The Lonely (8 page)

Weeks
have passed and I have not seen him.

I
miss him.

I
don’t know what his number is or how to find him.

I
can't find my way back to the penthouse.

I
tried. I got lost.

I
even attempted to use his name and 411 but that is an impossibility. People only
have cell phones, which are hard to track. I almost asked Stuart to help me
track him. But I didn’t. Who wants to be the girl the guy doesn’t want.

Sebastian
has evaded me.

"He's
still an asshole?" She mutters it over her laptop.

I
look at her and frown, "What?"

Shell
smiles, "I saw the look in your eyes."

I
shake my head, "Just tired. No look."

"K.
I won't say I saw him yesterday then."

My
heart almost jumps out of my chest, "What? Where? Did he talk to
you?"

She
nods with a sinister grin.

I
throw my pillow at her, knocking her computer screen down and closing the
laptop. She shoots me a blazing glare and points a bright red fingernail,
"That better not have done anything to that. I was done."

"What
did he say? Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?" I'm dying. Why is she being
so sneaky?

She
opens the computer. I groan, "Shell, I am going to snap that thing in
half."

She
laughs, "He said he was good and asked me a million, no maybe a billion,
questions about you."

"Like
what?" I quickly grab my pillow and put it back.

"He
said he missed you and wished things had worked out."

I
scowl, "That’s not good. Wished? Like past tense?" Shit, the only guy
that ever got me. Shit.

She
tilts her head, "No. Like he's picking you up in fifteen-minutes."

It
takes a second to sink in, "What? Why?" Then I get angry, "I
don’t want to see him." I know it's irrational but I can't stop myself
from being indignant. "He's a jerk. Why would he be coming here?"

She
laughs, "Oh my god, for a girl who has never dated you have spun out head
case mastered."

I
jump up and start grabbing clothes. I'm furious, "Why didn’t you tell me.
Oh my god. I hate you." I pick up all her dirty laundry and put it in the
hamper and wipe down the room again.

She
laughs, "Because I knew you would find a way not to see him and you've
been moping around here non stop. You're acting nuts dude."

I'm
ripping my clothes off and then pulling on new ones. I'm not even sure what I'm
wearing.

I
just rant. "I cannot believe you would do this to me. I told you I have no
desire to see him. He was a jerk to me." I can't stop my arms from
dragging a brush down my hair or lipgloss from being applied. I look at her in
the mirror as I draw on some eyeliner, "You are so selfish sometimes. You
just want to go off and be with Stuart. You don’t want to leave me with the
lonely so you hired me a babysitter."

She
shakes her head slowly.

I
inspect myself and look back at her, "And for another thing, Daddy Uncle
Weirdo isn’t going to just let me go out. You've probably started a war now."
I dump a ton of hand sanitizer on my hands and grab a wipe to open the door
with. I glare back at her when I grab my cell phone and storm to the door.

"Where
are you going?" She asks, stifling a laugh.

I
snarl, "I have to go tell him to get lost. The nuns raised me better than
that." I fling open the door and stomp down the halls.

A
guy gives me a crazy look as he almost slides against the wall to avoid me.

I
stomp down the stairs and fling the door open. Sebastian isn’t standing at the
bottom of the stairs. He isn’t even there. I look at my cell for the time just
as it vibrates.

I
read,
'Hi
.'

I
roll my eyes, '
Not now.'

'Don't
be sassy. What are you doing?'

'Waiting
for Sebastian so I can tell him to get lost!'

'If
you leave the dorms message me!'

'Whatever.
I already left. I'm out front.'

'Don't
push me!'

'Whatever!!!!!!!!'

I
put the phone back in my pocket.

I
jump when I hear a voice in the dark silence, "You look nice."

I
glance up. Sebastian's staring at me from the shadows of the pathway. He's
leaning against a post. He looks divine. How is it possible, he's only wearing
faded jeans and a beige long sleeve shirt?

"Why
are you here?" I don’t move. I'm terrified I will forget that I'm mad,
because if I'm honest I want him. I want to be with him. More than I want
anything.

"I
needed to see you."

Need.
That is a strong word.

"Why?"
I still have acid on my tongue leftover from yelling at Michelle and my words
are filled with it.

"I
needed to see you." He repeats himself.

I
smile. I like that word, need. It's not want. He had no choice because it was a
need to see me. I like that.

He
pushes off of the pole and walks towards me. His watch catches my eye. It's
shiny and not his running watch.

"Why?"
I ask again.

He
climbs the stairs, standing just below me, down a couple stairs. His eyes are
at my level instead of a foot above me.

He
swallows, "I'm sorry I researched your paranoia and OCD. I'm sorry I
presumed to hire a chef to make you dinner. Mostly I'm sorry I challenged your
comfort and tried to get you to drink the water."

He
melts all my irrational anger. I realize I'm more hurt that he stayed away so
long. I lift my hand, it frightens me more than anything in the world, but I do
it. I touch his face. His skin is warm. I can feel his stubble. He looks tired.

"Why
didn't you come and see me?" I know the answer. Because I am a head case.
Because I can't eat dinner or drink water.

He
shakes his head subtly, "I thought I should stay away. I scared you. I
didn’t mean to. The way you looked at me, when we were at my penthouse was so
horrid. You were terrified. I never wanted to see you look like that again. I
hated myself for making you feel that way. Not to mention how angry you looked
when I made you drink the water. I'm sorry, Em."

My
fingers dig in slightly. I have the strangest urge. Before I can think my way
out of it, I grab his face and pull him in. His arms wrap around me. He
squeezes me. There is a tremor to his touch. Like he's panicked. I know I am.

His
arms are fully encompassing me.

"I
never meant to overstep my bounds." My hair in his face muffles his voice.

I
shake my head, "It was my fault. I just don’t trust people. You scared
me."

"I
know. I just want you to let me in."

I
can't face him. I whisper, "You can't fix me, Sebastian. I'm not broken.
I'm ruined." My brain holds all the reasons why I'm ruined behind a wall.
I don’t ever get to see them. But I know they're there.

I
feel his jaw clench against my shoulder.

"You
have to accept me for what I am."

He
nods, "Okay."

He
lowers his hands and grips both of mine. He pulls back and presses his soft
lips into my cheek. He stays there, breathing on me. It's disturbing and
delicious.

He
tugs my hands and pulls me down the stairs.

I
notice he isn’t wearing cologne. He's slowly becoming what I need to be
comfortable.

He
lets go of my left hand, but grips my right like he will never let go of it.

He
looks down grinning, "I just cleaned them when you were texting on the
phone." I can smell the vanilla hand sanitizer in the air.

I
look at him, "Shit. I need to text Michelle." I pull my phone out and
send him a text,
'Leaving Dorm. Not sure where. Text when I get there.'

He
doesn’t answer. I know he's pissed. I don’t wait for him to call. I put the
phone in my pocket.

"So
what have you been up to?" I ask, desperate to just be normal.

He
grins, "Not much."

Trying
not to sound too much like a stalker I ask, "Have you been working out? I
haven’t seen you?"

He
chuckles looking down.

I
frown, "What?"

His
grin is bashful. He pulls me along the greens toward the OCD restaurant.
"I've seen you tons."

I
don’t like that. I jerk my hand away, "You were watching me?"

He
shakes his head, "No. I was genuinely at the gym the same time as you, but
I stayed out of your way. I didn’t want to upset you."

"I
hate when people treat me delicately." I snarl.

He
scoffs, "And you don't like help and you don't want to talk about
yourself. You have to give me something."

"I'm
an orphan."

He
looks at me sideways, "You said big family."

"Lots
of orphans."

He
doesn’t speak and for that I am grateful. The words roll off my tongue much
easier, without having to worry about the amount of pity he will give me. I'll
hear it in his voice. I always do.

"I
was found at age six wandering the streets of a town called Clovis, New Mexico.
No parents, no ID, no trace of where I came from. I knew my name, Emalyn
Spicer. I was eating garbage and living on the streets. They don’t even really
know how long I was alone."

I
can hear his breath. I can see his pulse in his neck. But he still says
nothing.

"I
was adopted by the Catholic Church and raised in an orphanage in Clovis."
My voice doesn’t waver. I have never told the story before. The words have
never left my lips. I never had to explain it in Clovis. Everyone knew. Dr.
Bradley knew. My benefactor knew.

The
story comes so much easier than I imagined it would. When I was little, I
imagined I would one day be a famous writer invited on a talk show to tell the
story. I never imagined it would be on the greens of a university in Boston. I
never imagined it would be to a guy so beautiful and sweet, that I can't
imagine what I did to deserve him.

"That's
heavy, Em."

I
nod. I am strong. I am if I let myself be. "Yup. The nuns had rules about
how things were done. In the beginning I was such a savage. You see, if one kid
gets sick, all the kids get sick. There isn't a lot of money and stuff. So they
were clean. Really clean. Anyone who wasn’t clean was punished."

His
brow furrows but I shake my head and hurry the words from my lips, "I
don’t blame them. They ran a tight ship. They had strict rules. But we were fed
and clean and cared for. No one there hurt me, not in a way that couldn’t be
healed. But I have a germ thing. The germs were like Satan, trying to get in
and make us sick. Cleanliness is next to Godliness."

He
licks his lips. I stop walking, "If you're done, I get it. I know how
heavy that baggage is. I know what it means. I won't ever have children and I
won't ever be normal and have a family or any support or anything. I can hardly
be in a room with more than a few people before I start plotting my exit. If I
have to cross an area rug my feet have to touch the same number of lines. I
have to have everything even and balanced and controlled. I'm okay with it
because it's always been my reality. But I don’t expect you to be." It
kills me to say it, "I know what I am." The statement doesn’t feel
true. It feels forced.

He
spins me fast and lifts my chin. His lips press against mine. It's so much
better than I ever imagined it would be. His lips don’t hurt or crash or
overstep. They're soft and sweet. He is delicate but in control. I'm not. It's
weird, but I let his mouth explore mine. His tongue slowly slides into my parted
lips and lazily caresses mine. His hands are soft, not holding me but embracing
me. His movements are methodical. He pulls back. I open my eyes, which I didn’t
even realize I've closed, and grin. "My first kiss." I whisper.

He
smiles and the world is okay. It feels like it grew a tiny bit. Like I let him
into the small corner where I live. He grabs my hand, squeezing it and kisses
the top of it, "Now stop trying to scare me off with talks of having kids
and area rugs and shit. I'm not going anywhere."

My
heart skips a beat.

I
am a real girl.

The
irregularly rapid heartbeat, combined with the warmth clawing around in my
belly, makes me hopeful that I'm not ruined. Maybe I am just broken. Maybe I
can be healed. It wasn’t just a first kiss. It was hope and possibility. And
like the sky was dark and the air was humid. I was alive again, or maybe for
the first time.

Either
way I was grateful.