Come to Me Quietly(31)

Careless.

Coming back here. Staying here. All of it.

Taking another drag, I looked up as the sliding glass door slowly opened. Aly’s silhouette emerged in the darkness, her movements somehow softer than they’d been inside.

Just to the side and across from me, she slid down onto the floor. Slowly her face came into focus. She drew one leg to her chest, exposing the skin on the underside of her thigh. She tilted her head to the side, and the length of her black hair fell down around one shoulder, all soft and innocent and a little bit infuriating. This girl was either the biggest tease I’d ever met or was completely oblivious of how perfect she was.

For a while we said nothing, just listened to the sounds of the night, and allowed a distinct pressure to build up around us. I rested my forearms on my knees and let my hands dangle down between them. I wasn’t looking at her, but I could feel her looking at me. With the intensity of it, I thought she might as well go ahead and climb inside my head, because she was definitely getting under my skin.

My nerves flared in a way I didn’t quite understand. I didn’t think I’d ever felt so comfortably uncomfortable, like I wanted to bolt and sink into it all at once. Maybe I was finally slipping over the edge of sanity. God knew I’d been heading there for a long time.

I rocked my head back and lifted my face to the starry night sky as I brought the cigarette to my mouth again. I held it in for a long moment and then slowly blew it into the air. Smoke curled over my head, these wisps of nothingness that I studied as they slowly evaporated.

Finally she spoke. “Are you okay?”



Confusion rumbled through me and I let out a slow sound of exasperation. “I don’t know what I am, Aly. Being here is just… I don’t know… It’s hard.”



“It doesn’t have to be.” Studying me, she frowned. “I mean, why did you come back?”



I shrugged as if it made no difference in the world. “I don’t really know.” And I sure as f*ck wasn’t going to talk to her about it, even if I did.

Her voice came low, earnest and sincere. “I know you probably think of me as the little girl you used to know, but you can talk to me, Jared.”



My attention dropped to her thigh, rested there for a beat too long. She believed I still thought of her as that little girl, huh? Incredulous laughter slipped out. I took another drag as I shook my head. I chewed at my lip as my eyes found her face. “That’s not how I think of you, Aly.” Not even close.

In the dimness I watched as her green eyes softened, filled with something that appeared too much like affection.

I looked down, away, stubbed out the cigarette.

“You can trust me,” she whispered.

I let my eyes fall closed as I loosely wove my fingers together. I said nothing because I was pretty sure I could trust her. It was me who couldn’t be trusted.

We settled back into the silence, and again I took comfort in the distinct discomfort. I thought maybe she took some, too.

There was something about the summer air in Phoenix. Even though it was hot at night, it was almost refreshing. How many times had we been out in it, playing hide-and-seek in the dark? How much had we laughed?

I’d been comfortable then.

In the far distance, at the lowest point on the horizon, a flicker of lightning edged the sky, this faint warning that the monsoon approached. The storms always seemed to loom in the distance before they engulfed the city, teasing us with the promise of a reprieve. On the few days it did actually rain, it was like a torrent of relief pounding heavily into the ground. The thick scent of rain would rise as it met the dry dirt and hot pavement as the heavens opened up and washed the world anew.