Taking Connor(66)
Rejection.
My stomach knots and the tears keep coming. I watch him for a moment, unable to move. I need to. I need to run inside my house and lock myself inside where I can suffer in my embarrassment and misery. He paces toward the garage, his hands still on his head leaving me standing here soaked and broken. My hurt anchors me to the ground, and I feel it everywhere—beneath me, over me, inside of me. I’m nothing but heaviness. Finally, with a deep breath I shake myself and spin around, but I don’t run. I take the first step and force myself up. Then the second. And I don’t look back. Opening the screen door, I walk inside and let it slam behind me. I’m numb—and empty. Toeing off my shoes I kick them aside and then peel off my soaked T-shirt, flinging it on the porch swing. I should hang it up, but I could care less about what I should do right now. I just want my bed. Unbuttoning my jeans, I tug them down and step out of them before kicking them to the side. I’m set to flee to my bedroom, but something stirs inside of me, something rises and stiffens my backbone. It screams at me, rallies my courage and will, even in the face of humiliation and rejection. Fight for him. Has anyone ever fought for Connor? Ever? Maybe it’s the foolishly romanticized idea that most women create; the idea that you fight for love—or maybe I love a man the way I want to be loved. I’d want to be chased to the ends of the earth. Maybe I wouldn’t want someone to give up on me. Whatever it is, this feeling, it drives me.
I’m back outside and halfway down the stairs before I realize what I’m doing. Connor has just reached the top of the steps that lead to his garage apartment when he turns having heard the screen door slam behind me. I’m at the bottom of the stairs, and he’s still at the top, wide-eyed as he stares down at me in nothing but my bra and panties.
“Do you think you’re so noble?” I shout at him. “Wasting your life in prison to hide Blake’s secret? Do you think you deserve to suffer for what happened to him? I know you didn’t kill Mr. Jenson. I don’t know how I know, but I know. So why Connor? Why are you doing this?”
His fists clench at his sides as his jaw stiffens before he takes one step down. “You don’t know what you’re talking about Demi. You couldn’t understand.”
“Then help me understand!” I cry, taking a step up, but he holds his hand out, indicating he doesn’t want me to.
“I can’t!” he shouts back at me, stunning me when his voice cracks.
“Why?” I ask, my chest aching as I watch Connor battle this secret, this demon, alone.
His chest rises, his nostrils flaring. He’s angry now, frustrated I’m pushing him to talk about something he clearly does not want to talk about. He barrels down the steps causing me to take one back. Connor is much taller than me, but with the added height of the step he’s standing on, he towers over me, seemingly five times bigger than normal.
“Because you keep trying to see something in me that isn’t there. You want me to be your man Demi?” he chuckles, the sound thick with ridicule. “You don’t even know the ugly in me. You couldn’t look at me the same way if you did.”
“Then I must be ugly too!” I argue, my voice on the edge of yelling. “My ugly wants your ugly. It craves it. We’re not so different, and you know it. I would have killed that man too!”
His eyes narrow slightly. “Do you remember what happened yesterday?”
“No,” I reply adamantly. “I want to. I know something bad happened . . . I saw something . . .” I shake my head in frustration. “I know it’s in here, I just can’t remember.”
He looks away for a moment, then returns his stare to me. “I’m no good for you.”
“Why don’t you let me make that decision for myself?” I counter with equal tone.
He groans and shakes his head. “Please . . .” he begs as he looks away from me. “Please go back inside. I can’t be near you . . .” he gestures his hand at me, his gaze fixed on the garage wall, “when you look like that.”
I want to let out a loud and shrill scream I’m so frustrated right now. But instead, I fight back with words. “What does it matter what I look like?” I laugh in disdain as I shrug. “You don’t want me anyway.” Then, I run back to my house and up my stairs, letting my tears fall freely.
“Demi,” he shouts after me, but I don’t stop. I’ve barely entered the back porch when I hear the screen door slam before it creaks open again, causing me to whip around. Connor tromps right up to me. It’s not hard to tell he’s pissed. The moment he enters it’s as if a bomb has gone off; a tidal effect of heat that only happens that first second after impact. I feel it wash over me, and it almost blows me over. But I plant my feet, attempting to appear strong and unaffected even though my tear filled eyes say otherwise. His white T-shirt is drenched, plastered to his firm body, showing every curve of muscle.
He says nothing.
Neither do I.
We just stare, our chests rising and falling as we watch each other. His fists are balled up at his sides, and he’s leaning toward me slightly as if he’s battling himself whether to go all the way to me or not. Finally, his eyes leave mine and move down my body. My dark hair is curled and stuck to my skin, my bra and panties are the only things covering me, and I have to fight the urge to raise my arms and cover myself. Moments ago, outside, I didn’t care how bare I was, but now . . . he’s close. But I want him to see this—to see me. When his bottom lip disappears between his teeth . . . I know.