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Things have been going pretty well for the both of us. We’ve
both been seeing a therapist and I haven’t thrown up since before
the incident at the hospital over three months ago. I’m happy. And
the feeling is wonderful and amazing and scary.
It’s not always easy. Sometimes I have nightmares, especially
when the therapist makes me dig really deep into my hidden
thoughts. There was also one instant when I flipped out when
Kayden decided to try something new on me while we were having
sex and it momentarily threw my thoughts back to that horrible
day. He was great about it though and he held me while I cried it
off.
I’ve also been talking to my mom more, which hasn’t been
too bad. My dad and Jackson even call me. Caleb’s still missing
and I have a feeling he may be missing forever. I’m still not sure
how I feel about that. There’s a lot of confliction. Part of me wants him to suffer in prison, but part of me is glad he’s not in my life
anymore.
After Kayden tells me about his brother, we talk a little bit
about what he’s going to do, and then he starts to undress me.
After he runs his tongue over almost every spot of my body while I
cling onto him, he slips inside me and rocks his hips against mine.
“I love you,” I keep whispering through my moans as I knot
my fingers in his soft hair.
He nibbles at my neck and massages my breast with his hand
as he thrusts inside of me. “I know.”
It’s all he ever says. Or sometimes he doesn’t say anything.
It’s a one-sided conversation for now, but I keep saying it because
he needs to hear it—needs to know that he is loved. I hear it from
my parents, my grandparents, Seth, and sometimes even Jackson.
I’m lucky and I want him to feel lucky too.
Our hips writhe harmoniously together until we’re falling
over the edge. We both moan and I let out a whimper, which
always gets him excited. After we’re done, he lays inside of me,
with his arms resting to the side of my head. Our sweaty bodies
are pressed together and our hearts race with lingering adrenaline.
Eventually he lowers his head to my chest and rests his cheek
against my breast while I trace the back of his neck with my finger.
“What were you writing about?” he asks, staring at my journal
shoved to the side of the bed.
“Nothing,” I say. “Well, nothing fantastic. I was actually
writing a paper for the creative writing club. It’s supposed to be
nonfiction and I’m not very good at it.”
He pushes up off me and pulls himself out of me. Flopping
to his side, he extends his fingers for the notebook. I quickly sit up and snatch it from his hand, hugging it against my bare chest. “No
way. It’s private.”
He sits up, his skin glistening with sweat. His bare chest is
covered with jagged scars, small and big, dark and light.
Sometimes I stare at them while he’s sleeping, wondering where
each one came from. It’s kind of like a horrible painting of his
memories that will always exist, no matter what happens.
He crosses his arms over his chest, his muscles flexing, and
he frowns. “Oh come on, Callie. Just let me read one page. I’m
curious to see what you write about all the time.”
“It’s private. Some of the stuff… you might think I’m crazy.”
“I already think you’re crazy,” he jokes, lowering his arms
onto his lap. He slides across the bed toward me until he’s right in
front of me, and his face softens. “Please, just one page.” He’s
using his sexy voice on me, the one I have a hard time saying no
to.
Sighing, I fan through the pages until I come across the
nonfiction story I’ve been fighting to get out of my head and into
coherent sentences. “This is the story I’ve been working on. I’m not
very far into it and I’m not even sure if it makes sense yet.”
He takes the journal from my unsteady hands. It’s the first
time I’ve let anyone read anything I’ve written and it feels like I’m letting him have full insight into my head. Holding it in his hands,
he clears his throat and begins to read aloud.
“Where the Leaves Go.” He glances up at me and smiles.
“Nice title.”
I shake my head and lie down on my back, staring at the
cracks in the ceiling and trying to still the tempestuous beat of my
heart. “Please just hurry. You’re making me nervous.”
He chuckles underneath his breath and then starts to read. “I
remember when I was a child being fascinated by the leaves. They
were always changing: green pink, orange, yellow, brown. And
then eventually, when the air changed and chilled, they turned into
nothing. They’d fall from the branches of the trees and either
crumble and become a part of the ground or blow away in the
wind. They never really had any power over their movements.
They’d just go with the weather and wherever the wind would take
them, helpless, weak, incapable of control.
I remember when I was young, about thirteen. It was a rainy
spring day and the raindrops were splattering fiercely against the
earth and the wind was howling. I was sitting at my window,
watching the street flood and the leaves get carried away with the
rage of the water. They were all a flourishing green, in the prime of their life, just blooming, yet the rain and wind was destroying
them.
But there were these two leaves stuck to my bedroom
window that wouldn’t budge. They remained in place through the
windstorm and the temper of the rain, even when the water was
falling so heavily I couldn’t see through the glass.
I kept staring at the leaves, unable to take my eyes off them,
fascinated by their determination, even when the sky darkened
and the window howled so violently it shook the glass of the
window. I kept thinking about how strong they were and how they
were only leaves. Pieces of a tree, a plant, these little things that couldn’t think, make choices, do anything of their free will, yet they wouldn’t give in to the wind and rain and leave that damn window.
In a strange way, I envied them, the determination, passion, sheer
will not to give in and let something else take them to the end of
their life.
At the end of the storm, I fell asleep in my bed. When I woke
up, the sun was out and the land was drying. The leaves that
stayed attached to the tree branches were green and dewy. To my
surprise the leaves were gone from the window and it made me
kind of sad and I felt hopeless. The idea that they could survive
against the storm was bringing me a sense of comfort.
However, when I look back at it now, I wonder where they
went. Maybe they didn’t give up and let the wind and rain take
them away. Maybe they somehow found their way back to the
trees. Maybe they reco