Head Above Water Pt. 03

"Don't go," he said pleadingly. "Let's at least talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. Just don't talk about how I look. That's literally the only thing I've asked of you, Wes."

"That's an absurd request to ask of your boyfriend."

"Maybe you shouldn't be my boyfriend if it's so hard for you to understand."

Wes tugged me back down, pushed away the chessboard with his free hand and then pulled me into his arms.

He took my hand and placed it over his heart. "I get that you're mean, but that one hurt."

I felt the thud of his heartbeat beneath my palm. He was vulnerable, looking at me with those dark blue eyes, reading me and my emotions. I felt a surge of affection for him, and with it followed my shame.

"I'm sorry, that was harsh."

"Don't be sorry," Wes said. "Look, in my profession, information, or lack thereof, can often be the difference between life and death. As a doctor, I've become used to needing to know everything. Except, in this instance, I don't need to know. Your business is your own. I'm the one who should be sorry, Celine."

So that was why he was so pushy. When it came to small lives, every little detail mattered, every little fact, every little truth. Out of habit, Wes had become a pushy person, needing to know everything, even the things that were too personal to share.

But you could always share things with your doctor, couldn't you? Doctors could be trusted.

"I was four years old when my parents died in an airplane crash. It was a freak accident on a small plane. I don't even remember them," I said, my throat going thick. "For the first five years of being in the system, I had the belief that I would find my new forever family. I wanted to be adopted so bad. I used to pray every night and then cry myself to sleep, begging whatever powers there were in the universe to grant me my prayers."

Wes listened quietly, his gaze soft.

"When I turned sixteen, I was sent to go live with a couple in Anaheim. They were absolutely garbage human beings. There were five other foster kids in their house. We were nothing more than government checks to them.

"I had this problem back then. I could only eat alone in the bathroom, or I wouldn't eat at all. I was sent to therapy, and it turned out that I didn't like eating around other people because I was used to having my food taken away—thanks to one of the foster homes I'd lived in briefly when I was six. I started hiding my food and eating it away from everyone else after that, and the habit just sort of... stuck.

"On my eighteenth birthday, I didn't get a party, no cake, no presents, nothing. My social worker was coming to pick me up the next morning, so I wasn't expecting much. You can imagine my surprise when my foster parents brought home pizza. They didn't care that it was my birthday. I think it had just been a coincidence, but to me, that was the best birthday gift I could have ever received because I—I fucking loved pizza," I said, laughing with a sniffle. "Still do."

Wes kissed my temple, saying nothing with his mouth, but through his eyes, I could see that he was trying to say that he understood my pain, that he knew I was about to tell him something that could very well break his heart.

"Anyway, I, of course, snuck a slice of pizza into the bathroom. Just a single slice. I'd only eaten half of it when the bathroom door banged open, and there stood my foster dad.

"He looked really angry, calling me a worthless piece of shit, going on about how disgusting I was for eating in the bathroom again. He walked over, stuck a finger down my throat and made me throw up my dinner into the toilet. I cried for hours. I thought my foster dad felt sorry when he told me I could sleep on the couch and stay up late watching tv. I genuinely thought that he was trying to make it up to me, but..."

I stopped, unable to continue.

"He raped you that night, didn't he?"

I nodded, tears streaming down my face.

"The whole time he kept saying how beautiful I was."

"That's sick," Wes said, his entire body stiff, the muscles of his arms rippling as he tightened his hold of me. Time seemed to stand still, all the seconds blurring, coming to a stop as Wes and I tried to make sense of the world out there, of the terrible people who existed out in broad daylight, going about their lives after committing unspeakable acts.

"So you see, being plain is my shield," I said. "It's never been about whether or not I knew that I was beautiful."

"Celine Gutierrez," Wes said, taking my face in his hands. "You are more than what you think you are."

"Yeah?" I said, laughing a hollow, humorless laugh. "What am I then?"

"Beautiful," he said, making my heart hurt. "Your beauty does not belong to him. It does not belong to tragedy. It does not belong to pain. It belongs to you."

"It still hurts to hear it," I said, my lips trembling. Wes kissed me, his mouth familiar and comforting, soothing me before he pulled away.

"We'll work on it," he said. He stroked my hair as I snuggled into his arms, relying on him for support. I'd never done that before. It should have scared the shit out of me, but instead, I found myself letting my guard down, becoming just as vulnerable as the man who wore his heart so unapologetically on his sleeve: Wes.

I'd never told anyone these things before, not even Addie or Rita. I'd carried my pain like a dark secret in the center of my chest, keeping it to myself so that no one else would have to witness my shame and humiliation. I hated being pitied more than anything. I'd spent a lifetime being pitied as the poor orphan girl.

But Wes was right. I was more than what I thought I was.

"How do you just get all of my secrets out of me?" I asked, offering him a small, watery smile.

"It's very simple, Dion. I ask. You answer. That's typically how questions work," he said with the goofiest smile I'd ever seen on a person.

And I laughed and laughed and laughed, so hard that Wes couldn't help but laugh with me, holding me as we fell over on the floor together, lying there like a couple of idiots in the middle of his living room. We laughed even after it wasn't funny anymore—and I guess there was something funny about laughing without anything funny happening, so we laughed some more.

We laughed until it hurt to laugh, then we kissed, then we got undressed, and then... dot, dot, dot.

—

I woke up with a jerk in the darkness, terror spiking through my veins. I couldn't recognize my surroundings.

"Celie, baby, it's okay," I heard Wes say. I realized I was in his bed, but he wasn't beside me. I squinted my eyes in the dark room, looking around.

"I'm headed to work," he said, walking over to me from across the room. He was dressed in his hospital scrubs.

"It's two in the morning," I said, checking his alarm clock.

"I know," he said, lifting the covers and sliding in next to me. He gathered me into his arms.

"Why are you leaving so early?"

"My shift starts at three AM, babe. I wish I didn't have to go, but my patients..."

"It's okay," I said, leaning my head against his chest, listening for his heartbeat again. I loved the sound of it, how powerful and strong it was. It reminded me that Wes was real, alive, not just a figment of my imagination.

"Go back to sleep," he said, rubbing my back. "I'll be home around four in the afternoon."

"You can't honestly expect me to stay alone at your apartment all day," I mumbled sleepily, yawning and stretching out like a cat.

He kissed the top of my head. "It would be nice to come home to you."

"You can," I said. "Come to my place after you get off work. I live ten minutes from CHOC. It'd be more convenient for you, I think."

"Anywhere I can find you is convenient for me."

"Wes."

"Celine."

"Kiss me."

"I think I will."

And he did.

—

I slipped out of my shoes by the front of my door, placing them carefully on one of the rungs of the shoe rack bench that I'd bought from IKEA and built one drunken evening with a glass of red wine and Lana Del Rey playing in the background.

"Blue jeans, white shirt, walked into the room you know you made my eyes burn."

I hummed the song as I placed my keys on the counter and made myself some coffee. It was a bold Italian dark roast, and it was fucking euphoric. It was almost scalding, but I practically gulped it down. I was drinking down my long drive from Wes's apartment. On regular days, it was a twenty-minute drive, but with the 91 traffic backed up, it had taken pretty much double the time.

I casually checked the call center stats from my couch, stretching out and plopping my feet on the coffee table. Everything was looking good today. The call center was above goal. Lisa was off today, but Bethany was there as her stand-in. She was a little on the chatty side, but Bethany was a good worker and had prior managerial experience. I would have given her the senior supervisor position, but she hadn't even been a supervisor at the time. She'd been an agent, hungry as me, hungry as that kid Ralph, just waiting for her chance. I'd promoted her six months ago, and already her team had some of the highest numbers.

I decided to call her and check in.

"Thank you for calling, can I please put you on a brief hold?"

"Absolutely not," I said.

"Oh, Celine! I didn't realize it was you."

"Surprise," I said without any enthusiasm.

Bethany laughed.

"Another one of those mornings, huh?" she guessed.

"I'm just barely having my morning coffee."

"Oh, dear," Bethany said sympathetically. "And it's already ten. What a tragedy."

"Shut up. Give me the morning report."

"Stats are looking good, but you already know that. We've had six calls escalated to the Complaint Line, but they were all related to yesterday's hold times. Supervisors have been on it, reviewing those accounts to see if there's anything we can do to lower their premiums. No discounts or anything, just a review to see if they qualify for an existing offer. I was today-years-old when I found out that we offer discounts to credentialed teachers."

"And doctors, nurses and lawyers."

"Lawyers?"

"According to the California Department of Insurance, yes, lawyers."

"I didn't know that... I should call my brother-in-law. He's a lawyer."

"He'll qualify for a discount from any insurance company that put in the amendment request to the CDI."

"He's insured with us."

"Well, call him up then, I guess. There's nothing else I need to know?"

"Nothing, doll. It's a slow morning."

"Don't call me that."

"Yes, boss," Bethany said with a laugh.

After the call I vacuumed, dusted, did some laundry, showered and then settled onto the couch to start Grey's Anatomy on my tv. Wes had said it was an insult to surgeons everywhere, but I was sure there had to be some accuracies in the show. I was curious about Wes's life.

I was hooked after one episode, but I was also tired from the chores. I think I made it through three episodes before I finally drifted off.

—

Knocking on my door woke me up. I felt groggy, not fully registering what was happening until there was another knock on my door. I checked my watch. It was a quarter past four.

Wes!

"I'm so sorry, I fell aslee—" I was saying as I opened the door, but I didn't get the chance to finish. Wes kissed me, walking me backwards into my apartment, kicking the door closed behind him. I'd grown accustomed to his soft, pliant lips, kissing him back fervently, making him smile against my mouth. He tasted like peppermint gum and charity, like he was a gift Fate had given me.

"This is going to sound crazy," Wes said, pulling back. His eyes were intense, locking onto mine, looking at me like he was seeing me for the first time in years.

"What is?" I asked.

"I think I'm falling for you, Celine," Wes said, wrapping his arms around me like he was afraid that I was going to make a run for it. "I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can barely think straight. All I think about is you."

"You've only known me one week."

"You don't feel it?"

Breaking News: I actually blushed.

"You do," he said, grinning.

"Shut up."

"You're falling for me."

"I'm not."

Wes spun me around, pulled me against his body and put his hand over my heart. I felt his chin come to rest on my shoulder. He was feeling the quickened thud of my heartbeat under his palm.

"You are," he said softly. I felt a shiver run through my spine from the sound of his voice, deep and low.

"So what if I am?"

Wes turned me back around to face him. He peered past my shoulder, looking at something in my living room.

"If you're falling for me then promise me one thing," he said.

"What's that?"

"That you'll never watch Grey's Anatomy ever again."

I laughed so hard that I snorted. Wes grinned at my reaction.

"Celine Gutierrez, I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship."

"Please don't tell me you're quoting Casablanca."

"Here's to lookin' at you, kid."

"Shut up."

"Yes, ma'am."

—

The day had bled into nightfall, purple and blue streaks in the sky, melted from the moonlight. It was a full moon tonight, brightening the night, casting the world in its glow, expanding to include Wes. He slept there in my bed, the moonlight bathing his tanned skin through the window, making him look almost ethereal.

I leaned against the doorway and crossed my arms, smiling as I watched him sleep. It had barely been three weeks since he'd first set foot into my apartment, and it already felt like he'd made his home here.

Out of convenience, most days Wes would come straight to my apartment after his shifts at the hospital. I'd given him a key, and he used it often enough to warrant me making room for him in my closet. Some of his hospital scrubs hung there, along with his t-shirts and in my drawer were a few pairs of his jeans and boxers. He had a toothbrush, shampoo and a shaving kit in my bathroom.

It was almost like we lived together. We'd known each other a month. A month. Everything was moving fast, but Wes always grinned when I pointed it out, saying, "What do I always tell you, Celie? Fast is our speed."

Ugh, don't call me that, I found myself thinking.

I walked over and gently brushed his hair back from his face with my fingers. He didn't stir, but I hadn't expected him to; he still slept like the dead. It took me a moment, but I realized that I'd just been affectionate without being prompted. It scared me a little.

I decided to go make some dinner if only to get out of that room and escape the reality of my feelings. Foster kids know not to get their hopes up. People don't actually want you, even when they say they do, even when they promise. I had no business getting close to anyone, and yet...

Maybe a delicious salad would make me feel better. I was halfway through cutting up romaine hearts when I felt someone embrace me from behind. I looked over my shoulder and found a sleepy-looking Wes. He kissed my cheek.

"Go back to bed."

He shook his head, making me sigh and put down the knife. I turned around and melted into his embrace. Ugh, why was he so warm and comforting? I normally would've run from this type of situation. I didn't do the whole relationship thing. My worst fear was co-dependency.

And yet here I was, leaning my head against his chest, listening to the thump of his heartbeat. It was a rhythm that could've matched my own heartbeat.

"How do you feel about kids?" he asked me randomly.

I leaned back to look at his face. "I don't really like them much," I said.

"Then you must be on birth control."

"I am."

"You never clarified, so I wasn't sure."

"You came inside me even though you weren't sure?"

"Nothing would please me more than tying you down with my baby."

"Wes."

"I'm kidding," he said, laughing. "I figured you were on the pill."

"You're not funny."

"That's what you keep telling me," he said, grinning. "So, do you ever want kids?"

"No, never," I said, sudden fear washing over me. I'd been hoping to put off this conversation for as long as possible. This typically tended to be the deal-breaker talk.

"Good," he said. "I don't either."

What?

"I-I thought you said you liked kids," I stammered. He couldn't be serious.

"I like them, yeah. One could even say that I love them," he said. "But I'm a surgeon, Celine. I don't have time for a family. I wouldn't want to be the kind of father that's never around for his kids. That's just not me."

"That's a relief," I said, sighing. "I thought we were about to break up."

"You can't get rid of me that easily," he said. "If I'd wanted them, I would've given up kids for you."

I rolled my eyes.

"You're so full of shit, Wes."

"I'd even give up marriage."

"Good, because I don't want one of those either."

Wes stilled, his smile fading.

"I'm sorry babe, but we're going to have to break up. That's a deal-breaker."

"Oh, shut up," I said, catching the twitch of a smile on his lips. I ducked under his arm and made my way to the fridge, pulling it open to search for the salad dressing. Wes watched me from where he stood, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at me like I'd plucked him the moon.

I tossed the salad, and Wes got us some bowls and forks. We ate together in the kitchen, standing there and talking about our day, about the call center and the hospital, and you'd be surprised how similar it all was. High-stress environments with difficult people and difficult situations. That's what we dealt with.

When Wes leaned over and stole a cherry tomato from my bowl with his fork, I flinched, but the feeling passed almost instantly. Ten years ago I would've cowered or snapped, depending on my mood. I used to be familiar with hunger. People taking food from me? I'd been familiar with that, too.

But it wasn't ten years ago. It was now.

I stole a crouton from his bowl, making him laugh. I'd never in my entire life taken food from anyone. I'd never been close enough to anyone to feel comfortable to do it. Somehow, in the strangest way, I felt liberated.

I felt free—because of a crouton.

"What's so funny?" Wes asked, watching me in that way that he did, like I was the most fascinating person in the world.

"I stole your crouton."

"And that's funny to you? Stealing is a serious crime, Celine."

"You stole my tomato first!"

"An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind," he said.

"I'm going to retaliate whether you like it or not," I said placing my bowl on the counter. I reached for his bowl, pulling it out of his hand and setting it down on the counter beside mine.

"Hey—" he began, but I cut him off.

"Shut up," I said, wrapping my arms around his neck. I pulled him down, my mouth meeting his moments later, and it was fire. His lips made my skin burn, like it was a scarlet fever, red and hot, making my blood pump in my veins, making me delirious. I clutched at him, my fingers closing around his shirt as he picked me up and carried me to the bedroom.

"My turn to retaliate," Wes said, undressing me quickly. I helped him take off his shirt as he undid his belt. We met on the sheets, our naked bodies touching skin to skin, and the temperature in the room rose by several degrees.

"If this is what stealing a tomato leads to, I'll have to start stealing your food more often," Wes said, laughing when I tried shoving him off of me. He descended down, his lips meeting my neck, kissing up my throat.

"I'll steal everything from you," he said huskily. "Most importantly, your heart."

"Impossible," I said with a smirk. "I don't have one."

"But you do," he said, placing his hand over my chest. "Right here, beneath your sternum, just a little to the left, lies your heart. I can feel it beating strong. You're a fighter, Celine."