Jewel Ann - Idle Bloom

Most likely I’ll get drunk and pass out because my mind has nowhere to go that isn’t painful. I’m barely holding it together knowing my parents are in Portland. Everywhere my thoughts travel, there is a road block. I could find a detour and deal with each problem one at a time, but it’s easier to just idle until I run out of gas, stalled in the middle of nowhere, completely alone.

“What would you think about swapping vehicles for tonight?” Chance asks, pulling up to the curb in front of my house.

I look across the street and dream of Vivian stepping out of her door, Chance making the connection, and maybe their date tonight getting cancelled. No such luck.

“Don’t you think she’d wonder why you’re driving my car?”

“How would she know it’s yours? Do you have the title taped to the dash?”

“Why would she think you drive a BMW?”

“Duh, because I’m a successful business owner. It would only make sense that I have a non-work car.”

I open my door. “Then why don’t you?”

Chance’s eyes widen and he juts his head toward me. “Because I’m not that successful, but she doesn’t need to know that.”

“Uh, yes she does. Drive your truck. Maybe she’ll tell Maggie how poor you are and we’ll get a good deal on our next order. So, see ya, and don’t be a jerk tonight.” I slam the door.

* * *

I’ve spent years studying, observing, and dealing with the legal consequences of self-destructive behavior. Anyone else in my shoes would run and take cover knowing that the fuse has been lit at both ends. Not me. I can’t control my emotions, not the ones that have bloomed and are waiting to die, or the ones that are opening up and waiting to be acknowledged. They’re becoming tangled in my head and creeping into my every thought.

Mom: They bloomed, Oliver. Oh my goodness, they bloomed! Maybe they’ve been waiting for you.

I look down at my phone.

Me: Maybe they’ve been waiting for the sun.

Mom: Yes, my son.

I shut off my phone for a while so she gets that I’m not discussing this with her. Then I look at my couch and see the small blue and gray striped decorative pillow my mom bought last month. It’s survived longer than any other. I think of her message, then I think of Chance, then I think of Vivian. It’s thin cotton with weak stitching, and I usually open these flimsy pillows like a bag of chips, but for some reason I grab a knife from the kitchen and stab it over and over until there’s nothing left but an empty tattered shell and white polyester fiber filling everywhere.

Fuck it! Fuck her! Fuck everyone!

Tossing the knife on the coffee table, I collapse on the couch and rake my hands through my hair, breathless from my pent up anger. Reaching in my pocket, I pull out my phone and turn it back on.

Mom: You’re exactly where you need to be. In your own time, dear.

I notice the time: 7:00 p.m. Grabbing my wallet and keys, I rush out the door, driven by something that doesn’t yet make sense in my head. Maybe it’s where I need to be at this time.

I ease my car to a stop along the street at the opposite end of the alley from where Chance parks. Within a few minutes I see his truck stop along the curb and like the gentleman he is not, he opens the passenger side door. His chivalry pisses me off more than if he’d just grope her ass and show his true colors. Vivian’s knee-length skirt flows in the light breeze, as does her long raven hair, while he guides her into the alley with his hand on her back. They stop at his door and he bends down with his mouth next to her ear. Vivian’s head falls back in laughter as he unlocks his door.

My knee bounces out of control while my fists clench at a steady rhythm. I could call him and fake an emergency, but it wouldn’t be more than a temporary fix. This same scene would play out another night. I watch the clock on my phone, trying to decide if I’m here to stop her or pick up the pieces when she walks out his door later. God, that’s the million dollar question. If I want her, then I should see if she goes through with it and maybe that will be the answer for me. But if I need her, then there’s no way in hell I can let Chance have her tonight.

Tick-tock.

Knee bouncing.

Fists clenching.

Heart racing.

Fuck it! I need her.

I’m not sure how many paces are between my car and Chance’s front door, but I’m certain I just halved it.

Bang, bang, bang!

Chance opens the door with his face contorted in confusion. “Bro, what are you doing here?”

I brush past him. Vivian sits on the couch holding a glass of wine—she’s probably already drunk—and there’s some soft music playing through his speakers. Her daring eyes widen as I approach.

“Oliver, what are you doing?”

“Dude, what’s going on?” Chance calls behind me, but I keep my eyes on Vivian as I hold out my hand to her.

She stares at it, then me. “No.” She shakes her head.

“Oliver, do you mind telling us what’s going on?” Chance rests his hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off.

“Vivian is my neighbor.” I grit my teeth.

“Your … what? She’s who you’ve been—”

“Yes, and now she’s coming with me.”

Vivian sets her wine down and stands, crossing her defiant arms. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Viv, you’re the virgin?” Chance asks.

Vivian throws her hands in the air. “Oh. My. God! Has it gone viral online too? Does everyone know I’m a virgin?” She grabs her purse, storming to the door. “Why is it such a damn big deal?” she yells.

Chance doesn’t move. It’s apparent his mind is playing catch-up. I follow Vivian out the door.

“Don’t touch me and don’t follow me!” She waves her finger at me when I attempt to grab her arm.

“Where are you going?” I call as she stomps up the alley.

“I’m going to get my cherry popped, dickhead!”

What?

“Vivian, wait!” I jog after her. “Don’t be ridiculous.” I reach for her hand. She yanks it away.

“Oh, that’s rich coming from the guy who ditched me because my hymen’s still intact.” She turns and strides away.

“I’m sorry.”

Still walking away.

“I was stupid.”

Still walking away.

“Dammit!” I chase after her. Grabbing her waist, I pull her to me as she twists and flails to escape. “Just listen to me.”

“No!” She wriggles in my arms, jerking her elbows side to side.

Leaving me no choice, I hoist her over my shoulder and she screams. “Stop, my skirt … I’m not wearing—”

I reach up to pull her skirt down over her … bare ass!

“Where the hell are your underwear?”

She punches her fists against my backside. “They’re at my house. Now put me down!”

“Are you behind on your laundry?”

“No! Are you really this dense?”

I deposit her in the passenger’s seat.

“Buckle up.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Why would I go with you?”

My head drops and I rest my hands on the top of my car. “Because I need you.”

She gapes at me with an unrelenting stare as I shut her door.

“Why do you need me?” she whispers as I pull away from the curb.

Keeping my eyes on the road, I shake my head. “I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

* * *

We travel home in a thick cloud of silence, my voice held hostage by emotion laden tongue. I anticipate her making a dash across the street for her door when I stop the car, but she doesn’t. She waits for me to open her door. Taking her hand, I lead her to my place and she follows without hesitation.

Vivian stops just inside the door as I continue forward, tossing my keys on the counter.

“Do you want something to drink?” I hate the uncertainty that’s in my voice, like I just made a huge mistake and now I don’t know what to do about it.

She shakes her head as intense eyes full of uncertainty track my every move. My phone chimes in my pocket. There’s a missed call and a message from an unknown number. I listen to it as Vivian continues to watch me, gauge me, unravel me.

It’s not the voice on the message, or the words, it’s the timing. I can’t hear anything past my own pounding pulse and all I see is red. Three years later and I hate her with every fiber of my being. I slam my phone on the counter shattering the face of it. Vivian jumps while standing in the middle of my living room. At some point she made her way to the mess of pillow filling and ripped fragments of material still strewn about the floor and couch.

“I’m … sorry. I should not have brought you here.” My feet take me to the stairs on their own accord because I’m so numb right now the only thing I feel is the suffocating compression on my sternum as my lungs fight for air. “Sor–sorry.” I stumble to my room and slam the door, ripping off my shirt because even the light weight of cotton feels like lead against my chest. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I hunch over with my head in my hands and cry. The pain pours out like a mix of blood and acid. The hate is all consuming and the pain is crippling.

The door creaks open. My emotions stall in my throat. I can’t look up, so all I see are her bare feet facing away from me.

“Please … go.” My voice cracks.

She doesn’t budge. Her shirt falls to the floor by her feet. I can only see the back of her legs from the knees down. What is she doing? Her bra joins her shirt on the floor.

She waits.

Her back is to me and then it hits me so hard––her back is bared to me.

Releasing my hands from my face, I move my gaze up to her back one slow inch at a time. She’s shaking like a delicate leaf and her hair is pulled off to one shoulder. I blink away my tears––twisted branches with flowers. Flowers everywhere and not one … single … one … is bloomed.

Oh. God!

Every intricate detail covers what’s lying beneath: scars—everywhere. Then she turns her head and glossy green eyes meet mine as she bites together her trembling lips.

“Vivian …” I whisper. “… beautiful, you’re … perfect.”

Tears spill down her cheeks. “No take backs?”

I smile, taking her hand in mine. She turns around and moves between my legs, brushing her hair off her chest. Pressing my lips to her palm, I close my eyes and crash. My whole world collides and she has no idea that in this moment she’s throwing me a lifeline. “No take backs.”

It kills me that someone so stunning inside and out has lived in fear of people changing their mind about her beauty. I wonder how long she’s lived with such insecurity. Even more, I wonder if any man has made her feel less than perfect. The pain in her eyes when she looks back at me tells me the answer is yes.

She begins to slip her skirt past her hips but I grab her wrists.

“Not tonight. I’m just …” I sigh. “I have too much on my mind, but soon. Okay?”

She pulls her skirt back up and nods while grabbing her bra and shirt. With a weak smile she turns away from me to finish dressing.

“Vivian?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re not upset are you?”

She shakes her head. I stand and walk in front of her as she buttons the last button.

“Are you sure?”

She looks at my chest. “Yes. I’ll just see you tomorrow or something.”

I cup her face and kiss her soft lips. It’s taking everything I have to let her go tonight, but she deserves my full attention and right now I’m being pulled apart.

“I’ll walk you home.”

“Don’t be stupid. It’s across the street.” Her voice is void of emotion as she turns and walks down the hall to the stairs.

I sense she’s at least a little disappointed, but I don’t know what more I can say or do tonight. Looking out the bedroom window, I watch her sprint down the front steps of the building and across the street. As she fumbles to get her key in the lock, I notice her arm keeps rubbing her eyes.

Shit! She’s crying.

Vivian

There’s approximately twenty strides from Oliver’s front door to mine, but I make it in less than ten. Holding myself together until I reach the safety of my sanctuary is excruciating, but not as much as yet another rejection. I saw his pain, but I couldn’t see past it. The message on his phone, the massacred pillow, the aching sound of his sobs, I wanted to take his pain away and I thought he could do the same for me. Letting my guard down, letting him see me … all of me.