Chapter 17
the seventeenth chapter
AMOS
Weeks fold into each other.
Coffee sips and stolen kisses between appointments. Long evenings tangled on the couch.
Heavenly mornings when the world is ours alone.
Five months isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things.
Yet somehow, I already know I’m toast when it comes to this man.
Our connection tipped past the point of casual before we had time to sidestep the whirlwind.
I feel it most clearly on the nights we’re not together.
It’s healthy to have a little breathing room.
But when Marco’s shoes aren’t by the door and his laugh isn’t echoing from the kitchen, something in the room feels subtly wrong.
Almost as if he’s now been woven into every inch of my space, my routine, my heart.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, as though part of me is missing.
I still have questions about his past.
About the things he seems to be running from.
I’m doing my best to be patient.
I never push.
Yet ever since he told me that he didn’t grow up around here, something has shifted.
He’s started to peel back layers that were hidden before.
As if the way that I love him gives him permission to finally be himself.
At least I hope that’s how he feels.
He does so many country boy things without noticing, and it melts me every time.
He can tell which way is true north just by looking at the sun.
He can identify trees or birds at a glance, casually naming them as we walk through the park.
And when a gecko ran across the tiles the other day, he scooped it up and named it Frankie.
On the outside, he’s still my Marco.
The polished suave corporate guy who loves designer shoes and expensive sheets.
But tonight, the walls begin to crumble even further.
◆◆◆
It starts with a bowl of cornflakes.
We’re watching some forgettable show, and then the munchies hit.
I pad into the kitchen only to discover the heart shattering truth.
We’re out of ice cream.
Both of us are half dressed.
Neither of us are keen on leaving the apartment.
“We could order dessert,” I suggest. “Get something delivered?”
He’s rummaging through my pantry.
“Or,” he says, “we could have midnight breakfast!”
I raise an eyebrow.
“You've never had midnight breakfast?”
“Nope.”
He takes it upon himself to rectify this immediately.
Pouring two bowls, he adds a dash of milk to each, carrying them over to the coffee table.
I pass him a spoon.
His lips pucker in thought.
“You know, it's even better if you slice a banana over the top and sprinkle a pinch of sugar?”
“It is?”
I need proof.
When I return from the kitchen, a ripe banana is tucked into the waistband of my pajama pants.
I require both hands to unscrew the lid from the sugar jar.
Marco being Marco, he stretches the elastic to let the fruit slip further.
“Oh… clumsy me,” he sighs, reaching lower than necessary to retrieve it.
“You know that's not it,” I smile.
“Same shape,” he winks.
Bowls empty minutes later, we crave more.
This time I hand him the banana directly.
Second serving finished, my belly is satisfied.
I sit on the arm of the couch with Marco nestled between my legs.
Massaging his shoulders and neck, I ease the tension from his body.
That's when the memory surfaces, and he softens his guard.
“When I was little, my mum used to cut the kangaroo off the front of the cereal box. I'd wave to the roos in our vege garden, thinking they were him. Broke my heart every time we had to shoo them away.”
I hold my breath.
I’ve never heard him mention his childhood so casually. Barely at all.
And there’s more.
“I'd stick them on my bedroom wall with duct tape I nicked from the shed. We never really had the money for posters or anything fancy. No shops out there.”
Out where?
He freezes, as though he’s said too much.
The tension returns to his body.
So I hold my questions, even though I have so many.
I simply lean down for a kiss.
“We never finished this dumb show,” he laughs, reaching for the remote.
As the screen flickers from scene to scene, the shoulder rubs continue.
And soon we stumble into bed, drifting off to sleep.
◆◆◆
When Marco gathers his keys and phone to leave for work the next morning, I hold up a pair of scissors.
“Give me just one minute,” I say.
I return holding something familiar in the palm of my hand.
The kangaroo from the cornflakes box.
“For your wall,” I shrug.
Staring at the cardboard cut out, his lip quivers.
“I know you have a past,” I tell him, cradling his face in one hand. “But I’m not scared of your shadows, or your tears. I can handle the dark and the storms. When you're ready.”
He dabs his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve, folding into me in a way that breaks me open.
“And if I turn off the city boy lights and show you the darkness, you won't run?”
“I won't run,” I promise. And I mean it.
For the longest moment, we stand in the entry way.
He bends the tail of his tiny kangaroo back and forth, deep in thought.
Then he kisses me tenderly on the cheek and walks out the door.
◆◆◆
By late morning, I still haven’t heard from him.
A knot forms in my gut.
Have I pushed too far?
Have I said something wrong?
I squeeze into the back row of a yoga class, hoping to clear my mind.
No such luck.
I check my messages.
Still no Marco.
This isn’t like him.
Usually sweet messages and calls pepper my day, even if work is chaotic.
I try calling, but it goes to voicemail.
You left your hoodie at my place last night, I text.
As if that’s out of the ordinary.
Still no reply.
My mind is numb all afternoon as I ink one client after another.
“See ya on Thursday, Von,” I wave. “No more bookings til then?”
I already know the answer.
“Nope, you can sleep in tomorrow,” she smiles. “Got a guest artist arriving from Sydney.”
I share the space occasionally, to give myself some work life balance.
On days like this, it preserves my sanity.
I love my job.
But life, and lately love, will always come first.
The studio door clicks shut behind me.
Making my way home, I dread the possibility of an empty bed.
Not so long ago, I loved having a bed all to myself.
Lately, not so much.
I reheat a bowl of leftovers.
But before the microwave pings, my phone lights up.
Him.
I’ve spent all day waiting to see that name on my screen.
Now it scares the shit out of me.
The first two lines preview in the notifications.
That’s the part that makes my gut churn.
Sorry I've been so quiet today. Needed some time to think.
I begin to fear the worst.
“Don’t you dare say goodbye,” I whisper.
It takes me more than half an hour to open the message.
And as I read the full text, my heart pounds with relief.
Sorry I've been so quiet today. Needed some time to think. Pack an overnight bag, my darling. I'll pick you up at eight. *heart emoji*
Deep breath.
I send a heart emoji back.
Sitting on the floor of the kitchen, the words begin to click into place.
Overnight. Eight.
Hang on, eight as in 8pm? Tonight?
I check the clock on the microwave.
It’s just after seven thirty.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Throwing a pile of random items onto the bed, I unzip a duffel bag.
My dinner beeps impatiently.
I shove it back in the fridge.
Toothbrush. Razor. Deodorant.
Where the heck are we going?
I hear a polite knock at the door.
“Early as always,” I smile fondly.
Marco looks as though he's been crying.
Our hug is warm, reassuring.
“You okay?” I ask.
He mumbles a half hearted yes.
But the questions continue to swirl in my mind.
◆◆◆
For a while we drive without speaking.
City lights thin as the car reaches the western edge of Brisbane.
Buildings give way to darker stretches of road.
The glow of storefronts fade into a quiet rhythm.
His hands are steady on the wheel.
He still hasn’t told me where we’re going.
I decide that perhaps it’s better not to ask.
We continue west for nearly forty minutes, silence threading with uncertainty.
I study his face in the soft dashboard glow.
His jaw is tighter than usual.
Oddly, it reminds me of the day we first met.
But this man isn’t angry at me.
He seems... scared of something.
Of someone.
Afraid of what? Of who?
Only time will tell.
Passing through Ipswich, he pulls the car to the side of the road.
With a twist of his key, the engine cuts.
A large sign marks the A2 route which stretches into darkness.
He stares along the highway for what feels like an eternity.
We watch the trucks curve around the turnoff.
I swivel in my seat.
“Talk to me,” I ask.
Marco breaks from his reverie, reaching across the center console to hold my hand.
His fingers are warm.
He pauses for a moment, before shaping his thoughts into words.
“If you drive fourteen hours that way without stopping once, you’ll reach the darkest place I’ve ever been.” His words hang in the air. “But I’m not ready to go back there. Not yet.”
I rest a hand on his knee as he continues.
“I promised you that I'd show you the stars. And that I'd show you me.”
I long for this invisible wall between us to melt.
No matter what it takes.
No matter how patient I need to be.
I’ll be that for you, I vow silently. Of course I will.
“I’m so proud of you,” I smile.
And that’s when I feel my Marco return to me.
The one I’ve spent all day missing.
“I want you to know me. For real,” he says.
His voice breaks as the tears spill down his face.
“Beautiful boy.” I kiss him gently on the mouth. “I want that too. More than anything.”
“And I’m sorry for pulling away today,” he continues, sinking into my arms.
“When you said you weren’t afraid of my shadows, part of me was scared to let you any closer.”
“That makes sense,” I smile.
“I’ve tried so hard to bury everything that happened when I was younger. Even watching these trucks, knowing where they’re headed, makes me nauseous. But I’m trying.”
“That’s brave,” I tell him. “And it means the world to me.”
We hold each other close, seatbelt digging into my hip.
He reaches for the steering wheel.
The engine purrs as we merge back onto the road.