Secret Lucidity(58)

The ringing returns, another call I can’t face because I’m not ready to come back down only to be rejected.

You lied to me, Cam. I can’t be with someone I can’t trust. It’s over.

Silence returns as solace fades into the fear of sadness I’ll be forced to endure when he’s gone. Maybe I was never meant to have him. Maybe this is where I was always meant to be—alone.

Why would anyone want a soul as broken as mine?

I reach into my coat pocket to see three missed calls from David before I turn it off, close my eyes, and drift back to my dad.

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you,” my parents sing as the candles glow over my Dora the Explorer cake.

“Go on, sweetheart,” my daddy says with a great big smile on his face. “Make a wish, and blow out your candles.”

I look down at the five flames and make a silent wish to have a hundred more wishes before blowing out two cheeks full of air. They clap their hands, and my daddy takes me in his arms and lifts me up. I circle my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist.

“Can we eat it now?”

Mom laughs. “Give me a second to cut it.”

“Give me a corner piece,” he tells her, and she playfully pinches his side.

“You better be careful, old man,” she teases endearingly. “You’ll run the risk of getting love handles.”

“What are love handles, Mommy?”

Daddy flutters his fingers into my side, and I squeal as he tickles me, saying, “These are your love handles.”

“Oh, stop that,” she says. “She’s a tiny little thing.”

“Mommy, help,” I giggle while he continues to ravage me.

“She can’t save you,” he jokes, and when she sets down the cake knife, Daddy runs into the living room with me on his hip.

I laugh as she chases after us. We all fall onto the couch, winded and filled with joy. Mommy scoops me into her arms before Daddy pulls both of us into his.

“I love my girls,” he dotes, and with smiles all around, they both look at me.

“I can’t believe you’re already five years old. I wish I could freeze time and keep you little forever.”

“I wished for a hundred wishes for my birthday. You can have one of them if you want,” I offer her.

“No, sweetie,” he says. “You keep all of your wishes.”

“Keep them, and use them wisely, dear.”

“But I don’t want you to be sad about me growing.”

“It’s a happy sad,” she tells me. “But no matter what, you have to promise me that you’ll always be my baby girl.”

I smile. “I promise, Mommy.”

The doorbell rings, followed by a loud knocking, waking me from the bathroom floor. I sit up, drowsy and hazy, and then stumble to my feet. With blood crusted along my stomach, I tug my top down and close my coat around me before shutting the bathroom door behind me. When I make my way down to the front door, I shudder with a trill of anxiety when I open it to find David. He wastes no time stepping inside, pulling the door out of my hand, and closing it.

“Are you okay?”

“What are you doing?” I question, taking a step back. I’m not ready to deal with this just yet.

“I’m worried about you, and you aren’t answering my calls.”

“You can’t be here. My mom is home.”

His eyes narrow in irritation at my blatant lie.

“So what if she is? I’m just a coach checking up on one of my swimmers.”

“Just a coach?”

“Tell me why you’re avoiding my calls, Cam.”

The onslaught of sadness that begins to threaten has me unsteady, twisting my emotions into irrational anger to avoid agony. “Is that what you are, then? Just a coach? And what am I? Just a swimmer?”

He reaches out for me, but I turn away from his touch, my action only spurring his frustration with me. “You know that’s not all you are to me. You know how I feel about you. This isn’t some fucking fling for me. So, you can try all you want to push me away, but I’m not easily pushed. It won’t work. Not on me. Not when I care this much.”

He doesn’t stand around for any response, and when he starts walking upstairs, I call out, “What are you doing?”

“Which room is yours?”

Panic resurfaces, and I chase after him.

“David, stop.”

“I’m done with the lies,” he says as he heads to my parents’ room.

He peers in and then turns toward my room.

I rush to beat him, terrified he’ll see what’s on the floor of my bathroom, but he’s faster than me.

“What are you doing?”

“Where is it?” he demands as he opens and closes the drawers to my nightstand.

I grab his arm to pull him back, but he’s too strong. “Please. Just stop.”

“Show me. I want to see it.”

“See what?”

“What you need more than me,” he snaps, turning to face me with a multitude of emotions swimming in his eyes. I reach out for him again, and when my coat slips off my shoulder, and he sees the dried blood on my pants and shirt, his head falls.

“I’m sorry. I—” My words stammer as I quickly close the coat back around me.