Page 15 of Into These Eyes

Gavin

A s I make the trek back to my caravan, I pretty much want to punch myself in the face.

From the brief glimpse I had of her eyes before she shielded them with those dark sunnies, I knew I’d said the wrong thing.

Even though it’s the truth. Of course she’s gorgeous.

But I should know better than anyone that the truth can backfire spectacularly.

Now I’ve probably scared her off for good.

Approaching my personal oven, I notice Fletcher’s still sitting on his steps. I feel sick that she came here on the worst day of her life and had to deal with his disrespectful comments. So, I barrel over.

“She comes back, Fletcher, I don’t want to hear a word out of your mouth. Leave her alone.”

He stands and puffs his chest out, but doesn’t move closer. He’s a good five inches shorter than me and probably forty kilos lighter. Though he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, he’s not completely stupid.

“Can say whatever the fuck I want. Ain’t nothin’ you can do about it.”

I don’t even bother squaring my shoulders. He’s all talk. “Don't test me on that.”

He scoffs, sits on the step again as he plucks out another cigarette and clamps it between his teeth. All in an effort to convince me I don’t scare him.

“Ya wanna end up back in the clink, be my fuckin’ guest,” he grumbles before lighting up and taking a deep drag.

I stride over to my caravan and barge inside, letting the door whack shut behind me. The arsehole is fucking right. I get into any sort of altercation that leads to assault, I’ll be right back in a cell.

Letting out a long breath, I lean against the kitchen counter and stare at the little table where Jamie Evans sat. Where she flipped my worthless life on its head.

And once again, her life has changed forever, too.

Only difference is, this time, she doesn’t hate me. This time, she’s going to help me.

Or so she says.

I have no reason to believe she won’t, but I also don’t have a reason to believe she will. Especially after my little fuck up in the car park.

When she gets over the shock of her father’s revelation, and his death, she’ll probably change her mind.

She might find it’s far too painful to be reminded of why I need her help.

After all, she owes me nothing and I’m sure that whatever work is required to clear my name, won’t be a straightforward path.

Like I told her, it’d be far easier for her to keep quiet and do nothing, to forget about me and get on with her life.

I won’t blame her if she soon comes to that realisation. Even if it crushes me.

Taking a seat at the table, I miss those captivating eyes I’d devoured for nowhere near long enough.

Like the copper around her irises, that I now know gets swallowed when her pupils dilate just enough.

I wonder if the stunning green left behind changes with her emotions, their depth of colour altering like the ever-perpetual motion of a wave.

I didn’t want her to leave. My shitty life and the suffocating confines of the caravan all disappeared the moment she stepped inside.

Her presence was like a holiday from reality.

But more than that, I didn’t want her to be alone.

If I’d been a normal person in a normal home, I would have tried to convince her to stay a while longer.

But who in their right mind would want to spend more time than necessary baking in this tin can?

Besides that, just a few short hours ago, she hated me with every fibre of her mind and body.

Though, when she’d been sitting here, it seemed like all of those negative emotions melted away.

Can that really happen so quickly? From hate to …

well, I don’t know what. As long as it’s not hate, I’m happy.

Getting up, I reach into a cupboard above my head and pull down my sketchpad. After I flick through all the drawings I’ve completed of her eyes over the years, I turn to a new page.

Today, she’d looked at me with so many different expressions, I couldn’t decide which one I wanted to immortalise on paper first.

Not until I turned around and saw her eyes dancing with the first genuine smile I’ve ever seen from her. Happiness not for herself, but for me. While her world was falling apart.

How long have I waited to see joy in her eyes? No guesses needed. But I hadn’t counted on her compassion. Her selflessness. Which can’t be drawn, but only held deep inside.

As my pencil moves over the page at different angles and varied pressure, I recall how her happiness turned into what it should have been hours before. She could no longer contain that intense emotional pressure. She'd crumbled.

And it felt so natural to ease her into my arms when that moment hit her.

I almost hadn’t, terrified she’d cringe at my touch and shove me away.

When she’d not only let me hold her, but held me, too, I seriously wondered if I was fast asleep, having the best dream of my life.

That’s how much I distrust affectionate human contact.

It’s not easy to accept. Not when the only form of touch I’ve experienced for the last sixteen years has been either brutality or indifference.

Even with the unbearable heat inside the caravan, I’d welcomed the warmth of her body against mine, the feel of her clinging to me as she shuddered.

When I accidentally made contact with the bare nape of her neck, I knew I should have stopped touching her.

But the sensation of her soft skin beneath my fingertips insisted I do what I shouldn’t.

The slow circles I made calmed her, and something invisible changed.

I became aware of not only the physical aspect of holding her, but how emotionally right it felt to do so.

With crazy thoughts like that coursing through me, my heart took off.

She either felt or heard it thundering in my chest. That’s the moment she chose to let me go, as if realising who she was clinging to.

Coming back to myself, I study the emerging eyes now staring at me from the pad. There’s still a hint of sadness that’s been there since the moment I first saw her, but the happiness shines through.

I grin like a fool. After that hug, she hadn’t fled like someone I’d repulsed. Instead, when I gave her the tissues, she’d touched my chest where her tears had dampened my t-shirt. I run my hand over that spot, but it’s evaporated in the heat.

She’d reached out and touched me when there’d been absolutely no need to.

She’d clutched my wrist when she said she’d help me get my life back.

Did that mean anything, though? Really, I can’t judge any of her actions. She was in shock. Nothing she did or said should be in any way taken as a truth about her.

Even so, as I use the green and brown pencils to work on the irises I know so well, I find my smile slipping.

I need to tell Benny about her visit, though I already know what he’ll say. He’ll tell me I’m an idiot, that I shouldn’t trust her offer to help me, that I’ll never see her again.

My jaw clenches as the harsh spike of truth spears through my euphoria.

I don’t want to listen to Benny’s voice of reason inside my head right now, let alone in person.

Problem is, he’s more than likely right.

I gave her my number, but she didn’t give me hers.

She holds all the power. If she never contacts me again, there’s not a fucking thing I can do about it.

It won’t be the first time I’ve been abandoned.

Leaning back, I stare at her half-finished eyes. They watch me with a truth I desperately want to believe.

A truth I’ve probably projected into them with wishful thinking.

But when I picture her holding onto me, apologising for ruining my moment of joy, I see it there. She cared more about me and my happiness than she did about her own devastation.

That's someone special.