Layers(94)

I sit on the sand for a while, nursing my physical and emotional wounds. Staring at the endless waters, I try to focus my mind on the movement and the shadows without much luck, as a pair of hazel eyes invade every other thought.

I start to revive fragments of sentences from our conversations, starting with the perfect weekend in Baja when he told me for the first time that he loved me. He’d whispered the words I longed to hear: “I am in love with you, Hales.” And how, when we came home, he told me he couldn’t bear the thought of being away from me. The more I think about it, the more I miss him, if that’s even possible. I miss every single part of him. The sense of security and serenity I felt in the indulging cage of his embrace, the body that makes my heart race at the mere thought of it, his taste, his unbelievable heavenly Daniel taste. I think about how perfect his weight feels pressed against me. How he played my song by the fire. The tenderness of his stare and the way it made me feel.

And just as the good memories swirl through my head, the less soothing ones appear. I’ll never be able to forget the look in his eyes when he asked me to read that awful gossip column. A look of disappointment, agony and betrayal, the one look that said what we had was over. I can still feel the exact, sharp pain of seeing the look that shattered my soul.

And then, again, the sweetest memory intrudes on my ache. A memory of when he tried to convince me to move in with him. “So, Hales, to summarize, my gut feeling tells me I have found the one.” Tears well up in my eyes from the unbearable, colossal loss. I just can’t do without him.

We had it so good. I never imagined I would connect to someone on that level. I never thought it was possible to love anyone that way. I can’t grasp the fact that this pain won’t subside. It began with a shock, evolved to numbness and remains, a steady scorching, at the center of my core. With every breath I take, I physically feel the aching. I miss him more than I can even begin to admit to myself.

~~~

“Dad, can you have a look at something for me in your office?” I ask, trying to mask the hurt in my voice for the sake of my mom, who’s watching us closely.

“What is it?” he asks, while we walk side by side to his office. My mom’s forehead continues to increase until we’re out of sight.

“I got a little bump from the board.”

“Show me,” he demands, patiently wearing his physician’s persona. His eyes narrow as I pull up my pink shirt. He observes the blue and purple bruise diffusing heat between my ribs and shakes his head with an audible inhale.

“Ouch,” I breathe through gritted teeth as he presses against it.

“It doesn’t seem fractured, but I would like to bandage it just to protect it.” He turns to his mahogany and glass medicine cabinet while murmuring, “It must have been some hell of a blow,” and shakes his head again.

“Come closer.” I take two steps to stand next to him. “You should be taking better care of yourself.” Behind his glasses his eyes wear a soft expression and I know there is so much more laying under his words.

He tips my chin up to look at him. “Promise?”

I nod in silent agreement as he secures the bandage with two clips.

“Thanks, Dad.” I inch up to kiss his bearded cheek. He pulls me into a hug, carefully avoiding my bruise.

“Take these twice a day for the next few days. It should take care of the pain.” He hands me a small container with painkillers. “Again, Hales, Doctor’s orders. You … Take … Care.” He embraces me again before I leave his room.

~~~

“Lely, should I heat up your food now?” My mom, anxious for me to eat, welcomes me as I get back to the kitchen. Just to refrain from breaking her heart I agree, and her face lights up in response. I look at her affectionately. Such simple little things please her.

The phone rings. “You want me to get it, Mom?” I say.

She shakes her head as she starts the microwave with a faint beep.

“Hello,” she answers calmly. “What is it, Amanda?”

I shift my stare to look at her, worried by the change in her tone. Her face has fallen and lost all its usual vitality and color.

“When did you hear that? How much does he know?” She listens, the knuckles on her right hand turning white from her intense grip on the counter. A cold shudder creeps through me, beginning at the bottom of my spine. It could only be something related to Steven; I can sense it too clearly. As she puts the phone on its cradle she turns to look at me, panic decorating her pale face.

“Is it Steven?” I ask, already knowing the answer but still waiting for some sort of dreadful confirmation. She looks at me, then her gaze slips away; introspective, she stares at an unmarked spot behind me.

“Is it Steven?” I’m shocked by my own loud voice when I repeat my question. My already loose nerves leave no place for composed behavior. I’m far from being able to control myself. I cannot mentally or physically endure further agony. My father’s appearance in the kitchen distracts us, and we both turn to look at him

“What’s going on in here?” He stares at us together, then at each of us individually. Finally, my mom snaps out of her shock and tells us about the call.

“Remember Ron, Amanda’s son? The one that was deployed with Steven and returned last month injured?”

My dad nods affirmative. I gape at them.