Memories That Still Haunt Us

Chapter Thirty-Six:

Ellis draws circles on my naked back as I lay flat on his bed, my cheek pressed against the pillow as he lays beside me. I finally made it to his bed. We've left the corners of the kitchen and the secluded areas downstairs.

It's nearly three in the morning. Both of us panting, sweaty messes. I'm so happy, and I can't stop looking at him, marveling at every inch of him. If I could, I'd wear him like a winter coat. I'd keep him attached to me at all times.

"Are you hungry?" He asks.

I nod. "But I don't want to leave this bed."

He smiles and leans down to kiss me gently. "Me neither."

Sighing, I say, "I feel happy." And I close my eyes, trying to capture this moment forever. He kisses my shoulder. For once, I want to be present. To feel all the emotions, to pause time. "What's your biggest fear?" I ask him, my eyes reopening. I look at the freckles on his shoulders, the scars on his chest. I reach out and drag my finger along one of them, feeling his body tense. I feel the grooves of the cigarette, the divots of the one under his left peck. I place my whole palm over it, then lean over and kiss them gently. I hear his heart beating, the shallow breaths he takes as I touch skin that's been wounded and holds dark memories.

"Small spaces," he says.

I look up at him. "You're claustrophobic?"
He nods; his jaw is tight, as if even thinking about it makes it hard for him to breathe. "Yeah. Very."

"How come?"

"My mom and her boyfriend got high one day and stuffed me in our small coat closet. It was so small I couldn't move; my chest was pressed against the door." He stares off into the distance and runs a hand roughly through his hair. "Since they were high when they did it, they forgot about me locked in there and didn't let me out until two days later when my mom needed her coat."

"That's horrible," I say.

"I tried calling out, but I don't know if they left me in there because they were sick fucks or if they genuinely just forgot about me. When I fell out of the coat closet, she didn't seem too fazed." He moves his fingers gently through my hair. "Ever since then, I don't handle small spaces very well."

"I'm so sorry." I tell him, and he shrugs nonchalantly, like it isn't a big deal.

"What about you?" He asks.

"I'm not really scared of anything."

He rolls his eyes. "Bullshit."

I smile and push his shoulder. "I'm serious. Nothing really fazes me at this point." I promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn't let anyone scare me again. I've already survived the worst, so whatever happens after that point doesn't matter.

I think of the flash of the camera, my butt in the air, legs spread apart. His cold hand pressed against my bare stomach as he laid me down across his shag rug. My eyes watch the spinning of the fan, thinking of anything besides him between my legs. I remember being so scared until I figured out how to disassociate. Until I figured out how to float above my body and focus on other things around the house. The sounds of the neighborhood dogs barking. My foot stomping on a pumpkin, the guts all over my shoe as I walk home in the night. The wind howled through the trees, weeping for me.

I think of the times I was scared as a child. When I woke from a nightmare in my sleep and crawled into bed with my mom. The only time she let me stay with her and I remember not being able to go back to sleep because the trash in the room looked like scary monsters and I hated the sound of my dad snoring on the other side of me, and I could smell my mother's ash tray on her bedside table. I stared at the ceiling with tears welling in my eyes and reached for my mother's hand as she slept. I laced her fingers with mine and squeezed. I hoped it would make her love me. That she'd wake up in the morning a changed person.