Page 24 of Dibs
That wasn’t love, was it?
How many years had it been love? Two? Three? Four? When had it faded into a naïve hope to get back the love we’d lost?
But Deacon. Well, Deacon feels like inevitability.
I look around my boxed-up room and suddenly, I can’t wait to be out of this house. It feels like the scene of the crime: where I’d disappeared slowly for eight years, playing a role for Sean with no regard for my needs, dreams, or desires.
Unsure what I’m thinking, I scour through a few boxes and pack my trusty carry-on suitcase, ensuring a couple of smutty books make it in before I zip it up. I set my favorite pillow on top of it.
When I open the door, Deacon’s standing outside of it, and he practically falls into the bedroom.
“Hi. Would it be okay if I stayed with you tonight and the next day? Just until I move back in with my parents?” I ask him, pointing to my suitcase. “The truth is, this place feels haunted by the ghost of the girl I used to be, and I need out.”
The look on my face must say everything, because Deacon just nods and gives me a thin smile. He’s got a faraway gaze in his eyes that’s not typical of him, and we’re quiet as we walk into the kitchen.
“You were in there a while. Everyone ate and headed out. Weird vibes, I guess,” Deacon tells me as he grabs a plate and methodically begins to reheat my burger and make it just theway I like it, down to three perfect pieces of crunchy iceburg lettuce on top. He piles on a big heaping of my nearly gone, popular pasta salad.
“What would you like to drink?” Deacon asks.
“There’s an expensive as shit bourbon open in the cabinet by the fridge,” I tell him. Before I know it, he’s poured us two glasses, heavy on the rocks.
“Hey, why is your hand bleeding?” I ask, spotting a few drops on his knuckles.
“Oh, well, I broke Sean’s nose. He said some nasty things about you that needed a response. He just left. At the time, it felt good to punch the guy, but now I feel numb.”
I head to the freezer and grab a soft ice pack I use for migraines, then wrap it in paper towels. “Here, at least ice your knuckles. Did you break anything other than his nose?”
“Our decade-long friendship for good, I imagine. Not that I regret it. You know I picked you, anyway.”
Deacon wraps his hand with the ice and winces. I press a kiss to the top of his head as he leans over, my lips in his golden blond hair. Then, I lean my forehead against the back of his neck. Being this close to him comes naturally.
“I understand feeling numb. That’s why I need to get out of here. It’s not mine. This place was always a conditional home, where I was welcome if I behaved like a good enough girl. I’m done being who someone else wants me to be, but I worry I may have lost myself somewhere along the way.” I gulp hard, fear gripping me with a steely fist around my throat.
Massive tears roll down my cheeks as I imagine how it went when Deacon and Sean first spotted me. Sean calling “dibs,” Deacon respecting his friend enough to let him pursue me and draw me under his narcissistic spell until I’d given all I had away.
Things Deacon never would have asked me to give.
And then he’s off the chair and grabbing me up in his strong arms, pressing my face to his chest.
“I still know exactly who you are, Beck, and I’ll remind you until you remember.” He whispers the words against my hair, and it warms my aching, frozen heart. Telling me that, despite it all, everything will be okay.
14
DEACON
All weekend, Beck is strangely quiet. I’m certain she didn’t hear my fight with Sean when he first arrived at the barbecue, or after I’d taken him aside out back on the patio. At first, I’d thought I’d seen movement in the kitchen, but when I ran in to see if Beck overheard me pledging my love for her, the kitchen was empty. If Beck had heard, she hadn’t let on.
I’m concerned about her. The little speech she’d given about how she felt she’d lost herself had upset me, because it’s one thing to lose a piece-of-shit narcissist and it’s another to lose yourself in the process. I know Beck is strong enough to find her way back to her true self, and if she’s having a hard time with it, that’s what I’m here for.
Sunday afternoon, after a brief rain, I convince her to join me at our favorite lake. Fishing ought to cheer her up, but in the car, “Karma Police” comes on and she puts her head in her hands, no doubt catching her tears. I rest my hand on her thigh with a sad sigh.
“I don’t want to live at my parents’ house.” Beck looks up at me with tears dripping down her cheeks. It takes courage toshow someone the depth of your sadness, so when she doesn’t wipe away her tears, pride swells for her.
“Then don’t. We can find you an apartment if you’d rather. Or…” I trail off. I tell myself I know what I’m doing. “You could stay with me until you decide what’s next for you.”
“I couldn’t possibly intrude on your life, Deac.” But something in her voice tells me I should insist.
“Come on. You’d be very much welcome and wanted. Even if you just cook for me a few nights a week, the arrangement will work out well for me. And I get the pleasure of your company.” I give her my best, most convincing smile, and she blinks rapidly until she finally nods. But she still looks uncertain.
