"Ahhhhh!"
I press a hand to my chest when the whole apartment suddenly goes dark and I lose sight of the piping bag I was squeezing. My hands freeze on their own accord because I can't see for crap and I'll probably launch vanilla frosting somewhere if I keep this up.
"Can't a girl make cupcakes in peace?" I groan.
Then I stop because what if I forgot to pay the bills or something? I'm not exactly hopping rich but at least I'm not ass crack broke either. I paid the bills...right?
There's a loud bang on my door and I scream again, blindly holding the piping bag out as a weapon. Why, why is it that every time I'm in trouble I have the crappiest weapon choices? I'm too young to die.
And yes, thirty-years-old is young. Shut it, tiny humans.
"Sierra?" This time the knocking is accompanied by a voice I recognize. "Open the door."
"Okay!" I call out and set the piping bag down.
It takes a solid minute to find the door in the dark. It doesn't help that it's nighttime and while the moonlight usually shines exceptionally from my floor-to-ceiling windows, it's a cloudy night so there's no light whatsoever. My eyes haven't even adjusted to the dark yet so I keep crashing into things. First my pinky gets caught on the edge of the couch and I jump and curse, muttering under my breath and hobbling to the door. Then I bump my elbow on the corner of a wall and yelp, holding it close to my body and resisting the urge to just sob. By the time my hand meets the doorknob and turns over the lock, I'm pretty much half-broken.
"Hey," I mumble miserably. Holden has a flashlight in his hands so I can see his face and the way his mouth tugs down as he inspects me.
"You okay?" He raises a brow.
I'm in my "baker" pyjamas—sleep shorts with donuts on them and a shirt that has "I donut like you" written across my chest. A bra-less chest, I should add. I cross my arms self-consciously when Holden's gaze stalls there for a moment. Boobs this big with no bra on? Not very attractive. Gravity isn't the best look on my natural milkers and they're a huge insecurity of mine this way. I clear my throat so he can look up at me again.
"I'm fine." I finally notice the dark hallway and frown. "Did the lights go out in the entire complex?"
"Yeah." He leans against the door frame, getting comfortable. "Thought I'd check on you. See if you're okay."
"Oh. Yeah, I'm okay. I was in the middle of making cupcakes for tomorrow but there goes that, I guess."
"Your bakery is getting busy."
"Customers everyday." I grin so wide I can barely feel my cheeks. Holden smiles back.
"Take a break then. I ordered a pizza not too long ago and haven't had a chance to eat yet."
I blink. Is he...inviting me to his place? That seems forbidden for so many reasons. One of them being his exact orders months back about never knocking on his door or getting comfortable. It's kind of hard to believe all that's changed.
It's scary because this isn't just anyone these changes are happening with. It's Holden. He took hold of my heart as a kid, when everyone insisted it was just puppy love but I knew it was more, and seeing him again after all these years has just proved that. Holden Rey has always been the most important person in my life, even when he wasn't a part of it. That's what makes him so terrifying. That's what makes everything that's happening between us so nerve-wracking. But I think the one thing that scares me more than getting close to Holden again is losing him a second time.
So I nod and lock up behind me, following him inside his apartment as he leads us away.
We step inside and I notice how it looks straight out of a furniture catalog. That's the first thought that comes to mind. The furniture is sleek back, accented by red rugs and beige walls. There's a massive T.V. and sectional upon entering the living room, and I'm surprised to find his walls decorated. There's pictures of him and Mason, pictures of him and his clients at games and events, but none of him during his own football career. For whatever reason that jumps out to me first and I feel a pang of pain for him. It's times like this that I realize he probably never recovered from the loss.
His apartment has the same set-up as mine. Same in size too but his place just looks fancier and more put together. I would guess he had a professional come in and do the interior design. This complex is a nice place but it's not the most lavish in downtown San Francisco. I mean, duh, it's barely within my pay grade and I hardly make that much money in the first place. He could afford a place that's bigger and better but he chose this and had it modified to fit his successful taste. It's kind of...humble. Holden can be flashy with the way he dresses and presents himself but he's definitely not materialistic either.
"It's really nice," I comment and spin in a slow circle, taking it all in. "The interior is killer."
"Joyce did it," He answers my unspoken question while walking over to me. Our eyes lock and there's amusement dancing in his. "The woman you saw walk out of my apartment when you were spying on me?"
Oh my God.
A pit of embarrassment forms in my stomach and I might just hurl. So he did see me that day. I silently pray for an anvil to fall on my head and get me out of this. That's definitely the only solution.
"I was't spying," I scoff, laughing nervously. "I just...happened to look at a coincidentally specific moment."
"And then acted like you weren't home when I knocked on your door not even two minutes later?"
So apparently Satan has a freakishly accurate memory. Cool. Awesome. Rail me like a train collision fantastic.
I did ignore him when he knocked on my door that day and continued to avoid him up until the day of the carnival. In my defense I was a hot and jealous mess and didn't want to come across that way to his face. Plus it was after the night of the gala and seeing another woman walk out of his apartment hurt. A lot. I just wanted some space and time to hurt.
"I'm sorry," I apologize now with a wince. It's long overdue. "That was immature of me. You didn't deserve a cold shoulder for sleeping with her. I was just being dumb."
Before I know it, I'm pulled into him when he cradles the back of my head and tilts it up with a simple tug. Okay, then. We're completely pressed against each other and yup, he feels as good as he did when he kissed me earlier this week. My pulse races at the reminder and the sensation of his thumb rubbing circles at the base of my neck.
"I didn't sleep with her." I barely register the bomb he drops on me as he continues. "She's the wife of my first ever client. Signing him on saved my life and he's one of the few people I'd do just about anything for. They have a beautiful baby boy and I'm his godfather. Joyce is like the sister I never had. That's all you saw."
Well that explains everything. Cue reluctant wince and inability to meet his eyes. I focus on the spot above his shoulder instead, ignoring how high-pitched and guilty my voice comes out. "That's really great. Good for Joyce. She's super gorgeous, by the way."
He veers past the word vomit. "Were you jealous?"
"No." Yes. Has the nimrod not been paying attention to anything lately?
"Too bad." His thumb finds my bottom lip and he plays with it just like he did after our kiss. It's so ridiculously electrifying that I can't help looking at him again. I find him watching me with heavy lids and his mouth quirked with just a touch of arrogance. "I found the jealousy pretty hot. Sure you don't want to rethink your answer?"
When he says it like that... "Fine. Maybe I was a little jealous."
His chuckle reverberates in my chest. Fitting, since it's pressed right against his. "I thought so."
Jerk. I elbow his gut so he can let go of me and stalk past him. "I was promised pizza, not an intervention. What'd you get?"
"Double pepperoni and cheese."
No. Way. I open the box myself and my mouth drops open. "You got the Sierra Special!"
He shrugs and joins me by the kitchen island, setting the flashlight down and taking the seat beside me. I'm still gaping when he takes out a slice and bites into it.
"What?" He mutters after he swallows it down. For some reason it doesn't escape my notice that he didn't even try to talk with his mouth full like most guys probably would.
"You remembered," I fill in the gaps for him. "That this was my favourite."
"Actually, a magic fairy came in the night and whispered in my ear."
"Don't joke about magic fairies, Satan. Not cool."
He rolls his eyes. "I did remember. I was the one ordering them every Friday for our movie nights, wasn't I?"
That's right. I go a little soft at the mention. Now I'm the one who's starting to remember. Holden was always on the move even when we were kids, constantly acing his classes and making all the school teams and looking after his little brother. Fridays were the one day a week I got my best friend all to myself for a few moments. I loved them. I wouldn't even pay attention to the movies. I only ever cared that I got to be with him.
My eyes drop involuntarily, feeling a flicker of remorse that we lost that and even a little bitter that he just...let me go. I'd conditioned myself to stop caring about that little fact a long time ago and got over it but now that all this is happening, I can't help but wonder if I'm being smart. He just let me go. He could do it again and I'm not so sure I'd survive it a second time.
"What?" He asks when I don't say anything. I can feel his eyes going back and forth between me and the box of pizza that I pushed away from me, suddenly losing my appetite. "You don't like the Sierra Special anymore?"
I shake my head, absentmindedly fiddling with the bottom of my shirt. "No. It's my favourite cheat meal."
"So what's the problem?"
I want to say it, to ask why he just left the way he did, but I don't know if I could handle the humiliation. That feeling of rejection. Sure, he's not rejecting me now but I've changed. Lots of men wouldn't reject me. But they would have if I still looked like the Sierra I was years ago and Holden was one of them. He left. He ignored me in the hallways. He glared at me when he found me staring at him. He stopped coming over. He left.
I quickly look away when I feel my breath catch, not sure if I'm more upset with him or myself. It's not like I don't know that we were kids and stupid and that shit happens, but it doesn't mean my hurt wasn't valid. Wasn't real.
And that's the thing about unhealed scars—you can cover them up all you want but even the slightest touch will remind you that the pain never went away.
I take a deep breath because for a moment my throat locks up and it's suddenly hard to speak. It takes a couple tries to get my words out and Holden notices, setting his slice of pizza down and watching me with a somber albeit confused expression. I keep my eyes on the counter instead.
"I should go," I finally whisper. "I...I'm feeling a little sick."
That, at least, is the truth.
Holden is quiet for so long that I'm just about convinced that he won't say anything at all. But then he does, and I find myself wishing he didn't. "I don't get you, Sierra. I don't. Everything I do sends you running in the other direction and half the time I don't even know why. I get that I said I'd run too but fuck, at some point it stops being amusing. It's getting old."
Ouch.
I hate that I flinch, hate that now it's even harder to hold back the tears. I hate that he's right in his own way. He absolutely is. But it doesn't mean I'm wrong either. Or not completely, I don't think.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak or meet his eyes. Instead I slide off the stool and keep my gaze on the ground, desperately trying to see through my unshed tears and the dark as I head for the door. Holden's stare burns into my back the whole way.
"Fine," I hear him scoff when my hand touches the doorknob. "Leave then. That's all you ever fucking do."
My body stills. Did he really just freaking say that? Because if I was wearing hoops, I'd be taking them off right now to warn him about what's coming. But since I don't, I spin on my heel and fix him with a glare instead.
"I leave? Are you serious right now? Maybe I haven't been the sticking around type lately but guess fucking what, Holden? You aren't either. You left first. It was years ago but you still left. You can blame me where it's due because fine, that's fair, but don't be a hypocrite on top of it all."
"I never left!" He snaps so suddenly I almost jump. My heart pounds in my ears as he stalks over to me, anger radiating off of him so intensely I swear my skin pulses right back. "You left. I would have stayed by you if you'd let me but you pushed. You pushed then and you're pushing now."
My eyes bug out of my head. Oh, it's about to go down. "I left? You want to remind me when that was, exactly? Was it when you got all cool and popular and suddenly didn't have time for me anymore? Was it when you stopped talking to me because you were too busy hanging out with those jock douchebags and girls who hung on your arm like a freaking clothing rack? Oh, no. I'm pretty sure it was when I was experiencing the worst years of my life, being bullied and stared at and laughed behind my back, and you never did a thing except go with it! You left, asshole!"
"Because you pushed! You saw me the way you saw everyone else and then you treated me like them too."
My hands flail in the air and I think I almost take his eye out. "What the fuck does that even mean?"
He makes a sound in the back of his throat, deep and furious, and grabs my hands before they can do any more damage. Then he forcefully winds them behind my back and yanks me against him, moving us backward until I hit the door and I'm locked in by him. My shocked gasp gets caught in my throat when he grips my wrists tighter. I couldn't move even if I wanted to.
"You saw me as your bully," He seethes quietly. His face is so close I can see the anger that swirls in his eyes, can hear it in the way his voice practically shakes when he speaks. "I was never your bully, Sierra. You were so far gone, your insecurities had such a fucked up hold on you, that you thought your best friend was capable of treating you like everyone else did. You were the one who stopped talking to me, and wouldn't let me in your room when I came over on movie nights, and would avoid me in the hallways when you saw me because you thought I would hurt you like they hurt you. I might have started getting more attention but that doesn't mean I was anything like those assholes. Just because they fucking followed me around doesn't mean I was their friends. But you convinced yourself of it because it was the only way you could save yourself from the hurt. You blamed me for the pain you thought I could cause, not the pain I did."
What?
It's like he snatched the fight out of me with his words and all I can do is stare at him. Just stare and wonder...is he right?
I wrack my mind for the pieces I'm missing. Everything from my past is jammed together in this box I created, one I never revisit because it's too hard. All I ever remember is pain and humiliation and sadness. Not necessarily why I felt that way. I only remember always feeling and thinking the worst about myself. I remember the pain of not having Holden through it all. And maybe somewhere along the way I put Holden in that box when he wasn't supposed to belong there. Maybe it was just easier, like he said.
Regret like I've never known it takes hold of me. He's right. I pushed him away because I was so blinded by my insecurities that I never allowed myself to think Holden would actually stick around. I rejected him before he could reject me. Could. But he didn't and he wasn't going to, was he?
"I did that to you?" I finally whisper. "I ran first?"
I think he needed to hear me say that. Because his eyes fall shut with something akin to relief and then his forehead falls to my shoulder and I think he lost all his fight too.
"You ran," He confirms softly and that twinge of regret deepens to a whole twist that actually makes my stomach hurt. "And I was so angry about it. So fucking angry. You were all I had, you know that? I didn't have Mom and Dad. I had Mase but he was young and I couldn't talk to him like a friend if I was too busy being his parent. I only had you and when you ran too, I was so fucking alone and mad."
God, I can't believe what I'm hearing. I want to hug him but he's still holding my arms behind my back. Actually, I think now he's just holding me. Clutching me like I might disappear on him. Again, my conscious whispers, and fuck, I want to cry.
"I didn't even realize." I know that doesn't fix anything but I'm stunned and unsure of what to say. What the hell do I say for what I did?
Holden lifts his head, his expression somber and a little calmer. "Of course you didn't. You were just a kid, Sierra. You were as young as ten-years-old when you got your first stupid comment about your weight. Right in the middle of our elementary school bake sale when some woman asked your mom why she wasn't watching how much you ate. Who the fuck makes a ten-year-old girl worry about her fucking weight? It's sick. The whole world told you what you were until you had no choice but to believe them. You think I blame you for that?"
Crap. Crap fucking crap. Tears well up in my eyes faster than I anticipated and I duck my head in embarrassment.
"By the time we stopped being friends, you'd been listening to everyone's shit for years. You think I didn't know how insecure you felt around me? You wouldn't even let yourself sit without holding a pillow in front of your stomach because you were embarrassed. I thought you were beautiful but you didn't see that. You just couldn't be yourself around me and I know that hurt you."
He shakes his head, almost in defeat. "But I was a kid too, Sierra. I was sixteen and alone when I lost you and I didn't know how the fuck to get you back. So I hung on to the anger and let you walk."
"It's not your fault." My voice cracks. Even I can hear the anguish in it as I try to keep it together. "Don't blame yourself. I've done enough of that to you."
"Stop," He demands when I try to get out of his grasp. God, I feel like I can't breathe. There's just too many memories flooding back at once and making me sick. "Look at me."
I reluctantly lift my gaze to him. His eyes are unblinking as they bore into mine.
"The thing I'm most mad about? Not that you left, but that I let you. I was hurt and angry and a dumb kid that should have been there for his best friend. I let you go once but it's not happening again. I don't make the same mistake twice. Ever. So get it through your insane little head that when you run, I run. This time and every time after that."
Crap. Shit. Fuck. Why isn't there a word worse than fuck? Because no lone word can describe the way my insides melt until I have no reservations left. Not a single freaking wall to keep him out. I don't want to.
"It's a good thing I won't be running anymore, huh?" I ask softly.
His grip on me tightens as he dips his head and my stomach dips in return. Clenches and twists when his lips brush mine and he quietly demands, "Then you better show me."
___________________________
A/N
And their past is finally revealed!!
It's not always a huge plot twist. It's not always a matter of revenge or some big deal when important relationships break off. Sometimes we miscommunicate and sometimes we just try to protect ourselves if we've been burned before. The plot twists are for books but this is typically how it happens in real life.
And I really want to shed light on Sierra's body dysmorphia. It is an ILLNESS, a disorder. I have it. I assure you, it inflicts harm on your mind and in turn, harms the things around you including your relationship with yourself and others. So I know her and Holden didn't have some dramatic past but this IS life when living with BDD. And it deserved to be written about as much as an exaggerated plot for the sake of drama.
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