Chapter 15 #2
I’ve thought this through, as much as thinking it through can really help anything. Get me noise cancelling headphones and put a blindfold on me and carry me out to the car.”
“You’ll still know the second we leave the house.”
“Then whip me into the front seat, buckle me in, zip tie me, and we can race there. Or just walk me outside, cold turkey, let me panic and maybe pass out, and then scrape me up and put me in the car like before.”
He traces his knuckles across my cheek, then runs the pad of this thumb over my bottom lip. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do for you, but you’re the one in control, Loreena. I’m only here to help.”
“I- I- know,” I pant. Literally. Because it’s ten thousand degrees in here and I’m drowning in the heat of his touch, the promise in his eyes, and in his nearness. My heart tries to burst out of my chest and get to him.
“I’m sorry that I left last night.”
“I needed to hear what you said, and we both needed time to think.”
“Yeah.” His hand falls away. He taps it in agitation against his leg before he uses the other to press it down flat.
“I thought about what you said, about writing and reading. Maybe I need to do more of that, with you and with others. Reading what they’ve written.
Sharing in others’ experiences and learning something from it.
maybe I should take some more classes. Just because I’m good at one thing doesn’t mean I want to stop learning, and maybe I don’t always want to work at the clubhouse.
Maybe I want to do something else or be good at something else.
And art. I want more of it, especially music.
I’m going to get a turntable and some vintage records.
Maybe we can just… listen to them and chill. ”
“I’d love that.” I’d love to do anything with him.
My stomach is a tight coil of knots thinking about leaving this house, but if it’s with Maverick—I can do it. I can do it for him, and I can do it for myself.
He’s still studying his hands, but a tiny smile rakes up the corner of his mouth.
It sends a shower of sparks skittering along my skin.
“I remember this quote from Camus and it popped into my head last night, while I was walking around the block in an endless loop. It sounds harsh, but I didn’t take it to mean that.
I just… like it and I think it has a lot of honesty in it. ”
“What’s that?”
“It goes something like, the meaning of life is literally whatever it is that’s keeping you from ending it.”
“Mmm.” I have no idea how people come up with things like that.
I’m no philosopher, but maybe the problem is, that I haven’t read enough of it either.
I’ve always thought I was too analytical to enjoy it, but maybe I was wrong.
Thinking about reading it and discussing it with Maverick, figuring it out, debating it, bouncing ideas that lead to new ideas, discovering our passions together—it makes me excited about it in a way that I’d never be by myself.
“If you’re starting there, I’d like to read some too.
I’ve heard of him, but never in a big way. Just snippets here and there.”
His eyes flash with something almost dark and maybe even a little bit feral.
It just about sends me out of my skin, aching for him to touch me so badly that I could combust right here.
“I had an idea last night. Something I thought would help both of us with the frustration that we’ve been feeling.
I didn’t think it would be possible, at least not right away, but if you’re willing to give it a shot, I think you’d enjoy it.
It does mean a short car ride, but not more than ten minutes, and we’d be safe inside.
Would you trust me to see you through that and surprise you?
After, I can take you to the clubhouse. Scythe didn’t even make it home last night.
He has a room there and I guess he stayed.
I’ll call ahead and ask if it’s alright for us to come in and talk to Dravin and Wizard. ”
I watch him slowly unfurl and stand. He does it lazily, stretching overhead, then he cracks his knuckles. He’s utterly captivating. I’m enthralled by the way his body moves. Built muscles, thick in some areas, striated in others, cords of veins standing out stark against his skin.
I marveled before that he has so few scars, at least that I can see. No tattoos. He hasn’t accumulated the least bit of hardness. For some reason, that hits me so much harder than it ever has.
I have no idea just what kind of strength it takes to manage something like that. Mentally, emotionally, and physically.
“You said that the club owns some tattoo places. This isn’t the kind of releasing stress that you have in mind, is it?
” Am I up for something like that? I don’t have a single one.
I’ve read about all the things people can get done besides ink.
Crazy piercings, scarring, branding… I guess that burst of pain would indeed get rid of a big chunk of stress.
Maverick’s laugh is rich and hearty. It’s far more potent than the double shot of espresso in my mug. It’s better than any burst of adrenaline because it both relaxes and invigorates me. I love the sound. I could listen to him laugh all day, every day for a very long time.
I’d love to be the reason he laughs.
The joy in his life.
His answer when he needs one.
The bright spot in the dark shit and even just the dusk.
I’d love to live out our letters, to keep writing them to each other even though our lives have changed, and even if we’re not writing at all. I just want to be there, to fill him up, and make space in myself in return.
“It’s not a tattoo.” He holds out his hand. “Do you trust me?”
I don’t know if he’s asking if I trust him to get me out of the house, to get me there, to pick the activity, to get me to the clubhouse, to deal with all the stuff that comes after, and then the after, after.
Maybe this whole thing is insane, but it could be that a little bit of insanity is exactly what I need.
Putting my faith in Maverick didn’t feel so insane, even when he showed up at my apartment in the dead of night.
It feels even less crazy after we’ve shared half a lifetime together through our letters, but especially in the past few days.
I’m definitely going for quality over quantity here.
I’ve lived more in the past few days, learned more, put all of me out there far more than I have in years.
I always thought it was the coming back to life that would be painful, like a foot falling asleep and suffering through pins and needles, but it was all the stuff I was doing before and calling it staying alive that was far worse.
I give Maverick the bravest smile I can muster and slip my hand into his. “I’ll do my very best not to scare the shit out of you today.”
He nods tightly and threads his fingers through mine. “Me too,” he responds, voice rough. “Me fucking too, Loreena.”