Under the Dusty Sky (Holloway Farms)

laying on the old futon mat. She’s fast asleep with her head in my lap while I lean against the scratchy wood panels. My head tilts to the side to see the stars outside the broken window. My fingers trail her hairline, and I twist the strands and brush them off her neck, face, and shoulders. Then the sticky hot summer breeze swirls through the window and blows it back in her face, making me have to start all over again.
    Seeing her like this, vulnerable and scared, sparks that feeling I’ve been trying to avoid. The feeling that I’ve been running from, and not just with Gracie, but all girls.
    The need to save them. To love them, so in turn they can learn to love themselves.
    But it never works, and in the end, I’m always empty and exhausted. As I run my fingers down Gracie’s face one more time and twirl her hair around my finger, I know I’m done for. But I also know I can’t give her what she wants. When she looks like she does right now, I can’t help but feel that she doesn’t really know what she wants.
    There’s something about a sleeping person that shows who they really are. Like the body is so in need of rest that it peels away all the layers we build around ourselves to work on strengthening who we are instead of who we pretend to be. The way Gracie curls herself as small as she can, hides her face in her arms, and clutches the hem of my T-shirt as she sleeps, shows me more about what she’s hiding from than anything she could ever say.
    The need to be the savior grows stronger. I want to uncover her and fix her. It fills me with dread.

CHAPTER 17
    Graceland
    Heat rises. I feel like I’m swimming in an ocean of heat waves with my face pressed against the sweat-covered sheets of the futon mat. The sun is shining directly into the old broken window, heating my back to a ridiculous temperature.
    I would move out of the rays, but if I open my eyes, the light will gouge them out. If I shift my body, the remnants of last night will threaten to make another appearance. After what feels like years, I manage to lift my head and turn it away from the window. Taking a couple deep breaths, I force my eyes to open. It takes a few tries, but when I notice three objects sitting on the floor in front of the mat, they spring open.
    A glass of iced tea, a plate with a dinner roll on it, and an ice cream pail. Tucked under the plate is a ripped piece of paper, and I stare at it awhile before I try to go for it. Sliding my arm out, I pick it up and pull it closer to my face.
    Written across the paper, in neat all caps printing: The iced tea because it’s your favorite, the bread because you’ll need it, and the bucket… just in case.
    Bentley’s name is scrawled along the bottom, and he had drawn a winking face under it.
    The smile is small at first. Tugging and playing along with the floating, tingling Ben Feeling that trickles down my whole body, but my lips pull deeper into a real smile. I smile with my whole body to the point where I almost feel embarrassed about it. I bury my face into the mat and shake because I can’t possibly smile as wide as I want to.
    Over the next hour, I sip on the iced tea and pick tiny bits off the roll and just hold them in my mouth until they dissolve, washing it down with a little more iced tea. All the while feeling like I just might die at any minute. This is why I don’t often drink. I mean it’s the only thing to do in this town, but this hangover feeling is far worse than any fun that might have happened last night. All I remember is Dermott and then Bentley setting me down outside the barn. Thinking about it makes me nauseous and exhausted all over again, and the world goes fuzzy.
    ***
    A smooth and soft pressure runs along the sticky skin of my cheekbone, and I stretch my head to the side and curl up into a ball. Laughter pierces my eardrums.
    “ Stop yelling at me,” I mumble and cover my ears with my hands. The laughter gets louder, and I feel him lean over me and brush my hair off my face. He does that a lot now. Touches my face. I have no time to analyze because he pulls my hand away, and his breath is heating my skin.
    “ Time to wake up, Gracie. I’m supposed to be picking you up in town from Lacy’s.”
    His voice is a whisper, and his t’s and p’s puff little bursts of air that for some really weird reason make me shudder. Then I understand his words and shoot straight up, almost screaming out with the pain that slices through my head. Hunching