Fireworks

48

When we finally walk into Arlo's place after a silent drive and ride up the elevator, his silence breaks.

"What did he say to you?" he asks as soon as the door to the apartment shuts.

I feel my hands start shaking again. I go and sit down at the little table by the window. He sits down across from me.

"He just started talking to me when I walked out on the balcony, I didn't realize he was out there when I went to get some air," I say, willing my voice not to waver.

Arlo's jaw flexes and he calmly says, "Okay. And then what happened?"

"And then we introduced ourselves, and I told him that I was-" your girlfriend. "with you." I stammer, flushing. "He said you guys were close a few years ago."

Aro stiffly nods. I can tell he doesn't want me to know any of this by the way his arms keep flexing, his jaw keeps clenching, and the pensive look in his eyes. He's nervous.

I wish his hand was on the table so I could grab it, but he has them in his lap.

"Did he tell you anything about me?" he presses. His voice is somehow gentle and firm at the same time, and I know that this is critical to him.

I nod. He nods.

We stare at each other for a little while after that. I'm not sure how long. He knows I know. I don't know what to say to make this any easier for him. He looks pissed.

I finally gather my courage and swallow against the sudden dryness in my mouth. "I hope you know that I wasn't about to believe anything a stranger was telling me about you. I was planning on going straight to you and telling you about what he'd said to get the true story, or at the very least let you know what he was saying about you."

It seems to tax Arlo to be having the conversation. His breathing is mechanical, like he's forcing himself to do it, and his shoulders look way too tight to be normal. He finally speaks. "I appreciate that. I know it isn't pleasant, but can you please tell me exactly what he said to you so that I can know for sure if what he said was accurate?"

"Of course. He said he only ever knew you as angry or indifferent. When I told him that I'd never seen you angry, he told me that you used to fight people. Then he said you were more fun when you were addicted to cocaine." My voice drops to a whisper.

Arlo's face doesn't change at all. It gives no indication as to whether or not the statement is true. He merely looks out the window and up at the star flecked sky.

We breathe in silence for a while, and I can't tear my eyes off of his profile. Gazing up at the sky like that, he looks younger than I've ever seen him. His eyes are wide, reflecting a street light and the glow of the moon.

He doesn't turn to look at me again, but he does say, "I understand if you're upset with me. I was far from transparent with you about an important part of my past, and it really wasn't even that long ago. If you can't trust me, or are disgusted with me-"

"Stop," I cut him off before he can finish that sentence. "I could never be upset with you about something like this, Arlo. I respect your boundaries, and I'm sorry I found out this way. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"There's no way you aren't freaking out about this. That's why you were in the kitchen, you were flipping out because you realized the guy you've been spending all your time with was a fucking drug addict." He spits bitterly, still not looking at me.

I flinch at the terrible words, and I shake my head. "I was actually freaking out in the kitchen because I was scared Trey was going to try to give you shit and I wouldn't know how to de-escalate the situation."

He finally looks over at me in surprise and he blinks. "You cursed." I give an exasperated look, and he smiles a little. The sight is enough to make me cry in relief. "That's the first time I've ever heard you curse."

I shrug. "Well, I'm mad that you think so poorly of yourself," I say matter of factly, though not without gentleness. "If you really think I'm the kind of person to bail as soon as things get scary, maybe you haven't gotten to know me as well as you thought you had this summer. I'm not disgusted by your past. Never."

He holds my gaze. There's a beat of silence before he says, "Why do you not care, then? Isn't it a pretty big red flag that I have a history of addiction and I've lied about it?"

I shake my head. "Not at all. Trey said that you were addicted a couple of years ago. Around the time you were 17 and 18. The same year your mother died and your father abandoned you." I tread. "How could I ever blame you for being angry? For wanting to escape yourself?" I whisper.

His eyes shutter, and he's suddenly crying.

At first, I don't realize what's happening, since his expression doesn't change at all, but his eyes well up with tears and his brows twitch into a furrow. It's only when the first couple of tears spill over do I realize what's happening.

I quickly stand out from my chair and rush around the table. I don't know if he wants to be touched right now or not, but I hesitantly wrap my arms around him to see how he'll react. Arlo doesn't respond to my touch at all so I start to pull away, but before I can go anywhere, he yanks me into his lap and crushes me into a fierce hug.

He's holding me so tight that it's almost uncomfortable, but I put that aside when I feel his tears start to soak into my shirt and his breath starts to hitch.

"Arlo, you're okay. It's okay." I whisper, rubbing his back comfortingly. "You didn't do anything wrong. You're so strong."

He sits holding me in that uncomfortable wooden chair with a deathly tight grip for a long time. I start to cry when he starts sobbing, and then we both lose it. I run my fingers through his hair and up and down his back, and eventually, he's able to calm down. He transports us to the bed, and we lay tangled in each other's embrace.

Finally, his hoarse voice whispers into my hair, "I don't think I can ever tell you about that part of my life. You'd hate me."

I try to pull away so I can see his face, but he doesn't let me. I give in and just hug him tighter. "I could never hate you. And whatever you did then has nothing to do with what you do now. I'm not worried about it," I whisper back.

After a while, both of us just holding each other, he whispers, "This was the first time I've hugged someone since my mom died."

A shock of sadness runs through me, and I say, "I'm sorry. I would have hugged you sooner if I'd known."

"This was okay," he replies.

And it was okay. And we were okay. Arlo tells me that he's been clean for 11 months, that I shouldn't worry about him going back to that lifestyle, that even if I weren't in his life now, he was moving on to better things. I made sure he knew I was here for him through whatever.

Arlo begs me to stay the night, but I know I have to get home.

I'd regret not staying for a long time after that night. If I had known what was waiting for me at home, I would have stayed one last time.