K. Bromberg: Fueled

I sniffle at the tears burning the back of my throat, and I’m unsure of whether they’re a result of the fact that he did try to start something with her or if they’re because of his reasons why he couldn’t. “I told you I loved you, Colton, and you ran away . Basically into the arms of another woman,” I accuse. “A woman who has harassed and threatened me no less in regards to you.”

“I know…”

“What’s to say you won’t do that again, Colton? What’s to say that the next time you get spooked you won’t do the same damn thing?” Silence falls around and between us, wiggling its way into the doubts in my head. “I can’t…” I whisper as if talking normally is too much for the words I’m about to utter. “I don’t think that I can do this, Colton. I don’t think I can let myself believe again…”

Colton shifts suddenly in the bed and sits up, grabbing both of my hands in his as I fall onto my back. “Please, Rylee…don’t decide yet…just hear the rest of it out, okay?” I can hear the desperation in his voice, and it undoes me for I know exactly how it feels when that tone is in your voice.

That was the same one I had right after I told him I loved him.

We sit there and his hands hold mine—our only connection despite feeling as if he is the only air that my body can breathe. I feel the tension radiate off of him as he tries to put the thoughts swarming in his head into words.

“How do I explain this?” he asks the room as he blows out a loud breath before beginning. “When you race, you’re going so fast that everything outside of your car—the sidelines, the crowd, the sky—everything becomes a big, stretched out blur. Nothing specific can be identified. It’s me in the car, alone, and everything outside of my little bubble is part of the blur.” He stops momentarily, squeezing my hands to stop the nerves trembling through his as he regroups to try and explain better. “Kind of like when you’re a kid and you spin in circles…everything in your line of sight becomes one big continuous image all blurred together. Does that make sense?”

I’m unable to find my voice to answer him. His anxiety seeping into me. “Yes,” I manage.

“I’ve lived my life for so long in that state of blur, Rylee. Nothing is clear. I never stop long enough to pay attention to the details because if I do then everything—my past, my mistakes, my emotions, my demons—will catch up to me. Will cripple me. It is always easier to live in that blur than to actually stop, because if I stop, then I might actually have to feel something. I might have to open up to the things I’ve always protected myself against. Things ingrained in me from the shit that happened to me as a kid. Shit that I don’t ever want to remember but that I constantly do.” He releases one of my hands and scrubs it over his face. The chafe of the stubble against his hand is a welcome sound to me, a comforting one.

“My past is always there, just on the edge of my memory. Always threatening to overwhelm me. To drag me back and pull me under.” I can hear the emotion thickening in his voice, and on impulse, reach out and grab his hand again. I squeeze it—a silent sign of support for the hell inside of his head. “Living inside of that blur is like living in a bubble. It allows me to control the speed I’m going…to slow down if I need a breather, but to never really stop. I’ve always been in the driver’s seat…always in control. Always able to speed up, push the limits, when things get too close…

“And then I met you…” The astonishment in his voice is raw and honest and tugs so deep within me that it causes me to sit up, so I’m now cross-legged with my knees pressing against his. His hands find mine again and squeeze them tightly. “The night I met you it was like a firecracker shot out of that blur of color and exploded above me. So bright and so beautiful…and so hostile...” he chuckles “...that I couldn’t look away even if I tried. It was like life slammed the brakes on me and I’d never touched the pedal. I was immediately drawn to you, to your attitude, to your refusal of me, to your wit…to your incredible body.” I can feel him shrug unapologetically at the last comment, and I can’t help the smile that curls up my lips or the hope that begins to bloom in my soul. “…to everything about you. That first night you were a spark of solid color to me in a world that’s always been one big mixed blur of it.”

Words escape me as I try and process what he’s telling me. Just when I’ve made up my mind one way, he says something so poignant and achingly beautiful that I can’t help but feel my heart swell with love for him. Colton accepts my silence and reaches out to cradle my head in his hands before he continues. The tenderness in his touch brings tears to my eyes. “That first night you created a spark, Rylee, and every day since then, you’ve allowed me the strength to slow down long enough to see into the blur I’ve always feared. Even when I don’t want to do it, your quiet strength—knowing that you are there—pushes me to be a better person. A better man. Since you’ve come into my life, things finally have definition, specific colors assigned to them…I don’t know…” I can hear his struggle, and I turn my face into the palm of his hand and kiss it there softly as he sighs. “I don’t know how else to explain it, but I know that I can’t go back to how I existed before. I need you in my life, Rylee . I need you to help me continue to see the color. To slow things down. To allow me to feel. I need you to be my spark …”

He leans in and brushes his lips so softly, so tenderly against mine. “Please be my spark, Ry…” he pleads as the words cause his lips to brush against mine.

I lean in and press my lips against his, instigating the kiss to go deeper by slipping my tongue into his mouth because the words and thoughts in my head and heart are so jumbled that I’m afraid to speak. Afraid that in this moment of his revelation—that if I pour out what’s spilling over in my heart—I will overwhelm him. So instead, I pour it all into my kiss. He gathers me to him, cradling me in his lap while he worships my mouth in the way that only he knows how. The reverence in which he breathes my name between kisses causes a tear to slide down my cheek.

“I might not be able to tell you the things you need to hear with the traditional words you need to hear them in, but I swear to God, Rylee, I will try . And if I can’t, then I’ll show you. I’ll show you with everything I have—anything it takes—where your place is in my life,” he murmurs to me, shattering every last form of protection I have guarding my heart.

He just stole it completely.

And I just more than willingly handed it over.

He wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my neck, holding me tightly for a long while, his vulnerability palpable. My mind thinks in sensations and emotions and shuts all sensibility out so that I can just enjoy this unguarded side of Colton that is such a rarity. I breathe in the scent of us mixed together. I feel the beat of his heart against my chest. The warmth of his breath against my neck. The strength of his arms as they hold me tight. The scrape of his scruff against my bare skin. The comfort his presence brings to me by just being near. So many things to absorb—to pack away for another day—so I can remember them when I need them the most.

Because I know that being with Colton—staying with Colton—loving Colton—guarantees that I will need these memories at the most random of times to help me get by in the trying ones I know will inevitably come.

“I’m drowning here. Your silence is killing me. Can you say something? Throw me a lifeline please?” he says and the comment has me immediately thinking of Beckett’s words on the way to Vegas and earlier to me.