My Torin

by K. Webster

I’ll give you all the pennies, Casey. I’ll give you them all.

I’d say her laugh is soft like a feather fluttering along a porch floor. You want to pick it up and touch it, but you don’t want to ruin its journey. It’s perfect as it moves along, undisturbed. The sound is one that can’t be described. It just is. A sound that finds its way down into the very marrow of your bones. Roots inside and lives there. Quivers and quakes—a constant reminder that it’s there.

Pretty is one word and she is many. Beautiful. Alluring. Appealing. Charming. Cute. Dazzling. Delicate. Delightful. Elegant. Exquisite. Fascinating. Fine. Gorgeous. Graceful. Lovely. Magnificent. Marvelous. Pleasing. Splendid. Stunning. Wonderful. Superb. Angelic. Bewitching. Classy. Divine. Excellent. Enticing. Foxy. Fair. Pulchritudinous. Radiant. Ravishing. Resplendent. Shapely. Beautiful.

I’ve spied on his emails that he writes back and forth with Tyler each day, but I can’t connect that Torin with the Torin I know. My Torin doesn’t like to make eye contact. My Torin is abrupt. My Torin makes sounds of distress when the movies get too loud. My Torin behaves erratically and doesn’t seem to give me the time of day aside from the trails of pennies he leaves everywhere.

My emotions threaten to consume me. I went from having no one who cared about me, aside from a social worker who was paid to—to having two men desperate to keep me safe and secure in their home.

He was ready to throttle me and I couldn’t be more ecstatic.

The vase is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before and upon closer inspection, I see someone has glued the shiniest pennies all over it in a pattern. It’s perfect.

I couldn’t choose one type to represent you. You’re everything at once. Every pretty thing in one breathtaking package.

She is my woman. And I don’t care if I have to write them both an email, attaching a forty-page PowerPoint presentation explaining that she’s mine, because I will. I so fucking will.

Every molecule in my body wants you. The buzzing that maddens me is always silent in your presence. You’re like snow, Casey. Not the snow outside, but the snow on a bad television station. Loud. Scratchy. Deafening. But it’s consistent and calming. I find myself wanting to sit right in front of you and stare. I want to stare and stare and fucking stare.

I just need to breathelicktastetouchsmellfeel her.

A tear rolls down his cheek, catching me by surprise. “I laughed for you.”

“I breathelicktastetouchsmellfeelneed you.” I sniffle as I squeeze him to me. “I love you too, Torin.”

Casey is a calm to my chaos. A rainbow after my storm.