What happens when you're just a story written under the moonlit sky? What happens when the only boy you love becomes a faded memory of just someone you used to know? What happens when you can't get your heart back, but that boy left you tattered and...
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You know, there is something magical about being kissed by the right boy. Well, you could argue that Zachariah would be the only boy I have kissed. You would also be right. But then you would be missing a vital point. When Zachariah kissed my lips, the world not only faded away. No. His kisses would send rivulets of fire through my skin. It wouldn't be a red hot heat. No, that color is more of an orange as it blazes through my system. And once he steps away, that heat lingers like a humidity so strong it sticks to my skin.
But he did pull away. Both of us heaving in gasps of the sticky air, that our bodies were fighting for. Although if you asked me, my body wasn't fighting for air. It was fighting for the life the orange sun of his kiss brought to life within me. Cause without it I was only heaving. The life wouldn't come.
Did you expect things to get awkward though? I didn't. After he tells me we need to slow down, he takes a step away from me. What did I expect though? That since he had kissed me twice, I had some kind of a claim on him? I guess in a way, I thought I did. But I also didn't think anyone or anything could lay claim on Zachariah Taylor.
With a look of remorse lingering on his handsome broken face, he glanced at me one more time. "I'm going to head out." His voice was thick with an emotion I couldn't place. "I need to get started on my Harley if I ever want to ride it again." Then with one last look in my direction, he walked away from me.
That boy would also be the only one to keep walking away from me. I felt like he liked me, but also that he didn't know how to handle actually being around me. I guess that was why the nighttime was so special. It held firsts that only the fireflies were witnesses to.
With a heavy sigh, I walked to my bedroom window and watched as he got to work on his motorcycle. His bruised and battered ribs were a faint memory of the past as he carried on like he wasn't just abused the night before. My heart ached at the memory of him climbing into my bedroom window just the night before. Of how he was all bloody and his face was starting to swell. We lay in my bed and that boy sang lullabies to soothe my soul from his tattered and broken body. This morning was just the remnants of the night before as they lingered in the air. His busted lip. Swollen jaw. I wondered if it would ever stop. Or if it would get any worse.
While I was in a daze of our night before, I didn't realize Daryle walked outside. He bent on his hunches and got in Zachariah's face. I saw as he pointed to my house and had a look of pure menace glaring like a deranged cat. What was he telling Zachariah? Was he mad that he was here? Would he make him stay away?
But then something else stuck out like a sore thumb. Zachariah was always telling me that Daryle looked worse than him. That I should see him because it wasn't pretty. But sitting here watching them. Zachariah was cowering down. I wasn't sure why, because he had at least four inches on Daryle. Plus, he was built like a machine. Not only that though, but Daryle also didn't have a scratch on his face.
I felt as my emotions went into hyperdrive. Why would he stay there? Why would he put himself through so much pain? It didn't make sense to me.
There was a soft knock on my bedroom door. I didn't speak. Didn't think I could. I saw my dad walk up beside me out of the corner of my eye, and look out of the window.
I heard his sigh before he spoke. "That boy cares an awful lot for you honey." He said it like it was a proven fact. Like he knew something I didn't just yet. "He's going to have to figure this out for himself." He pointed a finger at Zachariah and Daryle. "I told him he would always have a room here. The spare room. If he needs it." I finally glanced in his direction. Unsure if I heard him correctly. "Not sure what your momma would say. She would want to get him help, but not at the expense of having her baby girl in the same house as a boy she likes."
I felt my face flush with a hot heat. Keeping my eyes trained on the two men outside. "Thank you, daddy." I whispered. "Although, I think it may be more than like."
I heard him chuckle under his breath. Then I grew somber as I saw Daryle kick Zachariah's Harley. "I just want to help him daddy. I want to fix this for him."
I felt his eyes burning my skin as he looked at me for what felt like hours. "You are doing what you can honey. If he wants to fix it, then he will have to be the one to. You will realize one day you can't fix all of that boy's problems."
I wasn't so sure then what my daddy had meant. I would learn though. Wouldn't I? How life mocks us. How it takes all of our good deeds and turns them to ash. Makes us want to take every lashing we can get if that means we feel the heat.
The bad thing about the heat though, was I was the one in the end who got burned from standing too close. I had to watch as my whole world went up in fumes and all that was left were the black tire streaks. Painting my heart in a love lost. Because sooner rather than later, I would learn. That boy wouldn't ever be mine. And his loyalty to one woman, far outweighed anything feeling he may have had for me.
