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P.J. looked at Juliet with a mixture of surprise and chagrin. The surprise was that she had the balls to call him out on his bad behavior, and the chagrin was for the behavior itself. “Yeah, well, I ‘m sorry for that.”
“And for the wall.” She looked with meaning towards the hole.
“Especially for the wall.” P.J. said it and he meant it. “I’m not a violent man, Juliet. I’ve done violent things, but I am not a violent man. I shouldn’t have yelled at you; I shouldn’t have thrown that punch. And I want you to know I would never hurt you.”
“I know. I know that you would never purposefully hurt me.”
“What does that mean?”
“I mean that you not letting the past go, that will hurt me.” Then she paused and added. “That will hurtus.”
“Us?” P.J. arched his brow in question. “Is there gonna be an us, Juliet?”
Juliet didn’t answer right away, instead she stared out the window to where the last of the sunlight faded from the horizon. The end of the day had finally come. The bruised sky had turned a deep violet and streaks of pale pink painted the horizon. The dying embers of the fire cast Juliet’s skin in a honeyed glow. P.J. could see the delicate rise and fall of Juliet’s chest as she breathed. When she looked at him, her expression was unreadable, and P.J. felt something catch in his throat as he wondered what her answer would be.
“I think there already is.” A shy smile finally appeared. “I think there already is an us.”
“You can trust me, Juliet.” P.J. kept his voice even and steady. But inside he was fist pumping the air.
He held his breath as she moved towards him. Then, Juliet took P.J.’s hand and led him to the bedroom. But before they crossed the threshold, he stopped her.
His expression serious, his voice a low growl when he said, “Last night, that just sort of happened. But this? Now? There is no going back from what happens next. This makes you mine.”
After a marathon love-making session, they lay spent and tumbled side by side like the survivors of a shipwreck. When P.J. gathered his strength to move, he pulled Juliet back into his arms. She nuzzled against his chest.
Then she stiffened in shock beside him. “Oh my god. I left the stew in the crockpot. It’s gonna burn down the house!”
“It has an off timer on it” P.J. answered drowsily.
“But I should clean up! And my car! Layla said she thought you had it towed to the junk yard! You wouldn’t …”
“Go to sleep, Juliet.” He whispered and kissed the top of her head. “We can start arguing again in the morning. But for now, just feel how strong my arms are around you. Feel how safe you are with me and rest.”
At his words, Juliet could do nothing more than give in. And for the first time in a very, very long time she slept deeply. She dreamed of being hidden in a lion’s lair, tucked safely by his side while he shook his mighty mane and roared his mighty roar at anyone or anything that dared get too close to her.
Hours later, P.J. stoked the embers of the fire, lit a joint, and sat back on the couch. Deep in thought, he added log after log to the hearth until he felt the heat rise in the room to an oppressive intensity. Suddenly it all became too much for him. The blood red flames, the loud crackling sound of dying wood, the suffocating heat, the spinning wheels of his own thoughts. P.J. stepped outside into the cold, wet night. The clouds that had covered the sky for days had finally begun to clear. A handful of stars twinkled triumphantly in the sky; their lights were brilliant and clear now that the clouds that had covered them had disappeared.
What a goddamn day, really you couldn’t make this shit up. He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around how Juliet had managed to get herself stuck like that. When he was fooling around with her car today, P.J. had been able to rescue a few things from the wreckage. Juliet’s purse must have gone flying when she stepped into the mud because her things were scattered everywhere. P.J. had found a pair of sunglasses, a tube of lip gloss, a small hairbrush, keys, and a candy bar. He had also been able to retrieve Juliet’s wallet, although it was more of a small, quilted, cotton case than anything else. P.J.’s mother had one just like it and he thought they were ridiculous. In P.J.’s opinion, a wallet should be made out of something sturdy, like cowhide. As if to illustrate his point, the cotton material had soaked up all that heavy rainfall like a sponge. When P.J. retrieved the flowery cotton case from the ground, it was heavy in his hands.
P.J. had given Juliet back her purse, and the other items he had found. But when she asked about her wallet, he told her he hadn’t found it. Anyone would be worried about losing something that was so important, and Juliet was no exception. P.J. knew that lying to her had been a dick move. To make matters worse, he had also told Juliet that he would go back and look first thing in the morning. When she sweetly smiled her gratitude, P.J. had felt like the worst kind of bastard and her guileless appreciation had given him a serious kick to the nuts. But still, P.J. had held on to that lie.
Now, he was back in from the cold and the wallet lay in front of him on the coffee table, like a serpent ready to strike.
Because he had the strong feeling that what he was about to do could change everything, P.J. gave his next action some careful consideration. He reflected on the last few months that he had spent with Juliet. He frowned when he thought about how that haunted look still flashed in Juliet’s eyes sometimes, and at how those sad scars stained her wrists. But then, P.J. grinned thinking about Juliet’s little pointed ears, and the tiny wisps of hair on her head that had refused to grow back. P.J. marveled at how brave Juliet had been out in the storm, and how she had put her life in his hands.
His expression softened when he remembered how right she felt in his arms.
P.J.’s eyes grew hard when he thought about the lies that Juliet had told him, and the truths that she still refused to reveal.
He knew that he was starting to fall hard for her. So, P.J. asked himself the tough questions; he asked if those lies, those secrets that Juliet held on to so tightly, really mattered. After all, everyone had secrets, didn’t they?
P.J. pondered long and hard.
He thought about what truth, honesty and trust meant to him, would always mean to him. P.J. knew without those things a relationship with Juliet would not be possible, that it would never stand a chance. So P.J. poured himself another shot, rolled himself another joint, and smoked his last cigarette.
Then he reached for the wallet.
It was early December and a frigid wind had made the large snowflakes freeze. Juliet could feel the pinpricks of ice as they slapped against her cheeks. She was wearing a red down parka, and matching slouch hat and mittens. Juliet’s legs were clad in thick black leggings while warm furry boots covered her feet. Her head was bent as she made her way to the bistro where Layla was waiting.
