Jumbled Heartaches

I Want To Be Your Person

I get dressed, and at nine in the morning, I head for the door.
Right when I pull it open, my eyes meet Ian's.
"Jenny." he smiles.
"Ian." I say.
"Sorry I didn't call..." he runs his fingers through his hair. "I wanted to make sure you were alright."
"I'm okay." I say.
We stand in an awkward silence. I come outside, shutting the door.
He stands there. He looks like he wants to say something.
He bites his lip.
"Anyways...bye."
He turns to walk off, but when he reaches the end of my porch, he stops, turning to me.
"Why didn't you want anyone to know?"
I study him for a long time.
He looks hurt.
"I don't have a problem with people knowing, Ian..." I look down at my hands. "But that was my first kiss, and uh...I just would rather wait until we know what we are."
He watches me for a while.
"Well then what are we, Jenny? You know what I want, but I don't know what you want because you never told me. I've heard...rumors." He swallows. "But you've never told me directly."
I study him for a long time.
"Ian..." I trail off.
"Do you know what you want, Jenny?" He steps closer to me.
Yes. I know exactly what I want.
I want to kiss him whenever I want. I want to hold his hand in public. I want him to choose me over almost everyone. I want to cuddle with him and nap with him.
I want to take that look of pain off his face. I want to make him happy.
He's standing right in front of me and the words seem to be caught in my throat.
I don't know how to tell him.
And the worst part, is no matter how much I want him, I don't know him. I really don't.
So he's standing right in front of me, his eyes boring down at me.
My words get caught every time I try to tell him.
"Jenny," he starts.
"I want you." I whisper. "I want to know you. I want to know everything about you. I want you physically and mentally and emotionally but I don't know how to get to that point when I've got no idea who you are."
His eyes study mine for a long time.
"Okay." He says finally. "I'll tell you everything. You have to drive though, I don't have the car."
I nod, agreeing, and head for my car.
"Jenny?" His voice stops me. I turn around. He stands in front of me. "You are so incredibly beautiful."
I smile.
"Thank you. You are so incredibly handsome." I say.
"Thank you." He beams.
I get in the car, and he gets in after me.
He has me drive, and we end up in Gatlinburg at an elementary school.
"This is my elementary school." He says, smiling. "My dad used to pick me and Isaac up every day and take us to the ice cream parlor. I had a lot of friends and I was the kid who had the birthday parties where Isaac and I gave invitations out to everyone in class."
I smile. We go to his middle school.
"I had a good half of sixth grade, but then my parents died and I was in rehab for six months because of how bad my injuries were. The doctor said if I didn't get my strength up, I could die, so I worked out often. I was angry at the world and rebellious. I skipped all the time, swore at teachers..." he trails off. "I hated my life and everyone in it. Aunt Amelia made sure to be the best she could, and I love her for that. She's my second Mom, my role model. I love her." He sighs. "Isaac was just depressed but Aunt Amelia got him meds and he was better."
He takes me to his high school.
"I hated my life here." He says. I started getting emotional and lashing out. When I started swinging on people, Aunt Amelia sent me to SMBS." He sighs.
He brings me to the ice cream shop, a fishing store, a lake he used to fish as with his Dad, a park his Mom would take him to during summers..."
He gives me all these memories.
He takes me to his house where he lives now, which is a small two bedroom apartment. It's kept clean and taken care of, and he and Issac share a room and there's a photo on his side table of him and two adults.
I pick it up, studying it.
The man has blonde messy hair and brown eyes, while the woman has blonde long hair and bright, beautiful blue eyes. They remind me of Ian's.
They must be his parents. They're beautiful. A perfect family.
I can see why I remind him of his Mom.
My hair is the same color. Our eyes are very similar.
He watches me.
I set the photo down. He looks sad.
"Did they fight a lot?"
He shakes his head.
"In third grade they did. They went to counseling and got better. Much better. They were happy." He smiles. "But they got into one argument in the car and just like that...it still doesn't feel real. I never saw them again after that. There wasn't even an open casket funeral because they said their bodies were too mangles from the crash..." he trails off, shaking his head.
I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist. He hugs me back, hiding his face in my hair.
"I'm sorry, Ian. I know it doesn't help much, but I'm sorry."
"It's alright." He whispers. "It's been a long time."
He pulls out of the hug and kisses my forehead.
"Two more places to go." He says.
I let him pull me out of the apartment, back to the car.
He gives me directions, and we pull into the driveway of a soft blue house. The windows and doors are all white.
It's beautiful.
I look over at him.
There's cars in the driveway.
He's quiet for a long time.
"I haven't been here in years." He says, his forehead creased. "It just breaks my heart."
This must be his childhood home.
"See that?" He points to the streak cut out of the sidewalk.
I nod.
"I rode my scooter through the wet cement." He says. "See that tree?"
I look at it, nodding.
"My dog is buried under it. This house built me. It created who I am."
I reach over and squeeze his hand.
We sit there for a few minutes until he's ready to leave, and then he gives me directions to the next place.
When I park the car, I realize where we are.
A cemetery.
He just looks at me.
"If you don't want to be here, we can leave. I understand."
I shake my head and get out of the car.
He gets out too, and he grabs my hand and holds it.
I walk beside him.
We go deep into the cemetery, and we stop at a big tombstone.
Derek and Jayden Grant.
His Mom's says loving mother and wife and his dad says loving father and husband.
He sits down in the snow.
"Do you want me to give you alone time?" I ask softly.
He shakes his head.
I sit down next to him in the snow.
He stares at his hands.
"Jenny, if I start crying, leave, okay? I'll uber home." He whispers.
"Okay." I whisper. So I sit there with him, holding his hand.
After a long time, I notice a tear roll down his cheek.
"Jenny..." he whispers, playing with my fingers. "Go."
I don't move.
"Jenny." He looks up at me.
The pain I see shatters my heart.
"Go." He mumbles.
I have a feeling that he comes here alone quite often.
I reach up and slowly wipe a tear away.
"You come here alone all the time, don't you?"
He looks down.
"Yeah." He says. His chin is trembling. He's been reliving these memories all day, so to see him crying is something I expected. "Jenny, you need to go."
I climb in his lap, putting my legs around him.
"You never have to come alone again. I promise."
I hug him.
He wraps his arms around me and buries his head in my shoulder.
I feel his shoulders shaking as he cries, but I just stay with him, running my fingers through his hair, whispering that it's okay and that he's not alone.
Any doubt I had about him is gone.
I see him for who he is. He's not a dick. He never was. He's a beautiful man in pain and he's been struggling with his emotions for years. To see this part of him is honestly a privilege.
I need to be here for him forever.
I sit there while he cries.
After a while though, he stops, but he doesn't move his head from my shoulder. It takes another twenty minutes or so before he lifts his head. His eyes meet mine, and I give him a small smile.
"Okay?" I murmur.
He nods slowly.
"Okay." He says. He hesitates. "You can't tell anyone. Jenny, Isaac doesn't know I come here. You can't tell." He shakes his head crazily.
"I won't tell a soul." I whisper. I kiss his cheek.
He sniffles, and one more tears falls. I wipe it.
"Can we leave?" He asks.
I nod, standing up.
He stands up too, and he takes my hand.
We walk back to the car, and get in.
"I'm out of places." He says.
I stare at the steering wheel.
"When do you have to be home?" I ask.
It's three in the afternoon.
"No idea. I have a while."
"Okay."
I start to drive.
I drive all the way back to Jefferson City, and he keeps his hand in mine.
When I park the car, he looks at me.
"Where are we?" He asks.
"At my grandparents house." I say.
I get out.
He does too, stopping me.
"Do I look like I was crying?"
"No." I say. "Not at all."
He nods, and follows me.
I let myself in the house.
"Gram?" I call.
"Living room!" She calls.
I walk into the living room.
"Ian!" Grandma beams. "Jenny!"
She hugs me, and then hugs Ian.
"How are you guys?" She asks.
"Good." I smile, hugging my grandfather. He shakes hands with Ian.
"What brings you guys here?" Grandma asks.
In answer, I nod at the backyard.
Her eyes widen.
"Jenny, you haven't done that in years. You're bringing Ian with you? You've never brought anybody with you."
"I know." I say quietly.
She sighs.
"You can go, be careful."
"I will." I hesitate. "Can you not tell anyone I was here? I'd like it keep it just you guys and my parents and Ian."
They nod, and I walk out. Ian follows me.
"Jenny?" Grandpa calls after me. I turn around. He tosses me his gun.
"Just in case."
We reach the edge of the woods.
"Jenny? Where are we going? Why do you have a gun?"
"You trust me?" I ask.
He studies my eyes.
"Yes. Of course."
"Okay then."
I walk into the woods.
He follows closely behind me, and I take the familiar path.
We walk for a while and then we reach the clearing.
The small little cabin sits there.
It looks untouched, and that's because it is. It's rich dark wood and black windows.
It's homey.
"Is that where we are going?" He asks.
I nod, crossing the field, trudging through feet of snow.
He stays behind me.
We reach the cabin and I grab the key off the doorframe and unlock it.
The door creaks open, and I immediately light the fireplace.
There's dust all over, and I grab the rag and start dusting.
There's a tackle box that's open on the floor. It's full of paint brushes. There's an easel standing up on the floor, and an old pallet. There's shelves and shelves of paints. There's a couch in here and it pulls out into a bed. There's an empty cooler, and a bathroom. The water doesn't work but I usually get lake water and boil it.
I have a lot of water stored in here.
"This is my secret place. This is where I go to think."
He shuts the door behind him, taking in the scene.
"Is this yours?" He points to the painting stuff.
I nod.
"You paint?"
"I did. Before SMBS."
He hesitates.
"Jenny..." his eyebrows furrow. He picks up an old painting.
That's the very last one I wanted him to see.
It's me, I'm in my bra and underwear on the floor of my bathroom with my knees against my chest. My wrist on my right hand is pouring out blood and you can see the angry cuts, and in my left hand is a blade.
There are tears pouring down my face, a look of pain and relief. My blonde hair is thrown into a messy bun.
I look fucked up.
I start to panic.
"Ian-" I take it from his hand. "Don't look at them, please? I-" I shake my head.
"Jenny." he whispers. "You can trust me. You know that. You know you can trust me."
I study him for a long time, and then I give it back to him.
He studies it.
"You look so sad..." he whispers, tracing my face with an index finger.
"I was." I say.
I open the wooden chest and look at him.
It's full of paintings.
I sit there on the couch, and he pulls the chest over, sitting next to me.
I sit next to him and watch as he goes through all of them, studying each and every one of them intently.
After a while, my lack of sleep hits me.
I've been awake since three in the morning. I'm exhausted. I start to fall asleep, and after hesitating, I shift on the couch, pull my feet up, and rest my head against his side.
He glances down at me from the painting of me in a field of flowers and then puts his arm around me.
"This is the last one." He says, holding up one of just nature. It's the mountains with rich trees covered in fall leaves. There is a river flowing down the mountain.
That's my favorite painting. Everything is so beautiful in it.
I shift against his side, moving closer against him.
"Jenny?" He asks. "Which one is your favorite?"
I hesitate.
"Which is yours?"
He studies all of them.
"This one." He taps the one, the first one, with me cutting.
I tense. He starts rubbing my side.
"It just...don't get the wrong idea baby, it's just..." he hesitates. "You've come so far...and to see this change, and see that the marks on your wrist are just scars, and to see your beauty...it's incredible. It just gives me something to do. Something to hold onto. I want to be the one to make sure you never get to that point again. I want to protect you, and nurture you, and someday...love you. Is this my favorite to look at? No." He shakes his head. "But it's my favorite story. My favorite visual painting is this one." He points to my favorite.
I hesitate.
I've never given paintings to anybody except for Uncle Arthur and my family.
"Do you want it?" I ask.
He looks at me.
"You'd give it to me?"
I smile.
"As long as you don't tell anybody my secret place."
"Your secret is safe with me." He says.
I smile, looking up at him.
He looks down at me.
It's already six now.
"The sun is going to set really soon. We should get going." I say.
He nods, watching as I pour water on the fire until there's no embers left. He stuffs the painting under his shirt and follows me out of the door. I lock it, putting the key back.
He holds hands with me while we walk, and when we reach the edge of the trees, I see my grandpa on the back porch.
He looks relieved when he sees us come through the trees.
Ian follows me in the house.
"Are you guys hungry? Your mother called." Grandma says to me. "She said Aunt Amelia called looking for you Ian, honey. I told your mother where you are and she told Aunt Amelia that Ian is spending the day with you. She also told me to tell Ian to call her." She says, looking at Ian.
He nods, pulling his phone from his pocket.
"You should call your mother." Grandma says.
I nod, and we say goodbye to them and head for the exit, dialing our people on the way out.