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He hated that part of him. The softer, kinder part.
And the fact that he shared it with me made me feel special. Special to have Troy, the guy you watched chick flicks with, and not Troy, the kill-a-priest and fuck-your-brains-out guy. That old, tired version he gave to everyone else. With me, he was still rough around the edges, but he wasn’t all bad either.
“You’re impossible to deal with,” I said, pouting, but hell, I was enjoying this ping-pong.
“And you love it.” He planted another kiss, this time on my forehead, as he scooped me into his arms. “I’m myself. I make no apologies for who I am, and you like it, because you’re so much like me. You’re the girl who teased the son of a dead mobster, The Fixer, on your wedding day. You own your shit, consequences be damned. Have you ever wondered why your parents called you Sparrow?”
“Uhm, let’s see. Maybe because my dad was a drunk and my mom was a hippie, and together, they came up with really stupid name ideas?” I tried disguising my embarrassment with laughter.
Inside, though, my stomach twisted in tight knots. Everyone around me called me Birdie, with Troy calling me Red. No one called me Sparrow for a reason. It was an awkward name and I hated it. I tossed my hair back, faking boredom. “Anyway, I wonder about the bigger stuff, like why the hell my mom left me, not why she saddled me with a name that’s basically an invitation for bullying.”
“You hate your name,” he said.
I twisted out of his embrace, feeling my face heating. Peeling off layers was hard. Not only for Troy, but for me, too.
“Aren’t you clever.” I took a long sip of my drink.
He scooped me into a bear hug again, locking me in his arms. His lips grinned against my skin.
Did he find me adorable?
“You shouldn’t hate it, it’s perfect for you. It symbolizes freedom and independence. You’re both.”
“I’m not free,” I reminded him.
He rolled on top of me, straddling me with his muscular thighs. I lay beneath him, admiring his strong body and knowing, deep down, that I’d gotten comfortable in my cage.
“No, not from me,” he agreed. “But trust me, lovebird. Even if I let you out of this cage, you’d be flying back in no time.”
It was true, but that was exactly what worried me.
We spent more time making out on the carpet like two teenagers, before he got to his feet and disappeared into his office. He came back with a small box. Simple, light green. The kind you can get at the dollar store. He kneeled down to where I sat on the carpet and placed it in my hand.
“I’ve been studying you for a while now,” he said. “Every day is a class day, each conversation is homework, and I think I know by now what I would have picked if we had known each other before we got married.”
My heart fluttered in my chest, my pulse picking up speed. It was a moment of true, raw happiness, and it scared me beyond repair. I knew a long time, maybe even forever, would pass before I’d have this kind of moment again.
I opened the box, a part of me still scared I’d find something offensive. Last time he gave me a gift, on our wedding day, I almost threw up yesterday’s lunch on his lap. In the box sat a ring. It was very different from my engagement ring—monstrous, attention-seeking bling. No. This was a simple red ruby. It looked like a drop of fresh blood. Basic, beautiful, special and original. More than anything, it was very, very red.
It dawned on me that the ring was exactly how he saw me. This was Troy’s version of trying, and he was doing it for me. This was him being thoughtful. I looked up, a mischievous grin on my face.
“My original engagement ring has a diamond the size of the moon. Some would call this a downgrade.”
“Trust me, it’s an upgrade.” He took the ring and slid it on my finger, brushing his thumb over it. “Besides, the diamond in your first one ain’t real.”
My grin collapsed into a startled oh.
He laughed. “I’m kidding, kiddo.”
When the evening rolled into night, we took things to bed, and I writhed beneath him, screamed his name, just like he told me I would on our wedding night. Arcade Fire’s “Rebellion” played from the stereo, and the irony wasn’t lost on me.
I was in love with a murderer who didn’t love me back, who never explained why he took me for his wife. It wasn’t fine, wasn’t okay, but it was the ugly, embarrassing, uncomfortable truth.
Considering how fucked up my truth was, I began to understand why Troy gave me something far more convenient and beautiful.
