AllFreeNovel
Share Us
22
Alexis
It’s been a few days since I read Lucas’s letter. When he picked Lizzy up on Saturday, his gaze was intense, roaming over my face as if he was searching for something. Perhaps he was looking for acknowledgment that I read it? I couldn’t be sure, and since he didn’t say anything about it, I kept quiet as well. After a lot of back and forth, I decided that patience was the way to go. Whatever his story was, was hard for him to write, and I needed to let him do it at his own pace.
My heart gives a jolt when I get home and see another letter on the counter. It should bother me that he still has keys and lets himself in, but it doesn’t. As hard as it is to do, I once again leave it till it’s late, and I’m the only one awake. This time it’s more trepidation I’m feeling than curiosity when I open it.
Alexis,
Therapy was good today. I told my therapist that instead of writing in the journal, I wrote you. She seemed a bit apprehensive about it if that brief three-second tightening of her mouth can be called apprehension. I don’t care. Telling you a bit about Mom and Dad has made it easier to talk about them in therapy, so that’s good, right?
Where was I? Oh yes, that talk Dad had with me. I remember the next time he left Mom said that I made her so happy, and if feeling that I was the man of the house made me happy, then that’s what I would be when Dad was away. I was a bit scared that Dad would be mad, but she’d said it would be our secret. I didn’t like that much, but I didn’t say anything because I wanted her to be happy. Anyway, life carried on and it was a happy time in my life. Mom supported me in everything I did. When I was old enough, she never missed a little league practice, and on match day she’d be there on the sidelines cheering me on. If Dad was in town, he’d be right next to her, rooting for me. I had a lot of friends, had plenty of play dates, but Mom never allowed any sleepovers unless Dad was home. When I got older, I’d get upset, but then I’d feel guilty, knowing that she probably didn’t want to be left alone. It was bad enough that Dad had to leave so much, I didn’t want to do that to her as well. I mean, it was my job to be the man of the house and to make her happy when Dad couldn’t. And she was happy, mostly. I think by that stage, my parents had given up on having more children, and instead, my mom focused all her love and attention on me while Dad was away. Around thirteen, I hit puberty and went through a growth spurt. Mom started treating me less like a child and more like a grown-up. It was little things. She’d make me pick what show to watch on TV, she’d let me choose what I wanted for dinner every night. As I said, it was the little things. She said it was my reward for being the man of the house, and it made me feel valued and cherished.
This is where things get very hard for me. Everything inside me wishes I had a different story to tell, but wishing for something that can never be is hopeless. Before I carry on, I just want you to know that since the day you fell in love with me, I’ve tried to be the man I saw in your eyes. I tried to let go of the boy and man I used to be, and for a long time, it worked. But I’ll tell you about that later if you’re reading this, of course. This is still my before life.
As I mentioned before, I hit puberty somewhere in my thirteenth year. At the time, I was still sleeping in Mom’s bed at night, crazy I know, but it was normal for me. At that point, my parents’ room felt more like my own than mine did. One night, I woke up to a warm feeling in my boxers. I got such a fright I kicked the duvet off. Mom was sleeping with her arm across my waist, and the thrashing must have woken her up. When she switched the bedside lamp on, I was horrified. I thought the wetness in my boxers meant I had wet the bed. I was so damn embarrassed I tried to cover up, but Mom ordered me to stay in bed and left the room. When she came back, she had a clean pair of boxers and a wet washcloth. She handed them to me and told me to clean up and change. She turned her back on me, so that’s what I did. After, she climbed back in bed, pulled me closer, and said that what had happened was normal. I had a wet dream, and it happened to boys when they hit puberty. She said it was nothing to be ashamed about, that it meant I had finally become a man. To be honest, I was embarrassed that it happened and that she was there to see the aftermath, but more than that, I was relieved. I mean, who would want to wet the bed at thirteen?
While she was talking about it, she was so calm and soothing, but also proud. She told me as much when she said how proud she was of the beautiful young man I’d become. We went back to sleep as if nothing had happened. Along with puberty came girls, and I started noticing them more. There was this one particular girl in my class, Alice, I think her name was. She was really pretty, and her breasts were a lot bigger than all the other girls. At night, I’d find myself lying next to Mom, her arm around me, wondering what they would feel like if I touched them. I’d get hard, and those were the nights I wished I was in my own room. You can just imagine the thoughts running through an almost fourteen-year-old mind. One morning I mentioned to her that I thought it was time I slept in my own bed. Mom got this sad little smile and said it’s fine if that was what I wanted. That night while lying in my bed, I heard her sobs and a few minutes later, I climbed back into bed with her. She clung to me the whole night, whispering how safe and happy I made her.
My fourteenth birthday came and went. One day my friends dared me to go up to Alice and ask if I could touch her breasts. It was a dare, and you never backed down from a dare, so despite my shaking knees, I went up to her and just blurted it out. I thought she’d punch me for sure, instead she grabbed my hand and dragged me into the janitors closet. She lifted her shirt, pulled down the cups of her bra and all I could do was stare. She had to grab my hands and physically put them on her boobs. It took a few seconds, but I finally started squeezing. She made these little sounds and I’m not going to lie, I almost came in my pants. The bell rang, and that was that. Let’s just say that in the eyes of my friends, I was a legend. That night I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about how soft and warm her breasts felt, and then I thought of how it would feel if her hand touched me. I knew what touching myself felt like by then, but I was sure her hand would feel better. I eventually fell asleep and…
I’m sorry, Alexis, I just can’t.
Nausea is rolling in my gut. This is wrong. I have this really bad feeling about where this is headed, but the hopeful part of me is praying that I’m wrong. I want to jump in my car, confront Lucas and beg him to tell me that this is not what I think it is. But I can’t because Lizzy is sleeping peacefully in her bed, innocent of all the horrors the world contains. I want to wrap her up in cotton wool and protect her against anything that could steal that innocence away.
I grab my phone and bring up Lucas’s contact details. My finger hovers over the dial button, indecision preventing me from pressing the green icon. Is he awake? Would he want to hear from me? How would I feel at this moment if I were him? What would I need? I can’t answer that because even the thought of it is incomprehensible.
I startle when my phone buzzes with an incoming text.
Annoying little sister: I’ve told the boutique lady that discussions are off the table for now
My brow furrows in confusion at Lillian’s text. She was so excited about the opportunity and with all the crap going on in my life, I handed it over to her to deal with.
Alexis: Why? You were all for it
Annoying little sister: That was before. There’s no way I’m leaving you now
Alexis: Lill…
Annoying little sister: Stop. It’s not completely off the table. She’s willing to wait till we’re ready
Alexis: You know I love you, right?
Annoying little sister: Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all mushy on me now. Gotta run. Mr. Detective has his handcuffs ready
I bark a laugh and put my phone down. After a few seconds, I pick it up again and stare at it as if it contains all the answers in the universe. I bite my lip. Fuck it. I pull up Lucas’s contact and, for the first time, I reply to his goodnight text.
Alexis: Goodnight
Let him make of that what he will.
***
I haven’t been to the restaurant Mom asked to meet us at. As if the fact that she’s asked to meet at a restaurant and not her house isn’t weird enough, she’s running late—something she never does. If you looked up punctuality in a dictionary, Mom’s name would be next to it.
“What do you think she wants to talk about?” Lillian asks, taking a sip of her water. I shrug, not taking my eyes off the menu. We’ll know soon enough.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “You’ve been in your head all morning.” I know I’ve been quiet, but I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve been obsessing over Lucas’s letter, running each word over and over in my mind.
