CHAPTER 7: Keeping the Faith
Time fell away.
I pondered Jared Cameron; his words, my own responses, and what it all meant.
Jared had changed. Delving past the physical changes, a fundamental part of him seemed different.
Even in the short amount of time (read: a day) that he'd noticed me, his treatment of me was entirely altered. I was ultimately coming to the realization that I didn't know Jared well. Sure, I was infatuated and felt a connection with him, yet I wanted more.
I wanted to know what true, deep, everlasting love felt like. The kind romance novels were brimming with, the thing Shakespeare spoke so fervently about, the feeling that musicians like Marvin Gaye, Frank Sinistra, Whitney Houston, and Billy Joel sang so passionately for.
I wanted to love and be loved in return.
I wanted to be beautiful and interesting, to at least one person.
I wanted to know every nuance of a person, down to their last frown and freckle.
I wanted my father to stop drinking and treat me as a daughter, not a verbal punching bag.
I wanted to be visible.
I wanted to laugh and be happy.
The realizations spread over me: I was not happy. I was resigned, accepting of my fate. But did I take joy out of my life? No. And there was only one person who could change that.
Me.
Things weren't so out of my control that they couldn't be fixed. I had the power and the ability to do something, and not everyone could say that. I just needed the push, the motivation to take that first step. I didn't even need a concrete destination for what I aimed to do—I had to simply go in the right direction. I solemnly vowed to myself that things would change.
The strength of my new resolve lulled me into a deep sleep that didn't end until six the next morning. I was surprised that I'd slept that long without Pat waking me up to make him dinner or keep him company. That indicated that he hadn't gotten too drunk the previous night. That was good, since I needed to talk to him.
Stretching my arms overhead, and hearing a few corresponding creaks, another idea occurred to me. I was always planning on running, experiencing the freedom of going as fast as I possibly could, but never did it. Why not now?
I searched my bedroom floor until I located a pair of sweats, socks, a sports bra, and a long-sleeved shirt. I changed in the bathroom, simultaneously seeing to my other needs, and trudged out into the hallway a moment later to find my sneakers.
Strangely, I heard no cacophony of snores. Peaking into the living room told me that Pat wasn't even here. I ran to the window, to check this as fact, and didn't see the car. I only briefly gave thought to where he was. I, to my shame, was more relieved that he was gone than anything else. A sketchy plan was forming in my mind about what the subject of our upcoming conversation would be. With my new resolve and the household fiscal issues, discussing his alcoholism—whoa, it felt freeing to put a title to what was happening— was eminent.
But for now, I bent to the floor, laced up my Nike's, and did a few leg and arm stretches. Once that was completed, I grabbed my spare key, locked up the house, hid the key in my sports bra, and began a slow jog down the street toward my favorite path to walk in the woods.
It didn't take long for me to get red-faced and leaning over, gasping for breath, calves burning. I dawdled to a walk. After re-capturing enough oxygen, I jogged some more. Then, when the agonizing lactic acid was released, I slowed down. So the pattern was established.
I wished I'd had the foresight to bring a watch and time my intervals, but that was something I would do next time. I discovered that I liked running, well run/walking, in actual practice not just theory. I let my tempestuous thoughts fade and focused on only the movements of my own body. It was incredible.
I took a circular path and arrived back at my house in almost an hour exactly. Sweaty and flushed, I was nonetheless proud with my accomplishment.
I did some more stretching inside the house and winced at my tight muscles. I'd be feeling that tomorrow. A quick shower later, and I was dressed and fresh for a new day.
Bills, and then speak with Pat when he comes home.
What could go wrong?
Hours later, when I thought back to my mentality in the morning, I had to laugh at the irony.
That conversation could've gone better.
And maybe next time, it won't end with me locked outside my lovely house.
I sighed, pushing my soaked hair out of my eyes. It was raining, of course. I would denounce myself as unlucky all-around, but the chances of it not raining are too minuscule to feel as if all the world is against me.
I pondered getting off the porch to try the backdoor again but decided it wasn't worth the effort. I was indignant. I had made several great points about responsibilities and the ill-effects of drinking and getting—and maybe this had been the final straw—counseling; but Pat recycled the words in one ear, and out again.
"If you feel that way, you fucking ingrate, then leave!" he had spat at me. I had flinched, feeling small and uncertain about my list of things to talk to him about.
But, resolve still fresh in mind, I lifted my chin up. "Dad, you need to get a handle on how much you drink. Or, at the very least, don't drive around! That's just stupid, and dangerous, and someone could die. You could die!" I said, feeling invigorated that I was taking things into my own hands. I wasn't going to be karma's lap dog.
"Stupid?" he fixated on that one word, "You are calling me stupid? I've had enough, you stupid bitch!" he roared, and my insides had frozen. Okay, I may have taken this a little too far.
Instinct had me wanting to fold into my own body and tell him to forget everything I'd just said. Thankfully, or not, he didn't give me a chance to stutter out an apology. Pat seized me by the forearm and forced my stunned self out the front door. He then slammed the door in my motionless face and the lock clicked.
"Think about everything I've done for you. And when you're ready to apologize for your attitude problem," his muffled voice carried through the door, "maybe I'll let you back in."
I didn't reply, opting to take a wary seat on the porch step. Argh! This was so frustrating, and my eyes were unintentionally filling with tears.
One step at a time. While that hadn't been an ideal interaction, I hadn't backed down. I clung to my ideals and expressed what Pat needed to hear, whether he liked it (ha, no) or not (ding). I wasn't surprised at his reaction, or him throwing me out. It wasn't a frequent occurrence, but neither was it rare for him to toss me bodily out the door. If I pissed him off, or he got tired of looking at me, he'd make me leave the house.
Over the years, I'd found that waiting until he let me back in was the best, and usually most efficient approach. Begging simply made him antagonistic and least likely to acquiesce my plea, and yelling did mostly the same. Patience was key.
But here I was now, approximately two hours later, soaked and bored. I'd already played tic-tac-toe with myself a few dozen times (not as invigorating as it sounds, really) and hummed/quietly sang Billy Joel's entire River of Dreams album. My favorite.
The sun must be setting, not that I'd seen the mysterious ball of gas in a long time. But darkness pervaded, and I stood up wearily, ready to negotiate my way in. I was cold, damn it. And really, Pat didn't have a right to leave me out here like—like an unwanted pet.
Maybe I shouldn't have said anything.
Great, now I'm depressed and backing down again. What happened to standing up for myself? This situation was absurd, even more so since I tolerated it for two entire hours. I had to find my gumption or fake a fucking backbone.
Standing, I pounded on the door, cursing that I hadn't thought to leave a key under the doormat this morning. "Pat!" I screamed, shivering. "Let me in!"
No response.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I yelled some more to no avail.
"Please," I pleaded finally, seriously beginning to consider breaking a window to get back in. Or, maybe the car—but no, I could see from here that the doors were locked. This sucks. I wish I had some tic-tacs.
I stuck my ear close to the door, listening for any sounds. I picked up a faint gurgling, no—it was snoring. Fuck. My. Life.
"Seriously!" I yelled again, growing furious. I gave the door a hearty kick with no result. Even a crappy door was stronger than pathetic Kim. I viciously lashed out my leg again, to no avail.
"Remind me to avoid doing whatever that poor door did to you," said him, hot breath blowing across my neck. I screamed in heart-stopping fright, whirling around and losing my balance in the process.
Why does he always fucking sneak up on me? Stupid, hot, perfect man.
Jared caught me, those warm hands felt absolutely sinful against my cold skin, and smiled from ear-to-ear. "I meant to do that," he confessed with a guilty grin, shifting me so I was upright. "You were too cute."
My mouth dropped. Now, about that little detail I had to work on—oh, yes, talking. "Thanks," I replied, my voice thankfully even.
Jared was here, a foot in front of me, and I could barely process the sudden change.
My face must have shown my confusion.
"Sorry to just show up here," he fidgeted, like I would kick him off my front porch or something ridiculous like that, "but I didn't know your number and I was hoping you'd still want to come to the bonfire tonight on the beach. With me," he added, like I would go with someone else.
I face-palmed. Wow, how could I have forgotten that? You'd think that sitting outside in boredom for two hours would allow me to remember things I needed to do, but guess it didn't work like that when you're Kim Wilson. "And this is kind of obvious, but why are you having trouble getting in? Forget your keys? How long have you been out here? Where are your parents? Who is Pat?"
I couldn't divine his face but I heard that odd note of…protectiveness?! No, no, that can't be right. And, huh? He was here to escort me to the bonfire I hadn't agreed to go to? Probably because we're—friends?
I was taking too long to think and I told my brain to respond. Brain, respond! "Ha, yeah, obvious. Well you see," the truth isn't a great thing, so I fibbed, feeling. horrible for doing so, "I'm a ditz and locked myself out and my dad, Pat, sleeps like the dead and can't hear me pounding on the door." I was shivering now and really, really wanted to cuddle into Jared. Maybe rub up against him a little.
"I could probably open it," he offered, stepping closer. I pressed my back into the door, feeling his intense heat anyway. Why was this guy always so warm? I could feel my body warming simply by being in Jared's presence. I wanted more. Something about him just made me want more.
"Could you?" I breathed, annoyed to hear the tremor in my voice. Fine, I admit that having Pat throw me out of the house and then forget to let me in—when it's fucking cold!—agitates me a little. Okay, a lot. I'm a bit distressed.
Jared seemed like he was being more careful around me, and gently put his arm across my shoulders to guide my body away from the doorknob. I swallowed the sudden urge to cry at his kindness, as small as it was. First, he comes here after issuing me what I thought was empty invitation to go to a party and now he is helping me get back inside my house.
My own father wouldn't do the latter. That realization jabbed at me.
His hand, thumb in particular, distracted me from my musings. He hadn't moved to open the door yet and was staring at me I assumed, since it was too dark to really tell, and his thumbs were caressing my arm. My blood turned to liquid lava and I felt that if I didn't entangle myself in him right this second, I would die. The heat in my body spread, and since my outfit was already soaked, my underwear sharing that fate wouldn't be noticeable.
But all I wanted him to do was push me against the door and relieve the heat, the pressure, building. It wouldn't take much, and he was so close and so amazing—
No, stop. I needed to let go of the fantasies. They were ruining my sense of reality.
"Kim?" Jared said, voice rumbling. He took a deep breath.
"What?" I gave a start, looking down to hide my shame and missing whatever his expression was.
"In order to open the door, I might break something, which I will fix later. Is that all right?" he breathed, and I closed my eyes to listen to the texture of his voice.
"Yes, please. Anything you do is fine," I said, rolling my eyes inwardly at how that sounded, and crossing my arms in frustration.
I have never had sex before, but I could honestly say I needed to get laid. Maybe Jared would be so merciful…
That's funny. As if Jared would ever want to sleep with me. Shower and nighttime imaginings would have to suffice. And I needed to cease thinking of him like that when he was standing, oh, an arms reach away.
Those thoughts served to cool my ardor. I squinted to watch him as he took hold of the doorknob and gave one seemingly small jerk to the right and a push. I didn't expect him to actually succeed but the door gave way with a loud crack of wood and a deadbolt sized hole remained.
My next actions could be attributed to all the emotional turmoil I've been through in the past twenty-four hours, hell, the entire week, and my need for some comfort. Remember my little freak out about physical contact? Yeah, I was in dire straits right about now.
"Thank you so much!" I said in relief and tossed myself into his arms for a good, old-fashioned hug. Maybe if I acted really fast, he wouldn't have time to push me away. Because who'd want me hugging them?
As if he sensed my movements, Jared turned and caught me, pulling me into the safety of his embrace. Warm, hot, cozy. I loved it, I never wanted to leave. And when I self-consciously attempted to disassemble, he grasped me tighter.
Hell, I deserved this and I would damn well enjoy it while the connection lasted. So I stayed there, in his arms, for a while, basking in his scent. I smelled a mixture of rain, trees, and fur, I think. But I loved that too, it reminded me of security and acceptance. Overall—he gets an outstanding for this magnificent hug.
His head was resting on mine and I heard him inhale and then felt as he started to shake. I must have some kind bad odor. Poor guy, he probably doesn't want to be rude but if I smell that terrible, I shouldn't force him to be near me any longer.
Jared was still locking me in his arms so I did some maneuvering and ducked under his left tree trunk, uh, I mean arm. "Sorry," I blushed. "But, well, um, thanks for opening the door and, you know, coming over. I really, really appreciate it."
I angled my eyes up and saw the huge ear-splitting mouth curl he wore. I couldn't help shooting back my own small smile.
He leaned towards me and I didn't move away for once. He knew my odor now and if he still wanted to be near me I wasn't going to throw sticks. "Anytime you need a hug, or someone to hold your hand," he whispered right in my ear, delicate as a lover's touch, "just call me and I'll be there. Seriously, Kim—anytime, day or night, consider me your 24/7 personal service. And don't be shy about it," he tweaked my nose.
"Hey!" I giggled, yanking my face away from his reach. I stood in the doorway, uncertain for a moment but an idea took root and blossomed, so I beckoned Jared with a wave. "Would you like to come in?"
He nodded so fiercely, I thought his head might fly off. "Sure, yeah. That'd be great!"
I was conscious of my father passed out on his chair and thankful for it too. He wouldn't likely be waking up anytime soon, so I could have Jared over with him none the wiser. I was sopping wet, and chilled, so I ditched my shoes near the door. Jared did the same, and wow—his feet are enormous, and I invited him to sit at the kitchen table, a room away from my unconscious father. "I'll be right back," I said, dashing to my room to hurriedly change and bring back a towel or two.
It didn't take me long and I was back in a New York minute. I checked the clock on the kitchen wall and grimaced. "Won't your friends be missing you?" I asked, referring to the gathering at First Beach.
"Nah," he chuckled dismissively. "They probably won't even notice I'm gone."
"I doubt that. I'd notice if you were gone," I pursed my lips, not really thinking about how that sounded until Jared gave me a measuring look. "I mean, since you would've invited me and people notice when the people they came with are missing and, uh-"
"Kim," Jared luckily intervened, with a grin, "I understand. I would notice if you weren't there, too. That's why I came here first. I didn't want to spend all night wondering if you were going to go. And I had a feeling you probably weren't planning on it."
I wrinkled my nose, taking a seat at the table across from him. And may I just note that he made our regular-sized kitchen table seem child-sized. Seriously, what happened? "Yeah," I admitted, "you're right. I wasn't going to go."
"Well, if you aren't going to go, then I'll stay here to keep you company," Jared announced.
I was flattered but worried. "No, I don't—"
"No one will care," he soothed. "Unless you don't want to hang out with me?" his lower lip shot out in an adorable pout. My body re-configured itself into putty.
"I would love to hang out," I assured him, smiling happily. What a turbulent day its been. "But there isn't much to do here. I don't want to wake Pa—my dad up by turning the TV on and I don't know where my deck of cards is and I'm sorry but it's super boring..."
"Nonsense," Jared sternly said, "just being in your presence is how I want to spend all my time."
Wow. That was laying it on a little thick. I rolled my eyes even as a smile tugged at my mouth. "I can't believe you just said that," I sniggered. And miracles, I was relaxing enough to joke with him.
And his response? He actually reddened a little. Although it was difficult to tell with his dark skin, it was there all the same.
"Yeah," he sighed, "that was cheesy, huh?"
"A bit, but I can do worse," I boasted, biting my lip to keep from laughing more. I adopted my most serious tone. "Are you a parking ticket?"
Jared was watching me with amusement and that other emotion I still couldn't identify. "What?"
I jostled my brain to deliver the punch line. Tilting my head down to stare at him with my best attempt at sultry eyes, I said: "Because you have fine written all over you." I messed it up by giggling at the end.
He let out a laugh too. "If I told you that you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?" he asked with a straight face.
Yes, oh, yes I sure would.
But I had another one. "I think there's something wrong with my eyes, because I can't take them off you," I retorted, getting into the spirit of the game. I'd played this game with Becky once. We'd researched all the worst pick-up lines and rated them from best to worst.
"Want me to check your vision? We have to be mouth to mouth for me to be accurate," he scooted his chair closer.
"Is that something on your lips? Oh, no, it's just me," I said, mouth dry.
He leaned closer.
