Every Little Thing

48

|| Reed ||

I've never talked about my father and his problems. I've never shared it with anyone, nor have I ever written or ranted about it. The secret has always stayed in a secret, tucked-away part of me, left to fester in the silence of my conscious.

But now, today, Evelyn Moore is holding me up and telling me that it's okay, assuring me that I'm alright. And, perhaps for the first time, I believe that I am.

"I'm sorry, flocon de neige," I breathe, squeezing my eyes shut tight. "I'm so sorry."

"You have absolutely nothing to apologize for," she responds, and I begin to return her embrace, the feeling slowly making its way back into my body. It feels so much better, my past out there in the open, shared between us. The burden I've had to carry by myself for eight years suddenly feels lighter, now that it's shared between the both of us.

"Now you talk to me, Evelyn," I say, leaning back onto the bed frame and watching her from a distance, taking in her expression. "Tell me what happened. Please."

She blows out a breath, turning away for a split second and clucking her tongue. Within seconds, I hear the jangle of Scout's collar as he gallops down the hallway and nudges open the door, leaping onto the bed and settling himself into her lap. A flicker of a smile flashes across her face, and her hands run over his soft fur, over and over again.

"I was overwhelmed," she says, quietly, "After I kissed you. I needed to sort things out, so I went downstairs, and—and a guy was there. The guy."

My breath freezes in my throat and she glances up at me, swallowing hard.

"I can't tell you who it was. I'm sorry, Reed, but if you knew—"

"If I knew, I might just murder him," I say, and the anger within me surges forth so forcefully that I can hardly contain myself. "Understood. Because I would, you know."

She blows out a small breath of relief, nodding.

"Anyways, he asked me if I wanted punch. And I was so freaked out about what had just happened that I figured it wouldn't hurt to calm down and, you know, do something normal people do at a party—so I said yes. So he led me into the pantry, and he was—he was tipsy, I guess. Not full-out drunk, but definitely not sober."

I inhale ever-so-slightly, my entire body clenching up in preparation to listen to this story, to finally hear the truth from her. 

"He closed the door behind us, and that's when I knew something was wrong," she whispers, and the unbridled emotion behind her voice makes me want to break all over again. I move to her and loop my arms around her, so she talks into my shoulder. "I asked him to open it again, but he didn't say anything—he just moved towards me, and he kept telling me to shut up, again and again. And then—"

She releases a sharp breath, starting to choke up.

"And then he picked me up by my throat and slammed me against the wall and—and I just remember thinking that I was going to die. I was going to die without ever seeing my mom or you or Georgie ever again, and I thought he was going to kill me. That's—that's the last thing I remember before you found me."

"Evelyn," I say, numbness overcoming me, overwhelming me. "God, Evelyn, I—I can't even—I just—"

"Shh," she says, and I feel the slight dampness of a few stray tears, "Don't say anything. Please, don't say anything, just—just hug me."

So I do. I pull her so close to me that I'm afraid I'll run out of air, but I don't care; I can't bring myself to care. Because she's so damn hurt, and I just keep wishing that I could have stopped her, could have found her earlier, could have, could have, could have.

But, in the end, this is the reality. This is what happened. And we're both having to live with the aftershock.

"I just want the bruises to go away already," she breathes into my neck, causing goosebumps to break out across my arms, "I don't want to be reminded of it anymore. Not for another second."

"They'll go away, Evie," I tell her, tightening my hold on her, "I swear, they'll go away."

But the bruises on your heart may never, I think, shutting my eyes, Based on my experience, those are permanent.

But that's okay, in a sense. Bruised, battered hearts may be hard to love, but perfect ones are even harder.

A few more minutes pass before Evelyn is asleep, and I don't want to leave her. If I'm being completely honest with myself, I never want to leave her side ever again. But for now, lying back on the pillows and allowing her to take up the rest of the bed will suffice. Scout wriggles himself between us, but I don't let her hands leave my arm, so they stretch across the occupied space between us.

I close my eyes, breathing in her smell—cinnamon and laundry detergent—until I can find it within myself to let go of consciousness and delve into a dreamless slumber.

_______

Leaving for work the next day is painful, but it has to be done. I get up quietly, trying desperately not to accidentally creak against any of the floorboards or bed springs, making my way out to the kitchen and scrawling a note.

Evelyn,

Last night was both the best and the worst night ever, but for all the right reasons. Thank you for listening and understanding me. It's been a long time since anyone has.

I'm leaving my sister's email with you - remember, she's in Harvard Law. If you do end up wanting to take this to court (or if you just want someone else to talk to), you can trust her. She's replies quickly and I love her more than anything, so I know she'll be happy to talk with you. But again, it's totally up to you.

Scout's food is in the kitchen, and if he tears something else up, don't bother cleaning it. I'm kind of curious as to what my dad's reaction would be.

I'll be back a bit earlier today - about five-thirty. I was thinking we could hit the grocery store afterwards.

I hope you slept well,

Reed

P.S. You snore.

P.P.S. It's also kinda adorable.