Older

by Jennifer Hartmann

I guess that was why I loved too much. I had a lot of loveless holes to fill.

Life is like photography. You need the negatives to develop.

But I knew well enough that a man only needed two capable hands and a sharp tongue to inflict harm. Sometimes less. A single look could do me in.

“Life is living. If you’re not living exactly the way you want to live, then what’s the fucking point?”

Everything was hollow. Everything except for my heart. And having an abundant heart in a hollow world was an affliction I was helpless to overcome.

“Relationships are overrated. Love is nothing but a building block for collapse. A stepping stone for tripping and stumbling into a black hole you can’t climb out of it.”

But being jaded doesn’t come with age; it comes with hardship. And hardship can blow through like a stormfront, destroying everything in a blink. Five years old, fifteen, fifty. Doesn’t matter. Once you’re caught in the funnel, you never stop spinning out.”

Two strangers on a lakefront, destined for nothing.

The stars and moon had done him no justice, and I resented them for that.

There was even a tattoo roped around his right bicep that hinted at a past I was curious to uncover. Something that ventured beyond self-defense training and domesticated Dad life.

A single touch was like a sunbeam neutralizing my blackened veins.

Something happened to me. Something devastating and beautiful unfurled inside my chest.

But Reed had just called me Comet, and that was exactly what it’d felt like as the name soared past his lips. A bright, cosmic phenomenon lighting up my insides and colliding with my heart.

One kiss, and I was already addicted to the taste of him.

I wished the cold night would only go as far as my ice-glazed window pane, but winter always had a way of sneaking through the cracks and burrowing in my bones. It was a permanent chill. One I’d never warm to, no matter how many layers I tried to add.

“Confidence is like a muscle,” I told him. “It needs consistent exercise. The more you practice, the stronger it becomes. It’s not about eliminating self-doubt entirely—it’s about pushing through it.”

Everyone gets a moment. A moment that tested us, defined us, shaped us. One that showed us who we really were. The real us, down to the marrow. Not that superficial bullshit we flaunted to meaningless passersby who filtered in and out of our lives like transient ghosts.

“Feels like it is sometimes. It makes a person soft and hopeful in a world that’s hard and painful.”

Fate had made it so I’d never be his anything.

“Listen to me. When something breaks you, you pick up the pieces and put yourself back together. Maybe it’s with stitches and glue sticks, but it’s enough to keep going. Nobody needs to stay broken.”

I wanted to turn her into someone who could save herself.

His arms were not meant to hold me, and yet they were the safest sanctuary in the midst of my crumbling mind.

Human beings were so damn resilient. We saw color through blackened vision, latched onto hope in hopeless places, and loved with every damaged piece of our broken-down hearts.

Love alone wasn’t always enough to keep us safe. Sometimes, it was our ultimate undoing.

“Someone who can turn fear into strength. Vulnerability into survival.”

Too many tears. Too much salt had streaked down my cheeks for one lifetime.

He’d turned his scars into weapons. Into art. Into a story worth telling.

He told me there was a fire inside me and that all I needed was a spark. Reed was my spark.

Not all collisions left you rising from the ashes. Some just left you shattered, buried in the wreckage of your own mistakes.

She watched the movie. I watched her.

“You’re mixing me all up inside. I don’t know whether to hug you, strangle you, or kiss you.”

Now I knew what it felt like to really play with fire. And I was damn certain, that any day now, I’d go up in flames.

We were beautiful. A beautiful, forsaken mess.

His eyes fluttered back open. They glinted with promises he wanted to make but couldn’t keep. Fairy tales he wanted to weave into happily ever afters.

It was easier to pretend it never happened than to breathe more life to something that had the power to unravel every other thread stitching me together.

“Older doesn’t translate to wiser, and age doesn’t guarantee answers.” He cradled my cheek in his palm as I nuzzled into his touch. “With age, comes certainty. You grow to know exactly what you want. But that doesn’t always mean it’s wise or right, and then that certainty becomes a curse.”

“I’m certain it’s going to hurt like hell when this is over.”

“When you’re a parent, you’re consciously aware that these days are ahead, destined to find you. You try to prepare, and you think you’ll be ready, but it’s not possible. These moments always seem so damn far away at the time, and then—bam. No more piggyback rides, no more swimming lessons, no more birthday cake painting the walls. It’s like I blinked and you were older.”

“You won’t fully grasp that unless you ever experience it—which, I hope you don’t. I hope you find someone who complements you in every way, who gives you strength and courage, who fights for you tooth and nail, no matter the consequences, and who loves every single piece of you. Even the sad pieces. Even the ugly pieces you try to keep buried.”

But, I think that when someone you care about betrays you, nothing can glue those broken bits back together,”

My Wonderwall. But the wall between us was anything but wonderful. And I feared we were all one loose brick away from that wall crashing down and putting us six feet under.

Sunshine trickled in through the bedroom window of my apartment, showering pale-yellow stripes across her cheek. She was so damn gorgeous. Sweet innocence curled around her, mingling with sinful memories from the night before.

I wanted her here, in my bed, in my home, imprinting her golden light on every lackluster inch of my world.

I ate her like a starving man, like she was my last meal, knowing she’d forever be the most priceless delicacy I’d ever taste.

She was responsive, so eager for me to take control and have my way with her. She’d let me do anything. Even break her heart.

My own scar pulsed like it was drawn to hers, like we were in some sort of secret club together. A partner in pain. A companion in violence. Two warriors braving the storm, hand in hand.

The deepest parts of me wanted to protect her from the evils of the world, to keep her by my side and defend her, always, body and spirit. But those parts of me also knew that the only way to protect her was to let her slip through my fingers. I needed to saw through the steely binds and let her go.

She was mine. She would always be mine. But not everything we were given was meant to be kept.

Dark roast, a splash of milk, and a teaspoon of honey. It didn’t mean anything. Knowing how she liked her coffee, her favorite songs, her deepest fears and dreams, the way her breath hitched on my name whenever my tongue was between her legs, and her assortment of smiles dependent on her mood, only meant that I was observant.

“Regardless of what this can or can’t be, please don’t diminish what it is.”