34 - My Aurora

34

My Aurora

G oing ‘off the grid' isn't easy when you have people that care about you. A champagne problem, I know. But with a cell phone that won't stop buzzing and people who are worried, there is no getting away from all the noise.

Though today, it's quieter. I imagine they've all gone to Isaiah.

Isaiah.

Sighing, I let my face fall into my hands. I thought being here, being alone, would eliminate the weight, pick it up off my shoulders, and set it down somewhere else, but it hasn't. And I haven't cried since the drive down here, which is…wrong. I keep waiting for the dam to break, the pressure behind my eyes to burst. But it all just sits there. Fucking heavy.

I've been selfish. Running away like this, leaving Isaiah there with nothing more than a simple yes when he asked me.

Selfish. Distracted.

Maybe Dad's always been right. I'm always focused on the wrong thing. Always focused on the problem and never the solution. But he never showed me how to get through things; he just expected me to do it. To show up on the other side with no scrapes or bruises, no scars.

Mom tried. But I was so obsessed with his praise and his approval, it just didn't matter.

And it all feels like a crock of shit.

The air brushes my skin as it rustles through the leaves still hanging on the branches of the tree. Many of them crunch under my feet as I walk through the neighborhood.

Right now is one of those times I wish I was a little kid. So I could kick and scream and cry in public where everyone would politely look away and brush it off due to adolescence. Without a glance to the house, I collapse on the front lawn in the slightly overgrown grass and let it cool my skin.

Unfortunately, I'm not a child, and I can't throw a tantrum. And for that, adulthood is grossly overrated.

Something steals the sun from me, a shadow casted over me. "You alright down there?"

I blink an eye open. "Isaiah?"

He crouches, running a thumb over my cheek. "That's me."

"You're here?"

"I'm here."

Oh, man. My God, does the dam break.

I spring up, throwing my arms around his neck, and hold on for dear life.

"Oof." Isaiah comes tumbling down on me, and I welcome the weight. This weight feels normal—right. Takes the place of the tears and the pain and chases them away. Cradling me, he holds me on top of him, and I find the safe space in the crook of his neck.

"I've got you, sweetheart. I've got you," he murmurs against my neck.

His arms hold me tight, one cupping the back of my neck and the other roaming up and down my spine. I feel bad always crying on him. But he's the best at catching the tears. With him, it doesn't seem like a weakness. My emotions don't feel like a burden. And they don't make him think any less of me.

We lay there for a while without speaking. My apologies and my thank you's caught in my throat, overtaken by quiet sobs instead. Eventually, he carries us inside and settles us on the couch together. I'm latched onto him like a koala, unable to let go because I'm scared the world will crumble as soon as he's not touching me.

"Can you look at me?" Isaiah whispers against my neck.

Taking a few deep breaths, I lean back, and he brushes my hair away from my face. His thumbs roam over my cheek bones, over the tear streaks. Isaiah studies me with gentle, brown eyes.

"What?" I ask, my voice scratchy and raw.

"I just needed to see that you were okay."

Fuck. The damn breaks all over again, tears streaming from my eyes without my permission. "I'm not." Air is not easy to come by. It feels like all I'm doing is gasping for it. "He doesn't see me. He doesn't get it. He just wants me to be some…" I can't—I can't find the words because there aren't any. I don't know what he wants me to be. And even if I did, I can only be who I am.

"Why can't he see me?" I sob, wishing it would stop. I want all the pain to go away. But it won't. "Why can't he like me as I am?"

Isaiah pulls me as close as possible from my seat on his lap. "I don't know, sweetheart. I wish I did. All I know is that you are a brilliant woman. On the field and off. You are caring and strong, and you love more deeply than anyone I have ever met. You care more than anyone else I know. You are enough. In every facet. In every way. You are the best person I know. You are my favorite person in the world." His hands are warm and steady, keeping my eyes locked on him. Those brown eyes are strong and determined, like he's ready to piece me back together on his own. "You do not need to be anything or anyone else but the person you are."

I wipe my eyes to no avail. Those tears aren't stopping any time soon. "But—"

"But nothing." Isaiah's hands are firm. "You are perfect as you are, Aurora."

I let my head fall to his chest and revel in the feel of his arms wrapped tight around me. His hand moves in calming motions up and down my spine, the other buried in my hair. Isaiah is such a steady presence. Especially for me. Sometimes, I feel like I should be stronger in front of him, more put together…able to deal with the punches life throws. But I just…don't want to. Not with him. Not when I know he's going to love me when I'm on top of the world and when I feel like I'm being crushed by it. Isaiah loves me weak or strong. Happy or sad.

"How do you always know what I need?" I murmur, lifting my head when the sobs have stopped.

Isaiah gives me a gentle smile, brushing his thumbs over my lips. "Easy. I was made for you, Ro. And you for me."

Pulling me in, he presses his lips against mine, salty from my tears. Isaiah kisses up my cheek, where the tear stains remain, and over the bridge of my nose. Each little flutter starts to repair the cracks in my heart one by one. I don't know how to explain what it feels like, being loved by him, being the person that receives his love. All I know is that it feels right.

"You're my saving grace. You're my sunshine. You're my Aurora." He kisses me, whispering the words against my lips.

For a second, nothing else exists. Nothing else matters. He's here. And he's here for me and every version that exists. The pain will exist tomorrow and days after that, I'm sure. But…so will we. So will Isaiah.

Isaiah lets me fall apart.

And still I know, he loves me as I am.