8. Arlo
I never thought I could say something to shock the guy who seems to know everything and can do whatever he wants without guilt or self-doubt. Turns out I can. It just means exposing my sensitive underbelly when that’s all I fucking am.
Exposed. Weak. Vulnerable.
“Who is he to you?”
My burning gaze finds his. As usual, his aim is true. Get this kid to the Olympics. He’ll bring home the gold every time. That he’s made the leap from what I said to my uncle makes me want to shed my skin.
The problem is I’m not a snake.
I shift to leave.
“Don’t.” Hota kicks off his shoes, crisscrosses his legs tight, and then motions to the foot of his bed. “Come on. I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
I just stare at him.
He tosses an extra pillow at me, and I catch it. “Up you go.”
The material is soft and cozy. Nothing like the stiff pillow and scratchy case that comes with the room. I stare some more.
“If you don’t get this out, it will only get darker, deeper, and it will corrode you from the inside out until you do something you’ll regret.”
I blink at him and wonder how he knows. How could this guy, who’s barely through puberty, understand what I’m going through? How can he see so clearly that I was inches and seconds away from strangling the life out of him for doing nothing more than holding up a mirror and making me look at my terrified reflection?
“How…” I choke on the word. Tears welling up like this is a catastrophic, world-ending level event.
“How do I know?” His vibrato is gone. Vanished as though it never was.
The sorrow in his voice mars his pretty face and shadows his dark eyes. He’s always so confident and calm. I never could have imagined him possessing such sadness. But there it is, raw and real.
It slices through me. Compassion, something I thought had vanished within me, swells, overshadowing my fear, if only for a moment.
“Yes.” I squeeze the pillow in my hands in a pathetic attempt to ground myself.
“My mother,” he breathes.
I stand there and hold my breath. I will him to continue. Because if he has a story, if he has trauma, then I’m not alone. And I am so alone in this world.
“She…” It’s as if he’s transported to a different time and place. His eyes go blank, like he doesn’t see anything in front of him. The rich color leaches from his cheeks.
“She didn’t let anything out. Not a peep, until one day she detonated.” He visibly shivers. “We didn’t know.” His head shakes in a slow back and forth. “No one knew she’d been abused at boarding school in every horrible manner a person can be abused.”
It’s possible that I nod. Possible I don’t either, and I just stand here like a living scarecrow.
“Years of keeping terrible secrets and self-medicating caused a break in her reality. There was a triggering incident.” He buries his face in his hands as if he can bury his reality. Finally, his hands slip away, and he looks me in the eyes. His long lashes are clumped together as though he cried.
I see no tears.
He points at the foot of his bed again. “You don’t have to let it all flow, but you have to loosen the tap.”
I climb onto the cushy mattress. The plush comforter cuddles my thighs. I brace my back on the wall. My legs dangle off the side of his bed, and I stare at the wall, hugging the pillow in the cross of my arms.
We’re quiet for a while, just sharing space, until I work up the courage to speak. “I’m sorry about your mom.”
A pained sound leaves him. It knocks the air from my lungs. There’s more to his story, but I don’t push. The discomfort of losing the person who gave you life and nurtured it is debilitating. It was the most destructive event in my life until it was overtaken by something worse.
“He’s not my father. My father was nothing like him, even though they shared half their blood.” A wave of filth rattles my insides, just knowing that the rat bastard and I share blood too.
“I had no idea he existed until I was fourteen. Before him, my life was better than I even realized.” I chew the inside of my lip. “I took everything for granted. Everyone.” My thumb presses in on my lip, and I chew harder. A drop of blood spreads out on my finger. I watch it expand.
“Here.” Hota holds out a tissue. “We all take things for granted until we no longer have them.”
“They’re all gone.” I stare at the white tissue.
“Who?” He folds the material in half and eases forward.
I simply watch, unable to do anything but stay upright from the tsunami of emotions battering my insides.
He dabs the blood from my finger. The red stains the pristine fibers as I stare in suspended animation. He folds it once more and lifts it higher. The soft paper slides over my lower lip. Then he sits back, careful not to touch me.
It’s the first kind physical contact I’ve had since my uncle dragged me away from Blakely and her family. My brother’s girlfriend understood my pain like no one else. She cried with me and laughed with me when it seemed like we would never laugh again. And then he took me away from her.
When I look at Hota, there’s a sudden and acute burning in my chest. I don’t know what will happen to me if I let him in, and then he is taken from me too.
That’s not true. I know what will happen.
I won’t survive.
“Whatever you say stays between us.”
“Always?” I despise the desperation in my voice, but it’s the truth. I am desperate for connection, for something other than pain and isolation.
He places his hand over his heart. His upper lip quivers as though he’s struggling to hold on to his composure as much as I am. “Always. I’m your guy.”
I nod. He nods. We both slap at the tears we hate.
“My family.” My throat goes tight. “My whole family.” I lick my lips and enjoy the pain the laceration brings. It’s so much easier to handle the raw and bloody soul inside me. “One minute, everything was great. The next, they were dead. Mom. Dad. My brother.”
A laugh rumbles in my chest, though nothing is remotely funny about it. Except what a difference a minute can make. If they’d forgotten a coat and had to run back inside for it, they’d still be here, and I’d still be there. If the man who had a heart attack behind the wheel of his rig had slept in or caught another red light, they’d still be here, and I’d be there. If I had gone with them, my life would have been so much easier.
Laughter turns to tears, and I can’t make them stop. At least they’re silent. I wipe them away, but they keep coming.
Hota moves beside me. Something has shifted in my DNA, rearranged itself somehow, and I fully trust him. I don’t worry about him touching me or worse. He won’t.
My body gives itself over to the vulnerability and weeps for everything I’ve lost.
“A stupid fucking car accident destroyed my life.” I don’t know if he understands what I’ve said. I’m crying pretty hard now.
A few seconds later, a blanket is wrapped around my shoulders.
My fingers grip the edges and curl it against my front. I tuck my knees to the side, huddle in the fetal position, and cry like I’m a child and my mom is holding me close.