It is a better location, but I'm just not ready yet to let everything out.
"Goodnight," I say, and kiss him deeply. It's dangerous, but I allow myself a little more indulgence before I get settled.
"Wait right there."
"I'm going to bed."
"I know. I know. You don't have to come down. But you don't get to walk up those stairs until I give you your present."
"We're not doing this again, Carey. Not tonight. It's late and it's almost—" I cut myself off before anything else slips out. "I'll see you first thing in the morning. I'll make you pancakes and bacon."
"Please. It'll only take two minutes." That puppy dog stare that's all fake innocence cuts at me like it always does.
I grip onto the banister. "Two minutes, then I'm walking up these stairs and I will be off limits for the rest of the night."
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
With a proud smile, Carey nods and quickly disappears into the basement.
I sit on the steps, and with each passing second I try to distract myself.
I try not to focus on the agonizing few seconds between when the fireworks are lit and when they burst in the sky. What they sound like when a bunch all go off at once, and how the explosions seem to build in volume until it feels like my skull is going to explode.
I cup my hands over my ears because I swear I can hear them already.
My heart is beating out of control and I need to get to my room.
Carey will just need to understand that this can't happen right now.
I climb the stairs and shut my bedroom door behind me.
I take my earbuds and place them on the bedside table beside my phone.
New Year's and July 4th are the worst days of the year for me. It doesn't matter where I go, you can't escape the fireworks in Broadrock, but I've got a system; loud music, heavy blankets, alone.
I move to take off my sweatshirt but I'm stopped by a text.
"Holy fuck," I whisper to myself when I see a picture sent from Carey.
He's changed. His black sweat pants are still on, but he's wearing a… a fucking crop top. The red fabric pops against his skin, and the black lettering of the word 'filthy' across the front disintegrates all my willpower.
Sunshine:I'll be waiting in the lounge.
Fucking hell, Carey.I pound the heel of my palm against the side of my head.
I look down at my ear buds.
I check the time: 11:25 p.m.
His stomach looks so good.
Even with the right intentions, I know that as soon as I see him I won't be able to leave. How could I? That's the hottest thing I've ever seen in my life. But I've never been the same since that night when the sirens didn't stop and the blood wouldn't clean. I learned then that anger wasn't just an option, it was a virus, and it still infects me to my core. Twelve years is a long time, but I still hear the wails, and relive the crash every time thunder claps or fireworks burst.
But maybe this year I can handle it.
Maybe, with Carey, the noises won't be so bad…
