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Taking Rory’s hand, I tug her to the swings and gesture for her to sit. She does, and I take up the one beside her. The park overlooks a canal, whose black water rushes past us, unknowing of the fear I hold inside my heart.
Above us, the stars sparkle and the moon glows bright. In the chaos of life, people sometimes forget to absorb the beauty in the world around them, to stop and take a breath and revel in the goodness in their lives.
This moment, this is my breath, and Rory is my fucking air.
I reach over and pull her hand free from the swing’s chain. She doesn’t hold mine back, but that’s okay. Maybe she will after I confess what’s on my mind.
I take a deep breath, lick my lips, and begin. “I hate myself, Rory.” I see her still next to me at my admission, but I keep going. “That’s the truth of it all. My whole life, I was never good enough. I was the third child to parents who didn’t want the first two kids they had. I was never as athletic as Maddox, never as smart as Rogan. All I wanted was for my mom and dad to notice me, ya know? So I was bad, because my parents only seemed to give a shit when I fucked up.”
Rory turns to look at me, her anger melting away, and she squeezes my hand, forcing my heart to beat again.
“My entire childhood was spent locked in a toy room. We had everything you could imagine, every toy, every video game. But that’s not what weneeded.” Memories run through my mind of that locked fucking door, of four-year-old me pressing my face against the cold floor, hoping to catch a glimpse of my mother.
“Sure, we had money and went to fancy schools. But money isn’t everything. Sometimes our wealth defines us and damns us in the process.” I sniff the tears away as raw emotions emerge, ones I’ve never really dealt with. I’m ripping open this wound…for her. Only her. I’m sharing things I have never even let myself admit out loud or remember, the very things I used to try and forget. “You know what’s so fucked up? My whole childhood went by, and not once did my parents ever cook us dinner.”
I risk a glance at Rory, worried about what she’ll think of me now. The pity is gone, and the anger is a distant memory. All I see is sincerity, the deep soul of a woman who’s suffered much differently than I have but struggled all the same. “I wanted to have a cookout where my dad grilled up burgers and hot dogs so badly. Or have a birthday party where my friends could come over. Or have a family dinner with my parents and my brothers. But most of our meals were TV dinners warmed up in a microwave. More often than not, Rogan made us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I can still barely look at one without feeling nauseous.”
She squeezes my hand, giving me the courage to continue.
“You know, Thanksgiving was the only day we had a home-cooked meal. Of course my parents didn’t make it. They hired in the best chefs, forced us into suits tailored just for us, and had pictures taken to show off what good fucking parents they were. But every bit of it was a fucking lie. As soon as the cameras left, my parents would once again forget about us.”
“I have no memories of Thanksgiving,” Rory murmurs, and I’m eager to hear more about her, latching on to every fucking spoken word. “Though I’m sure my parents would have celebrated it. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever had turkey before.”
I scratch my head in thought. “Actually, I don’t think I have either. I always went for the mashed potatoes before my parents could snatch them away and give them to all the strangers that showed up to party with them.”
“I’m so sorry, Alistair,” Rory whispers. She brings my hand to her lips and kisses my knuckles before covering it with her other hand.
“Don’t be sorry. We’re dealt certain cards in life, and we play them to the best of our abilities. My parents played hard. Drank hard. Did drugs hard. Every night, our apartment was filled with people I didn’t know. All I wanted was my bed, but we usually had to sleep on the couches in the toy room with sleeping bags. On the outside, it looked like we had it all, but on the inside, we actually had nothing.”
I drop her hand and stand, walking to the water’s edge where I begin to pace. I need to move as the words roll from my tongue like I’ve opened the floodgates. “When you’re a kid, you don’t want other kids to know how shitty your parents are, so you pretend you’re something you’re not. TheI don’t give a fuckattitude I have now started when I was young. As a child, I thought that if I didn’t care, then maybe, eventually, I actually wouldn’t.” The grass is soft under my shoes as I walk back and forth, and a cool breeze flits through my hair. “I used the only thing I had to get me farther in life.”
“Money,” Rory says intuitively.
I nod. “Money. My friends benefited, the girls I dated did too. I could buy friendship with my fancy cars and unlimited credit cards. Girls fawned over me, the good-looking rich boy who had it all and could buy them whatever they desired. They never wanted me for who I was. How could they when I woke up every day and lived a fucking lie?”
Rory moves next to me, stilling my steps as I look down into her sparkling emerald eyes. She’s different, so different, and she makes me want to be a better man, to be more than I became to survive. Without needing to be asked, without cause or reason, she reaches out and wraps her arms around my waist, just offering me comfort and expecting nothing in return. My reaction is slow, since I’m not used to this, as I hold her against me. It feels so fucking good. I don’t want to lose this, lose her. So if being vulnerable, if spilling my darkest fucking secrets is what convinces her to give me a chance, one chance to love her the way she deserves, then I’ll do it.
I hold her hands, and she gazes up at me as if she’s seeing me for the first time. Her eyes are wide, her lips parted, and all her focus is on me. “Then I met you, and everything I built began to crumble.”
“Me?” she questions in shock, as if she’s not good enough to be noticed.
“Yes. You, Rory. I’ve never met a woman like you before. You don’t look through me, you look at me. You don’t throw yourself at me to get what I can offer like every other fucking woman has. There’s such beauty in your heart, such passion, a thirst to do better and be better, to prove yourself. You’re a survivor, you never take anything for granted, and you enjoy every fucking second of this life… You take my fucking breath away.”
Rory scoffs. “I’m no one special.”
“That’s where you couldn’t be any more wrong.” I pull her in close and wrap my arms around her, loving how small she feels in my embrace. I inhale her scent, a delicate perfume, and bask in this moment. “You claim I’m an addict, Rory, but the only thing I’m addicted to is you.” Her breath hitches, and she shifts to look up at me, cocking her head as if she didn’t hear me correctly. “I’ve been clean for a week, and I’ve never been able to think as clearly as I can now. I couldn’t stand the way you looked at me that night. I hated who I had become. You gave me the strength to change, and yeah, it hurt like hell, but it’s worth it. I feel sober, clean… I feel alive. Everything is brighter and it hurts more, but it’s worth it.”
She gasps as I cup her face in my hands, and then she nuzzles into my palm. The sight sends my heart into overdrive, and every sensation with her is elevated now that I’m clean—her touch, her taste, her smell. Rory O’Brien is not only my new addiction, she’s also the one I want for the rest of my life.
“If I choose drugs, then I choose death. I know that now. But I want to live, Rory. I’m choosing life. I’m choosing you,” I whisper raggedly.
There, under the moon and stars, surrounded by the decaying playground from my childhood, I finally realize what it means to be seen. To be loved…
