Clearly

I sat up, sweat dripping from my brow as my breathing continued to remain ragged. Immediately, my eyes swept towards my digital alarm clock that was neatly situated on my almost bare bedside table. It’s only four o’clock in the morning, I can always go back to sleep, but I don’t want to go back to sleep. For once in my life, I was actually grateful to be rudely ripped from my deep slumbers so abruptly.

In my personal opinion, nightmares are ten times worse than any physical pain you can endure. Cuts and bruises, scrapes and broken bones—they all heal eventually, leaving a tiny scar behind or disappearing completely. But your nightmares are the scary monsters lurking in the back of your conscious, pouncing on you when you are at your most vulnerable when you’re asleep. They take you prisoner and show you your worst fears come to life—someone close to you dying, the childhood monsters under your bed suddenly coming to life, losing the love of your life. I shouldn’t be talking, my worst nightmare was what I’ve experienced the past few months. I can never run away from it.

As my breathing slowly calmed down, it became clear that going back to sleep was not an option for me. I was too stubborn, too unwilling to re-enter my dream-state where the invisible monsters can prey on me once more. I’ve had enough for one night.

Almost gratefully, I looked to my nightstand, noticing my cell phone flashing with a soft red light, signaling that I had a missed message. I picked it up, fighting the urge to just bring it to my lips and kiss it gratefully. This stupid, little mechanical device saved me.

I paused, my heart-rate suddenly sobering up as I realized that absolutely no one would text me this early in the morning. No one really texts me at all. If I have a client, they call, and they call on my work phone, not my cell phone. It was probably one of those people who text random numbers. I remember just last month I received a random text asking me if I wanted to buy a birthday rock. Some companies have nothing better to do than stoop so low.

My curiosity peaked as I slowly opened my phone, all hesitancy quickly dissolving as my heart dropped into my stomach. I deleted his number out of my phone a while ago, not wanting to have the temptation to text him anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have his number memorized.

With shaking fingers, I pressed the ‘view message’ option, a hurricane of emotions quickly overtaking me. Happiness that he didn’t forget me, anger that he’d have the audacity to contact me after so long, but most of all, anxiety—did he miss me as much as I missed him?

As my eyes scanned over his message, I was suddenly struck with how differently he typed. He no longer typed out every word individually and more often than not, his words were misspelled with extra letters, typed with shaky fingers. I paused as that realization hit me, not knowing that to make of it, but the overall message in his text was clear.

Thank you for the gift. Come to my house, I want to see you and I miss you. You know the way.

And before I could even think about it, I was on my feet, pulling on a pair of loose sweatpants over my boxers as I flew out of my front door and threw myself into my car. I was making this familiar journey against my better judgment, but one part of that message really got to me, and it made everything inside me snap as love-struck mode took over.

I’m not alone, he misses me too.

*

As I stood in front of his bedroom door, I was finally aware of my stupidity. I got into my car, drove all the way here, and snuck into his home taking the exact same route as I did the night that I broke up with him, just to find myself unable to push open his bedroom door and step inside. A quiet, but audible growl, ripped its way past my lips. I’m trespassing on property that I’m not wanted on because I’m officially one of God’s stupidest creations.

I turned around, ready to retreat and forget this entire little episode, but strong arms grasped me as I began walking away, pulling me into a chiseled chest as a door slammed behind me. I was struck with the similarities between now and Pierce and I’s first ever encounter. He thought I was there to ruin him when, in the end, he ruined me. A bitter laugh escaped my lips at the irony, seconds before I felt his body heat disappear and my back getting slammed against the door. And then, before I could even make sense of the situation, I felt his lips on mine, hard and so unusual—these unknown lips asking as a gateway for an absolutely horrible stench.

I pushed my head to the side, mustering up all the strength I had in me to push Pierce’s godlike body away. He’s so much stronger than me and twice my size, it was such a hard feat.

“You’re drunk!” I said incredulously, pushing him away again as he tried to wrap me within his embrace. “You’re fucking gone!” I said, taking a look at his normally beautiful eyes that were now completely bloodshot.

“No, I’m not,” he slurred, backing away a tiny bit as his hand found its way up to his forehead for a second, giving me a good look at him. His shirt was untucked, the buttons not corresponding properly, sweat evident on his brow and what looked like some odd stain above the right knee of his jeans.

He wasn’t nervous when he sent me that text, not at all…

“What do you want, Pierce?” I asked almost desperately, wiping my lips at his stone-like kiss as I fought the urge to run home. I just want to get home, I already regret coming.

A light went off in his lifeless eyes as he practically ran to his bed, tripping over his discarded shoes in the process. He looked at me, desperation clear in his eyes as he threw himself into a standing position, his hands desperately searching under his pillow until he found that familiar scrapbook, clutching it to his chest as if it were a shield.

“I wanted to thank you,” he rushed out really quickly, walking up to me. I looked at it, wondering why the top right corner was bent and ripped off. Had he done it harm already?

“What happened to it?” I asked, almost outraged as I slowly bent to pick up his shoes and place them neatly outside of his closet door. I don’t want him tripping over them again.

“Hunter didn’t like it,” he said, his eyes widening as he watched me walk around the room, somehow managing not to sway, “but it’s okay because I really, really like it. Like, really, really, really like it. I love it,” he babbled on, clutching it to his chest as he continued to watch me walk back to him from his closet.

“I’m glad,” I said lamely. “I promised you.”

“I know, I know, I know,” he babbled on. “I remember. I remember the promise and I didn’t think you’d keep it, but you did and I love it.”

“You just said that,” I said around a shaky laugh, picking off fake lint from my pants as I slowly started walking towards his bed, getting him to follow behind me like a lost puppy.

“I don’t deserve it,” he grumbled. “I didn’t deserve you,” he continued on as his bottom lip started to quiver, a frown taking up his entire face. Never before have I seen such a hurt look on his beautiful features, shock maybe, but never hurt and vulnerability. “I want it all back,” he pleaded as the first tear fell.

I breathed in an out, counting to ten as I slowly patted the bed beside me, getting him to sit down next to me as I slowly begun to tuck him in. He needs to go to sleep and although he’ll wake up hungover, he’ll be completely rational again.

“What we had, Pierce, it’s all in the past. You have Hunter now and I’m moving soon…” I tried to explain. One of us had to keep a level head in this situation. “I missed you too,” I promised him as I pulled the blanket over his hulking form, the scrapbook still clutched to his chest. “You have no idea how much I missed you. That’s what happens with first love though,” I said lamely, not knowing how to sum up this entire situation and leave a first-time drunk with some closure. “You can never forget your first love.”

He looked up at me through tear-filled eyes, his cheeks covered in tracks that found way to rip my heart into several tiny pieces. I can’t handle seeing my rock break in front of me. “But you were m-mine too,” he stuttered.

I sighed, sitting next to the bed and placing my head on my elbows on his comforter, just like I had on the night that ended everything. Tonight is full of too much déjà vu for comfort. I never imagined Pierce being one of those overly emotional drunks, but it’s becoming evident that he is full of surprises.

“But we’re in the past,” I said again, sobering up at the thought. This entire twisted situation will leave us with some type of closure. “Hunter is your present,” I repeated.

He sat up quickly, his eyes darting to the far corner of his room as one of his hands finally released the scrapbook, just so that it could clutch my hand. It seemed as if he was completely unwilling to let go of both my hand and my present. I followed his line of sight, gasping quietly as I noticed his entire bookcase knocked over, picture frames thrown against walls, and various other mementos scattered in places they ddn’t belong or left slightly askew.

“What happened?” I asked in shock, attempting to stand up, but he pulled me back down as he laid back down, staring at me.

“I broke up with Hunter,” he said, his eyes widening once more as a new onslaught of tears began to pour down his angular cheekbones.

My heart skipped a beat.

“You what?”

“He’s so mean, Dalton,” he practically whimpered. “He kept trying to force me to do things and I didn’t want to go out in public. I didn’t want to do anything. He’s so mean,” he repeated. “So mean and forceful and not you, but Dad likes him, but he’s not you. You’re not mean.”

I sat back, trying to make sense of his drunken babble as I did my best to not allow his tears to get to me. “He forced himself on you?” I asked, sudden rage welling up within me. Pierce may be a hulking giant, but he was a teddy bear, a little boy that would do anything for the people he loved and in this situation, he was ruined, taken advantaged of, battered and bruised and left hanging. Anyone who could hurt such a beautiful creature doesn’t deserve to walk this Earth.

“What a fucking asshole,” I barked.

“Are you mad at me?” He finally asked, sniffling more as he brought my hand up to his face, nestling against it.

I thought about his question, taking my time to respond as he kept repeating the question, desperation seeping back into his tone. “No,” I finally muttered, realizing that despite all my heartache and pain, I could never be mad at Pierce for causing a situation that in the end, I had started. “I’m not mad at you, it’s not your fault.”

“It’s all my fault,” he pleaded with me, clutching my hand so tightly that I had to bite back a whimper as I moved my free hand to gently lessen his hold.

“It’s your father’s fault,” I breathed simply.

“Dad loves me,” he shot back in a brief burst of defiance, quickly subdued by his overwhelming sadness.

“I’m not talking about this with you right now, Pierce,” I finally muttered. “You’re drunk. This is so unlike you!” I breathed.

“H-Hunter wanted to,” he managed to get out around a hiccup.

“Well Hunter’s an asshole,” I grumbled angrily, silently plotting ways to do away with him.

“No, he’s not.”

I looked down at Pierce, making eye contact with him. “I honestly can’t talk to you right now. You’re drunk, you're not making sense, you need to go to sleep.”

“I’m not drunk!” He shot back quickly.

“Are you really have this argument with me?” I asked him dumbfounded, slowly standing up as I re-tucked him in again, tucking both his arms around the scrapbook that he seemed to hold so dear to his heart.

“I’m not drunk!” He insisted, watching me warily as his tears slowly lessened but continued to fall.

“Yes, you are, Pierce,” I grumbled, trying to distract him.

“Okay,” he admitted. “I’m a little drunk.”

“A little?” I asked as I slowly backed towards his door, knowing he’s too far gone to even remember this encounter. Coming here was a mistake.

“No! Don’t go!” He screamed, almost a bit too loud. I slammed his door shut again, worried someone heard as I scurried across the room, over to his bed, calming him down and tucking him in once more in a frenzied rush. What if he woke up his mother or Marcie, or worse, his father? I’d be screwed.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I grumbled as I resumed my earlier position against the side of his bed, holding his hand as his head lay on his pillow once more.

“You promise?”

I couldn’t find myself to speak such a simple oath because keeping one is what brought me here once more tonight. Instead, I barely nodded my head, knowing that once he fell asleep, I’d slowly disentangle myself and leave his home for the final time, never to return. This is one promise that I simple cannot keep.

“Good,” he said around a few hiccups, finally calming down enough to stop the tears from flowing.

“Yeah,” I said awkwardly, placing my head on his bed to pretend like I’m falling asleep so he’d do exactly that.

“Thank you for the scrapbook, Dalton,” he breathed, closing his eyes lazily like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland.

“You already said that, Pierce.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did,” I reminded him quietly around a yawn.

“Oh,” he said around a shaky laugh, finally calmed down.

Silence slowly surrounded us and I sat up, looking at his still form and deciding to lean over, giving him a soft kiss on his forehead before I quickly pulled back, rearing away from the acrid aroma of alcohol on his breath.

His eyes quickly flew open finding mine as they slid shut. “I love you,” he said lazily, so naturally, as if the past few months didn’t happen. But hey, drunk words are sober thoughts, right?”

“I love you too,” I heard myself responding, not knowing whether it was because I truly meant it or because I didn’t want to waste anymore time arguing with my overly emotional ex-lover. Both, always both, never one or the other.

He smiled up at me, and within minutes, he was taken under, completely gone. And once again, I found myself leaning forward, this time gently kissing his eyelids, the salty taste of fresh tears on my lips. His eyes remained shut as I slowly disentangled myself from him, staring at his still form as I made my way to his couch.

And in the darkness of his room, I began to lie to myself, feeding myself reasons to say, such as wanting to re-live the prior conversation, or concocting ways to murder Hunter and make it look like an accident. And though those were perfectly good reasons to stay, I know that the reason I have to stay was because my rock, my perfect boyfriend that was a strong, lovable, silent giant finally broke, and now it’s my turn to rescue him just as he has done to me so many times before.