Private Getaway

I woke up alone in bed, a little surprised by how real my dream felt. I rubbed my eyes as I sat up before blinking rapidly when the room I was presented with was not the little dark hole in the back of my office that I slept in. As I got up, I cursed silently. This was bad, like really, really bad. I nervously looked around me again. It was much different seeing it in person than it was seeing it on the camera screen. I knew I had it bad because I could draw this entire room with everything in its place from memory, just from the amount of time that I had spent watching her. When I finally saw the time, my eyes widened. 3 PM. Had I really slept for 12 hours? And an even better question was: Where was Leah?
I left the room and followed the sound of humming to the kitchen, where I found Leah standing in front of the stove, cooking. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the smell of bacon and eggs. I stood in the doorway, eagerly taking in everything that was Leah, from the way she kind of shimmied around while she was mixing the eggs to the way she chatted with Sugar, who happily sat at her feet, looking up at her with complete adoration.
“Leah?”
She jumped before spinning around with her hand over her heart. “God! R.H.M., you scared me. How did you sleep?”
“Fine. And you?” I answered.
“I slept great. Hard. I made us breakfast,” she said happily as she began to plate the food.
When she set it in front of me, I stared at it before meeting her eyes. “You don’t have to cook for me, Leah. That’s not why you're here.”
Her face fell. “You don’t want it? You said you liked bacon and eggs.”
I frowned at her. “I didn’t tell you that.”
She grabbed the plate, and I immediately felt like an asshole.
“You talk in your sleep…”
“What?”
She shrugged. “You talk in your sleep. You also answer questions. For example, like what you eat for breakfast.”
“What else did I say?” I asked nervously.
Sadness passed over her face before she smiled. “Nothing much. You talked about Ramira and someone named Caleb. You don’t seem like you’re close to your family. Why?”
“We just aren’t. Anything else?”
She raised her eyebrow at me. “Is there something that you’re afraid you said?”
“No…”
“Hmmm… alright. You sleep hard,” she mused.
*‘Not usually,’* I thought to myself.
“Sorry. How long have you been up?” I asked.
“About an hour.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
She rolled her eyes. “You were sleeping so soundly. It didn’t feel right to wake you.”
“I don’t sleep very well,” I admitted. “And I definitely don't sleep until 3 in the afternoon.”
“I guess we both needed it then. It felt nice,” she told me shyly.
I stared at the back of her head as she poured two glasses of juice before putting one in front of me.
“At least drink some juice if you’re not going to eat.”
I hesitated before reaching over the counter to grab the plate. “Please don’t feel like you are obligated to feed me.”
She leaned toward me to press a timid kiss against my lips. “I don’t. When I woke up next to you, I felt refreshed. I know that I don’t have to do things for you.” She paused for a moment as her eyes fluttered closed before opening them back up to meet my gaze. “You’re the first man that I’ve ever wanted to do stuff for. You aren’t helpless, R.H.M. You are a good man who deserves everything. Even if it’s just bacon and eggs for now.”
I took her hand to pull her around the edge of the counter and into my arms. I buried my face in her neck, overwhelmed by emotions that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Her willingness to take care of me was something I had never experienced from a woman that I chose. The last women who took care of me were my mothers and sisters. Leah ran her hands over my back, murmuring softly to me until I let her go.
“I’m sorry, Phoenix.”
She tilted her head as she studied me. “Don’t worry about it.”
We ate silently, and I watched her intently. The emotions that moved across her face made me wonder what she was thinking about. I didn’t like the way she was so focused on her food. It made me wonder what else I said while I was asleep. When she was finished eating, I jumped up to gather our dishes to take them to the sink. She stepped up next to me as I washed the dishes and I glanced at her.
“So, princess…”
“Mhmmm, R.H.M.?”
“May I ask you something?” I asked. “Well, something else.”
“Sure, as long as I can have the right to refuse to answer with no penalty.”
“Of course.”
“Shoot,” she said.
“You came from a very serious situation. I see the way you react to certain situations here. But you’re not how I expected you to be. I guess my question is: How did you maintain who you are, despite your situation?” I inquired.
She took a step closer to me so that her shoulder was pressed against my arm. I felt her need for a physical anchor, and so I didn’t step away. Or, at least, that was the reason I gave myself for not moving away from her. As the seconds ticked by, I began to worry that I had overstepped boundaries. Finally, she sighed and started talking.
“When I was 7, the adults were told that the children would be taken from our community if they didn’t attend a better school that taught us more than how to just be a subservient wife. So, in order to avoid having the kids removed, they began to send us to a school in the city. There I met a girl; her name was Miriela. She was my best friend. She taught me what it meant to be who you want to be, regardless of who’s around and what they wanted or expected from you. She taught me that it was okay to have a voice, even if I didn’t use it. That’s why I ran away at the first chance that I could. She’s always been the girl I looked up to. She is so confident, sure of herself, and unwilling to bend to anyone. I want to be like that. I want to know who I could be and be that badass that tells everyone to…”
“To what?” I asked curiously.
“Fuck off,” she said, flushing.
I eyed her for a moment before shutting the water off. “Is that what you’re wearing today?”
She looked down at herself. “Yes. I guess it will work.”
“Good. Put your shoes on. I want to take you somewhere.”
“Where?”
“To a special place in the community. Trust me?” I asked.
She eyed me for a moment before nodding. “Alright.”
I quickly found my shoes, put them on, and moved to the door to wait for Leah. When she hurried out of the bedroom, I was once again struck by how beautiful she was. She stopped in front of me, smiling.
“I’m ready. Is it far?” She asked.
“No. Come on.”
I led her to the east wall, where a tall building stood, almost forgotten. It was one of the buildings that was off-limits to the rest of the community. It’s where I came when my memories became too much to handle. I unlocked the door and beckoned her inside. When we walked in, I cleared my throat.
“Ummm, Leah?”
“Yes?”
“I have to lock the door. Is that okay with you?” I asked.
She took a deep breath before nodding. “Alright.”
I locked the door before taking her into the main room, which boasted dozens of hand-painted portraits on the walls. I swallowed hard as she began to move around the large room, studying each portrait before stopping in front of the one that I painted of Diadra the day I met her. She reached up to run her fingers over Diadra’s long black hair before turning back to me.
“What is this place?” She asked quietly.
“A place to vent. No matter what you feel, you can get it out here. If you are angry, scream. If you are sad, cry.” I looked into the portrait’s blue eyes. “If you’re remorseful, talk to whatever God, entity, or lost family member you want to in peace.”
She took a step toward me and my eyes moved from the portrait to hers.
“Did Mister paint these?”
I nodded. “He painted all of them.”
She took another step toward me; her eyes were still glued to mine, boring into my soul. “What was he feeling when he did them?”
I wanted to stick my hands in my pockets and lower my head to hide the truth from her, but I knew that would just give away everything that I wanted to hide.
“He was missing his family, I think. What do you think he was feeling?” I repeated the question back to her.
“I think he was sad.” She turned back to the portrait to trace Diadra’s face. “I think he was longing for everything that he lost. I think that he was trying to tell her that he still loved her. These brush strokes were made lovingly. Softly and meticulously.” She ran her fingers over Diadra’s hand. “The clearest part of the portrait are her eyes. I think he longed to look into them again. I think he wanted her to understand that he would never forget her.”
I leaned against the wall as I listened to her analyze every stroke that I had made with my paintbrush. Suddenly, she stopped talking to me, leveling an intense stare at my face.
“Do you lie, R.H.M.?”