Losers: Part II

“It was just so creepy, you know? He chased me to the front door and then just stood there, ringing the bell. Like, what did he think was going to happen? That I’d invite him in for a sweet tea?”

Listening to Jess recount the story of seeing Reagan was literally going to give me hives. I swear I could already feel them popping up on my arms, but I was trying my damnedest to take it in stride and not freak the fuck out.

We were near Wickeston Heights, hiking through the hills, hand in hand. The wall of the gated community was ahead of us, and we were coming up to the back end of the neighborhood, where its oldest houses still stood. We traipsed through the trees, climbing over bushes and stomping through weeds. Funnily enough, Jess hadn’t even asked where we were going. When I’d arrived to pick her up after work, she’d come out to meet me without a moment’s hesitation.

More and more, it seemed like she was craving spending time with us. Not sex, not some wild game. Just company.

And honestly? I was craving the same thing. I’d admit that a lot of Jess’s initial appeal was the fact that she was a closeted freak. But now? Jess was so much more than that.

She was introspective and clever. She was passionate, and viciously loyal. All that loyalty she’d given to her unworthy friends, for so long, made so much more sense now. It was misplaced devotion, and now that she’d overcome it, I sincerely hoped she’d never find herself in that position again.

I wanted to make sure she didn’t. I couldn’t help it. The instinct to protect and care for her, like I cared for Jason, was overwhelming. It was that “oldest sibling” syndrome, I swear. I wanted to solve everything, always be there with an answer.

But this time, I wasn’t sure if I had one.

“I’m glad you called us when you did,” I said, holding a branch out of the way for her to pass beneath. My backpack was weighing heavily on my shoulders, but it would be worth it once we reached our destination. “I feel like shit that I didn’t wake up.”

“Don’t,” she said quickly. “Don’t feel guilty. I didn’t want to wake all of you up anyway.”

It was a relief that Manson and Jason had woken up and gone to her. But I still felt responsible. It made me never want to let her out of my sight. The fact that I couldn’t always take her home at night, that I couldn’t keep her in our bed and under our protection, was an annoying itch that grew worse every day.

“Where are we going anyway?” she said, panting as she paused for a moment after nearly stumbling on a tree root. We could see the wall now, a formidable ten-foot height of thick gray brick.

“We’re going to a house party for two,” I said, giving my backpack a little shake. Cans of spray paint and bottles of beer clattered together inside. “We’re almost there, we just need to get over the wall.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, with a mischievous smile on her lips. “Is what we’re about to do illegal?”

“Yes,” I said simply, and she didn’t offer a single argument.

Pulling myself up to the top of the wall first, I straddled the bricks and reached my hand down so Jess could scramble up. We dropped down on the other side, landing in an overgrown backyard. Jess immediately ducked down while I remained standing, and she looked up at me with wide eyes.

“Aren’t you afraid they’re home?” she whispered.

“Nope. The houses back here have been abandoned for years. Look.”

The first houses built in Wickeston Heights had been these overly ornate, ridiculously extravagant small mansions. The one in front of us only had a few of its windows still intact, and most of its gray-white facade was overgrown with vines. Chain fencing had been put up against the house to keep people out, but it was cut open and bent out of place.

“Is this really Wickeston Heights?” she said.

“Yep. These are some of the oldest houses in the neighborhood.” Taking her hand, we walked together toward the broken back door. Our shoes crunched on shattered glass as we stepped inside, ducking under the bent fencing. “My dad remembers when these were built. Wickeston wasn’t much back then; apparently these people were really hot shit. They wanted to turn Wickeston into some fancy, upper class town.”

Jess snickered. “That obviously worked out for them.”

We explored the lower floor together, taking our time. What I loved most about these old mansions was that so much was left behind. The rooms were still furnished. The remnants of tattered drapes hung limp around broken windows. There was canned food still left in the cabinets. Almost everything was destroyed, of course; broken glass and trash littered every room.

But it was still beautiful. Like wandering through an apocalyptic landscape, touching the remnants of someone’s hopes and dreams.

We climbed to the top of the stairs and sat side by side, cracking open a couple beers. From our seat, we faced the front door below and a massive chandelier overhead. It was strewn with cobwebs and thick with dust, but some crystals still caught the light and shimmered.

“You really like abandoned places, don’t you?” Jess said, leaning back on her hands as she sipped her beer. “Why?”

“They make me feel like I’m stepping back in time,” I said. But that wasn’t quite right, so I explained, “Or like I’m slipping outside of reality. It always makes me wonder what a place was like before it was abandoned. Like this house, for example…I have no idea who lived here. Were they happy? Did it break their hearts to leave? It’s like touching someone else’s memories.”

“I like that,” she said, nodding as she listened to me. “I used to think abandoned buildings were just eyesores.” She brushed her fingers over the staircase’s wooden railing, leaving trails in the thick dust. “But you’re right. They have their own stories to tell.”

We finished our beers, and I grabbed her hand to help her to her feet. I led her down the hallway, into the first bedroom. As we stepped inside, I motioned toward the wall around the door and the painting I’d started there last week. The walls of the room were blue, so I’d chosen an oceanic scene. Swirls of green, blue, and gray paint melded together around a plethora of sea creatures. Seals were hidden within tall strands of kelp, while a school of rainbow-colored fish swam above.

It wasn’t a particularly realistic scene, but I hadn’t intended it to be. I didn’t paint with the intention of being true to life.

“It was hard to find a space that was completely my own when I was growing up,” I said. “With little siblings running around, and no lock on my door, someone was always popping in. And I didn’t mind. I loved having my family around me. That house was loud, it was always full of love. But sometimes…sometimes I wanted something that was just mine. Something no one else would see or touch. That’s why I like to paint in places like this.”

She smiled as she noticed the little wings I’d painted on the narwhal in the corner. “But no one will ever see it here. Don’t you want people to see the art you make?”

I shook my head vehemently. “No. Most people, I don’t. Art is personal. Sharing it is an act of intimacy; it’s letting someone inside your head. Would you trust most people you meet to come inside your head?”

“Hell no,” she said. “People barely know how to be polite in day-to-day interactions, let alone when you get personal with them.” She stepped closer to me and wrapped her arms around my chest. “I should thank you for letting me inside your head, then. I like it here.”

My heart sped up, and I kissed the top of her head. “I have more to show you. Come on.”

Leading her further down the hallway, I pointed to the paintings I’d covered the walls with, explaining their stories as we went. I’d been coming to this house for years now, painting whatever the hell came into my head. Some of my older pieces had been covered by graffiti, but I wasn’t too concerned about that.

The paintings I wanted to show her had never been shared with a single other soul.

The door creaked as we stepped into the primary bedroom. It was a massive room, and it was the only one I’d bothered to clean up since I spent so much time in here. The glass had been swept off the floor, and I’d thrown away the trash but left all the old knickknacks and furniture alone.

The walls were almost entirely covered with my art, from floor to ceiling. Spray paint canisters, brushes, and pallets littered the corners, and my ladder was still set up from the last time I was here.

Jess didn’t realize what she was looking at, at first. I directed her attention to the wall beside the door, where I’d done the first painting of this massive mural.

It was a painting of a child’s hand, holding a flower with its root and a clump of dirt still attached.

“Do you remember when we met?” I said.

“First grade.” She giggled. “You were so loud! I remember you running all over the place and the teacher kept telling you to sit down. You threw dirt at me.”

“And you cried because it got in your hair,” I said, scratching my head sheepishly. “I felt so bad, I hadn’t meant to make you cry.”

It hadn’t been dirt either. It had been a yellow flower I found on the playground and roughly tore out of the earth, determined to bestow it to the prettiest girl I knew of. But childish immaturity took over, and in a panic, I’d thrown the thing at her instead.

Her expression changed as she looked at the next part of the mural. Perhaps, she was beginning to understand …

“You were the princess in the school play in second grade,” I said, and she nodded as she brushed her fingers over my depiction of a little blonde princess holding up an apple for her horse. “I’d only been the back end of the horse in that play, but I was still pretty damn excited that one of your lines was about me.”

She looked back at me, her forehead creased in confusion. “Vincent…what is this?”

Fuck, I felt like I was breathing too hard and talking too fast. But I couldn’t stop now, I couldn’t. I had to get it all out there even though my voice cracked and my hands shook.

“Fourth grade was the last time I saw you until high school,” I said. “You cut your hair to your shoulders that year. I heard your mom tell you —”

“That it made my face look too round,” she said softly, shaking her head. “How could you have heard that…how could you remember…”

“Because I paid attention. It was impossible not to stare at you, not to listen to everything you said. I loved how your hair looked, and I wanted to tell you so bad, but I was so shy. And fucking awkward.” I was the tallest kid in my class, gangly and skinny, full of anxiety. I was big enough to wear my dad’s old clothes, which meant everyone made fun of me for dressing like a grandpa. So I learned to laugh at myself too. As long as I could laugh with the people laughing at me, then eventually, they’d like me.

No matter how much it hurt when they laughed, I’d force myself to laugh too.

“And the sunflowers, see?” I drew her further into the room, where massive yellow sunflowers and leaves of swirling green colors covered the wall. “The first day of freshman year, you wore a dress covered in yellow sunflowers, and I’ve never fucking forgotten. Because I can’t. I can’t forget you, Jess. Not a moment — the good or the bad. See?”

I motioned to the last part of the mural, the part I was still working on. Two figures stood in the rain under one umbrella: one in black, the other in a gown of pink satin. I was still working on shading in the elaborate skirt of her dress. She’d looked like a true queen that night; she hadn’t needed the cheap plastic crown on her head.

Jess didn’t say a word, and it felt like my lungs were slowly being crushed in a vice. Maybe it was too much. Too soon. I did tend to get intense. Once I’d made up my mind, I struggled to keep it to myself. I turned, readying an apology…

But she stood there, staring at the sunflowers with tears streaming down her face.

“Oh, Vincent…” She sniffed, covering the soft sound behind her hand. “You remembered everything. That dress…” Her fingers hovered over the petals. “My mom hated that dress. I was so self-conscious, but I didn’t want anyone to know.” More tears overflowed, and I wanted to hug her tight to make them stop. But her lips quivered into a smile. “This is so beautiful, Vince. It’s amazing, it’s…” She turned to me, her eyes shimmering in the sunlight streaming through the shattered window. “When did you start working on this?”

“When I saw you at the carwash,” I said. “It felt like it meant something. I know that sounds weird.” Even the guys teased me for it, albeit gently. “But I knew that we’d get another chance. It inspired me. You inspire me.”

I took her face in my hands, wiping her tears away. “Please don’t cry, baby. I just want you to be happy. I want to keep you safe, take care of you. I know that’s a lot to take in. But trust me. I’m not leaving you. Not again.”

More tears fell, and I kissed them away. But she was still smiling as she said, “It’s unbelievable. The colors, all the details…this must have so much time.” She laid her hand against my chest, her fingers tightening in my shirt. “You’ve always been so good to me, even when I was awful to you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” I said, waving my hand as if to brush the thought away. “I’m okay, Jess. I feel like you tolerated me pretty well.” I winked, but she still looked uncertain.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “For all of it. All the shit I said back then.” The regret was obvious in her eyes, and I nudged her chin with my knuckle.

“You’re forgiven, baby,” I said. “You know that. I’m sorry for throwing dirt at you.”

She laughed, and I swear the whole room got brighter. I scooped my arm around her, lifting her up so I could kiss her. I carried her to the window and leaned against the sill, bathing us in the early evening sunlight. I set her back on her feet and she leaned into me, resting against my chest as I stroked my fingers through her hair.

“Do you want to know something else?” I said. The rustle of trees and chirping of birds carried in through the window, the breeze cool. Jess nodded, her arms around my torso, her nails lightly grazing my back. “I love you, Jess.”

She abruptly lifted her head, staring at me. Her lips parted in a silent gasp. “You…you do?”

“I do.” I framed her face in my hands, smiling at the look of utter bewilderment on her face. “I love your mind; how clever you are. I love that you’re passionate. And you’re strong. You’ve changed your own deeply held convictions, and that’s not easy to do. You’re loyal. Tenacious. A force to be reckoned with. You surprise me every day.”

Her eyes were still shimmering, but only a tiny quiver was in her voice as she said, “I love you too, Vincent.”

My cheeks actually hurt from how wide I was smiling. I couldn’t seem to stop, not even as I kissed her. I pressed her against the wall, and tucked back her hair so I could see her beautiful face.

“I love you. I love your lips…” I kissed them tenderly. Her cheeks were rosy, and I kissed them next, first one and then the other. “And I love your smile…”

“Vince, you’re making me blush!” she said, but then she dissolved into giggles as I kissed her throat.

“I love every inch of you,” I said, growling it against her skin. “Inside and out, baby. I could spend years telling you all the ways I love you, all the little things you do that drive me fucking wild. So I think I will. I think I’d like to spend a very long time showing you how much I adore you.”