Captive - FourTris

Twenty-Six

And then he speaks. "When I was seven, my mom kind of lost it for a while. I don't even know where she ended up. Probably a psych ward. But I ended up with my dad for a few months without her around."

Why is he telling me this? What does it have to do with anything? Is this part of his anger or has he tipped back toward depression? Which one is worse?

"We never had much money. And with her out of the house, he had no reason to hide what he spent on alcohol. He'd buy bottles and bottles of it while the cupboards were empty. Some days I'd eat nothing but dry ramen noodles or ketchup or frozen French fries. I couldn't even cook the stuff 'cause he said I wasn't allowed."

And then it makes sense. The reason he took up cooking.

"Wow. I'm ... I'm ..."

What? Sorry? That doesn't seem like it's enough. I reach out, rest my hand on his shoulder. He shrugs. I don't know if he's trying to shrug my hand off or just act like it's not a big deal.

I run my hand down his arm, then reach for his hand and pull it onto my lap, interlacing my fingers with his. He's not looking at me, but the feeling of skin-on-skin somehow makes me feel better, like he knows I'm here for him.

I know he wants the stories out, but I know he also wants to act like they don't matter anymore, and he's forever stuck between hiding the pain and letting it pour out.

"I know I can't blame him for everything," he says. "Who?" I ask, even though I know the answer.

"My dad. I mean, eventually I'm supposed to just get over it, right? I'm supposed to just say fuck it, and move on, and forget all the shitty stuff. I'm supposed to be normal and grow up and buy colonial houses with flower beds and pretty horses."

Oh. Now I get it. I take a long, slow breath, trying to figure out how I should answer, what I should think.

Because yes, sometimes I think he should just be over it. He can't blame everything on him, can he? He's eighteen. Old enough to take control of his life. Old enough to create his own and forget the man who screwed up everything.

But then, who am I to judge? Who am I to know what it's like? I can't even imagine the crap his dad has done to him. Maybe it's normal that he's haunted by it all. Maybe he's supposed to think about it and confront it and not just ignore it all.

"I guess," I finally say. Because that's all it is. A guess.

"That's what I want. To just put him behind me and pretend like he doesn't exist. To just... be someone else. To work hard and to get ahead and not live this."

I nod my head, but I don't say anything. Sometimes the things he says ... I don't know how to answer him. I come from somewhere else. Somewhere with fancy cars and big birthday parties and Christmas sweaters and rose gardens and big screens.

I'm not this.

"I wish I would stop fucking everything up." Tobias still isn't looking at me. He's staring out the windows, as if the answer to all his problems lies somewhere in the grassy field next to my car.

For a minute I'm not sure if I heard him correctly. But then he says it again.

"I know there's a point where I'm supposed to just stop fucking everything up and look myself in the mirror and like what I see, and be my own person, and not let him be anything to me. I just wish I knew how to do that."

"Yeah. That makes sense, I guess." I stare at his hand in mine, run my finger up and down his, trying to resist the urge to trace the scars and remind him of their existence.

Am I supposed to agree, or tell him not to worry about it? And if I do agree, like I want to, if I tell him to just get over it and move on, is that judgmental? Will I sound too much like my mum?

The seat creaks a little as he turns to look at me, finally just look at me. His blue eyes are filled with such sad dejection mingled with a tiny piece of hope that it breaks my heart.

"I just want... I want us to be... to just be. I don't want him to affect everything. I don't want to screw this up. You're the first good thing that's ever happened to me, and I don't know what to do with it." He's having a hard time talking, like the words are too heavy or too hard to get his lips around.

I stare straight into his eyes, and neither of us says a word for at least a full minute.

These are the moments I fall deeper in love with him. When neither of us says anything, and we just... stare. There's an understanding there that goes much deeper than words ever could. A connection so real I can't speak, because words could never say the things I feel.

"I just want you to know ... I want you to know that despite everything ... despite anything I might do or say, anything I've done before or might do in the future, I love you. More than life itself. And if some day something should happen and we're not together anymore, I'll still love you and I'll still think of you."

"Nothing like that will happen," I say. "I promise you, if you love me like I love you, nothing like that will happen."

"I know. We'll be together forever," he says.

"I worship you. I love you. You're everything."

"I love you too," I say.

"Promise?"

I nod my head, slowly, solemnly. "Yes, I promise."

He kisses me, and I close my eyes and concentrate on the feeling of his lips, soft, against mine. It makes me dizzy, and I have to open my eyes.

He squeezes my hand. I don't move, just let the car idle where we sit, somewhere halfway to nowhere but not nearly far enough away from everything.

"Sometimes I think I spent forever waiting for you," he says. "My whole life, I've never had someone like you. Someone who doesn't have to be there, but is anyway. Someone who wants to just... be with me because they want me. For me. Not because I'm your brother or your kid or anything, but because you choose me."

I grip his hand tighter. "I know. My mum... sometimes I think if she could undo me, she would. If I could just somehow disappear, you know? I think I remind her of my dad, and she hates me for it."

The seat creaks again as he leans over and kisses me on the cheek. "I wish I could make all these times slow-motion, and then whenever you leave for school or work, I could fast-forward until you're back again."

And sometimes I wish that too. I wish I could control it all and fast-forward through the scary stuff.

I just wish Tobias was never a part of the scary stuff.