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One corner of his mouth curves up, and he laughs quietly behind the small smile. “Don’t worry, Liv, I know how to say no. I just don’t ever feel like saying it to you.”
I’m not sure if I smile a little, too, because that warms me or because it sounds goofy—why would he never want to deny me anything? I’m not the easiest person to know.
But I don’t question him. I just say, “Oh.”
And I wonder how it is that he’s gotten even half a smile out of me after all the pain I’ve been reliving.
|| 14 || Landon
When I told Liv I could stay, I didn’t mean I could stay the night. Not that Icouldn’t, because of course I could—my mind just didn’t go there. I knew she meant she wanted me to stay with her for a couple hours, and that was perfectly fine with me.
But it looks like Ihavestayed the night, or at least much longer than I thought I would. I’ve just awoken in her dim living room. Like the last time I fell asleep on this couch with her, the movie we were watching has gone quiet and gray and she’s still sleeping, breathing gently and evenly. Quite unlike that time, I’m stretched out on my back with her pressed along my side, tucked under my arm, her hands curled up between us.
This is perfectly fine with me, too.
More than, really.
Even though last night was one of the hardest nights of my life.
I love that she trusts me as much as she does—she doesn’t relax around just anybody, doesn’t easily let on how vulnerable she is. But, God, those things she told me were horrific.
They made me feel sick.
They had me seeing red.
Earlier this week, I was thinking about the nightmare I walked in on her having, and I got the feeling that some research on handling news of molestation would be helpful to me. It’s not something I’ve ever had to process before. So I went online, did some reading, found that most of it was stuff I already knew I should or shouldn’t do—I honestly can’t understand how anyone would turn the blame on the victim, much less treat them with disgust. But I did learn two things: 1) I should let her decide on the pace and the details andshould notask questions, and 2) I should not attempt to hunt down the sorry sons of bitches. The memories are hers to describe however she’s comfortable with, and even though letting my anger get the best of me might show her how much I care about her, it also might scare her to see me so outside myself.
(Looking back, she didn’t seem opposed to the idea of me finding and flipping my ass-beating switch, but still. Not sure the police would be tolerant of me avenging her for things that happened over a decade ago. At least one of the motherfuckers is dead already and very unable to continue harming people.)
So, yeah, I did a good job with my outward reaction, aside from those tears. Out of her sight, though, my emotions were a real mess.
I guess there’s no way to be ready to hear about atrocities like that, but I had tried to imagine how it might go, tried to prepare for the horror and nausea and fury. And as difficult asthatwas, it didn’t come close to what it was like to hear Liv-Andria’s voice say the ugly words and see anguish and shame and betrayal crumpling her pretty face. There was no preparing for seeing her suffering as a living thing that was desperate to get out of her through heart-rending sobs and shaking hands and rapid breaths and broken sentences.
And I know it was even harder for her to think about than it was for me.
But she made it through.
When I got here, she was a sharp scream trapped in a fragile body. Now she’s resting, and even I can feel how much quieter she is on the inside.
She’s not silent, not weightless, not full of light, but she’s better than she was.
And I’m better than I was, too, because for as much as her divulgences hurt me, I’m now closer to her heart than I think anyone has ever, ever been.
With each day that passes, I realize more and more just how badly Iwantto be close to her heart, how badly I want to tell her she’s carving her name all over mine.
Someday, I’ll do it.
Someday, she won’t turn scarlet when she kisses my cheek, won’t feel like she shouldn’t hold my hand, won’t apologize for needing me, and—
She stirs in her sleep, mumbles, “Rae,no…don’t color on that,” and sluggishly unfolds a slender arm so it’s across my stomach.
Thinking about Rae makes me smile.
Man, that kid loves me.Lovesme.
For real, I love her, too. Just like I told her, she’s precious to me. I’m seriously…I feel so honored that she sees me as family, because real family is something that’s hard to come by for people like her and Liv. They’re sweet girls, yes, but they are not undamaged.
I start thinking about why that is, then start thinking back to how Liv said Rae didn’t go through the same things she did.
