D: Walker slept through a legit tornado, and I know how to keep you warm.
It takes a million years for her to respond to me, I’m on the edge of giving up and going back to the clubhouse when I see three little dots appear, letting me know she’s answering. Whether it be good or bad, I don’t care. All I want is some recognition that I still exist for her.
Something to let me know she still cares.
M: I shouldn’t do this, but I’ll be there in a few minutes.
D: Thank you, babe. I love you.
Feels like I’ve won the fuckin’ lottery, knowing that she’s going to come and see me. I haven’t heard her voice in weeks. All of our communication has been done over text, and I just want to hear her, let the rich southern texture of her accent run over me. I’ve been falling asleep to videos of her for weeks now. Us in happier times, like when she used to hide behind her long hair and then peek out at me through her tendrils. The hood of her eyes would show me exactly what she wanted.
I miss those times.
I miss her and our life.
I just miss it all.
Reaching into my jeans pocket, I fumble with my cigarette pack and lighter. My hands tremble as I light one up. Hopefully it calms me down, otherwise I’m gonna act like a teenager on his first date.
As I take another hit, the lights of a vehicle pop over the hill from the direction of my house. When it slows and takes the gravel entrance to the field, I know it’s Mandy. Quickly finishing my cigarette, I throw it down, making sure it’s snuffed out with the toe of my boot.
My eyes track her as she parks, shuts the car off, and slowly gets out. She’s gorgeous, like always. It’s a full moon, and I can see her just as easily as I’d be able to with the low-light in our bedroom.
“Hey,” I put my hands in my jeans pockets to keep from reaching out to her; we’re at a point where I don’t know how she would take it.
“Hey,” she leans against the hood of our car, twirling a lock of dark hair around her finger. “How have you been?”
This is hard to answer. “How have I been? I feel like I’m missing my other half, Mandy. I wanna come home,” those words are ripped from my throat, with every single bit of emotion I’ve been feeling since she asked me to leave.
“Dalton please,” she sighs, before dropping her hair and looking at me. “Do you think this is easy for me?”
“It must be,” I yell, for the first time since this all started, I yell at her. “Because it doesn’t seem like you’re going through the same shit I am. I’ve been patient Mandy,” I advance on her, putting my hands on either side of her hips, pressing my body against hers, making her look at me.
“You don’t know what I’m going through.”
The words are said softly, but as our eyes meet, I’m terrified. Those eyes of hers that are usually so damn expressive, that usually show me every single thing she’s feeling or thinking - there’s nothing. It’s like a blank stare. She could literally be looking through me and it’d be the same thing.
“Babe, I’m scared,” I try another tactic, one I haven’t tried before; being completely and totally honest. “I’m scared for you, for me, for Walker. What’s happening?” I ask as I lean into her.
A tiny noise of appreciation works it’s way out from the back of her throat. I’m hard, it’s been a long time, and I miss her.
“Dalton…” she reaches down, cupping the bulge against my zipper with her hand. “I’m scared too.”
“Then let me back in,” I widen my stance so I can bend down at the knee, force her to see me, to really see me.
There are unshed tears in her tone when she speaks again. “I want to, but I don’t know how.”
“We can do this. We can make this work again, whatever is bothering you, talk to me about it.”
“I don’t know how,” she says again, frustration in her voice.
“What do you mean you don’t know how?”
Even when shits been crazy with us, we’ve been able to talk. It might not have always been easy, but we’ve always managed to see each it through to the other side.
Mandy’s face screws up in a grimace I’ve never seen before, and I’m this close to asking her if she needs a doctor when words finally come forward. “I’m broken, Dalton.”
“What?”
How can she think she’s broken? She’s always been perfect to me. No matter what we’re going through as a couple, she’s perfect for me.
“You’re not broken. Why do you say that?”
“Losing our baby, there’s a piece of me that shattered and I can’t put it back together, Dalton. I’m not sure how. I wake up every day telling myself this is the day you’re going to fix your hair, put on a little makeup, call your husband and fix the shitshow you’ve made of your life, but it never happens. And I know, don’t you think I know, how you feel?”
“No,” I grasp her by the chin. “You don’t know how I feel because you’ve never asked.”
“I can’t take it,” she cries. “The blame I know you’ll put on me, I can’t take it, I don’t want to accept it.”
“What? There’s no blame I’d put on you. I love you, Mandy.”
She’s all over the place, and maybe that’s what she means by not being able to deal, maybe she’s so scattered in everyday life she can’t figure out how to make heads or tails of her feelings.
“I love you too,” she puts her arms around my neck and the world rights itself. Hearing her say those words to me? It’s everything I’ve hoped and dreamed for. When she slips her arms back
