"You were right. It isn't my fault. But it's not yours, either." Tom smiled. "Come here."
Ayla walked up to him, over the prairie grass that was beneath their bare feet. Wherever they were, it certainly wasn't Florida. That much was all they knew. Her feet crossed through the grass and dirt, but remained clean when she stood face to face with him. Her jeans were worn out at the knees, as were Tom's. Her shirt had come untucked and blew around her in puffy strands of material. Beneath her feet, flowers were crushed. She stood on the remains of weeds when Tom embraced her.
His arms were strong but also weak. They trembled against her shoulders, and Ayla gently placed her hands on them to steady. He relaxed. Ayla shifted her hands to Tom's own shoulders. She was not shaking, and he was glad for that. One of them had to be strong.
He smiled at her. She reflected the expression. And the truth hit him like a torpedo. He was breathing alright, and feeling fine. His pupils expanded a bit when he met her eyes. He realized in that moment that he truly felt something for her.
His lips met hers. Hesitation was not present. Neither of them faltered, but persisted. It was nice, sweet, lovely. Love was a drug, the best kind of all. Her hands fumbled and replaced themselves back onto his shoulders. His hands had somehow found their path to her waist. They were relaxed. The outside world ceased to exist. They were all they had. It was out of desperation that Tom persisted to kiss her, even when she took a few steps back.
She said what she had to say. "I love you, Tom."
It was difficult for him to find the words. He could hear them quite well in his mind, but, somewhere along the path, the words got lost heading from his brain to his lips. He tried to say something - anything - but all that came out was the light wind of breathing.
"I'm sorry," he blurted. He was amazed he could still speak, but if that was all he was going to say, he could not face her. "I - As do I."
It wasn't the message he was looking for, but it was close, close enough, perhaps.
"Thank you," Ayla breathed. She reached up to touch his hair, brush it away from his face. "It means a lot, Tom."
There was something off in her voice. Not a falter or a crack or a break. Just a lie. Honestly, he wasn't surprised.
"You're welcome," he said right back to her. It was what he deserved. A lie for a lie.
She kissed him again, and he could suddenly feel the desperation and tension that had been with them for a while. He didn't know how long, but it had been long enough for him to realize what he felt was the truth. And how Ayla had paid him back, that was a lie. It was no different than the past. Nothing had changed. Nothing at all. Especially not the world he lived in.
~
Tom woke up, slightly startled to find the telephone a good few inches away from his face. The dream was still lingering in his mind. A prairie, and a couple of kisses from Ayla. And the burning sense that there were lies.
He shook his head. It was a hopeless fantasy, something he was used to. He loved Ayla, he knew, but she wasn't coming back anytime soon. She could have well lied on the telephone. She could not be coming back.
It was a strange thing to think. He had survived half of a month without her. And he was fine, yes, he was. He had survived off of distractions, but he did not need distractions to steer him away from what he really wanted. He needed the true thing.
He dialed Ayla's number, which he had memorized quickly. The monotone dial tone drifted into his ear. He waited and waited. He kept at it for a good fifteen minutes, muttering, "Please. Ayla, you're alright, aren't you? You're alright, please."
He did not receive an answer. That startled him and arose a few questions gnawing at his mind, too. Perhaps, someone wasn't allowing her to reach the phone. Like her mother or a new man -
He pushed CALL BACK quicker than what would have been necessary. It was complete with the same dial tone, the same waiting, and the silence that followed. Tom simply looked at the phone, as if it had a dark power over him. It was in working condition; nobody had cut the line. There was no interruption on his line. Ayla's may have been a different story, but he could not know.
He was setting down the phone when, for some odd reason, he picked it back up. He hardly caught what the other caller said, but he heard it, nevertheless.
"Hello, Tom? I know it's you."
"Hey, Ayla. Are you - are you alright?" His thoughts had made the words sound easy, but his lips faltered for a few seconds.
"I'm fine." And she sounded as she said.
Tom's hands tangled the cord up, winding it around his right hand. "Did that horrible date repeat?"
"No, I ditched him. No second dates," she smiled.
"Nice to hear." Tom said that and right after, he thought it sounded conceited. He preceded to apologize; "I'm sorry; that was stupid -"
"It wasn't." Two simple words were all it took to stop his nonsensical talk of apologizes. "It was the truth, and that can never be stupid."
He could hear what she wasn't saying. Tom gripped the cord tighter, the rubber material cutting thin scars into his fingertips. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I'm sorry the truth has been buried, and - I." The words clung to his throat, wrapping tighter and tighter against his mind. He could think the words, but saying them was difficult. Tears glistened in his eyes. For the first time in a while, the truth may have escaped his lips. "I'm sorry." The moment had passed. "I want to -" Tom tried to overcome the disconnected phrases he was speaking, but it was hard. "I want to say what I want to, but it's - difficult," he ended lamely. "I'm sorry. It's - it's..." His voice broke. Tears slipped past his nose.
"I know. I've forgiven you already, Tom." Her words warmed his heart. "I know what you're trying to say."
"No, you don't," he stammered out. "I know, but you don't. You could never -" His words broke off again.
Ayla did not miss a beat. "I could never what?"
"You could never know what I'm feeling right now." His voice had lowered, audible still, but present with a great emotion which had been building up within him. He could not think of the name of this great emotion, but it was something, alright. "I've been waiting all afternoon to call you, and you've just now picked up. Thanks. It's lovely."
"It's not afternoon, yet, but you're welcome." The smile was present in her voice.
"I forgot how much I liked your voice." He could feel his face go red. What he had meant to say was something along the lines of, 'I forgot how much I liked listening to your voice,' but the listening part had gotten lost.
"Thank you. I have always enjoyed hearing you speak, and it's no different now."
"What, do you like the Floridian accent?" Tom laughed.
Ayla said, "Yes. It's nice, different."
"Are the movers giving you a hard time?"
"Actually, they're not. It's not exactly them who I was worried about."
"Oh?" Tom's eyebrows raised a little.
"I was worried about my date. He was the son of one of my dad's coworkers. You know, at the old record store."
He knew, alright. It had been the same store he had bought that Fleetwood Mac record at.
"And, he was, - very much an asshole," Ayla said, quite bluntly. "But I gave him a chance, because I thought it would be nice to make an effort at settling down, which is all my parents have really expected of me. But it's not like they own me anymore, you know. I still wanted to give him a chance, but he was...controlling and aggressive. Not my type," she laughed. "But I have been staying at his place. That was, until a few nights ago, and he hasn't been back. And I have no damned idea where he went, but I don't really care, either."
Tom laughed, but, on the inside, he was scared for Ayla. He said, "You don't know what this guy is doing. He could be looking for you and -" his thoughts stumbled down an alleyway of danger. Terrible thoughts of what this man might do if he found Ayla again, if he found her with Tom. "When are you coming back?"
"I don't know." There was some odd emotion in her voice: uncertain but determined all the while. Nostalgia was within the two, buried deep but not so deep it was inaudible. "I don't know," Ayla said again, "but I hope it's sometime soon."
"I hope so, too. But, really, when are you coming back?"
She hesitated. "I really have no idea, but I want to be with you soon. I miss you."
"I just can't see why you can't just drive over here."
"It's not that simple. What if Russel comes back and -"
Tom briefly thought on the realization that the other man's name was Russel. Then, he said, "Don't worry. You can just drive over, and it will be fine. You said - this Russel - he left, so why can't you?"
Ayla's voice was choked with tears. "I don't see why I can't. All it is is fear that is holding me back, but fear is just one emotion. There are many more, like love."
"Yes, that's the spirit," Tom agreed. "I'm sorry for causing you any pain. I'm not trying to, it just happens...and I'm sorry for that."
"It's alright, I forgive you, dear." She smiled through her tears. "I love you."
"Love you, too." Tom smiled, and only walked away from the phone when it clicked, accompanied by Ayla hanging up.