Ghost of You

s i x t e e n

It felt like someone was chipping away at the ice between us, cracking it piece by piece until one day there'd be no barrier separating me from him and him from me. We kept having these "firsts". The first time he made me smile, the first time he held my hand, the first time he saw me cry. Each first was bringing us closer and closer to whatever it was that we really were. I still wasn't sure what that was going to be or look like or if I even wanted to know, but for the first time, I found myself not caring about the confinements of our agreement and the careful rules keeping our block of ice afloat. I wanted to add a new first to my list, the first time I ever willingly told Steve something personal about my life. 

I'm not sure why I wanted to tell him. I think I just wanted to test him. I wanted to see if he would understand and how he'd react. I wanted to test the limits of this new side of him I was beginning to see, needing to know if it was all just an illusion, if there really was a softer side to him or if I had created it all in my mind to somehow make myself feel better for getting involved with a man I hated.

"My Dad had me starting to train with pairs of daggers when I was eight." I began tentatively. "He knew my Mom would disapprove so he would tell her he was taking me to ballet classes or private piano lessons and then drive me off to a training facility."

My voice was still slightly quiet. I didn't make eye contact with him, being much too focused on dabbing the cut on his arm with the Q-tip, wiping away the dried blood. Steve seemed to tense slightly as I began talking but he didn't say anything so I kept going.

"I was never really interested in learning how to fight. I've always hated using those daggers and would have much rather been going to the made up classes he used as an excuse than learning how to fight, but I was so focused on trying to gain his approval, to make him proud..." I trailed off slightly, unsure of what I wanted to say and how much I should reveal.

I had never talked about this with anyone before, and some part of me was internally screaming to shut up now and change the topic. Steve didn't need to know this, nobody did. By giving anyone, especially him, this access into my life and my past, I felt like I was losing a part of myself. Another part of me thought that it might be worth it even if I did have to lose that piece of privacy. Each word spoken was a weight lifted off my chest. For once, I wasn't baring this burden alone. 

I felt Steve's thumb once again brush against my knee, coaxing the next words out of me. 

"My Dad, the one that you met, and the woman he married... they are my fourth set of parents." I explained, picking up a cotton ball and continuing to dab the cut even though the blood was a distant memory. "My birth parents died when I was baby and I spent the first seven years of my life bouncing around from foster family to orphanage."

I could feel Steve stiffen at my words. I think he was beginning to understand what I was telling him. He was putting the pieces that had shaped me into the person I am together. Thankfully, he continued to stay silent, letting me paint the picture myself instead of grabbing my brush and painting his own version. 

"Twice I got adopted and twice I got sent back into foster care. To this day I don't know why, something about not being a good fit, whatever that means." 

I kept my eyes fixed on his arm, still refusing to meet his gaze even though I could feel it on me. 

"When I got adopted the third time I promised myself I would do whatever it took to make these parents feel like I was a good fit. So I put my all into my training, I picked up those daggers and trained for hours after school until my hands were so used to holding them that I couldn't unwrap my fingers from the handles of the blades."