The Me You See by Shay Ray Stevens

Author:Shay Ray Stevens [Stevens, Shay Ray]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2014-10-13T16:00:00+00:00

-Gabriella-

Words were my currency. As he pushed his way in and out of my mouth he filled me with words and I could finally explain the blunt square-headed ache that came when the drought shriveled the zucchini and my pants hung off my hips and mom left and never game back.

We lay together twisted up in sweaty sheets and I traced my finger along the outline of him. I wanted to slice my fingernail through his skin and down his arm; leave a trail that would bleed and scar. Just to prove to myself he was there. Just to prove he was real.

Please be here.

Sometimes I don’t want Adam to talk. I don’t want to hear the crackle-scratch-clip of his voice. Sometimes I just want to grab his face and claw my way through the skin of his cheeks. But other times I want to drag the soft of my lower lip just below his, catching the bristle of a four day beard on his chin.

Please. Be here.

I fish my palm up his arm through the sleeve of his t-shirt and out the neck hole, closing a fist around the fabric. I have him, or at least the cotton that covers him, firmly in my grasp.

In the dim glow of what light sneaks through the window, I see the edge of his lips twist into a grin.

“Why are you holding on so tight?” Adam asks.

“I want you here,” I say.

“I am here.”

“I want you to stay.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“But sometimes people do. Sometimes people say they’re staying but they change their mind and don’t change it back.”

His grin fades into a crisp straight line and now he is serious. He rolls to face me full on and repeats in a thick voice I can latch on to:

“I’m not leaving.”

I want to curl up in his words. I want to fix them around my shoulders and cover my neck and plug my ears with the things he says. His words are few but solid and sure. There is comfort in the sound of him and in the weight of them.

Please.

Be.

Here.

His gaze moves from me to the neat and crisp dress I’ve hung from a hanger on the hook over my door and I know he’s saying without saying that we should really get ready to leave.

My look back to him says I don’t want to.

If I go, I will be the girl in the corner, the girl in the shadow made by the cast of light her oldest sister throws off. There is no difference whether she is alive or dead. Stefia will always be the most brightly shining star in the room.

“Let’s get ready,” he breathes into my ear.

“I’m not going.”

His lips open again and close gently on the top edge of my ear.

“Come on, Gabriella,” he whispers. “You have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“Oh, Gabriella…”

It almost sounds like he’s pouting. I know he’s tsk tsking me.

“I was hoping to see you in that dress you hung on the door,” he continues.

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