It almost got a giggle out of me. Almost.
The other night, he stopped by my house to bring me a cup of café mocha and a vanilla-bean scone from the Press & Grind. He stood at my front door and told me that whatever I needed—and whenever I needed it—he’d be there for me. “And not as payback,” he explained, “but because I really care about you. Don’t ever forget that.” He stared into my eyes for a moment too long, perhaps waiting for me to say the same.
But instead I simply told him that I wouldn’t forget it. To my surprise—and disappointment (because I wished I could’ve returned the sentiment)—he left shortly after.
While Spencer and Svetlana glaze cereal bowls in the back room, I continue to work on my own bowl, noticing that it looks like two lovers embracing. The sculpture is tall, more vaselike than bowl-like when it comes right down to it, and the sides are curved, resembling entangled limbs. I started the project the day before yesterday, and I’ve been working on it since then, just seeing where my impulse takes me.
Like with Ben.
It turns out that he knew where to find me that morn-ing—when Piper tied Adam up and gave him that deadly ultimatum—by touching the kiss photo. It still carried Piper’s vibe. Apparently, he’d held it for a good part of the night—until he could practically hear the alarm buzzing, too.
He called me a little while ago, asking if we could talk once and for all. I look up toward the entrance when I hear the doorbell chime his arrival.
“Hey,” he says, coming right over to take a peek at my work. Despite the accident, he looks better than ever: a sweatshirt that’s snug at the chest, helmet-disheveled hair, and a subtle glow to his skin.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
He pats his wound. “Getting better, and you?” He gestures at my arm and then gazes at my neck.
I nod, telling him that I’d like to lie low for a bit, take a break from playing Supergirl. “At least for a little while.” I smirk.
“Adam was lucky to have you,” he says.
“Well, we were both lucky to have you.”
Ben shrugs. “I still feel pretty weird about it. When I pushed Piper, I never expected for her to go flying like that.”
“She tumbled off the bed,” I say, correcting him.
“And broke her nose. She landed pretty hard against the floor.”
“She tried to kill you,” I remind him.
“And if you hadn’t have been there, she would’ve. So, thanks.”
I shake my head, knowing that if it hadn’t been for me, Ben wouldn’t have been there in the first place. I try to tell him that, but he swats my words away with his hand and says he wants to show me something.
“Sure,” I say, wondering if he’s really as nervous as he seems.
He clenches his teeth and hesitates a couple of moments; the angles of his face seem to grow sharper. Finally, he motions to the pant leg of his jeans.
There’s a tear right over his thigh.
“I know you saw it in the hospital,” he says, exposing the chameleon tattoo through the torn fabric. “I felt you…looking at it. Anyway, I wanted you to know that I did this back home, before I ever came to Freetown. Before I ever met you.”
“So it’s a coincidence?”
His dark gray eyes swallow mine whole. “Do you honestly believe that?”
“No,” I say, listening as he proceeds to tell me that a few months before he got to town, he touched his mother’s wed- ding band—something that reminded him of soul mates—and the image of a chameleon stuck inside his head.
“I couldn’t get it out of my mind,” he explains. “It was almost like the image was welded to my brain, behind my eyes, haunting me even when I tried to sleep.”
“And you got the tattoo because of that?”
“Because I hoped its permanence might help me understand it more—might help me understand what it had to do with my own soul mate.”
“And do you understand it now?” I ask, swallowing hard.
“Yeah.” He smiles. “I suppose I do.”
I take a deep breath, trying to hold myself together, desperate to know what he’s truly trying to say here, and what I should say to him as well. I close my eyes, picturing that moment in the hospital when I held his hand and wondering if he would’ve recovered as quickly if it hadn’t been for the connection between us—the electricity he must have sensed from my touch.
“But I think I still need time,” he says.
I nod, almost relieved that he said it first. “Yeah, me too.”
Ben’s lips tremble ever so slightly, surprised by my response maybe. “But I want you to know that you’re not the only one to blame here,” he says. “You wouldn’t have kissed Adam if I hadn’t given you a reason to. I could sense how insecure you were. I didn’t do anything to change that.”
“You didn’t take advantage of it, either,” I say, thinking back to that time in my room, when I begged him to stay the night.
“Someday you’ll see that we both played a part.”
“And someday you’ll see that you weren’t the only one keeping secrets.” I bite my lip, thinking how I wasn’t completely open about everything, either.
There’s silence between us for several moments, just the buzzing of the overhead lights and Svetlana giggling in the back room. I look down at my sculpture, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than I ever thought possible.
“I’ve missed you,” he says, following my gaze. “Even before all that stuff went down…. I’ve missed the way things were between us.” He reaches out to touch the rim of my sculpture, making me feel even more exposed, as if he can sense how suddenly swollen I feel, or the aching deep inside me.
“Maybe it can be that way again someday,” I tell him.
Ben nods and takes a step back, as if what he senses is all too much. His eyes are as broken as mine now.
“But first you have to forgive me,” I continue.
He comes around to my side of the table, takes my hands, and brushes his lips against my forehead. “And you have to forgive me, too.”
My heart pounds, and blood rushes to my ears, making me feel a little dizzy. I’m so tempted to ask him to stay, but I also know what’s best for me. And right now, that means taking some time out for myself.
I pull away, breaking his clasp on my hands, no longer willing to share all my thoughts with him. Instead, I tell him that he’ll always be a part of my life, and then I let him go.
Laurie Faria Stolarz, Deadly Little Games
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