would be stuck in a fist forever.” I paused as the memory washed over me. “But it was worth it because in that hour surrounded by that blinding pink, I’d never felt happier.”
“That’s why I see color when I look at you. You are meant to be happy.”
I snorted. “Yeah? Because it seems like quite the opposite.”
“I know it feels like that right now, but I promise you it’s out there.”
Propping myself up on my elbows, I looked at Andrew underneath my eyelashes. “How did you get so positive?”
“My mom. She didn’t believe in whining or complaining. She only believed in seeing the good in things. When I was younger, it was annoying because sometimes you just want to stew in your own misery.”
My chin dipped in understanding.
He absently twirled a lock of my hair around his finger and carried on. “This past year though, I applied her outlook. It didn’t help at first, until one day I woke up and my first thought wasn’t pessimistic. It was about how beautiful the fall leaves looked.”
While it sounded nice in theory, I wasn’t ready to stick on the rose colored glasses. Besides, Andrew didn’t grow up on the cold streets of Detroit. He grew up in the suburbs with a warm house to come home to and a mother that loved him. It was easy to be positive with an upbringing like that.
I flopped onto my back. “No offense, but what struggles have you gone through?”
“I don’t believe in comparing tragedies, Haven.”
His clipped tone grated on my nerves. I was sick of the long list of things he didn’t believe in and his holier than thou attitude. Since the day we’d met, he had remained evasive while I’d bared parts of my past nobody knew about.
“You should leave,” I said.
Andrew, without a fight, slipped out of bed. He searched for his shirt on the floor amongst the other discarded clothes. I scrambled, kicking the sheets off my body. Anger pulsed hot and quick through my veins.
“That’s it? You are not going to ask why?” My voice cut the air like a knife.
“I assume you have your reasons. Besides it’s been a long night, you need your sleep.”
The rational side of Andrew I usually admired teetered me over the edge. I needed passion, anger, anything to feed off of. “What is wrong with you? I lost everything tonight and you give me bullshit about keeping positive. How can I keep positive, Andrew, when life keeps slapping me sideways?”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You can’t play the victim forever.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
He found his shirt and snatched it over his head. The warmth in his gaze had vanished, replaced by a coldness that was unlike the man I had gotten to know. “It means exactly that. Playing victim won’t propel you forward in life, it will keep you stuck in the past.”
“Aren’t you the pot calling the tea kettle black?” I gestured my hands toward his office. “Keeping photographs and old love letters from your ex.”
“You snooped in my desk?”
I straightened my spine against the betrayal that flashed across his face. The truth was out in the open now, might as well own up to it. Although, I would have much rather pressed rewind.
“Yes, I snooped in your desk, but in my defense you wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“You never asked.”
“That’s not true! I did ask and whenever I felt as if we were making headway, you clammed up.”
“We have known each other less than a week. What did you think? I would spill my guts to you right off the bat?”
“It’s about trust.”
Andrew mercilessly laughed. “Trust?! That’s real rich coming from you. You don’t trust anybody.”
“How can I? The scars I have on my body aren’t self-inflected. They were done by people without souls and they are more people without souls than with them.” Shoving my shirt up, I exposed the real me I had kept hidden for so long. “You see that?” My fingers traced a jagged line under my boob. “That is from when I was sleeping on the streets and was almost raped. And that?” I pointed to another scar above my belly button. “That was from when a girl beat the shit out of me because I talked to her boyfriend.” Andrew eyes were emotionless yet I pressed on, desperate for him to understand. “I wasn’t taught to trust. I was taught to survive, which was what I was doing until you came along.”
“And what are you doing now?” Andrew asked.
“Living.” My gaze pleaded with him. “Let me in, tell me what happened and then we can both move on.”
A war raged inside Andrew’s dark eyes that filled me with hope. We could do this. We could move on from our past and find a future with each other. Tension coated the silence. He opened his mouth to talk and I lunged forward to hear the words I wanted to hear. Grief bled into his expression as his lips closed. My heart shattered and I sunk into the white linen sheets. I’d not only lost my home tonight, I’d also lost Andrew, but then again, how can you lose someone if they were never yours in the first place?