Giving Back - 1. Giving Back

“Is that really the gift you’re giving him?”

“Yeah,” I sighed, as I unhooked the majestic frame from its place on the wall, in my heart.

“But…” she trailed off, inhaling deeply.

My jaw tensed, a dull ache radiating throughout my limbs. The frame felt heavier in my deadened arms.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

The frame leaned against the wooden floor: its gold edges reflecting the morning light, golden forms flitting from one white wall to the next, a fickle dancer. My lips hesitated, halting the words not yet spoken.

An intrusive buzzing cut through the weighted silence. I lay the frame on the ground and answered the door. Hazel eyes greeted me as I embraced the firm body that stood before me. I savoured the heat that enveloped us, breathing in the present.

“I missed you,” he said, heat flushing his cheeks.

“Me too,” I whispered in his ear.

The silent comfort of his embrace muted the thoughts that swirled in my mind, his heart in tandem with mine. I lay my head upon his shoulder, my weight leaning against him as I felt the floor beneath me disappear.

“Guys, get a room!” she spat with mock disgust.

“Don’t be hating on us just cause your nether regions are withering from a drought, Rachel,” he chuckled, his chest vibrating insistently against mine.

“Fuck you Caleb!” Rachel tossed back.

“Now, Jarrell, are you going to wrap this bloody thing or not?” she yelled.

“Fine, sure,” I replied, unwrapping my arms around Caleb unwillingly, fingers loitering at his waist.

I lowered myself, inspecting the smooth rich wood that held an even more precious treasure. My fingers traced the grain of wood, hesitating: friction against my will.

“What’s that?” Caleb asked, his hot breath against my ear.

I turned my head to find his body leaning over mine, his eyes roaming over the canvas within the frame. A sense of violation seized my core, rocking at the floorboards that I had nailed over the sunken pits.

“Just a gift,” I muttered, tearing my eyes from him. My self-control clashed against the burning urge to sprawl myself over the canvas, to hide the naked emotions that seemed to emerge into reality from it.

“It’s beautiful,” he gasped.

“It is,” I sighed.

“Who is it for?” he asked.

His words dug into the depths of my heart and plied open the feeble quick-fix. An ache pulsed through my body as he hammered away at the cracking pillars with his insistent eyes that glistened and shone. I lay back, imagining the ceiling caving and crumbling, burying this cursed gift and me.

“Caleb, I need your help,” Rachel yelled, her voice: an angel’s song.

I heard their bickering seep through the kitchen walls, a white noise that hummed quietly in my ears as a backdrop against the raging conflict that boiled in the pits of my gut. My hand unfurled against the cool glass that protected the delicate canvas, seeking some unknown sign. Warmth unfolded against my open palm: a familiar touch.

Dark eyes looked up at me from the canvas, a damning gaze. Hurt speared through my arm as the warmth lit ablaze, scalding my foolish palm.

Why? I turned the word over in my mind as I did all those nights I lay on my back counting the drops that had been drawn out of my exhausted tear ducts.

I clenched my jaw as repressed thoughts clawed their way up from the darkest recesses of my mind, rattling against my teeth, begging to be released.

We were supposed to be…

I folded a corner of the brown paper inwards, the dull scratchy paper obscuring the rawness and brilliance. An ache flared within me.

I believed we could have been…

The paper creased under my determined fingers, folding and hiding more of the canvas.

I’m sorry. It’s my fault isn’t it?

Brown raced across the surface of the colourful canvas, muting its outspoken and brash voice.

It hurts. I’m sure it hurts for you too.

Dark eyes pleaded with me as the brown paper masked the last bit of exposed emotion.

I miss you still.

My fingers fumbled with the strings, knots unwilling, and tension weak. A firm grip closed around my shoulder, perfectly manicured nails decorating the delicate hand.

“It’s okay,” she said.

“Let me,” a deep voice offered.

Rough hands removed my trembling ones as they twirled the strings around the bulky package, the ends coming together in a perfect knot. Hazel eyes looked at me worriedly as his hands reached across, settling against my cheek. A thumb swiped gently under my eye, collecting the drop that clung stubbornly to my lashes.

My eyes flickered between the soft eyes in front of me and the haphazardly wrapped package, littered with spots of salty tears.

“You don’t have to say anything, “ he said, “Rachel didn’t say anything either.”

“But, are you sure?” he asked.

"I am,” I muttered.

“I am,” I pleaded.

His warm palm rested against my cheek, I flinched. His thumb brushed tender strokes against the delicate skin, soothing the tensed muscles that scrunched up under.

“It’s a gift,” I said.

Caleb looked up at me, he said, “I know.”

“No, it was a gift,” I said slowly, “to me.”

I pulled myself to my feet, gathering the package under my arm, feeling the warm gaze of dark eyes even through the paper.

“Now, this is a gift,” I said, “to him, to you, and to me.”

***

The doorbell chimed an electronic melody.

Feet guided their owner to the door, padding across the smooth polished wood. Rough hands pushed the lever and opened the door to reveal the mailman, face red and short of breath.

“Package for you sir,” he piped, “just sign here.”

The pen glided across the smooth line as the short mailman heaved the large package through the door, leaning it against the freshly painted white walls.

“Thanks,” a deep voice rumbled.

Fingers tore at the crumpled paper, revealing colour at every opening. A final rip revealed dark eyes that peered into the original pair.

Trembling fingers searched out the card that dangled from the majestic frame.

“Someone has to let go first.

It’s time I gave back.

Merry Christmas.”