Somewhere Between Water and Sky (Shattered Things #2) (22 page)

No one
’
s ever going to love you, you little bitch.

I flinch and jump and open my eyes.

We
’
re at a stoplight and Jessa
’
s staring at me with a concerned look on her face.

“
Are you sure you
’
re going to be okay?
”

“
I
’
m fine.
”

She knows I
’
m lying, but simply nods and looks back to the street.

“
Okay.
”
She whispers.

I
’
m still shaking when we make a turn on a side street. We haven
’
t said a word the entire drive and I have every belief Jessa now knows how certifiable I really am
—
it
’
s only a matter of time before she stops talking to me completely.

She probably said not to apologize because it
’
s too late.

I look out the front window. I haven
’
t even been paying attention to the route we were taking. We
’
re oceanside, the sun casting reflections on tide pools up and down the sand.

“
We
’
re back at the beach?
”

Jessa turns and glances at me before putting the car in park.

“
Kind of.
”
She motions for me to follow her. We get out and find our way to a path in the brush and I take in our surroundings: seagulls crying in the distance, surfers catching the morning waves, our feet making indentations in the sand. She points in front of us.

“
Do you see that?
”

I squint against the rising sun and notice a shady outline of what looks to be a house.

“
This is the poetry house I was telling you about
—
I come here on days I just need to decompress.
”

“
It
’
s
…
colorful.
”
It
’
s the only thing I can think to say because the only thing I see is color.

No wonder Jessa loves it here.

Each window
’
s trim is outlined with a different shade: indigo, pink, teal, orange, yellow, red. The porch is stained purple. The chimney sticking up from the roof is magenta.

Jessa laughs under her breath and opens the gate. I notice a sign barely hanging on to the fence that
’
s been transferred from
Absolutely No Trespassing
—
Violators Will Be Prosecuted
”
to
“
Absolutely Trespass
—
Violators Will be Hated.

“
It
’
s
…
quaint.
”

Apparently all of my words have blown away with the sea breeze and I
’
m left with descriptors.

We walk up the stairs leading into the front of the house and immediately I
’
m struck by the amount of words written on almost every square inch of plywood. My feet are not my own anymore. I rush over to one of the walls and trace my fingers along the wood and peeling wallpaper.

“
Whoa.
”
I whisper.

Jessa laughs.
“
I thought you might like it.
”

My eyes scan the living room.
“
The entire house is like this?
”

She nods.
“
The entire house. Rumor has it that Jack Kerouac was the one who found the place and him and his friends would have these beat parties here
—
writing on the walls and then reading them out loud for anyone who would show.
”
She points to the wall.
“
That poem with the circle around it and JK underneath? Everyone thinks it
’
s his.
”

I walk over to the poem.

The mad ones beat to a rhythm of their own

while the sane ones beat on like drones.

I laugh.
“
Jessa. This poem could literally be written by anyone. It
’
s only two lines.
”
I turn and look at it again, noticing the obvious age of the lettering. You could barely see the words anymore. It
’
d been there a while.

She shrugs.
“
Well it
’
s been there as long as I
’
ve known about this place, so it
’
s kinda cool to think about it that way.
”

“
You
’
re such a romantic.
”

She throws up her middle finger at me.

I smile sweetly.
“
I love you too, Jessa.
”

She turns away and finds a spot on the wall to begin spilling words and I pace the floor for a while before walking down the hallway. I find handwriting that looks vaguely familiar. I lean in close and begin whispering the poetry engraved into the grooves with sharpie.

I believe in the symmetry of time

and how it rolls back onto another

like waves crashing against waves

the bedrock smooth after nights spent

with storms beating the sharp pieces down
—

the distant beam of light ricocheting off blue

and pointing ships back home

I believe in the gold of a new day spreading

out-out-out

caressing the blue-dark and

weaving her fingers through iridescent clouds

Seconds build

to the next

minute

-expectant-

ripe with the hope of maybe then

turning into now.

I look for an author but am distracted by the poem sitting crooked next to it. The first line jumps out at me: S
ometimes, my words lose themselves in the pieces of you.
I whisper them out loud and hear Jessa call out from the other side of the room the line that follows.

“…
in those eyes that light up a room
…”

I turn around, see her writing on the wall, and then glance back at the poem.
How
’
d she know what the next line was?
I shift my eyes down, the poem forgotten, and see her name scratched beneath the words.

That
’
s why the handwriting looks familiar. I
’
ve seen it on the chalkboard in the shop.

“
You wrote this.
”
I turn and look at her again, pointing to the faded sharpie behind me.

She catches my eye and then focuses again on the words flowing from beneath her pen.

“
Yeah. It was in response to that other one you read out loud
—
the one about the hope of then turning into now.
”
She shrugs.
“
I wrote the first one right after Ren broke up with me. I was convinced we
’
d get back together.
”

I raise an eyebrow.

“
You were right.
”

She caps her sharpie and then walks over to where I stand.

“
Yeah but, like, three years off.
”
She points to the poem.
“
Finish reading this one. I wrote it after a particularly painful episode of missing him and screwing things over.
”

I stare at her for a few more seconds before turning back to the poem, reading her words quietly under my breath.

Sometimes, my words lose themselves in the pieces of you

in those eyes that light up a room

my sentences fall flat
—
the rise and fall of semantics forgotten

in the way your finger brushes against her cheek

I remember when I was the center of your world

when my phrases were the ones you repeated back to me

and my hand was the one you reached for on nights

when no words were necessary.

Now I see worlds disappearing within one glance

the stories we shared falling away like dust

as a new chapter unfolds with a better character

waiting for your return.

I look at her questioningly, trying to remember the story she told me a few days ago in my hotel room.

“
Is this when he sent you pictures of him with other girls?
”

Jessa smiles.
“
No. This was after
—
when I received one of those pictures and went a little nuts.
”
She presses her hands on the wall behind her and lowers herself to the ground before catching my gaze.
“
I went to New York after he left to shoot that series. Followed him around and did some creepy shit because I just couldn
’
t wrap my brain around him and me not being together anymore.
”

I widen my eyes in mock horror.
“
You? Invasive and creepy?
”

She swats at my shoe and I side step her, smiling for the first time all morning.

“
Old habits die hard, I guess.
”
She wraps a few strands of pink hair around her finger and looks out a nearby window toward the waves. She bites her lip and looks at me.

“
I followed him to a club one night where he was celebrating a pretty good day on set with everyone.
”
She laughs and shakes her head.
“
I was pathetic, Stephanie. Sitting behind this big-ass man and trying to act interested in what he was saying when really I just needed him to block me from Ren
’
s view. But then I saw him with her and I flipped.
”

“
You flipped?
”

Her eyes grow wide.
“
Yeah. Threw my drink against the wall behind them and climbed on top of the table to kick everything off.
”
She places her head in her hands.
“
I still get embarrassed thinking about it.
”

“
Shit.
”
I whisper.

Her shoulders shake and she peeks out from her fingers.
“
Yeah. Shit.
”
She points at herself.
“
See? Fucked up. Right here.
”
Shrugging, she tosses her hair behind her.

“
Needless to say, that
’
s when Ren filed the restraining order. On my way home I nursed my wounds at this small bed and breakfast off the coast. I walked the beach every morning for like a week
—
it didn
’
t solve everything, but it sure helped me stay sane right after the bottom fell out from under me.
”
She toys with the hem of her shorts.
“
I wished even then that I would walk down that beach and see him running after me.
”