Chapter 4 Dreams as Bright as California
DREAMS AS brIGHT AS CALIFORNIA
“What are you thinking about?” Tristan ran his hand up the back of my shirt.
I watched the dark outline of the trees sway through the small window of the tree house.
My father had built it for me when I was Noah’s age.
The wall still held some of my childish artwork.
Misshapen horses and unicorns. The glow-in-the-dark stars I had stuck on the ceiling were still there. Not as bright but still glowing green.
“That you should quit smoking.” He was so pretty all stretched out on the mess of blankets and pillows.
In the low light, it was easy to ignore the bruises and damage his parents caused.
In a different life, his looks would’ve opened lots of doors.
But in this life, they were the reason James hated him.
He took the last drag and crushed the cigarette out. His words came out in gray puffs of smoke. “Will that make you stop looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” I twisted to face him.
“Like that. Like you feel sorry for me.” He twisted a piece of my hair around his finger.
“I don’t. This is the look that says I know you are hiding something from me.
” When I made Noah dinner tonight, he asked if Tristan would be moving in with me since Laura had kicked Tristan out of the house for being on drugs.
Noah had been worried Tristan wouldn’t have a bed to sleep in.
That wasn’t what a ten-year-old should be worrying about.
“I’m not hiding anything from you.” He sat up and lifted my hair, running his nose along the back of my neck.
I closed my eyes as he slid his hands up the front of my shirt.
I wished we didn’t have to worry about things like bad mothers and dead fathers.
I wished we could be more like Anna and Austin.
They didn’t have to worry about things like that.
Their life was easy, not sad. I looked over my shoulder.
“Noah told me what happened last night.”
Tristan pulled away, taking a deep breath. “It’s not what you think. You don’t have to worry. Alright?”
I turned to face him. “No, not alright. If you want me to stop worrying, then don’t do shit that makes me worry.
Don’t shut me out.” He thought if he didn’t tell me, he was protecting me.
He wasn’t. Maybe if I knew what was going to happen, it would make it easier to deal with.
Okay, not easier. I don’t think seeing your boyfriend vomiting blood ever gets easy. But at least I’d be more prepared.
Tristan ran his hand along the back of his neck. “I don’t need your pity. I can take care of myself.”
I looked down at my hands. “It’s not pity.”
“Then what is it? You think I can’t handle James?”
“No that’s not it.” I touched the bruise on his wrist. That was never it.
I didn’t want to lose him like I lost my father.
That’s what death taught me. There was no warning.
One day my dad was here and the next the hospital bed was empty and all proof he existed, gone.
“I don’t want to wake up one morning, and you’re gone. Like my dad.”
“Blu,” Tristan moaned, pulling me into his embrace. “I’m not going anywhere. But sometimes I need to get my head straight. And sometimes you can’t fix it.” He tilted my chin up. “Okay?”
“You don’t have to do this alone.” When things got bad, I worried that Tristan would have enough and give up. That James would break Tristan into a million tiny pieces, and I wouldn’t be able to put those pieces back together again.
Tristan took my hand. “What if I’m like him? And I hurt you like he hurt her?”
That was Tristan’s fear. Not which college he’d get into. Not about failing math. But catching the sickness his father had. I hated it when he was afraid. He spent too much of his life being afraid. “I’m not. You are nothing like your father.”
“What if I—”
“No.” I pressed a finger to his lips. I had never been afraid Tristan would be like James.
Others had warned me; a school counselor even pulled me out of class to talk to me about dating abuse.
That just proved that no one really understood Tristan.
But he didn’t let a lot of people in. It was safer for Noah.
If Tristan got taken away, who would watch out for Noah?
He took my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist. Then he pressed his words into the sensitive spot at the base of my neck.
I couldn’t think when his mouth was on me.
When his tongue traced my neck and his hand slid up my shirt, cupping the thin fabric of my bra.
This was the part boys my age got wrong.
The parts before sex. The soft words and kisses, the exploring.
The parts I loved with Tristan. I loved running my finger over the sharp jut of his hip. Along his ribs and shoulders.
When Tristan lifted his head, I knew what the darkness of his eyes meant.
My heart raced as a pressure grew low in my belly.
Two weeks had been a long time without reconnecting.
I would straddle him on the floor, and he’d push into me, and the world around us would cease to exist. The stars would be close enough to touch and the air too heavy to breathe.
Nothing would matter in those soft, desperate moments but us.
“Ev.” The low hum of his voice made my body liquid.
“Yes,” I whispered into his mouth. My hands tugged at his shirt, at his belt. I wanted all of him. The good and the bad. The parts that would break me and the parts that would love me. He tugged his shirt over his head. Yellow bruises marred his perfect skin.
“Don’t go there,” he whispered as if he could read my sadness. “I’m still here,” he said as he pulled my shirt over my head.
I slid out of my jeans, not thinking about him being alone in the bathroom, his father screaming, his mother doing nothing. “I’m sorry,” I whispered as he slid out of his jeans. So many people had failed him. I didn’t want to be one of them.
“Hush,” he said, pulling me onto his lap. “Are you still on the pill?”
I nodded before it started. Before he pushed me over the edge, tangling our strings of fate even more. Before my thoughts of James and death scattered.
Before I let Tristan Anderson consume me.
* * *
The stars were already high in the sky, and soon the dawn would claim her place in the sky.
The wooden floor of the tree house cut into my hip.
I rolled over on my back, and Tristan lit a joint.
I never wanted this to end. For us to not be together.
When I was with Tristan, I didn’t have to be anyone but me.
When I was with Austin, I had to be That Girl.
The one who didn’t have bad days when she realized her father wasn’t waiting for her at the hospital.
Or got angry when my mother reminded me how ill-equipped she was to be a mother.
Austin needed a girlfriend who had it all together.
Who cheered at football games and wore his jersey during pep rallies. That was not me.
Tristan handed me the joint. He had introduced me to pot. I would’ve found it sooner or later. Every party had an array of drugs: pot, acid, whatever someone could cook up in their garage. I liked being high over drunk. I still felt I was in control when I was high.
I also liked what my future life looked like when I was high. It looked good. Happy. In the pot haze, Tristan and I weren’t screwing in a tree house while his little brother slept in my room. There were no bruises or broken mouths. No mother bitching about wet towels. Just me and Tristan.
I couldn’t wait to be done with the silly life of high school.
In less than eight months, we would be graduating and leaving this little town.
If I got into the U of M, we’d move to St. Paul so I could be closer to school.
If not, there was Moorhead or Fargo. I would study psychology.
Maybe I could come up with a cure for why women like Laura never left.
Tristan would get a job and be free from his father.
“You’ll come with, right?” I blurted out the thought that was mostly in my head.
“I need pants, but yes. Where are we going?”
I rolled over to face him. “Not now. But after graduation.” We hadn’t talked about it in a while. About us leaving. About life after college. We dreamed of going to California where the sun always shines. Or Australia. Anywhere but this stupid town with its little people.
“Of course. How else am I going to pay for your school with all my drug money?” Tristan teased. His words came out in puffs of gray smoke as he dragged his finger over my stomach and hip.
“She can be such a bitch.” I took the joint and inhaled. The sweet weed filled my lungs and made my body feel like rubber.
“She’s just trying to protect you.”
“From who?” I looked over at him. “Don’t answer that.”
“Anna’s not the only one. Mrs. Peterson pulled me aside and asked if I needed to talk to anyone.”
I groaned. Mrs. Peterson was the school guidance counselor who had emailed me saying she’d like to see me. “I guess I know why she wants to talk to me.”
“Do you ever feel like being with me isn’t worth it?”
“On the days I find you kissing another girl, I have second thoughts,” I teased.
There was no question he was worth all of it.
Because between the bad and the blood, there was good.
We’d have quiet nights together in the field.
Warm summer nights on a dusty back road as we tried to outrun life.
On Wednesday nights, when I closed the café, Tristan would be there to take out the trash, help mop, and drive me home.
Darcy couldn’t be bothered to pick me up.
She depended on Tristan as much as I did.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” I looked over at him. He didn’t see the humor. “I’m kidding.”
“I wasn’t.” Tristan sat up, searching for his shirt. The yellow marks wrapped around his side and spread across his back.
“Well, I was.” I sat up and traced my finger down his spine. “What happened?”
“Same shit. James came home, and Mom wasn’t home. Noah had tried to cover by making dinner. Noah and I crashed at Shannon’s.”
If we hadn’t broken up, he would have stayed with me. Noah liked my house, even with Dar, better than Shannon’s. Shannon had too many people coming and going, plus I made better mac and cheese. I pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.” He twisted to face me. The solar lights cast shadows over his features. “Don’t apologize for him.” Anger flashed in his eyes.
“Okay.” I looked away. I wanted to say the word again. The stupid word that was supposed to make everything better. Sorry. It was a shit word. It’s what you said when you had nothing more to say. You said it when someone died. You said it when you stepped on someone’s toe or ran over their dog.
“Ev.” He cupped my cheek. “I’m sorry. Things’ve just been shitty.
I’m failing all my classes, and the school called my mom.
That’s why she’s pissed.” Tristan pulled me onto his lap.
The yellow light and pot made the world around us feel like a watercolor painting.
Colors and shapes blurring together. “And yes. Anywhere you go, I will follow.”
And I believed him.