One
Maxwell
I gazed out the crystalline windows from a dark corner in the quaint library, taking in the vibrant green of the town common and the gently lapping waves of the aqua lake beyond. My eyes took in the silvered sparkle of sunlight highlighting each small crest before it kissed the shore and receded back again. My thoughts spun away with me as I watched, feeling anxious as I hid away in this tiny upstate town, watching the world from this tiny library window.
I’d spent summers swimming in that lake, the two months of the year it was warm enough for swimming. I remembered the warmth caressing my skin and sending jolts of vitamin D energy running through my cells. Playing catch and running improvised bases in the town common as a boy. I remembered those days so fondly, but fear had strangled pleasure these last few years and chained me like a beast in the cellar.
I loved this library more than myself. My life was imprinted into the inky pages of these hardbacks. My heart came alive as I passed through the aisles, my fingers ghosting along the dusty covers. I liked being locked up here. At least most days. Human contact was best kept at minimum; I’d quickly come to realize that. Sitting up here alone in my palace suited me. I paid the bag boy to deliver my food. I scheduled the mail to come directly to my steps instead of the post office box. I didn’t do gatherings, holidays were pointless as I didn’t have anyone to spend them with, and Sunday afternoons in the park were in the far distant past.
I missed the sunlight on my skin all afternoon, bronzing the body and easing away the anxiety. But after that night—the night that changed my life and left me with so many scars, visible and internal—I hadn’t been able to step outside in public for fear of the shame. The ridicule. The flat-out gawking. Call it what you like, but I wasn’t one for subjecting myself to judgment, and the people in this town had stockpiles of it.
I might have grown up here, I might have been the town’s golden boy at one time, but not anymore.
Now I was the moody bastard that lived above the library and had a fucking panic attack every time I left the castle. Every time I descended those three steps, flashbacks overtook me, my heart raced and my palms tingled, and a sense of revenge so large hit me it was nearly debilitating. The only time I saw anyone was when they came into my library. Human contact was best in minimal doses. I allowed people into my sanctuary in very controlled doses, from nine to four each day, and never on weekends. Small talk with the librarian strongly discouraged.
Thankfully, I didn’t need to announce that last part. The scar did that for me.
I ran a finger across the worn copy of The Count of Monte Cristo I kept at my desk. Not a library book, but mine. A treasured edition. Books were the only things that had been with me through it all. I’d never found solace in people; I’d found nothing but pain and betrayal and lies. Books provided shelter and support and encouragement.
Once in a great while, I allowed myself the privilege of sitting out on the small stoop of the library when the sun was shining bright and only first thing in the morning, before the rest of the town awoke. But despite my disdain for people, I loved sharing books. Sharing the written word with people who could really feel a story and understand it, could sense the loss and blip of anxiety that shudders the heart when you close the pages on a favorite book. I wanted people to feel that.
I liked sharing the fantasy.
But was this my fantasy? My eyes crawled across the polished woodwork I’d sanded and stained tirelessly through the night to restore when I’d decided to open the place. The Spruce Lake Public Library was my dream come true, but I found myself craving more. I hadn’t been on a date in years. What was the point? It felt like I’d have too much to hide because baring my dark soul would surely send any woman running the other way.
But sometimes, on the nights that my thoughts overtook me, I dared to hope for someone to share my life with. I dreamed of a girl with eyes that sparkled, a laugh that made me weak in the knees, and a heart so big she could fit mine in it. Someone who could see past the moody, abrasive demeanor, and the thousand quirks that made me a man unlike any other.
Someone who could see past the scar and into my soul.
A revelation sliced through my heart. For the first time ever, I wanted to feel love.
I’d just never found a woman brave enough to love a man like me.
The sun began its slow descent behind the horizon as I pulled my thoughts away from all the things that were too painful for me to consider before noticing it was officially closing time. I took long strides across the gleaming wood before turning the latch and flipping the sign on the door. Closed. Just a few more tasks and then I could retreat to my sanctuary upstairs for the rest of the night.