A Tub of Cold Water

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Sawyer whispered against my temple, his own sleep deprived voice slurring in stupor. His eyes were closed and he’d wrapped me up in his lap once more, his arms wound around my back and his head resting against mine.

“I can’t sleep right now. I just—can’t.” My legs were curled around his lower back, settling against my plain dark tan rug, my fingers curling and twirling his hair between my fingers. I guessed as much that my suddenly brazen fingers were the cause of stirring him awake.

His hands that limply held me against him embraced me in a snakelike grip, one arm foiling around my waist, the other around my neck, forcing my face deeper into his clavicle. “No,” he whispered in alarm, “Taking care of you, Aubrey, okay? Right here,” he tightened his arms securely, almost threateningly, “Is where you’re safest. Now, sleep.”

Sleep, he commanded. Like I was a dog, like I could be switched on. I tried to close my eyes, tried to sleep through the rest of the night, only to wake up tomorrow morning and start the painstaking day over again. And still, I couldn’t. I wanted to be his little robot, moving and bending to his will in this moment, but my mind livened and buzzed with all thoughts of irrationality.

“Stop,” Sawyer groaned as he tugged me to my feet and collapsed down on the worn-in couch, putting me to the back cushion and curling over me with his body as a blanket and the blanket over him.

Pressing his hand to the middle of my back, he held me snug against him, the perfect sized blanket to ensure warmth from my nose to my toes. Reaching up between his arms, I grabbed his face between soft fingertips.

“Starlight?” he grumbled, his eyes hooded from me as I tripped my unsteady lips against his chin. “I thought we were taking things slow.”

I shook my head, my breath hitching as I whispered, “We are, but I wanted to thank you.”

Taking my lips with his, he moved into an easily memorable shift, but it only lasted long enough for ten slow heartbeats before he pulled back. Jagged breathing mixed with mine as he whispered, “There’re many ways to thank me.”

“Like?” I whispered, my cheeks warming like an exuberant schoolgirl’s.

“Like sleeping, little Starlight. Like recharging your body from its battered state to repair. Just listen to me, close your eyes, welcome the haze, and I promise right now, you’ll wake up just as you are.”

Making a pillow out of the armrest, I tightened my arms around him so my nose was buried in his shirt and his spicy mint musk overruled any lingering smells of residue on clothing, fresh linen, or crisp end-of-the-summer scents.

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When dreams didn’t greet me and thoughts swirled around my head, I heard the sounds of a car backing out of the driveway. It was safe to eat, to ascend the stairs, to feel alive again. In this discombobulated moment, I twisted around, momentarily forgetting that I was on the couch, when a groan protested to my movements.

Sawyer had kept good to his word. He hadn’t left me in the middle of the night, and this time I knew it was him. Opening my eyes to the pallid skin of his neck, I physically relaxed into him and the couch, a perfect bed and blanket to make me feel safe.

Safe. I tested the word inwardly, taking it apart and spelling it dramatically in my mind. This was something I hadn’t felt, thought of, or even said in what seemed like decades. Could I conclude that this was what Sawyer made me? Or, was it the giddy release of my feelings forcing euphoria between my senses? I closed my eyes and brushed my lips against the blue vein of his neck.

I detangled myself from his arms and shimmied out from beneath him, all with the skill of not waking him up. I stared at him for a moment with my arms crossed over my chest, gazing from his messy hair to his shirt that hitched up towards his ribs. I saw marks and scars and burns aligning his flesh. Some looked old, some looked fresh, and some looked permanent. He looked as much the damaged angel as he always looked, but somehow, he’d become more tangible than reaching my fingers out and touching him.

Sorting through my laundry, I grabbed fresh clothes and slowly slipped upstairs. I went into my father’s bedroom and into his shower. He had something of a fancy Hilton Hotels shower with the showerhead that lets the water fall over you like rain, massaging your body and revitalizing you back to a (for me) somewhat healthy state. This was a ritual for me, after he beat me. It was one of the only things to make the bruises dwindle.

As I grabbed onto the back of my neck, I let the searing water unknot my twisted limbs and run over the cracked rib, desperately trying to mend it back into place. With my eyes closed, the lights dimmed, and the house silent, I found the image of Sawyer behind my lids. The way his pale skin contrasted against his black hair, complimented his jade eyes, and morbidly reminded me of a corpse with all of his hidden marks. He was more marked up than I was, and I didn’t think that was humanly possible.

I could picture it all now, on his right hipbone was a scar that resembled a knife digging deep into the skin and carving towards his navel. Up higher, it looked like someone had roasted a fire poker and pressed it into his rib and dragged it toward his heart. In between all of that were many little nicks and small little circle burns marks, like cigarettes or lighter burns. My stomach began to twist and lurch and barrel roll as I formed images of what and who could have caused this to such an innocent boy.

I couldn’t wrap my mind around it—around how someone could do this to another human being. Then, I stopped and thought about my own life problems, and how my father could and did do all of those horrible things. I had to remind myself that the world was an imperfect place, a grey area between heaven and hell, where angels and demons lurked inside everyone. Where angels were tormented by demons, battered and bruised and left for dead.

The water started to run cold, just as my thoughts did, and the bruises started to liven against the chilling water. Gasping just under my breath, I switched the knob all the way around in a semicircle before the water clogged up and stopped its ascent.

I pulled a graphic T-shirt over my head and shoved myself into my jeans, shivering from both my thoughts and my chilled skin. Patting my hair dry, I heard creaks moving rapidly up the steps. The door pushed away from its jam, but didn’t go any further than that. I was locked and frozen where I stood, my hands with a towel pausing with my dripping hair. Whoever was on the other side of the door, I could hear them breathing quietly.

“Aubrey?” Sawyer’s quivering voice pressed through the small crack in the door, his hand resting on the doorknob. “Please say you’re in there.”

I nodded, nodded like he could see me, nodded like it was the answer to his sudden hysteria. Clearing my throat, my voice echoed, “Yeah, I’m in here. It’s okay.”

I pulled my socks on quickly and scurried over to the door, pulling it open where Sawyer pulled me into his arms quickly. Hesitantly, my arms went around his waist, and I could feel him tensing up, but I couldn’t pull my arms away from him. Safe. I tasted and tested and tore it apart before reassembling it.

Sawyer ran his fingers slowly and softly through my hair, trying his best not to get his fingers knotted up. Slowly he swayed me as he fought to keep his breath even as my arms crushed my body against him. I could feel his breath spilling against my cold scalp, his exhales making me shiver both from chills and warmth at the same time.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered against my scalp, his hands at my back rubbed friction through my shirt and he shook his head, “I woke up and you were gone, and I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

But, I did know what he thought. He thought the same thing that I did when I thought he was someone else knocking on the door. He thought my father had come home and found me.

And maybe he would find me, he would come home and see me one day doing something I shouldn’t have, but I knew that Sawyer would be there to take care of me. I knew I could run into the protection of his arms.

Finally, I thought, this is what safe really feels like.