Page 6 of All That We Are Together

At some point in the evening, we started dancing. The first song was a slow one, and I walked off, allegedly for another drink, but really what I wanted was to get away from them and be by myself. Sitting on a barstool, I watched them moving in time to the music, smiling and kissing and whispering in each other’s ears.

“You paint?” a guy said.

“How do you know?” My brow furrowed.

“Your nails,” he answered, sitting on the stool beside me and trying to catch the bartender’s eye. He had dark brown hair, almond eyes, and a contagious smile. “What exactly do you paint?”

“I don’t know. Depends,” I said softly.

“Got it. You’re one of those mysterious girls…”

“I’m not, I promise.” I smiled. His deduction was amusing. I was actually the opposite: all too transparent. “It’s just… I had a bad day.”

“I hear you. Let’s start over. My name’s Landon Harris.”

He stretched out his hand. I shook it.

“Leah Jones. A pleasure.”

We talked the whole night through. I don’t know what time it was when I’d finally drunk enough to decide it was a good idea to spill my heart to a complete stranger. I told him hurriedly about my parents’ death, Axel, how hard the first months in Brisbane had been…everything.

Landon was one of those people who exude confidence. He listened attentively, interrupted me when necessary, and shared details of his life: how demanding his parents were, how he loved poetry, how he went climbing every chance he got.

When my friends wanted to leave, I told them I was going to stay a little longer with Landon. He said he’d walk me back to the dorm. As we wandered through the streets and our voices broke the silence of the night, I realized it had been a long time since I’d felt so calm. When we reached the door, he came close, a little insecure, planted one hand on the wall, and gave me a kiss. It was nice. Not awkward.

He pulled back and looked at me under the orange light of the streetlamps.

“You’re still in love with him.”

It wasn’t a question, just an affirmation, and I nodded and tried not to burst into tears, because I wished it wasn’t true, Iwished my heart was blank and I could get to know a guy as charming as Landon.

After that day, he became one of my best friends. In the years since, I had met many other guys, and he had a couple of girlfriends who turned out to be different from what he’d expected. I stuck to one-night stands while looking for something I never found. I soon learned the difference between fucking and making love, between truly wanting someone and just lusting for them. There was a major difference, and I wasn’t yet ready to handle the former.

One winter morning, I rang his doorbell, almost in tears, with my heart pounding against my ribs. Landon opened right up.

“What is it?” he asked, closing the door behind us.

Anxiety. I knew the symptoms well.

“I don’t think I can feel anything, Landon. I think…I think…”

I couldn’t speak. He hugged me, and I pressed my head into his chest, suppressing a sob. It was a bad time. I was terrified of being empty again, of going numb. Of giving up painting… The mere possibility made a knot form in my throat. With every day that passed, I could feel my emotions withering and found myself getting up every day just because I had to do it. Kisses from a stranger no longer satisfied me, nor did the memories I held on to when I had to paint, when I had to let them out.

“Take it easy, Leah.” Landon stroked my back.

I shivered as his hand moved up and down. Then I stopped thinking and let my impulses carry me away. I breathed against his cheek, quivering from fear, noticing how good he smelled, how soft his skin was…

Our lips met as if it was natural. Landon pulled me into him,and we kissed for what seemed like an eternity, unrushed, just enjoying it. When we started taking our clothes off, I felt safe, and as we landed on the mattress in his bedroom, a sensation of comfort enveloped me. When I felt him move inside me, I felt loved. And it had been a long time since I’d felt that, so I grabbed on to him: his back, his friendship, his world, because holding him close was serenity and the calm after the storm.

A week later, my brother came to visit. We met in a simple café that made a delicious chicken sandwich. We ordered two of them plus two sodas, and I noticed him rubbing his neck and sighing.

“Is something up?” I asked, nervous.

“I think I need to tell you something.”

“Spit it out. What?”

“I saw Axel.”