Chapter Eighteen
She looked up at him, the green eyes she had loved all along, his face, his skin color paler during these winter months because of the lack of sun, the trademark bed head hair, messier than usual, on the brim of frazzled, but covered with gel. All along, she never once doubted his love for her. Everyone knew that he loved her, even strangers. That was not part of the predicament. The point was he was capable of sneaking in something like their “break,” something totally unexpected and absolutely heartbreaking. Granted, he was under the impression that he was doing it for the good of them both, allotting space for them.
However, wasn’t three thousand miles more than enough space between them?
It was plenty. But apparently to him it worked in a reverse psychology kind of way. The seemingly roomy three thousand miles counteracted and strangled him breathless; it was too much, possibly. So much that it was terrifying to the core.
And they both were feeling the blows.
She knew her silence was causing his heart to beat a mile a minute from nerves, causing it to race indefinitely for every nanosecond that she didn’t respond. Ironic, she thought, how he thought he had to run away when he was overwhelmed, and now his heart was sprinting back to her when he was anticipating, she assumed, an answer. His brain had felt the need to escape, so he shushed his heart while he did so. Now, his heart was returning from the time away, longing for its other half.
There is always risk in love, risk in dismantling walls that keep the delicate heart safe. Walls can shield a heart, but they can also shun it from the world, keeping it hidden forever. Realistically, love is a chance that one needs to brace themselves for, for the repercussions can be painful. That is the gamble with love; it is a paradox. Expansion of the pericardium, the protector of the heart, can occur with love; it may cause discomfort, but broken hearts can altogether shatter a person.
Love is not harmless, it leaves a person open. Open to be loved in return, and open to be hurt. The stakes are always high with love, because broken hearts are so difficult to mend. Broken hearts have no definite cure, and in some cases are entirely incurable. Only time can tell with love and broken hearts. Time is the rescuing guardian angel, or the devil. One can never truly know with love, because it is also fickle, and tricky, and cruel, and utterly wonderful.
Love is unpredictable no matter how long you know it. Years of companionship do no suddenly make love a more knowledgeable topic. It never was understood completely, even by those who loved with all their hearts and were loved in return with all of a heart, and it never will be.
Love is a phenomenon that happens between two people in a concurrent moment. No one can say when it will occur, or if it even will. True love is rarer than a shooting star, but just as, if not more, spectacular.
The particular style of Sydney and Vaughn’s love was even more infrequent than Haley’s Comet; it was so erratic that it had no pattern as a precedent. It hit when it felt like it, if it chose to. This love was not diminishable no matter what any of the parties involved, or outside parties, attempted.
Sydney looked up at Vaughn and she almost, just almost, fully comprehended love in all its forms. “Then why didn’t you?” she asked in a whisper, referring to Vaughn’s statement about wanting to kiss her all night.
He nearly hadn’t heard her over the loud beating of his heart echoing in his ears. When he had, all of his nervousness hadn’t erased instantly, but a great deal had left noticeably. “I…,” he opened, unsure of how to proceed. “I was scared,” he admitted. “I was scared that you hated me,” he said, really just trying it on for size. Turns out, it fit perfectly, like a glove.
“I never hated you,” she said, knowingly, justly defending his vulnerable heart, taking a step back on her duties of protecting her own.
They embraced then, on the blue couch, rekindling the flame that had never extinguished. While it was flickering for a while, it never went out. Flames are like love, too, in the sense that they are binary symbols of light and dark, of good and bad. A flame can represent warmth, and comfort, or it can embody destruction, similar to how love can be the best feeling in the world, and how broken hearts are the ashes from the fire that is love.
It was a strong embrace on Vaughn’s part. Not overpoweringly, but comfortingly. Vaughn had let go of her hand from the last week of January up until now, late March. This only left his hand cold and useless. He needed her to function normally, because without her he was faulty. The hug was also soothing and a sanctuary of sorts. Anything could be done or said in this time, and there would be no consequences.
Sydney’s love for Vaughn was much more stable than a flame. But it was not invincible. Their time apart was not easy for Sydney, and it was not painless. She stayed up on many nights, and cried, feeling guilty all the while.
They broke the hug, and now just sat back on the couch, their backs leaning into the cushions. They were touching in as many places as possible when two people sit next to one another. They were quiet, not in a discomfited way, but in a “Whew, that’s over,” kind of way.
Her head was resting on his shoulder, at the perfect comfort height. She realized this meant that they were back together, for good, and that was relieving and consoling. However, she couldn’t pretend like it had never happened. And it wouldn’t make sense to keep this information to herself now and spring it on Vaughn later. Sydney had to tell him now, or not tell him at all, and she needed him to know. “You hurt me,” she said in a very low voice, but he heard her.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, moving over a bit so that there was space between them.
“No,” she said calmly, “not now. I mean,” she paused, then continued, “before.”
He stared down at his feet for a second or two, trying to buy time, the enemy or the saint when it comes to love, before turning to look at Sydney, eye to eye. Her head was no longer on his shoulder. There was a solemn, sad, understanding look on his face. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know,” he said again, this time in a remorseful sigh. Shifting his body to her, he went on. “You have to know that I’m sorry. I am so sorry, Sydney,” he was shaking his head, probably not believing he could have done something like that to her. His mouth opened to say something, but no words came out. Finally, he said, “I really thought I was doing the right thing, taking time.” Shaking his head again, he added, “but it wasn’t the right thing, and I’m sorry. That’s all I can say, I’m sorry.”
“I know,” she nodded, in all seriousness. “I know,” she repeated in a small voice. “But you have to know that things aren’t going to be like they were, not now, not yet. We can’t ignore this, can’t avoid it.” He acknowledged her statement by nodding perceptively. However unpleasant, he knew this was inevitable. She laid down the law: “We have to start over, in a sense.”
He chuckled non-humorously, almost bitterly, but not quite. “In the sense that we love each other but have to pretend not to?” he asked, rhetorically, but still partially wishing for an answer.
Breaking eye contact for a second, Sydney looked away and thought of an appropriate way to respond. “Not pretend not to love each other,” she started unhurriedly, “just… taking things slow.” She surprised him by continuing her declaration. “For starters, no sex.” The way the words came out of her mouth, with an air of false confidence and certainty, took him aback briefly. He wasn’t expecting anything tonight, or in the very near future, nor was he expecting her to say something about that, but he had to respect her bold move.
“Okay,” he agreed, “no sex.” Now he surprised her just a bit by not being done speaking. “But if you find me irresistibly charming, and can’t keep your hands off me, you must know that I will be forced to remove said hands off, because of your new rule: no sex.” He smiled an exaggeratedly complacent smile.
She laughed at the absurdity of his promise. “First of all,” she said assertively, “I have self-control and it really hits me right here,” she said, patting her heart, “that you would even think that I don’t. Secondly, since when are you so cocky?” Truthfully, she enjoyed that they were reverting back to their signature playful banter. It was a medicine that mended broken hearts, healing them until they were healthy enough to love fully again.
They played a few games of Scene It for old time’s sake, and the wins-losses ratio for them both was pretty even. Afterward, maybe an hour and a half later, they simply lied side by side on the couch, and talked softly. Both were becoming tiresome, and eyelids were less ajar than they were closed. Still conversing, Sydney wriggled a little, and accidentally sent Vaughn to the floor with a loud plop. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop laughing, even as she apologized, sincerely. He declined her request to come back up, instead opting to stay on the floor and asking her to hand him a throw pillow. Wordlessly, she gave him one, and he lied on the area rug and gazed up at her.
She smiled down on him. “Hi there,” she grinned. He smiled back, but didn’t say anything. “Whatcha thinkin’?”
He shrugged. “We really are starting over,” he said, and she gave him a confused look. “I mean, I’m back to sleeping on your floor,” he grinned.
A while later they were both soundly asleep for the first time in what seemed like a long time. Not much longer after that, Jack walked in through the garage door. From the kitchen, where he was getting a drink of water, he saw a figure on the couch. He walked over to the family room, and was going to wake his daughter and tell her to go up to her room, but he noticed Michael Vaughn, asleep on the floor with a single square-shaped pillow under his head and a light blanket covering him. Hesitation consumed him for only a moment, before he decided to leave them both where they were.
He made sure the doors were locked, lights were off, alarm was on, and went up to retire to his own room, because it was late, and he needed to get up early.