Weight

Weight
Leah strode from the night with a laugh but stopped at the bottom of her porch stairs. A dark lump of a human lay sprawled near the front door, limbs askew and facedown. Light from the living room window painted him in harsh flickering blues. She bit her lip and pressed her hand to her stomach for a moment before climbing the stairs and standing above him. “Mikel. You have to stop sleeping it off on my porch. You know dad has a shotgun, and he don’t like you much.”

“Mhmmhph.”

She sighed and took her jacket off to drape it over his bare shoulders. “Mikel.” Her voice
thin, close to breaking. “Get up. You can’t stay here. It’s not safe for you.”

Mikel’s hand drifted upwards, floated in the space between them. She took it and his
fingers wrapped tightly around hers. “Leah.” His voice cracked, spearing her chest.

She let the longing tighten her throat, let it coil up her arm from his hand, connecting
them in shared pain.

A man of strength swam in his broken depths. She wasted years hoping he would emerge.

She knelt beside him, his hand heavy in her lap. She sat with what is and what could be,
and she wished with all her heart that his blue eyes would open and be clear, lucid.

“I want…” Mikel’s dark hair fell across his brow as he strained to turn towards her. “I
need…” He twisted and pressed the palm of his hand onto the porch. The angle of his shoulder, bulge of his bicep muscle, his long angular body twisting towards her… all a temptation.

Mikel lifted his hand from her lap and tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, his work-roughened fingers fumbling and brushing over her cheek. “Why?”

“Why what?” Leah let her eyes slide closed and leaned into his touch, imagining his hand
as steady, tender.

 “Why did you stop being my friend?”

Because. Because she would lift him off the porch and bring him into her kitchen to clean the cut above his eyebrow. Run a damp washcloth over his face. Clean away the dust and grime. Kiss away all his troubles. Because then he would finally see her.

Because his fire would burn her to ash. “Because you needed me too much.”

Mikel’s head dropped; forehead against splinter-filled wood. “I’m so tired."

Through the living room window, her father slept in his recliner, blue light from the
television flashing as a storm. Her mother hovered behind him, wreathed in the same blue light. Sacrifice was a woman’s role. She leaned closer to Mikel, felt the heat, the burn. “Come.”

Mikel groaned and pushed up and away. “No.” His voice held strength she had not heard
from him for far too long. “No.”

Her fragile hope flared into sparks and flew away. 

“No. You deserve better than…” He gestured unsteadily to her parents. “Better than that.”

Her mother met her eyes. Don’t burn for him.

Leah stood and turned away. In her mind, the best part of Mikel came behind her, wrapped his arms around her middle. He captured the sparks and pieces and held them in place. She allowed her head to fall back into his strength, to his protection.

Mikel swayed on his feet then stumbled past her, his shoulder briefly brushing against
hers, before he thumped down the stairs. Perfect and imaginary Mikel gathered her hair loosely in one hand and pulled it aside to kiss her neck. His lips moved against her skin as he murmured.

Let me go.

“I’m going to be better.” Mikel took two unsteady steps backwards.

I won’t.

“I’m going to get clean. And I will come back for you, and you’ll see.”

You won’t.