Memories That Still Haunt Us

Chapter Thirty-One:

When I arrive home from the cycling class, I shower and get myself ready for the day before wandering over to the house to get breakfast started for Beck before he rolls out of bed. It's nearly eight, so he should be coming down any minute now. I hear Ellis on the phone inside his office, and I leave the fruit unaccompanied on the counter as I wander out of the kitchen and towards his office.

Peering in through the glass French doors, I see him sitting at his desk chair, phone to his ear, as he looks at his opened laptop. I open the doors, making his eyes dart towards me. His eyes look me over, then settle on my face, a small smile growing.

It's hard to imagine a time when Ellis was dirty and homeless on the streets. When his hair was probably unkept and his fingernails were full of dirt. When his clothes were most likely tattered. I can only imagine him as he is now. Clean, put together, sexy, perfect hair, perfect everything. Does he still feel like that unkept version of him? Can he still feel it under his skin? Does he still feel the dirt and grime?

I know he does because I can still feel the fifteen-year-old me, the sixteen-year-old me, the seventeen-year-old me. She's still part of me. Sometimes, I wake up in the night in a sweat, thinking I'm back to being that version of me. That I'm back in his house. The flash of his camera going off. The hungry smile on his face as he posed me. No matter how many men I sleep with, no matter how much I drink, no matter how badly I hurt myself, the girl I once was is still digging under my skin. My skin still lingers from his touch and his mouth. My body remembers. It'll never let me fully forget.

Walking around to him, I get down on my knees before him, looking up at him through my lashes. His words stutter as he continues talking on the phone, his eyes on me closely as I undo his pants. Our time is limited, but I don't need much time. He leans back in the chair as I lower my head and take him into my mouth. His breathing hitches, his words come out jumbled, and he apologizes and fights to correct himself.

I smile, pleased that I have him stumbling. I give him head as he continues the call and watch his face as he finishes. All his beauty. And when the call ends, he tosses his phone onto the desk with a thud and quickly pulls me to my feet, where his hands cup my face, and he kisses me with a sense of urgency that makes my body tingle all over.

***

Ellis has to leave for work the rest of the day. I carry a bottle of wine from the guest house into the main house and take the cork off before pouring myself a large glass of wine as Beck is busy rolling pizza dough on the counter.

"What is that?" He asks me, eyeing the glass of wine.

"Wine." I walk over towards him, sliding the glass towards him. "Want to try it?"

His eyes peer up at me, then back down at the glass. "Is it juice?"
"It's grapes. It's good for you." I pick up the glass and swish it around, then hand it to him. His tiny hand grips the glass, the wine sloshes to one side. "Careful not to spill."

He lifts it to his mouth and takes a small sip. When he swallows, his nose scrunches in disgust. "That's bad. That doesn't taste like juice."

I finish off the glass, then pour myself another. "You'll get used to it. Try another." I say and hand it back to him.

He takes another sip, then sticks his tongue out in disgust. "Yuck!" He waves his hand at the glass and pushes it back toward me.

I shrug. "You're missing out, kiddo."

The dough squishes between his fingers, and he grabs the roll pin and rolls out the dough flat again, then applies the pizza sauce. "Why don't you have a husband?" He asks me then, and grabs a handful of cheese from the bag.

"Why do I need a husband?"
He lifts his shoulders high and drops them back down. "Dunno'. Don't you want one?"

"Eventually, yes. But I'm still young." I poke his side, and he squirms in his seat, laughing. "What about your father?" I ask, arching an eyebrow at him as I lean against the counter.

He looks at me confused.

"What if I married your dad?" I clarify.

"You'd want to marry Dad?"

I shrug nonchalantly. "Why not?"

"Are you allowed?"

"Sure I'm allowed."

"Oh." He thinks about it for a moment. "I guess that'd be alright. But what about mommy?"

"Don't you wish I were your mom anyways?"

"I guess so."

"So, problem solved." I ruffle up his hair.

"Where would she go then?"

"Wherever she wants." I say and slide him over my wine again, which he sips with disgust. I remember when I got drunk for the first time. I was ten, and my father was away on the boat, my mother passed out on Xanax in the bedroom. Bored, I opened up the cabinets and discovered a plethora of bottles. I knew what they were. I saw how my parents acted when they drank from them.

I lifted myself onto the countertop and reached for the first bottle I saw. It clanked against the others as I brought it down. Carrying the bottle in my hand, I left the house with it tucked under my arm and wandered towards the nearby park that overlooked the boat yard. I sat down on a swing, my feet pressed to the woodchips beneath me. The air was cold, and my breath came out in thick clouds. I unscrewed the cap and stuffed it into my sweatshirt pocket. The smell was strong as I brought it to my lips and took a sip. Initially, I hated it. But in a way, I wanted to understand. What was it about this liquid that made my father more aggressive and bitter? That made my mother more cruel? I saw it advertised everywhere, promoting it to be such a good time, when in my house, it's the exact opposite.

Despite the disgusting taste, I continued drinking the bottle until my insides grew warm and I fell backwards out of the swing, causing some of the liquid to pour onto my shirt. The world spun like a teacup ride, and my hands felt like rubber.

When I returned home later that night, completely wasted, stumbling all over the place, my mother was still asleep and had never found out about my drunken night. I wandered into her closet and tried on some of her old dresses that I'd never seen her wear. I looked at myself in the mirror and pretended I was in my twenties—beautiful, successful, and glowing. Moments later, I vomited inside the toilet.

Beck takes baby sips, and when I notice him starting to appear a bit drunk, I take it from him and request we watch movies in hopes he'll fall asleep and the buzz will diminish quickly.

The sooner he falls asleep, the more time Ellis and I will have together.