Dreams of 18(73)

He presses my face and almost shakes me, and I’m left wondering how he does that.

This is the beautiful thing again, isn’t it?

This is where he turns all my beliefs upside down.

He thinks I deserve things. I deserve hand-holding and walking on the beach. Although I never really liked the beach; too crowded.

But I’d like it if he was the one holding my hand.

The man I love.

The man who’s looking at me with so much impatience right now.

“Violet, tell me you understand or I’m going to fucking lose it.”

His growl makes me jerk out a nod. “Yeah. Yes. I do.”

Breathing out noisily, he nods. He goes so far as to almost close his eyes. “Good. Fantastic. Now, I want you to listen to me and promise me something.”

I walk my knees closer to him then. I go to him and touch his heaving chest with mine because touching him with just my hands on his wrists isn’t enough.

I want our bodies to touch and keep touching forever and ever.

“Okay,” I whisper as I look at him with wonder.

He goes back to wiping my tears off. “I can’t do that for you. I’m not going to do that for you.”

“You’re not?”

“No.” He shakes his head and nails me with his gaze. “I’m not going to hold your hand and take you out to the beach. I’m not going to take you out for a movie or dinner, either. I don’t even believe in god, let alone going down on my knees for him. I’m not a believer, okay? I never have been and I’m not going to learn now. Not when I’m practically pushing forty. You deserve everything that I can’t give you. Everything I’m incapable of giving you. So I want you to promise me something.”

“Promise you what?”

“That you’ll find someone, some dumb college kid, who can give this to you.”

“A college kid?”

“Yeah. When you go back to your college, you’ll find someone who’ll give this all to you. But more than that, you’ll find someone who doesn’t make you cry.”

“Why not?”

“Because it fucks with my head when you cry,” he snaps with clenched teeth. “It makes me want to destroy something. I can take anyone’s tears but I can’t take yours. So promise me you’ll find someone who won’t make you cry.”

“Like you did?”

His features bunch up for a second before he rasps, “Yeah. Someone who doesn’t leave you shitty notes like an asshole. Someone who’ll give you everything and more.”

My chest is shuddering against him. Shuddering and rattling with the furious beats of my heart.

I want him to stop talking. I want him to stop saying these things.

These things that are breaking my heart.

I get what’s happening here. I get what he’s saying to me as he sounds like a concerned guardian of mine and he’s making sure I know what my worth is.

“Are you saying that I should find someone who loves me?”

My question makes him flinch. It makes him draw back. It’s a slight shift but it’s plenty. It’s plenty to answer my questions.

Although he does reply as his fingers flex on my face, which is dry now; he took away all my tears while he was crushing my heart with his words.

“Yes. That’s what I’m saying. You deserve someone who believes in all that shit. Love and unicorns and things like that.”

“And you’re not that person.”

He swallows. “No. I’m not. I never will be.”

I stare at him. I study his features. His forehead is lined with a turbulent frown and his jaw is ticking as he lets me look at him.

God, he’s beautiful. Even more beautiful because of how open he looks. Cracked open. Vulnerable almost, his eyes dark and melting with feelings, with all the things he wants me to understand about himself.

He’s never looked like this before. So angsty, so broken up about the fact that he can’t be who I deserve.

But the thing is, I never even thought I deserved something to begin with. I never thought anyone would even see me, let alone love me. And that’s why it never even crossed my mind to tell him.

To tell him that I love him.

Not once did I think to tell him that I’m in love with him.

To tell him that I love him enough for the both of us, that I don’t want his love. I can survive on my love alone.

I’m hopeless and I’m a romantic. I’m a masochist. I’m addicted to less. I’m addicted to the pain. I’m addicted to him.

I can live my whole life on this little piece of him that he’s giving me right now. His care. His concern. His anguish. His frustration that I don’t understand my own worth.

His confidence that I’m going to college and I’m going to find someone there.

When all of it is a big fat lie.

I’m not going to college; I’m too afraid for it. And even if I was going, I’d never find anyone because I don’t want anyone else.

I want him. Whatever I can get from him.

“Okay.” I swallow and put my hands on his chest. “I promise. I’ll find someone. Now your turn.”

“My turn at what?”

“I gave you what you wanted. I gave you your promise. What do I get?”