After experiencing a life-altering tragedy, Emersyn feels as if her world has collapsed. Attempting to accept her new reality, Emersyn wonders how she can possibly keep going when it feels like her life ended months ago. Until she meets Haven, and s...
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Haven and I end the night in my room.
Despite how wonderfully having her over unraveled–considering I had been so nervous about how things would end up if I allowed her to get close enough to see the more intricate bits of my life–I still find myself facing anxiety when Haven is standing in the doorframe of my bedroom.
I hold my breath as she looks around the four walls in silence. I do the same, as if looking at my own room for the first time. I can't stop myself from thinking back to Haven's space–her clean white walls, organized belongings, everything all prim and shiny and perfect. I then eye my own belongings with distaste. My bed is unmade. Clothes are messily and haphazardly strewn about the floor. What little belongings I do own are not set up in any particular order–they just occupy space here and there. I used to picture Haven in my room and the thought would make me want to laugh aloud. Surely, she is too perfect to ever exist amongst my chaos.
However, I find this fear to be put to rest as Haven enters my space and invades it all. Suddenly, the thought of her fitting into my messy and broken life doesn't seem so unfathomable. She does not poke fun at the state of my belongings or ask questions as to why anything is arranged how it is. She merely enters and takes a seat on my bed, as if doing so is natural, as if she belongs amongst my clutter in the same manner she so welcomed me into her perfection.
My racing heart slowly steadies.
Haven's eyes meet mine as she beams up at me, and suddenly there is nothing but her. She consumes all of my thoughts until I can focus on nothing else.
And I love her for that.
"I'm still embarrassed about how things ended up out there," Haven says sheepishly, referencing the candle situation in the yard. Her cheeks tinge a slight shade of pink.
I laugh softly as I kick a pair of dirty socks under my bed. "You want to talk about being embarrassed right now?"
Haven chuckles. "You don't ever have to be embarrassed about anything with me," she reminds me softly.
"Then the same goes for you," I point out as I take a seat next to her. She eyes me peculiarly, as if sensing I want to say more than I am letting on. I suppose she has good instincts, because I am witholding my thoughts.
I sit in thoughtful silence for a moment, hesitating before I allow my tongue to take over. When I speak, I don't allow myself to mull over the words.
"Do you think . . . do you think we're too different to work?"
I hold my breath as I await Haven's answer. Her eyebrows furrow as she holds my stare, blue eyes gleaming with curiosity.
"What do you mean?" Her voice is filled with apprehension.
I suppose my words concern her slightly, considering we only just put a title on our relationship moments ago, and now here I am questioning things. Furthermore, I understand how she could find them confusing. How can I share my thoughts if I'm not quite ready to share the full truth with her? How can I confess that I come from a broken home, that I am still struggling with the loss of my father, that my mother is a recovering addict, that I am filled with a darkness as deep and vast as a black hole, that I am damaged in ways she could not possibly understand? Of course she couldn't, because Haven's life is nothing like mine. She comes from a family that is the definition of the American dream; her house appears straight out of a magazine, her beauty is perfection, and she radiates light from the inside out. We are polar opposites through and through.
