Page 36 of Sunset Catchers

I fold up my knees against my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs to try and hold some of my fleeing warmth. I’m glad I threw on my favorite oversize, light-pink zip-up vest before Levi brought me here. The weather is definitely turning from chilly to plain cold with the day dipping out.

“This is how every friendship on earth begins. With learning about the other.” The thick skepticism doesn’t thin out of my expression. “I’m just curious about you, Winnie. Is that so hard to believe?”

The word Yes is on the tip of my tongue, ready to tumble out. But it feels too pitiful to admit out loud. How pathetic is it that Levi is showing more interest in knowing these details about me than my own mother ever did?

So, yes, it makes it the hardest thing to wrap my head around. I know I’m in my late twenties and all, but sometimes, I am also still seven years old, holding back tears because my mom got me caramel ice cream, which I detested, instead of chocolate, my favorite at the time. I’m still then and confused to see her press play on her favorite movie after she offered to watch mine. Distraught over the blue bag pack she bought me instead of the sparkly pink one I really wanted. After that, I even convinced myself that blue was my favorite color; anything to keep the pretense that my mother cared about me.

Sure, these details seem inconsequential when in reality, they are what mattered most.

These are the minutiae that amount to who I am.

They are the words written in my manual.

They forge my whole identity.

It is heart-wrenching to realize that the person who brought me into this world doesn’t care one bit about what I love most about it.

I hate thinking about this. It makes my skin feel ill-fitting over my bones. It shrinks my ribcage until my heart is confined and can’t fully expend.

I log air deeply in through my nose.

I hate my mom for a lot of reasons, but not as much as I hate myself for being unable to just get over it and for being an emotional mess inside 90% of the time.

For taking one step forward, then running back the other way. On any giving day, I could come to a realization and feel myself growing an inch only to be triggered by something and end up feeling smaller than ever before.

It’s weird, trying to overcome trauma.

I don’t think people who don’t carry some around truly understand how shit that happened in your childhood is deeply rooted—a thousand-year-old tree threatening any foundation you might establish. How it hides in the folds of your brain to mold you into a toy soldier, ready to fight internal battles that rarely leave you on top.

That really leaves you at all.

Keeping my distance with Levi is my way of trying to remain in control. I’d rather he knows nothing at all about me than he be disappointed by what he finds out.

My brain flicks my gaze toward Levi again.

But maybe I could try? Maybe I won’t disappoint him?

“I love watching horror movies. I have loved them ever since I was way too young to even watch them. I got so many nightmares from movies that I spent a whole year sleeping with the light on.”

I instantly want to scrape that information from Levi’s brain even if it’s meaningless. That is, until I see the genuine smile curving up his plush, very nice lips. Like a kid on an Easter hunt that just found a plastic egg filled with mediocre tasting chocolate and is still over the moon about it.

My pulse trips on itself.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. The gorier, the better.”

“I’m not surprised one bit.”

I fail to suppress my smile.

“What is your favorite thing to do when you come down here?”, I ask Levi, resting my cheek against my knee and aiming my full attention at him.

He thinks about it for a few seconds, shifting his position by bending his knees and casually slugging his arms over them.

“Honestly, just coming to the beach. Getting to hang out with my family. Spending long hours reading. Just simple things.”

Just simple things. My heart sighs.