Chapter 4
1075 Words
He circles the room with concern in his face.
“I’ve got to be more careful,” I say. The words are meant to soothe him, but they taste like a lie on my tongue. I force a weak smile.
Owen’s gaze doesn’t waver. He sees right through me.
“If you need it,” he says, “I’ll stay the night to make sure everything’s fine.”
I’d love to say yes. But the image of the upturned mug and the open door, flashes before me. I can’t put him in harm’s way.
“Oh, please,” I manage, waving a dismissive hand I hope looks casual. “Don’t let me hold you up. Really.”
He studies me for a long moment, conflict in his eyes. Finally, he relents with a slow nod. “Okay. But you call me. If you need me..”
“I don’t have a phone.”
“Really?” He’s shocked.
“I didn’t need to use one. I make all the calls on the phone from the Bookstore.”
In the strangeness of it all, I manage to let him go to his place. It’s going to take some bravery but I can do it. I'm not ready to run again. Before he goes he says,
“I still find it strange you don’t have a phone, but I’ll come to see you tomorrow at the Bookstore to make sure you’re alright.”
“Okay, thank you Owen.
I lock the door behind him—the bolt, the chain. The ritual feels hopeless now. I move to the window, hiding in the deep shadow of the curtain.
He is a silhouette under the streetlamp, pausing on the sidewalk. He glances back at my building, just once, perhaps to make sure I’m gone. Then he pulls out his phone.
It isn’t a glance at the screen. He brings it directly to his ear. His posture changes—the concerned slouch is gone, replaced by a straight-backed, attentive stance. He turns his back fully to my apartment, his free hand gesturing in a short, sharp clip as he speaks.
The world outside the glass seems slow. The sound of a passing car grows distant.
A cold clarity washes over me, freezing the last of my doubt.
Whatever happened to me could have come from anywhere.
I wake up the next day and I stay alert at all times. I’ve gained some clarity, and I’m making sure I don’t make another mistake.
The whole night, I'd been thinking about one thing; the yellow bookmark.
I quickly wash up and head to the store after putting everything in my bag. I pick up the novel and stare at the bookmark. It’s a relic of the past I can’t deny or tear away from me.
I go to work and Owen is already waiting for me.
He helps me open the door and actually stays with me for the rest of the day. He does that the next day, and the next… and the next….
The days start blending together like balls of yarn by the time I realize I’ve fallen for Owen. It is something that I’ve been yearning for, and he knows how to give me exactly what I want.
His presence grounds me. It’s soothing and an anchor that’s laid deep down in my body. I used to worry in solitude, but now I can put my hope in something else. I often catch myself smiling when I think of him. I’ll be yearning for his presence when he’s not here.
He likes to spoil me, and he’s full of surprises.
One day he brought me a wooden house to show me what he does. I was overjoyed.
“You’re good with your hands,” I say, looking at the art he created from a piece of oak.
He looks up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s honest work. You start with raw wood, you follow a plan, and you create something that will last. There’s a comfort in that.”
“A plan,” I echo, the words tasting strange. “My life has no plan. Only rules.”
“Yeah. That’s how I got here… “
For a moment, he wants to open up to me…
This rarely happens. Must be all the talk about wood?
He wants to speak but something stops him, and he shifts his body to change the subject.
I ask him again, perhaps all he needs is a tiny push.
He’s uncomfortable, but what I’m feeling for him demands answers…
I need to know more about him if I’m going to love again. I know it’s selfish since I can’t tell him everything.
“You can tell me anything…” I say, “I’m known to be trustworthy.”
He sighs, a well-practiced sound of regret.
“The last person I trusted… it didn’t end so well.” He says, “I guess I chose the wrong partner.”
He looks away and doesn’t go any deeper…That’s all he’s willing to say. I can feel his body numbing as he sees the sincerity in my eyes. He knows I'm craving for more of him. He doesn’t give it to me… Instead, he leaves….
He comes back one rainy evening to walk me home.
“I’m glad to see you Owen…” I am genuinely happy to see him after two days of radio silence.
The rain turns the street into a black mirror and I catch the reflection of a face I barely recognize.
Under the glow of one tired streetlamp, he stops and turns to me.
“Clara,” he says softly.
His hand lifts and cups my jaw; his thumb strokes my cheek like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me. His touch is firm but impossibly gentle.
The kiss is slow and deep, and for maybe the first time in three years, the hum that lives in me quiets — like someone finally turned down the white noise crackling in my heart.
I feel like I’m whole and melting all at the same time. It’s so sweet, and it feels like coming home… only a little more complicated.
That’s when I realize that I’m the one with so much to hide. I’m hiding so many secrets that I am never going to be able to tell him. There’s something bitter about the sweetness of the kiss.
- Writer
