The Runaway Full Story

Twisted. Tangled. Smothered.

Sweat soaked sheets are clinging to the skin, like another layer stretched out too far. The moisture pressed between the two films is seeping out like water from pores. The air is hot and dry, too thin for the lungs to really grasp. Too harsh for the body to take in.

In. Out. In. Out.

“Hey sis, when are you gonna come home?” My ever overly concerned brother asks through the phone.

“Geez dude chill. I haven’t even been gone for two months.” I snicker.

“It’s so quiet without you here. It’s creepy.” He says it so seriously, but I can totally imagine him making that stupid face he does when something grosses him out that I can’t help the snort I let out just thinking about it.

“I’m serious! I can probably drop a pin and hear it now! Not to mention Mom and Dad are always working so no one is ever home to make food!” He whines.

“I’m not your personal chef boy.” I roll my eyes, “You know how to use a microwave at least.”

“Hey, I’m not that bad!” He tried to defend himself but scoff. “I do have one serious question though.” His tone changed so quickly, it takes me a second to sober up.

“Sure, what’s up?” I twist the cord around my finger.

“Did you ever think about anyone but yourself when you called me that night?” He jeers.

Breathing faster and faster, taking in gasps now. Chest painfully heaving, back arching, skin going cold. Nails scraping at skin in a desperate manner, an attempt to rid the crawling feeling just below the surface. Itching, crawling, tingling sensations burrowing deeper into the negative spaces.

Until...

I open my eyes to the rising golden streams of sunlight through the window. Peeling the sheets away, slowly moving to stand, I get up to face the day. It's humid outside; the floorboards are warm under the soles of my bare feet. The house is dark, even with the sun pouring in at random places, but it's still easy to move around. Coffee started at the same time each day, glancing out the window, the trees are lush and green with life from the summer sun. The room smells like old, old wood, moth balls and the air is heavy with its film of smog.

There's a draft in the room.

It’s quiet in the dingy little cabin. Nothing but leaves rustling outside and the wind smacking at the soft baby blue shutters. My feet pad softly across the floor, moving for the door to enter the rest of the household. Not a single sound. No chattering family. No tv noises playing in the background. Not even the sound of bickering. Nothing. Just, empty.

Then there’s something making a noise in the kitchen.

My phone. Right on time.

"Good morning hun." My Mother says. Her voice sounds full of forced cheer. False enjoyment to have any form of contact with me I’m sure. ‘Can you really blame her? After what you did?’ I chase away the ghosts inside my head, trying to focus on the mockingly delightful tone she uses whenever I do something right.

Here we go again.

"Morning.” I sigh.

"Have you eaten yet?" She asks.

"Coffee’s brewing.”

"Have some toast and jam, too. The strawberry one Nanna made is delicious!" She confirms for me like I’ve never had it before even though I was eating that stuff for years.

"Okay."

"So what are you going to do today?” Her question is pointless. She knows what I'm going to do today because it’s the same thing I've done since I got here, but I'll humor her. For now.

"Have breakfast, water the plants, maybe go into town for a new book." I say. It's hard to sound alive, but lying has gotten easier. ‘Watch what you say, how you say it. Otherwise you’ll fuck up like always.’ Shut up already. ‘No wonder you guys fought so much.’

"Finished the last one already?" She sounds shocked but I know she's not. She likes to pretend that everything is the same. That we’re one perfect, happy family. That it’s all smiles and normal and that this is just a faze.

It’s not. We’re not, no matter how much she wants to pretend. We can never go back to that.

"Yeah. Last night."

“You need to get out more sweetie, you're probably as pale as a ghost!" She laughs.

"Okay.” I tell her. The coffee pot stops grumbling, and I go over to pour a cup, popping a Prozac and Clozapine in my mouth.

"Well, I've got to go dear. I'll talk to you later!" She says.

"Goodbye."

“Goodbye dear.”

It's already 9 a.m., I guess she's calling later and later in the mornings now. Makes sense, I wouldn't want to talk to me either. ‘Who does?’ The sun is bright today, I'm almost scared to go outside. My eyes hurt.

Mom was right, I need to get out more. Moving out the sliding door, a wave of humid air washes over me.

It's going to rain.

Maybe I shouldn't water the garden yet…

I sip my coffee slowly, carefully. It’s strong and bitter and the taste makes me cringe but I can’t help but drink more until my skin feels hot and I think I could sweat. Until my stomach is bloating and warm and I can hear the slosh of liquid under the skin with each step.

Grabbing the frayed wicker basket beside me, I head over to the garden, coffee mug in other hand. The tomatoes are ready to be pulled as well as a handful of green beans. The dirt stains the knees of my jeans, not that it really matters. I’ll scrub it out later before bed when I clean all the dirt from under my nails. Making sure everything is in the basket, I head back inside to wash them and boil the beans.

When they're raw, they hurt to swallow. ‘Is that really so bad compared to everything else?’ It’s mocking me with its false curiosity, the malicious implication just beneath the surface. ‘Surely you of all people can handle a little discomfort. You’ve got the stomach for much worse, remember?’ Stop talking like you know me.

After placing them in the fridge, I grab my keys to Chris's my 1969 Chevy, I need milk. I pull back my hair and toss on sunglasses.

I know I'm not a pretty sight right now.

I'm about to unlock the door to the truck when I feel paws on the backs of my legs, nails scraping down my calves and a tongue coating my fingers with slimy drool. There's a dog on me. A big dog. It’s got white, fluffy fur and big brown eyes. Its tongue lolls to the side of its mouth as it happily bounces around me, its head coming to above my waist. “Lou! Get back 'ere!” There's a guy running up the drive, but the dog, Lou, doesn't seem to care.

He's cute.

The dog.

"M'sorry, he don' normally run off like tha’." The human guy says, scratching the back of his head. He looks nervous. Anxious. Twitchy. I don’t like that. ‘Maybe he knows what you did too…’

"It's fine." I say, wondering why he's staring at me like that. Tender and warm. I must be hallucinating.

“Ahm Cole. Yer neighbor actually.” He says, smiles, and sticks his hand out for me to shake. When I just stare at it, he pulls his hand back awkwardly.

His skin is tan, golden almost, just like his hair, the color you’d want your toast in the morning. His eyes are green, and he has a dimple on his left cheek when he smiles. Crooked teeth, but not unattractively so. He's taller than me, he blocks the sun from my eyes so I don’t have to squint through my cheap sunglasses, "Nice to meet you.” I'm unlocking the door, gently pushing Lou down and crawling in my truck before Cole can say much else. Pulling out down my drive, my first thought is that he might break into my house, but he seems too nice and there's not much there so I don't really worry.

The drive was quiet, the driver side window rattled a bit. I had to manually move it up and down after Chris broke the handle off. There's a hole in the passenger side seat from when my jeans I wore for picture day my sophomore year snagged and purple paint splotches on the carpet from the time my brother's friend Ethan stepped in some and then put his shoes in the truck. Chris's My bead necklace and old air freshener hang from the rear view mirror and swish around with each bump in the road, the stale smell of cinnamon still lingers.

The truck is a burnt orange with some minor rust spots. She may be old, but she purrs when I start her up.

Pulling into an empty spot, I pull down the visor and stare blankly. There's a picture of me, and of the person who owned this truck before I did. He has dark brown eyes, hair equally as dark and his eyes are crossed while he sticks his tongue out while I do bunny ears behind him.

Chris and I. My older brother. This picture was taken a week before he left.

Sometimes I wonder what it would've been like if it was me instead…

‘It should’ve been.’ Stop talking. I know.

Getting out.

Walking to the shop.

Getting and paying for the milk is easy.

Avoiding the stares of the locals is not.

‘They see right through you, the blood on your hands. You’re no saint.’

What kills me most is that the voice I hear is his. It’s the only voice I can remember without help.

I usually never leave the property, much less my cabin. Most people remember who I am from the times my parents drove down from Michigan to vacation here in ole sunny Oklahoma. Friends of the family, old summer jobs, elderly women I used to help.

Head down. Eyes on shoes. Get to truck.

Open.

Close.

Start engine. Drive out of town.

SAFE.

Driving down to my driveway, I can see Cole and Lou outside. I never realized they lived so close. I really should go out more.

Or maybe not. Who knows.

Pulling in, I glance back in the rear view mirror, Cole and Lou are walking towards me,

"Great."

Grabbing my milk jug and new textbook, I get out, lock the truck door, and set my milk inside

the garage. Lou flies over to me, he looks like a massive cotton ball.

"Hey Lou." I say, waiting for him to get close enough to jump. I sound like I’ve been smoking a pack a day for years, but I just don’t use my voice too often. His huge paws smack against my chest as he tries to lick my face. He's almost as tall as I am. His chestnut colored eyes are wide set and I think he's smiling.

If a dog can smile.

"He really likes ya." Lou barked happily as I scratched his head, his paws now on my shoulders.

He's heavy. Heavier than me.

"Yeah?" I barely asked.

"Yeah, he comes 'ere a lot. Runs in yer backyard sometimes, bu’ ah get em’out quick though." Cole said quickly. His cheeks are red like he's blushing, but it could just be the heat.

He has a drawl. I didn’t even notice. I stay silent.

Maybe he'll leave.

"Ya never told me yer name." Cole smiled as Lou jumped off me to sit on my feet. They're already hot. They'll probably sweat. They probably are. Sweaty socks. Damp with perspiration. Gross.

"No need to say." I rasp. My throat is dry, if I cough, I’m sure dust will come spewing out like a cloud. I don't usually talk this much.

"Wha' will ah call ya when ah see ya t'morrow'?" He smiled. It's bright and sugar sweet, sweet like molasses.

"Nothing."

"Nuthin? Ah gotta call ya somethin." He laughed. I stayed quiet, putting my keys in my pocket.

"Ah know, how 'bout I call ya Darlin. Till ya tell me yer name at least." Cole laughed. He looked happy. I just nodded and moved to go inside. No use in arguing with an idiot. ‘Or someone who knows the truth.’ Yeah, that too. "G’bye Darlin!" Ah'll see ya t'morrow!" Cole laughed joyfully. I put a hand up as a wave as I went inside. This guy was pretty set in getting his way.

Weirdo.

Mom called the next morning.

Later than yesterday.

Shorter talk. Plans. Coffee. Toast. End. No texts. Nothing.

‘Why are you surprused? YOU RUINED HER LIFE. YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!’ Thanks for reminding me.

I'm plucking more green beans and the chives are ready to be cut.

There's dirt smeared on my knees and caked under my nails as usual. There’s a slug weaving around the pea vines like it owns the garden. I hear them before I see them. Lou's paws beat the loose gravel up my drive. "G'mornin Darlin!" Cole shouts. He's loud this morning. Upbeat. The sun is beating down on me. The sweat is dripping in my eyes and it stings. His hair looks darker, he looks taller, broader.

For a moment, I thought he was actually Chris…

“What do you want for your birthday?” Chris casually asks while we watch tv.

“Nothing.” I reply.

“Oh come on, you have to want something. Makeup, clothes, books… Hell, I’ll get you a boyfriend if you want.” Chris mumbles the last part but I still catch it.

“I really don’t want anything. I don’t even want to acknowledge it honestly.” I sigh, trying to focus on the movie in front of me.

“Give me at least something I can do.” Chris groans and I can’t help the agitated feeling bubbling up inside my chest.

“You want to do something for me?” I ask.

“Yes!” He drags out.

“Convince Mom and Dad to stop acting like I’m a child.” I tell him.

“But you are. If you just did what you were told, when you’re told, maybe they’d respect you.” Chris replies snarkily.

“Whether they like it or not, I can do what I want already. I don’t because I don’t want to deal with how they’ll act.” I roll my eyes.

“Maybe if you’d stop being a selfish brat, they’d treat you like they give a shit. They’d treat you the way they treated me, before you messed everything up.”

I’m screaming myself awake before I even realize it. My nails are in my skin, my hair, my scalp. It hurts. It hurts to sleep. To eat. To remember. How much longer can I live like this? The day passes by, in a blurry daze before the unexpected repeats.

I’m outside watering the flowers when I hear that oh so familiar bark. Three days in a row? Clingy. ‘Or digging for something you’re trying to hide?’ It titters in my head, back and forth between my ears like the ringing you get from a bell. Lou is whining from behind the gate I put up around my plants, to keep pests out. I finish watering the daisies before setting the watering can down and making my way over the fence. Lou is already distracted with trying to eat the leaves blowing on the ground. “Nice day, ain’ it?” Cole asks from just a few steps away. ‘Small talk, how sweet.’

“Mhm.” I grunt.

“Ah didn’ know you had flowers too.” He nods towards the several different breeds.

“My mom used to garden. I guess I get it from her.” I shrug, reaching down to ruffle Lou’s off white and slightly sun yellowed fur, the damn dog is leaning against my hip and he’s liable to knock me down.

“You don talk much bout yer family, do ya?” Cole asks, leaning on the fence behind him.

“Nope.”

‘Like you have family to talk about? Please, you’re a pariah, a leper. NO ONE WANTS YOU AROUND.’

“We don’t have to talk about them.” Cole says gently. I don’t bother replying. I’ll never talk about them.

Ever.

The next eight months were spent sitting on the back porch, drinking lavender lemonade with Cole and scratching Lou behind his large, droopy ears. We spent it in good company with spirits, little jokes turning into big laughs and light touches that turned to kisses on the cheek to days that were spent into the night and waking to see Cole beside me. He was familiar I guess, I mean he came around every day just to sit on my back steps and watch as I gardened.

He occasionally asked me questions but mostly he just talked. After awhile, I guess I just started to talk back and the relationship began to grow. He's a really sweet guy, he works on the ranch his father owns down the road. I've never met her, but his mother is really nice. She's sent over cookies more times than I can count and dinner invitations that I've politely declined.

"Ya braided yer hair." Cole suddenly said one day.

"Ah, yeah." I say. I suddenly feel self-conscious as I pull the braid over my shoulder, fingers twisting into the split ends.

"Ah like it." He replied, and for some reason I released a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

"So, how's ya garden?" He asked, glancing over at it,

"It's expanded a nice amount. I'm thinking of adding eggplants next year, and maybe some red onions. I've already started growing some herbs in the kitchen." I tell him, almost proudly.

"Why?"

"Why what?" I ask him.

"Why grow 'em?" Cole asked.

"It gives me something to do." I said slowly.

"There's plenya thins ta’ do. Why this?" Cole pushed and was met with my silence. "Why are ya hidin'?" He said quietly,

"I'm not hiding." I said, offended.

"Ya are. Y’never leave 'ere unless ya gotta, don' talk ta no one, Won' even tell me yer full name!" Cole's voice rose with each word that passed his lips.

"Why does it matter'?" I yelled at him. I was furious, enraged really, that he'd try to demand this from me.

"Because ya matt'r ta me!" Cole yelled back, his face tinged red. I stayed quiet. I really didn't know what to say. Cole sighed before he grabbed my hand in his, "Tell me yer story, Darlin."

I choked on the words in my throat, "I think you should leave now..." It was a whisper, but I knew he heard it from the way his eyes glazed over, going blank, before his mouth went into a straight line.

He got up, "Lou, let's go boy!" and walked off my porch and down the drive. He never once looked back at me.

Cole didn't show up the next day.

Or the next.

Or the day after that.

After a week, I stopped trying. No point. Everything fell back into its rightful place. Same routine. Every day, Every Night.

1. Wake up.

2. Coffee.

3. Mom.

4. Garden.

5. Inside.

Life was scheduled. Back into order. Neat and tidy. Consistent and unable to move or leave. There was no more lavender lemonade. No more slobbery kisses from Lou. No more sunshine smiles from Cole.

Cole.

The few times I went out, I saw him herding cattle from the grazing fields. I've caught him staring at me. Watching my house. I didn't acknowledge him. Why should I? He made his choice. This is mine. I'd stopped taking my Prozac, stopped taking my Clozapine. Stopped when Cole was here. Last I remember. I tossed them down the drain. A moment of native strength when I thought I had become invincible . It was hard to get up. Harder to go to sleep. Coffee was hard. Hard to make. Hard to drink. Hard. Gardening was a hassle. Reading was troublesome. Everything was pointless.

Until mom called in the afternoon.

"Oh sweetie!” She cried. I was confused.

What was going on?

"What happened?" I asked.

"They ruined it! They ruined Chris's grave!" She burst out in tears. Her sobs were loud. My heartbeat was louder.

“What?"

"They wrote all over it, baby. It was awful. The headstone was smashed! They called him a murderer!" Mom sobbed. I hung up. My throat closed. The scream was trapped inside my chest. Sticking to my lungs like molasses.

Hands in hair,

Pulling.

Tears in eyes.

Blurry.

Chris.

The truck keys were in my hand. I didn't remember grabbing them. I was out the door in seconds. Tears still streaming. Struggle to unlock the door. I can hardly see. My hands are shaking. It takes a while to get the key in the ignition. When I do, the truck stalls a few times before she rumbles to life. I'm pulling out of the drive, barely missing the mailbox.

Foot on the gas pedal.

I'm driving back home.

I'm an hour out from my cabin. Tears falling. Nose running. I'm wiping my face on my sleeve. The beads are jangling. I'm hiccuping. The road is blurry from my tears. I can hardly see myself in the mirror. Hair ratted. Eyes probably swollen. Dried tears. Snot. Not exactly okay.

I'm wiping my eyes. Something is in the middle of the road.

"Shit!"

I'm spinning the wheel. The deer darts. I don't have control. I'm falling. The truck crashes. Hard,

My head hurts. Warmth is dripping down it.

I’m tired.

“You know what’s funny?” My friend Evelyn asks from her spot on my bed.

“Hm?” I hum out, my nose stuck in my book.

“We do all this shit in life, deal with so much of it that we get gray hair, and for what? We don’t live forever. The world doesn’t change just because we’re missing. The end is still the same.” She huffs out, glaring venomously at her college courses book, no doubt trying to figure out what to go to school for.

“It’s the experience Eve. You have to do something with your time before it’s all over. You can’t just sit on the couch all day and mope” I glance at her.

“Like you?” She glares at me.

“Eve…”

“Like you didn’t lock yourself away after you destroyed your family? Ran like a little bitch into the middle of nowhere so you couldn’t be found? Tell me, is it any easier? Being away from everyone that knows, or does it just eat you up inside knowing he’ll never get to do anything with the time he was supposed to have? The time that you took from him?”

It's dark. Pitch black. Something is in my arm. It feels cold. Am I dead? Should be. I deserve it. There's a beeping sound somewhere. Crying. Someone is crying. Me? It's hard to open my eyes. There's something bright shining above me, "Gah!" I hiss. The light is flicked off and I can see. My mom and dad.

And Cole.

They're all sitting in the room.

I'm in a hospital bed.

"What happened?" I croaked.

"Pumpkin, you had an accident." My father said. My mother was heavily sobbing. "Cole found you crashed on the side of the road. You've been out for three days now."

"Three days?"

"You hit your head on the wheel. Thank God you were wearing your seatbelt, you would've went through the windshield. Thirteen stitches, a concussion, and a few bruised ribs." Dad sighed, holding mom closer, "Thank God Cole found you."

"Oh my baby! We thought we lost you!" Mom cried.

Her eyes were red and puffy, "We can't lose you! Not after Christopher."

"What?"

"You're all we've got left, sweetheart." Dad said, his voice deeply distressed.

"But, Chris was my fault?" I said.

"No, baby, no. That wasn't your fault. It was an accident." Mom sobbed, her fingers wrapped around mine tightly.

"H-his phone though. I-it was m-my text." I was weeping.

"Baby, you didn't cause that. No one caused that." Dad said sternly.

"I-I thought you guys hated me. I-I took h-him." I struggled to speak. The tears were barely held back.

"No, we don't hate you. We never hated you." Mom cried. A cough silenced the room.

Cole.

He looked odd. Out of place. Uncomfortable.

"Can you give us a minute?" I coughed out to my parents.

"Sure, dear." My mom smiled through her tears, sniffling softly. Dad helped her out of the room.

Silence.

It was awkward.

"Thank you."

"Ya don gotta thank me.” Cole said.

"I do." I pushed out.

"What were ya doin?” Cole asked.

"Driving back home."

"Why?”

"Family stuff." I sighed,

Cole stood up quickly, his chair tipping over, "Ah'm tryin' 'ere, I really am. Ya don' say nuthin' an ah'm tryin' ta work with wha' I got but ya ain't makin' this easy."

"My past is my business, Cole. I don't have to tell you." I hissed.

"That wha’ ya think?"He said.

"It's what I know. Why do you care so much? I'm just your neighbor."

"Jus', jus' my neighbor? Are ya kiddin' me'? Did all tha' time mean nuthin' to ya?" Cole shouted angrily.

"We sat on my porch." I said dumbly.

"Ah love you! Ah love you an ah don' even know yer last name. It all meant somethin' ta me!" Cole yelled, panting. His eyes were glassy from what could be tears. But that's just my imagination.

He said he loves me. ‘Bullshit. No one really loves you.’

He slammed the door on the way out.

He didn't come back the whole week I was there.

Mom and Dad wanted me to come home, but I said no. I was fine here. I didn’t want to go back to where it all began. I needed to think. My truck was taken into a body shop in town, it was going to be towed back to me when finished. I told them not to fix anything inside the truck.

I hope they listened...

Mom and Dad left back for Michigan a few days ago. I haven't left my room since. No calls. No plans. No coffee. No toast. No goodbyes. No garden.

Nothing.

My parents didn't hate me.

They never hated me.

But it was my fault he crashed.

My text.

He replied to my text.

I knew he was driving.

I knew he would try to reply.

I still texted him.

I might as well have crashed his truck.

I murdered him.

I murdered Chris.

"No baby, no. That was not your fault. It was an accident."

"Baby, you did not cause that. No one caused that."

"No, we don't hate you. We never hated you."

"We can't lose you. Not after Christopher."

"You're all we've got left, sweetheart."

"Gahl Stop! I'm sixteen." I playfully yelled at Chris as he messed up my hair.

"Psh, you'll always be my baby sis." Chris laughed as he got into the driver side of the truck.

Getting in on the passenger side and shutting the door, "I won't always be here to be your baby sis."

"You're always going to be my little baby sister, no matter where you are."

"And you're always going to be my idiot big brother." I smiled at him as he laughed, full and loud.

His eyes crinkled at the corners and his smile was wide and bright like the sun. To me, my brother was my rock.

Dependable.

Reliable.

Caring.

Loyal.

Thoughtful.

Compassionate.

He was the type of brother that was always there for me. He never failed me, even my selfish thoughts and wants. He took care of me as a kid, helped with my homework, he did everything for me. Chris was amazing. I was lucky to have him. "You'll always be my little sister, no matter where you are."

I went to bed with Chris on my mind.

It's warm outside. I'm in a field by our old cabin. It's warm and gold and bright. I'm happy here, I was always happy here. There's someone sitting next to me in the grass.

"Hey, Chris." I choked out.

"Hey short stuff." He said. He's smiling. I know he is. He always smiles when he calls me that.

"I'm not that short. "I sigh.

"Short to me, baby sis." Chris laughed happily. I shook my head. My brother is an idiot. Was an idiot.

"Nice place, huh? Moved to the old cabin shack?" Chris said

"Yeah, about a year ago." I said, plucking a strand of emerald grass.

"Do you like it here?" Chris asked, turning to look at me.

"Yeah. It's peaceful. Nice."

"Make any friends?" Chris wondered .

"No friends.”

"Not even Cole?" Chris teased

"Cole doesn't want anything to do with me." I sigh.

"But do you want anything to do with him?"

"I guess."

"Sis, you gotta stop pushing him away." Chris said.

"I'd rather him be upset with me than hate me." I sighed.

"Why would he hate you?"

"No one could love a murderer." I hissed

"Murderer? Is that what you think you are?" Chris asked, eyes wide. He sounded shocked

"Of course I am Chris, I killed you!" I shouted, tears in my eyes.

"Nah short stuff. You couldn't control that. No one could've. It was out of your hands." Chris said, pulling me to him.

"You were texting me back! And you crashed Chris, I killed you! It's my fault! It's all my fault!"

"Shortie, no. Listen to me, you weren't responsible for anything. Texting you back was all on me. You can't keep blaming yourself for things other people do." Chris said, holding me.

"But, if I'd never texted you..."

"No kiddo, listen. Blaming yourself isn't going to help. You didn't cause that accident. Things just happen. You gotta wake up. Someone is waiting for you sis, don't keep him waiting.” Chris whispered.

When the light shined through, it took me a moment to see. It was brighter today, brighter than it's been in a long time. Get up. Walk to shower. Clean.

The girl in the mirror stares back.

"You couldn't control that."

Wide, russet mixed green eyes stare back at me.

"It was out of your hands."

Matted, tangled, tawny brown locks hang in spirals down to my elbows.

"You are not responsible for anything."

Heart shaped, peach toned lips purse, ivory skin plagued by splashes of cinnamon freckles.

"You can't keep blaming yourself for things other people do."

"My name."

Burgundy cardigan tossed over cream lace. Shorts pulled up. Flip flops on. Running out the door.

Cole is outside. Lou is outside, too. He's barking.

Lou.

Not Cole.

He's working in the barn. He's looking at Lou. Who is looking at me. Running. I'm jumping into Cole's arms before I even know it. I'm kissing him. And he's kissing me. When he pulls back to breathe, he looks at me. Really looks at me. His eyes are bright. It's like he's a boy again, staring at a shooting star or finding a new bug.

"Darlin? Wha' ya doin'?"

"My name." I said.

"Wha?" Cole looked confused.

"My name." I repeated slowly. Cole still looked confused. "My name is Violet Anne Summers. I'm twenty-three, born and raised in Michigan. My Mom is a nurse and my Dad can fix damn near anything. I love reading, I love gardening. I love flowers, but most of all, I love lavender. I like to draw and paint, but I’m not that good at it. I used to play the saxophone in high school. I’m bad at math, truly and utterly terrible at it. Cole, I've been in love with you for months."

Cole stared at me like he couldn't believe what was happening. His eyes were wide. "Cole, I love you." I repeated. It took a moment for his reaction. His smile was wide, crooked teeth showing. His eyes were bright. I was in his arms again before I even knew it. My feet weren't even touching the ground. Lou's barking and some of the other guys working are whistling at us. I couldn't care less though, because right now, Cole is smiling so wide it's contagious

"Ya love me?" He asks, but I know he knows.

"I love you." I told him again.

The guys around us are hollering and laughing while Cole spun me in the air, Lou barking at my feet. Cole was laughing in joy. I don't think I've ever seen him so happy before. "Ah love ya, Violet Anne Summers! Ah love ya too!" Cole laughed as he set me down, dipped me and kissed me again in front of all his friends. My chest felt tight and a warmth was budding all throughout my body. My face hurt from smiling so much but it was worth it to see the look in his eyes when he stared at me like I was the most precious thing in his whole wide world.

The day ended with Cole and Lou on my back porch just as before, with his mother Carol and his father James, and a bunch of his friends celebrating as we spent the night with true friends and family. Mom and Dad couldn't make it but they called and told us congratulations. When everyone left later, Lou already asleep at the foot of my, our bed. Cole turned to look at me.

"Violet, can ah ask ya somethin”

"Sure.”

"Wha' happened to yer brother, Chris?" He said very hesitantly.

I sucked in a deep breath before turning to look at him. I knew he was going to ask one day, I was never going to be prepared to answer though. The lamp light reflected a low glow on his already bronzed skin. He looked beautiful, sitting in bed beside me, his hand resting on my bent knee. "I was texting him, I needed a ride home from a job interview. I knew he was driving home from a football game so I thought he could get me. I didn’t know he’d be drinking."

My breathing was ragged by this point, "I never got a text back from him so I thought maybe his phone died or he was already sleeping at his friend's house. I ended up just taking the bus home. No one was there so I figured Mom and Dad were out celebrating the win. When I woke up, Mom and Dad were downstairs, Mom was crying a lot." Tears were making my vision blurry and my chest felt like it was being crushed. "Chris died that night. He was driving back home with his friends in the car when he collided into another vehicle. He died at the scene along with the two other people in the other car. His friends were okay, but he wasn't."

"Why do ya blame yerself though?" Cole pulled me closer to him as the tears silently fell down my cheeks.

"Because he crashed when he was texting me back..." I whispered.

"Oh, Darlin', that ain't ya fault. No one coulda controlled that." Cole cooed softly, tightening his hold on me as I cried. "Shh, sweetheart. Ya ain't gotta blame yerself fer tha'. Ain't nobody's fault tha' happened. Nobody's."

Cole held me tight throughout the night, his arm wrapped around me almost as if he was trying to push me into him, to make us one person. He smelled like pine and leather cleaner and hay and the lavender he helped me cut from the backyard earlier that day, and I couldn't help but inhale it. He was solid and real against me, warmth radiated off him and for once, I didn't feel numb.

That night, I slept without a nightmare, and without Chris,

When the morning sun burst through the window, I felt the bed shift behind me. Lips were pressed tightly to my forehead and when I opened my eyes, mossy orbs stared back. He was smiling, whispering "Ah love ya..” Between kisses from my forehead to my cheek to my lips. Lou bound up onto the bed with us, licking Cole and myself happily thumping his tail on the bed.

Looking at Cole right now, the honey rays of light from the sun on his face, his smile lighting up the room, his eyes staring at me with so much love, only one thought was on my mind.

This man is the man I love.

This man is my heart.