“You want me to stop, Han, come back and make me!” I smack the counter hard, dropping the razor blade. It falls, clinking its way into the sink, where drops of blood smear along the white ceramic surface.
No response. Not even a flicker. There’s only my reflection in the mirror, and what a sad sight that is. Blonde hair, almost white for how light it is, long and unruly beachy waves I’ve done nothing with. My eyes are two hollow ovals, gray and lifeless. Suits my mood. Chapped, dry lips I used to think were pretty curve into two bows meeting in the middle. I used to be pretty. Now I’m just here. Walking through each day, wishing I could be wherever he is.
The ache to be near Hannon hammers against my heart, like it always does, a nagging beat I can’t escape. Turning on the faucet, I wash away the blood and rinse the new cut, noticing the others near it are fading nicely. The henna art covers them well, much to my parents’ displeasure. Another reason to keep using the earthy dye to cover my sins. I’ll have to reapply to make this newest mark disappear, but that will be easy enough. Still, the new mark doesn’t take away the urge to flee, to run, to be close to him.
With a speed I’m used to after one of my “sessions,” I fly into my bedroom, pull a hoodie from my closet, and throw it on, the icy claws of despair prodding my haste, aiding every movement. I step into my tennis shoes, the laces already tied, and am out the door. Once I reach the hallway, I tiptoe my way down the stairs that lead to the grand, main entrance of my parents’ mansion. The black and white marble floors have been shined to perfection, nary a speck of dirt to be found. Mrs. Judith Gannon-Carmichael would never stand for anything less.
I hear loud voices, swollen with pompous righteousness, as they echo through the receiving room off the entryway. The door is open, so I do my best to slither along the opposite wall, hiding in the shadows in the hope I can get to the kitchen and off to the garage without being detected. Mother would look down upon my casual attire and be horrified in front of her friends, many of whom she and my father are currently entertaining.
The sounds of haughty laughter and clinking glasses echo through the open door as I skate by the evening gathering without notice. Thank goodness for small favors. If my luck sticks, Sean will also be home tonight. The last couple times I escaped to his house, he wasn’t altogether welcoming. Loving, yes. Welcoming, no. There’s been a hint of frustration in his demeanor when he’s spoken to me recently and an overall weird sensation that I can’t quite pinpoint when I visit. Regardless, I need to be there right now. Nowhere else will do. Not tonight, when I’m raw and twitchy.
Making it to the gigantic garage, so large it could double as a football field, I pass by an endless array of my father’s obsession: cars. From classic American brands to European sports cars, my father has it all. With enough money to buy Queen Elizabeth out of her position in Buckingham Palace, he can afford the best, and he proves it in every shiny, new purchase.
I hop into my black, somewhat modest Mercedes S-Class coupe, probably the cheapest car in the entire garage and still considered luxury. For one full minute, I sit and just breathe, attempting to calm the swirling devastation that threatens to swallow me whole.
Just a little longer and you’ll be closer to him, I remind myself until I hear his voice. Like in a dream or a memory that’s just too hard to grasp.
Hold on, Bunny. Be still…find your peace.
Hannon’s voice is a whisper over my senses. Those were the last words he ever said to me. My heart tightens as if being held in his strong hands.
For you, I will, Han. I promise.
I smash the button for door number six. The moment the heavy metal door rises high enough for my ride to fit under it, I shoot out into the bleak darkness of the night. I’ve taken this drive many times over the last two years, and each and every trip feels as if I’m driving toward heaven, only to remember once more I’m living in utter hell.
The miles fly by, my thoughts a mixture of memories and the crawling, aching desperation within me.
I take the steps two at a time at the front of the bright blue and white row house in downtown San Francisco. The Bay Area wind bites at my back as I ring the bell several times in quick succession. The lights are on in the living room, so I know he’s here. He just has to be. If not, I’m going to use the emergency key Hannon gave me years ago. I haven’t had to use it recently. I’ve tried to stay away, knowing each time becomes harder than the last. For both of us.
The door opens, and a tall man I don’t recognize stands in the doorway. The warm tones of the light inside cast his face in shadow, but I can see he’s attractive, lean, and a nice dresser based on the slacks and cashmere sweater he’s wearing. On his nose is a pair of tortoise shell, square-shaped glasses.
“Hello. Can I help you?” His voice is as genuine and lovely as his corresponding smile.
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry as the Mohave Desert. Tears threaten at the back of my eyes. What’s going on? Who is this man? Why is he here at this late hour?
“Who is it, love?” Sean calls out from farther in the house.
Love.
A word
