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Well, fuck that. I continued, unheeding the warning in his voice, “Your family left, you pushed ‘em away. And you’re coming off like you know what’s right? Fuck that. I took my sister to rehab. You know what that’s like? Or how about the times when—”
Tray left, slamming the door behind him.
“Oh, hell no.” I stormed after him, out into the hallway. He wasn’t far, some people had stopped him, but I was past caring. “You don’t walk away—”
Tray turned and glared, a death glare, but I pressed on, “You don’t walk out when the conversation touches on your issues, you can’t do that. Not when you’re judging my fucking issues—” He’d grabbed my arms and passed by.
“I left before you said something you’ll regret,” Tray bit out, dragging me back to the room.
When the door shut again, I wrenched my arms away. “Right, because you never say anything that you regret. In fact, you don’t say a whole lot, do you? You just hang out up there, on your fucking throne—”
“What do you want?” Tray snapped, shouting. “What do you want me to say? Yeah, I’ve fucking buried a lot. Do you blame me? I’m not in the same place you are. Boohoo—you fucking took your sister to rehab. So what? She’s coming back! She’s not out of your life forever, Taryn! You don’t have someone holding her life over your head…you don’t know anything about my shit!”
I knew tears were rolling down my face, but I just didn’t care. I was beyond caring.
I raged back, “Are you kidding me! Are you? You know who your parents are. You know what they looked like, what they liked to eat, what they hated. You know everything about them! You even know they screwed up!! So you get off your pity act. My parents didn’t want me! They didn’t care! Each fucking family I was placed with didn’t care. When I was six, I thought that I’d try and be perfect and do anything my new family asked of me, because if I did, surely they would want to keep me. What I got was a sick pervert who’d visit my room at night abusing me in ways I’ll never get out of my head and his wife who blamed me when she caught him. I was immediately kicked out to the next family. The second I didn’t act perfect, I was booted out.”
I stopped shouting. Everything just stopped. I stood there, paralyzed as everything I’ve ever buried surfaced to the forefront of my mind. Things that I buried so far down so I would never have to feel the worst moments of my life. It was like a dam had been broken and I was gasping for air.
Oh God, oh God.
I hadn’t realized…I hadn’t known…that burying all the memories that I did would explode inside me. It was like my insides wanted out. I let out a gut wrenching sob that came from deep inside me and fell to the ground.
“Oh God—” I choked out, clawing at my clothes, my nails, digging deep into my skin, were drawing blood. I needed to get these memories out of me.
“Taryn,” Tray murmured, catching me. “Taryn—” he whispered, holding me tight.
“Tray,” I gasped, curling into him, burrowing into him as close to him as I could.
He sat down and held me in his lap, cradling me as I wept.
In that hotel room, with Tray, I grieved for my six year old self. I sobbed remembering all the families that didn’t think I was perfect enough for them. I cried for every injustice that had ever been inflicted upon me.
Seventeen years of memories and emotions that I thought were long forgotten and buried poured out of me.
*
Tray held me the entire night. We missed the game, we missed the parties, the celebration. Tray changed my clothes, kissing my forehead as he slipped the shirt over my head, my shoulder when he worked one arm out, my midriff when he lifted it in the first place. He kissed my thighs when he unzipped my pants and pulled them down. As they passed my knees, he kissed those too. My feet, my toes. He kissed my hands, each finger, when he pulled on my pajama top, my neck as it fitted around it, my stomach as he covered it with fabric. He kissed my toes, pulling my pajama bottoms on, my shins, my knees, my thighs, hips, and lastly just below my waist.
When I was dressed, he quickly changed himself. Turning the light off, he crawled into bed and slipped underneath the covers with me. He wrapped his arms around me, protecting me. Enfolding me.
I broke again.
He kissed my shoulder and whispered, “I’ve fallen for you.”
I sobbed, curling in a fetal position, with Tray pressed behind me.
He whispered again, “I’ve fallen for the bitch that walked down the hallway and told me to screw myself. I’ve fallen for the girl who cares so goddamn much about her sister, about her psycho ex, his brother, about anyone who she considers family that she’d do anything for them, including going to jail. I’ve fallen for the girl who swears at me when she’s happy, and who’ll fight to the fucking bitter end if it means she’ll come out standing.”
I never stopped sobbing, feeling his words, feeling it battle the emotions that I was feeling inside.
Tray continued, pressing a kiss to the side of my jaw, “I’ve fallen for the girl who can tell me to fuck off. Who can have a staring contest with Amber, Jasmine, and whoever else and walk away after they’ve been reduced to piles. I’ve fallen for the girl who can bring me to my knees, over and over again, and then press a hand to my cheek and lift me back up.”
I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t do anything but grieve for my past.
My shoulders were shaking, the sobs were going in and out. I rolled over to look at him and met his eyes through my tear drenched ones. Then finally, for what felt like forever, I let it all go.
Tray cupped my cheek with his hand and he whispered tenderly, “I’ve fallen for a girl who makes me humble.”
