Reclaiming the Sand(43)

“Sure, banana bread sounds great,” I replied, taking it from him. I might not be very hungry, but I couldn’t pass up banana bread.

“I like being with you. I missed you,” Flynn said, surprising me. Of all the things for him to say, I had not expected that. It was such an innocent thing but it held so much weight.

He missed me.

After everything I had done to him.

He missed me.

I couldn’t respond. I had nothing to say to that. I couldn’t reciprocate because I hadn’t missed him. I had spent most of the last six years despising him. Blaming him for things that weren’t his fault. It had just been easier to hate him than to hate myself.

“You stopped talking to me. After my birthday. You never called me again. Mom said to leave you alone. That you weren’t my friend. But you were my friend. Because you told me I was and I believed you.” His eyes were bright and even though he wouldn’t look directly at me, I knew his eyes were wet.

I should tell him the truth. I should shatter his illusions of me before they could grow into something more dangerous.

His mother hadn’t told him what I had done. She had saved him from that particular pain. I didn’t know whether to be thankful or upset that she had done that. Because now here we were, six years later, on the cusp of something not yet realized and I struggled.

I wanted to tell him. But I wanted to lie as well. I liked the way he looked at me. To Flynn Hendrick, Ellie McCallum was important. She was wanted. If I told him the truth about that night, I was sure that would all change.

My self-destructive side urged me to tell him everything. To sever the delicate bond that was forming between us.

But I had another side that insisted on silence. The side that was scared to see this new Ellie disappear; because she was a girl who liked to feel. And the numbness of my past just wouldn’t cut it anymore.

Before I could be truthful or dishonest, Flynn got up again and started loading dishes into the dishwasher. He wiped down the counters and threw the food bag into the trashcan.

“Do you want to watch TV? You like TV. We could watch the A-Team,” he suggested.

“I love the A-Team,” I said, slowly joining him in the doorway leading into the other room.

“I remember,” he said, a shy smile on his face. His hair fell into his eyes and I wished he’d let me brush it back off his forehead. Our touches had hardly ever been intentional. And when they were purposeful, they had never lasted long enough.

I had been okay with that. Because touching him would be to admit a physical closeness I didn’t want and I convinced myself that I didn’t need.

Now I wasn’t so sure.

We got comfortable on the couch that I realized was brand new. The sale tags were still attached to the arms.

Flynn flipped on the television and started going through the channels. “It’s four forty-five, the A-Team doesn’t start until five. Right now it’s Laverne and Shirley,” he recited, stopping on a channel that played old shows.

“You watch a lot of Laverne and Shirley?” I smirked.

“They’re funny. It was my mom’s favorite show,” he said and I nodded.

“Well, let’s watch Laverne and Shirley then,” I told him, watching as he sat on the other end of the couch.

He sat upright, his hands in his lap, his feet flat on the floor. He didn’t look particularly comfortable.

So we watched television together. And I smiled at the sound of Flynn’s barking laugh. His shoulders shook and his mouth curved upwards into a beautiful grin. He looked happy.

I spent more time watching Flynn than I did the television. But he didn’t comment. He was too focused on the show.

He really was sort of amazing. After everything life had thrown at him, here he was, whole and healthy. He hadn’t become embittered or angry. He had become content and fulfilled in ways I could never understand.

He had welcomed me into the home I had destroyed. He sat beside me, sharing his space, opening his heart and even though I felt the weight of my truth deep in my soul, I also felt the joy.

Had I ever felt joy before?

Yes I had.

Once.

With him.

I surged upwards on my feet, startling Flynn. He looked up at me, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“I have to go,” I told him suddenly.

His frown deepened.

“You don’t like the show? I can change the channel. We can watch the A-Team another time,” he said, consulting his watch to be sure of the time.

I shook my head.

“I don’t f*cking want to watch TV!” I fumed, unable to hold back the outburst that barreled its way out of my chest.

I needed to leave. The hateful part was combating the tiny shred of happiness that had unwillingly unfurled in my gut. The happiness didn’t belong there. It had no place in the black pit of my heart.

“You’re mad,” Flynn deduced, watching my face, analyzing.

Yes I was mad. I was freaking furious. But it made no sense.

I was f*cked up. I was scarred and ruined. I would taint him with my ugliness.

I needed to leave.

“I just need to go.” I didn’t explain. There was no way I could give voice to the demons possessing me.

“I’ll drive you. I can watch the A-Team tomorrow. It’s on at 5:00 every day.” I was sick and tired of hearing about the stupid A-Team!