Hitchhiker (18 page)

“Yeah… thanks.” And he walked out.

HE SLEPT ON THE COUCH
, a soft snore rumbling from his chest. As I passed the living room and went into the kitchen, I looked over the island at him and watched him. He lay on his side with a fur blanket over the bottom half of him, while the top half was exposed. My God, he was beautiful. His features softened when he was like this. I sucked in a deep breath and swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat. My heart hurt because I knew I was going to be leaving this man in less than twenty-four hours and I had no idea if that even fazed him. Sure, we’d had our moments over the past couple of weeks, but with Dawson, that never guaranteed that feelings were associated with those moments. He was the king of illusion.

A small tear escaped the corner of my eye and I quickly brushed it away. I needed to collect myself and cook the last meal that we’d eat together. I turned on some music to distract my mind while I prepped the vegetables and browned the meat. He only stirred twice while the sizzling of the stove crackled and the noise from chopping invaded his sleep. Everything was simmering when I decided I needed to relax my tense muscles. A bubble bath was the way to go. In the bathroom, I set up the tub and turned on the water to the hottest temp I could stand. Pouring in the sudsy liquid, I sat and watched as it filled with white foam. The sun was almost completely gone from the sky and only the twilight glow filtered through the blinds. Putting my hair up into a messy bun, I watched the door as I stripped down to nothing. Even after everything we’d done, a part of me was shy and would attempt to cover up if he came walking in. Sinking down into the oversized bath, I reached over, lit two candles, and turned my music down low. I lay there, letting my arms float to the surface and pushed them back down again, feeling the water swirl around me. My mind was twisting and turning just like the current that I was producing.

I drifted over my short-lived memories here in this house and wondered if he felt any semblance of emotion toward me. You see, the thing was, I knew he cared. As much as I fought with my insecurities over his constant back and forth, nobody looks at someone else that way, or whispers their name in the midst of being that intimate and doesn’t have any feelings. But how far did they go for him? He hid everything from me. Sitting forward I wrapped my arms around my knees and laid my head down. A small sob escaped my throat and I peeked up to make sure I was still alone. I hated this. My heart was shattering and I felt like I was a crazy person. I was in a committed relationship with a man, whom I wasn’t even sure I loved anymore, and I was too scared to ask Dawson for more than he’d already given me. In fact, I wasn’t sure if a man like him was capable of giving more.

I didn’t know how long I’d sat there like that. The water had grown cold, and my skin wrinkled. The music on my playlist had cycled back around and was repeating what I’d already heard. Either Dawson was still sleeping or he chose to stay in the living room, not wanting to come join me. The latter made me too emotional to want to consider. Stepping out, I dried off and dressed in my pajamas. I decided I didn’t care much about my hair so I left it the way that it was and padded back out to the kitchen. Passing the couch, I saw that Dawson was in fact still asleep. Did he plan to sleep away the last few hours we have together? I wanted to hit him with a pillow and grumble at him, but that would cause an argument that I didn’t care to have. I spent the next thirty minutes stirring a pot of soup, and sipping on a cup of coffee, pondering how everything was going to play out when I left. I had no clue how I was going to feel, nor did I know how I’d react to seeing Seth and my parents again. I also didn’t know what they were going to say about my running away. Frankly, I didn’t think I cared. I was a grown woman who could make her own choices, and I’d made one. At some point, I’d have to realize that I didn’t have to live under their thumb anymore. Dad seemed to be dealing with it okay, but it was the others in my life that didn’t take it well. My choices had consequences and reactions. I needed to be okay with that fact.

While I was deep in thought, I heard Dawson shuffling around on the couch. Glancing up at him, I watched him rub his eyes and stretch his arms above his head. Turning my attention back to my stirring, I didn’t notice when he got up and walked over to me. He leaned across the breakfast bar and mumbled, “That smells good. What is it?”

I couldn’t get myself to look directly at him. “It’s some sort of meat and vegetable soup.” I shrugged. “Just something simple I threw together.”

“You cook?”

Now I did peek up at him. “Knock it off, of course, I cook. You just always grumble about it.”

He chuckled. I dished him up a bowl and placed it in front of him. I continued to sip my coffee while I watched him blow steam around, cooling off his first bite. “I’m not a big soup fan, but this is pretty good.”

“Of course, it is. I made it,” I said with arrogance.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

I shrugged. “Not really hungry, I guess.”

I stood there on the other side of the bar while he continued to eat in silence. I hated that I felt like I had so much to say to him, and no way to say it. When he finished, he came around to my side and placed the bowl in the sink.

“Thanks, that was really filling.”

“Don’t you want more?”

“Nah, I think I’m going to go chill in the tub for a bit.”

When he walked out of the kitchen, I stood there dumbfounded. No invite to join him, no kiss on the lips to show gratitude, and no other form of emotion except a very polite platitude that one would give their own mother. I was once again bowled over by a slew of emotions that I didn’t know how to even big processing. So instead of standing there and picking up the pot of soup and hurling it across the living room, which was what I really wanted to do, I calmly grabbed a chair and went outside on the deck.

I was currently wearing a long t-shirt that said, ‘I need more coffee’ and flip-flops to prevent my bare feet from hitting the fresh snow that had accumulated. I’d grabbed the fur blanket on my way out, and I sat down facing the tree line just past the roof’s awning. I’d forgotten to turn on the porch light, but it wasn’t a big deal, the moon was bright and full in the sky and it lit a path across the backyard just bright enough to see anything that would move, and I could easily make out what it was. It didn’t take me long to curl up in a fetal position and wrap myself up.

I stared out at the glowing white and took a deep breath. The man I felt like I couldn’t live without was sitting in a hot bath while I was on the opposite side of the house completely confused and unsure even how to speak a sentence to him without breaking down. And what was even scarier, I wasn’t sure if he’d even care about anything that I’d say to him. Okay, maybe that was a little harsh. I knew he’d care, but to what extent? Would he simply pat me on the back and say, “You’re sweet, but this will never go anywhere.” Or would he reach for me and hold me close, asking me to stay. I wanted to stay in our little bubble and never come out. What I had here in this house was real to me. I wanted that life. It was what I strived for.

Perfection.

He was capable of single-handedly making or breaking me. I knew I was a fool for putting so much of me into this… well, I didn’t know what to call it, but I knew I wanted it. He made me happy.

Little flakes started to come down around me and I sat there letting them land on the fur of the blanket and in my hair. It was so quiet out here. Not a single sound of the city or cars passing by. No low buzz of power lines or noisy neighbors. Closing my eyes, I listened. If I tried hard enough, I could hear the sound of the crystals hitting the ground. I had no idea snow falling and landing could make noise. It was beautiful.

Not sure how long I’d spent out here, I heard the sound of a door closing in the house and saw the light come on in the kitchen. I knew Dawson was looking for me and would eventually check out here. Holding out my hand, I watched the snow hit my skin and form into melted droplets. It was coming down heavier now and I was getting chilly. But I refused to go inside until Dawson came out here to me. I wanted to know that he cared enough to check on me. As if on cue, the back door opened.

I didn’t turn around to look at him, just heard the crunching of the snow under his feet as he approached. He didn’t touch me, which I found disappointing. “What are you doing out here?”

“Just breathing and getting some air,” I replied, giving him an ‘in’ to ask me more.

“Okay,” he exaggerated. “Oh man, my blanket is getting all wet,” he grumbled.

If I thought I could find my flip-flops fast enough, I’d stand up and slap him. I was seriously about to come out of my skin with his inability to show me anything except his complete disconnect from emotion. Why couldn’t he just ask me to come inside and sit with him? Why couldn’t he pick me up out of this chair and hold me like I desperately wished for? My eyes welled up with tears for the umpteenth time today and I wanted nothing more than the curl into myself and wish away this sinking feeling.

“Sorry, it was closest to me when I walked out.”

“Well, I’m going back inside. It’s too fucking cold out here.”

“’Kay,” was all I was capable of mustering.

It didn’t take long for me to decide that I should probably go back inside, too. My fingertips were almost numb, and the fur on the blanket was soaked. Slipping my flip-flops back on, I grabbed everything and went inside. Dawson wasn’t in the living room or kitchen, which made me wonder where he went. Setting everything down, I walked down the hallway and passed his room. I saw him lying on his bed with his phone in his hand and ear buds in his ears. I stopped in his doorway. He looked up at me very casually. In that very moment, every little ounce of tension, anger, sadness, hurt, desolation, and loneliness collided inside of me. I had zero control over myself.

I snapped.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I shouted.

He pulled out his ear buds and buried his eyebrows together. “Why are you yelling?”

I opened and closed my fists, wanting nothing more than to go at him swinging. “You! How can you just lay in here like nothing is happening?”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

“Are you not affected at all by the fact that I am leaving tomorrow? That you are going to be heading off to some random place, I have no clue where, and that I may never see you again? At least I’m assuming you are, since you never fucking told me differently.”

“Of course, it bothers me.”

Looking over at the dresser, I picked up one of the little trinkets and chunked it at him. I paid no mind to what it was, if it was breakable, how heavy it was, or if it was something of value. Rage was fueling me and I wanted nothing more than to get his attention. It flew through the air and he ducked as it hit the wall beside his head. Whatever it was, was definitely glass. It shattered on impact and left a little chunk of plaster missing from the wall.

My chest was heaving. “It bothers you? It bothers you?” I repeated more high pitched than the first time. “It fucking bothers you?!? How about you actually act like it bothers you. Not just sit in your room that you haven’t even slept in for weeks but spend some time with me?”

When he lifted his head, his face was completely stunned. “I think you need to calm the fuck down before you say or do something you’ll regret.”

He was speaking so calmly to me, but I could hear the underlying anger I was inducing.

“No. I won’t calm down. I’m getting so sick of your nonchalant attitude.”

“What do you want from me? You want me to cry about it or act all depressed the rest of the night? It’s not going to happen.”

Tears began streaming down my face at a rapid pace. “Show me something. You sit in here listening to your music and the minutes are passing by, and yet you act like you couldn’t care less. Goddammit! Do I mean nothing to you? Or do the others just mean that much?”

Dawson threw his phone on the bed in front of him and stood. “I’ve already told you, of course you mean something to me, but we’re both leaving tomorrow. You’re going back to your fiancé, if that’s what he still is, and family, and I’m back on the road, doing my thing. All of this was great, but it would have never lasted. This kind of shit never lasts for me. Sorry if I don’t get attached and sappy when it’s time to go.”

I shook my head furiously. His words were cutting me deeper than any superficial wound. My heart was punctured and bleeding. He could heal me so easily, but at this point, I knew it was never going to happen. His past caused him to build such a large wall around his emotions, and I was out of time to try to scale it. Weeks of attempting to get to the other side, and I was now falling to the ground. This was going to be painful.

“How can you be so cold? This meant something to me. You meant something to me. I love you. Why can’t that be enough? I’m giving you everything—me, my heart, my home, or anything that I could possibly give…take it, it’s yours.”

His expression went from raw to completely blank. I said something that struck him, and he’s shutting down.