The candles get placed on the table, and he fishes around in his pocket. “I found this in the drawer.” He holds up a lighter. “Apparently, I have zero fucking boundaries when it comes to you. I want to apologize, but it feels wrong considering I’ll probably do it again.” He drops onto the sofa, placing the hollow metal crutches across his lap. “I will admit that I recognize it’s fucked up, and it always seems to land me in trouble, but I can’t stop.”
“Um…” I don’t know what to say to that. Is he really saying sorry for looking for a lighter, or is he referring to something else like it seems?
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, Waylynn, and that I pressured you into telling me something you weren’t ready to.”
He’s staring at me, and I fully admit I don’t know which way is up. Five minutes ago, I thought I’d scared him away, but that’s not what it seems like now.
There’s a part of me that wants to confess everything to him now. It’s actually exhausting waiting for them to find out, and then there’s an even smaller part of me that thinks they really will leave me alone when he knows the truth, and I want to get that over with. Thinking about the pain of them forgetting me and treating me like he does everyone else makes me want to throw up.
I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t tell him I spent years in and out of treatment for months at a time. That it’s not just an anxiety disorder or a plea for attention. There is definitely something different about me, and someday, it might get worse.
I think I’m getting close to the point where I owe them the truth, but I just can’t risk it. Not yet. I’m selfish. “Don’t apologize to me. You weren’t wrong to think…something. Can you help me with those? I need to use the bathroom,” I say while pointing at his lap.
I need a few seconds away from his stormy blue eyes that make me want to confess all my secrets with the promise it might be okay.
Memphis blinks, then looks down. “How tall are you? Five-five?”
“Five-six.” He gives me a dubious glare as if out of everything, that is a lie.
After a few adjustments—no tools needed—he stands up with the crutches in one hand and pulls me up with the other. “Try this.”
I slip the things under my arms, but they hurt my armpits when I try to swing forward. “Give me those, five-six,” he mocks. I balance on one foot while he makes another adjustment. This time, when I put them under my arms, I have to lean down a little. “You need to hold yourself up a bit. You don’t want to put all your weight on your underarms. See if that works okay.”
“It’s better, but I feel like this is a little too low.” I swing myself around the room a little. At least I can get around, but this feels nearly as exhausting as hopping everywhere on one foot.
“We can pad them.” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans his head back, watching me. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to ask me more about the medicine and why I take it, but instead he says, “Go to the bathroom. I’m going to get you something to eat, and we’re going to watch a movie.” He’s back to being his bossy self. That, more than anything, helps me relax.
Just as I’m about out of the room, I remind him, “Power’s out, so we’ll have to use my computer.”
Memphis
The bangon the backdoor has me jumping up. When I look around, I realize just how dark it is. The storm has passed, but it’s still raining. Waylynn is looking up at me, just as confused as I feel. I must have dozed off at some point.
The knocking comes again. “Shit, what time is it?” I pull out my phone after uncurling myself from around her and head to the kitchen. I know who’s at the door before I open it, and there’s an apology poised on my lips. “Sorry, I didn’t hear the phone.” I turned it back on vibrate this morning, which is why I must have slept through his calls.
Oswald steps inside and shivers a little. “I didn’t think you guys were here. Why is it so dark?”
“Power’s out.” I walk over to the utility room and grab a towel from a basket of folded laundry.
“Uh…” Oz looks at me in confusion while rubbing the thing over his head. “No it’s not. Look next door, or at the streetlights,” he says like I’m being dumb.
I walk over and flip the switch, but I know there’s no power. Something would have kicked on at this point, even if it were just the fridge.
“Shit, I assumed it was just from the storm.”
“You should call Bates before it gets later.” Oswald takes his shoes off and tips them sideways near the air-conditioning vent, even though it’s not working now.
“I’ll check the panel. Maybe it’s just the main breaker or something.” I don’t know much about electrical stuff. I’ve worked with Bates a few times when he was doing a side job or just needed an extra body for grunt work, but if it’s more than flipping a switch, I will need to call him.
“You do that. I’ll call.” He holds up his phone.
“Go tell Waylynn it was you and let her know what I’m doing,” I instruct. “Wait, I don’t even know where the electrical panel is.” I tag along behind him.
“Hey, beautiful, how’s my girl?” Oswald leans down and presses a kiss to her lips, then pulls away a few inches so he can continue to watch her closely. He makes it look so easy.
“I’m good. How was your day?” Her reply is soft, relaxed, and I take a little credit for that. It took her a little while to unwind after telling me she has anxiety, but after we ate and I pulled her close to cuddle while we pretended to watch a movie on her computer, she melted against me.
“Where is the fuse box, sweetness?” I interject before Oswald can go into a detailed explanation about his day.
