61. In The Air Tonight #2
leaving a swollen, purple tongue of twilight.
Guitar still in my lap. Thank God.
“Sorry to wake you, but we’re closed.
“You can come back tomorrow.
“We’ll be open normal hours.”
// 4:36 PM //
My boots sink into the soft white flesh of Woodlawn, the cold burning deep in my lungs, as I walk back to where my car is waiting.
And when I look up,
so is Andrew.
He’s leaning against the passenger side of my car, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. Ink-black hair, black jeans, in the middle of a dead winter landscape, he’s a slice of midnight.
My stride stutters,
my feet moving heavy.
He turns his head when I get close, his breath leaving jagged and pale between us as he watches me through the falling flakes.
With a jolt, my heart’s beating faster.
The man who spent all night shoveling us a grave, and now he’s standing here, catching rain’s white ash on his shoulders, in his hair.
Then—
ten feet out—
my eyes narrow to the shoe box
on the roof of my car.
He opened his present.
A dangerous warmth kicks in my chest, my heart dragging my hope out of the dark.
I do a quick sweep of the grounds.
His car's not here.
“How… did you get here?”
“Uber,” he says, then clears his throat.
“Had an Uber drop me off.”
My brow lifts. “How did you know this is where I’d be?”
He looks off. “You said you’d be with your parents today. Found out where Corey was buried.”
I nod, my eyes flicking between him and the shoe box. “How long have you been waiting?”
He shrugs. “About an hour.” He points his chin in Mom and Dad's direction. “Didn’t wanna take away from your time.”
Silence falls.
He shifts in place,
but he doesn’t take his eyes off me now.
They bore into me with a fierce farewell.
Not an ounce of doubt left,
he’s made up his mind,
stopped fighting himself.
Seconds pass,
my heart standing on the edge.
His inhale is so fucking loud.
“It’s real pretty back here—”
“Why are you here?” I interrupt.
He rubs a hand over his mouth,
glancing over at the box.
“I had an hour,” he says. “Whole fuckin’ hour to find the words.
And I still don’t know what to say.” His hand settles on the lid.
“This is—” His gaze falls to the ground for a beat.
“This is the best gift I ever got, Allison. Not ‘cause of the price tag or even the fact these are impossible to find… that ain’t it. It’s what they mean to me.
“It’s you knowin’ what they mean to me… It’s you knowin’—” He blows out a heavy breath. “It's you just... knowin' me.”
His thumb scrapes the corner.
“Which is why I can’t accept them.”
The world turns mute.
I stare at him.
He stares at the box.
The box stares back, probably wondering why it got dragged into the middle of this.
“You can’t keep them ‘cause they mean too much…” I repeat it out loud ‘cause maybe if the words hear themselves, they’ll realize how stupid they sound.
They don’t.
He really is ending this, he doesn't even want to accept a Christmas present.
And the longer I stand here,
staring at him,
the faster this actually fucking hurts.
“Alright, Drew.” I swipe the box off the roof and pop the trunk to drop them inside. “Might as well get in the car,” I say, circling to the driver’s side. “Ride with me to the penthouse, so you can grab all your shit.”
He pushes off the car, hands gripping his neck as his eyes follow me.
I swing my door open. “Unless your clothes mean too much, too.”
The ride back into Manhattan is forty-three minutes of windshield wipers slapping, holiday traffic, Andrew’s silence, and my hands strangling the steering wheel.
He’s not said a word,
much less looked at me.
That’s every confirmation I need to know I lost him for good.
Andrew looks when he’s mad.
Looks when he’s hurt.
Looks when he wants me.
Looks when he’s trying not to want me.
But now… he’s not looking, as if he’s pulled himself out of me by the roots.
When we reach the elevator,
the ride up is torture.
I’m clutching Andison to my chest,
his fairy lights still blinking,
as Andrew stands only three feet away.
Every floor we ascend
takes another thing from us.
Floor three, there goes his laugh.
Floor four, there goes his eye contact.
Floor five, there goes his hand on the small of my back.
Floor six, there goes him climbing on top of me at three in the morning, French kissing my neck, breath warm, body warmer.
Floor seven, there goes his whispers,
his groans,
his moans…
the way he says Allison, Sonny, angel, baby, and his lips grazing my skin when he sings to me.
Floor eight,
and I’m physically ill thinking about it.
Floor nine,
and my heart’s halfway down my spine,
clutching his pant leg, screaming,
Just tell him you love him, and I’m like,
can you just shut the fuck up?
The numbers keep climbing,
keep taking.
Ten.
Eleven.
Twelve.
And…
He’s right.
Everything he’s become,
everything he did,
was for us.
Andrew’s saying no.
Andrew’s drawing lines.
With his family,
Mrs. Robinson, Ben, Gino,
any girl who approaches him,
any guy who tries touching me.
He’s building boundaries around us.
Andrew Harding, saint of pleasing everyone, was putting us first by putting himself first, fighting physically and emotionally to keep this safe, and I’m still keeping him at arm’s length.
And maybe if I really did care about him, I’d be letting him go to stop him from hurting anymore.
Ding.
I step out of the elevator first,
and the doors hiss shut behind us.
Andrew’s my shadow, his footfalls and mine aligning so perfectly, like a single, heavy pulse as we walk the foyer.
At first, it’s eerily quiet.
But as I pass through the living room,
the kitchen,
setting Andison on the counter,
there’s a sound coming from my hall.
I walk to my bedroom,
hearing the slapping of wet skin,
of meat hitting meat,
followed by a rough, animal sound.
My bedroom door hangs open an inch,
blowing out the heat of the room.
I push it open the rest of the way,
and the brutal scene crashes into me.
A girl lying on her back,
brunette, naked,
tits bouncing,
legs spread.
In my bed.
Fisting my sheets.
As my Boy slams his cock inside her raw.
He’s grunting,
she’s moaning.
I’m hit with blunt-force trauma to the eyes, stiff, icy rigor mortis creeping up my spine.
My feet fuse to the floor.
My brain shuts down.
The connection to my mouth completely severs, my tongue lying heavy and useless.
When Ben's cock slips out,
he jerks himself the rest of the way,
and cum shoots over her breasts,
in my sheets, where I sleep—
where Andrew and I sleep,
my safe place.
My only safe place.
The girl laughs when she sees me.
She says Ben’s name.
She points at me.
Ben’s gaze follows her finger,
and his lips tilt on a slant.
He lifts his shoulder.
“Guess I ain’t your Boy no more.”
Black spots frame my vision.
Cotton stuffs my ears.
I’m snatched away.
My spine hits the wall.
Andrew’s hands come over my face.
His eyes stare into mine.
“Allison, hey—eyes right here.”
He tries to snap me out of it.
I can’t.
I can’t even blink.
I should cry, curse, scream.
Burn the whole building down.
But my mouth is dead.
My heart’s still standing in that doorway, watching itself get fucked.
“Stay right here.”
Soon as his hands leave me,
my back’s sliding down the wall,
‘til the marble catches me.
Then chaos breaks.
Andrew’s threats echo through the penthouse. “You got two seconds to get dressed and get the fuck out of here before I call the cops—”
The girl argues—
Andrew cuts her off. “Nah. How about you shut your mouth and leave. You disgust me. You both fuckin’ disgust me. Cover that shit up and go.”
“Jersey, you better chill, man,” Ben shouts. “Better mind your own business. This got nothin’ to do with you.”
“You’re fuckin’ another girl. In her bed,” Andrew snaps. “In her goddamn bed,” he shouts louder. “In her FUCKIN’ BED!”
A person blurs past.
Then another.
A door slams.
Then another.
“You been here five minutes.” Ben mouths off. “I been here three years. Who the fuck are you?”
Their shouts move further away.
“Right. Three years, and this is how you leave her? You’re a coward. You ever gave a damn about her at all?”
“You don’t know shit about what this is,” Ben spits, glass shattering right behind it, making me flinch. “You don’t know a goddamn thing!”
Glass shatters again, piercing, echoing.
“Yo—two seconds,” Andrew fires back. “You got two seconds to get in that elevator. Swear t’God, you’re fuckin’ trash.
You put your hands on her, now you’re wreckin’ her shit?
If you’re not gone in two seconds, you’ll be leavin’ dead or in cuffs—I’m not playin’.
I’m really, really not playin’ with you. ”
Ben’s laugh slithers around the corner.
Andrew’s voice turns to ice—
“Wipe that goddamn smile off your face.
“You’re not comin’ back here.
“I’ll pack your shit.
“You can pick it up from the lobby.”
The elevator dings as it arrives.
Then dings as it leaves.
Then Ben’s gone.
A calm slides into the penthouse.
Andrew breathes out heavy,
feeling it too.
“Mickey, it’s Andrew. Listen. Ben’s comin’ down now—just put his fist through glass in Allison’s hallway. Broke her shit.
“She’s safe, she’s safe.
“She’s in shock, but she’s safe…
“Nah. I’m really tryin’ not to get cops involved tonight.
“She can’t go through that right now.
“I know how it works.
“I’m not askin’ you to break the law.
“I’m askin’ for twenty-four hours.”
Andrew’s voice drops. “Mick, he put his fuckin’ hands on her a week ago. I’m not takin’ chances—
“Yeah. Tomorrow she’ll sort it out.
“Tonight, don’t let him up without Allison’s approval. That’s it.
“Thanks, Mick. I appreciate it.
“Yeah. Merry Christmas to you, too.”
“Allison…
“He’s gone.
“She’s gone,” he said.
You’re leaving, I thought,
and still am thinking.
“Mickey’s not lettin’ him back up tonight,” he said, sitting across from me, against the opposite wall.
“That’s my bed,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“I sleep there.”
“I know.”
“You sleep there.”
His eyes closed for half a second.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
“I can’t sleep in there.”
“You’re not sleeping in there.”
“You’re leaving.”
Then silence.
He didn’t answer after that.
We sat in it for what felt like forever.