A Short Story: The Truth

Part Seven

      Chandler walked around and opened my door for me whenever he parked, and helped me out of the car, still wearing his jacket. The autumn winds wrapped around me, an orange leaf rustling out of a nearby tree and landing by my foot. As Chandler held my hand and lead me inside, I could hear the leaf crunching under my foot. He held the door for me, and when we stepped inside, the smell of coffee rushed around me. Straight ahead, I noticed a bar accompanied by tall stools with circular seats. Chandler lead me there, pulling out the stool and then helping me maneuver it back under the bar before taking a seat next to me. Within a few seconds, a woman came to us to take our orders.

     "I'll take my usual, thanks! How about you Charlie?"

     I went through my head, deciding what I wanted. I hadn't slept the night before, not for more than an hour, and I needed a boost. Caffeine wasn't abnormal for me; I soaked it in through an IV and was left unaffected most of the time.

     "I'll take one black, with a shot of espresso please."

     The waitress gave a slight smile, and proceeded to ask another question.

     "And what sizes?"

     Before I could answer, Chandler smeared a smirk onto his face, looking at me from the corner of his eye while he spoke to the woman.

     "Both large. I'm hoping to be here for a while."

     I smiled, and told Chandler thank you for the coffee. He wasted no time, and promptly began speaking about my father.

     "So what did he do to you? If it's too much to think about, we don't have to talk about it, but I'd love to help you. I'd love to be here to listen."

     I sighed, beginning.

     "I know what you're wondering, and no, he never hit me. I was extremely lucky when it came to that, actually; I mean there were times where I was afraid that he might, but he never did, fortunately. His favorite weapon, his iron sword, were words- words and small little actions that you'd never think of wrong because his intentions seemed so pure. I had it all wrong though, and I never realized it until I got older."

     At that time, the waitress came to the counter and set our drinks in front of us. We both took big sips, immediately setting them back onto the granite bar, realizing she mixed up our orders. His was weaker than I needed, not nearly strong enough to take the edge off of my exhaustion like I craved. I drank the correct cup, identical to Chandler's, and enjoyed the feeling of the caffeine entering my mouth, sliding down my throat, and entering my body.

     "That's got a pretty nice kick to it. Definitely not what I was expecting!"

     Chandler chuckled, sipping his drink, willing me to go on with a beautiful look in his eye- one that was accepting, and more powerful than words could've ever been. So I continued.

     "I don't want to dump all of it on you and be a bother, but long story short-"

     He cut me off, placing a hand on my knee.

     "Charlie, you're not a bother, and I don't need your story to be cut short. I want you to tell me everything, because you can trust me, and I want you to know that. Okay?"

      "Okay. Well one of the things he did then that really bothers me now, was once one of my favorite things. My parents had this big, glass shower with oil-rubbed bronze handles, and a shower head to match. There were these sprayers going up the wall, and the entire bathroom was something out of a magazine. My mother's dream home, really- until he turned it into a nightmare. I remember I would get so excited when they said I could use their shower though, because as a kid, around 6 years old, those kind of little things were exciting. Well I remember nearly every time I was rewarded and allowed to, my father would watch me the entire time. The pattern was repeated with their jacuzzi bath tub, and it went on until I was 10. At that point, I started recognizing it wasn't right, and I made sure to always lock the door."

     I took a deep breath, chugging my coffee and waiting for it to get into my system and give me the caffeine effects that I loved. It admittedly felt good to get everything off of my chest, but at the same time, my head was hurting from taking myself back to those memories and how they made me feel. Chandler got off of his stool and embraced me in a tight hug. He whispered in my ear, and squeezed me tighter, my arms wrapping around his torso and clamping together on his back.

     "Charlie, I'm so sorry. C'mon, let's move over there."

     He gestured to the corner with the cushioned, comfortable looking chairs and couches, and grabbed my hand to lead me there like he had so many times today. We settled down on a love seat, sitting close enough to feel his warmth. I sat back, to the left of him, my right arm overlapping his left, leaning on him enough to feel like he was holding me. He wrapped his left arm around the back of my neck, clutching me closer to him, and holding my left hand, rubbing his signature circles with his thumb. At this point, I felt safe enough to continue, Chandler wrapped around me.

     "I think the worst memories are the ones that we don't typically think twice about. I remember so clearly my father walking into my bedroom every night, and him leaning down on my bed as I lay there. He would whisper 'daddy loves you, Charlie.' The smell of marihuana spewed from his mouth, his unshaven whiskers brushing against my hear, giving me chills as he forced the lie into my brain. I think the most difficult part was that- it was all a lie. He's a sociopath, diagnosed by a profiler. He has no emotions, no conscience, no capability of feeling love- or, he didn't. And you know, when I found out about that, it crushed me. I didn't fully understand it; I couldn't completely process the fact, and the only thing that stuck out in my brain was that my own father was incapable of loving me."

     Again, the memories, the words I was saying, were having a much greater effect on me than I originally expected. Tears threatened my eyes, and my lack of energy made it impossible to hold them back. I let them slide down my face, landing on my knee. Chandler acted fast, pulling my coffee from my hands and placing mine and his onto the table in front of his. He slipped his jacket off of my shoulders, and set it aside. Chandler wrapped both of his arms around me, pulling me closer to him, and attempting to comfort me. However, his embrace triggered something in my head, in my heart, and I only sobbed harder. He pulled me even closer to him, my legs intertwining with his and my head resting on his shoulder, drenching his shirt in my tears. I fought through, however, and continued speaking; I knew that if I stopped now, there was a good chance I would never let anyone in again, and the worst of it, the part that bothered me the most, would never be known.

     "I just hated myself because of it. Day and night, all I could think of for nearly a year was the fact that I was unlovable. I got shoved in front of counsellors of all sorts, only worsening my state of mind and making me feel insane. But what the counsellors never knew, what no one ever knew, was that I had more hatred in my heart directed towards myself than I had love for anyone else, and I acted on it. I self harmed; but again, it was the little things that really hit me the hardest. I cut my wrists, which made me feel numb- even more numb than I started off, after a while. It wasn't enough- I needed to feel something for once. I would hold my hand over candles, daring to dance my fingertips over the flames, and hold them there for as long as I could manage. It became a sort of game, and I became no better than my father: treating life like a game to be played. Unlike him, though, I knew I was losing, and edging closer to my last life."

     At this point I could barely keep myself together. I lifted my head, looking into Chandler's face. I could've sworn I saw the shimmer of a tear in the corner of his eye, but as soon as I saw it, he blinked it away. He stood up, pulling me up with him, and he wrapped his arms around me so tight that I thought the two of us might both lift off of the ground; I loved it, and I needed it. He looked at me and spoke, his voice filled with an emotion I couldn't comprehend.

     "May I see?"

     I didn't know what to think, but I slowly lifted my left arm, my palm facing the ground. He wrapped his hands sweetly around my arm, and flipped it over, exposing my biggest secret. Staring both of us in the face was a column of small scars, clearly self inflicted. He traced his fingers along each of them, sending tears rolling down my cheeks.

     Chandler let my arm fall, and he engulfed me in one of his amazing hugs. 

     "I'm never going to let you feel that way again."