A Battle Raging (18 page)

He'd hit her.
That much, he now realized.

"Maya…I'm…I'm so sorry. I didn't mean…"

What could he possibly say to her though? He'd hurt her again. Which he seemed destined to do.

She moved to get off him.

"What the hell happened?" she asked with less anger than he thought he deserved.

He didn't answer right away, perplexed by his own violence.

"It was another nightmare, wasn't it?"

He nodded.

"Damn it, Zach, you can't keep letting yourself be tormented like this."

"Don't you fucking think I know
that?" he yelled out as a surge of anger took over him. "I would never…I thought I was getting better. I haven't had a nightmare in at least two weeks now. I don't know why it came back tonight."

"It's because you haven't gotten to the root cause of it. Until you do, it's always going to come back."

He shifted his torso to allow him to sit up as his frustration rose. He tried to stem the emotion, the anger, but it overwhelmed him, just as the dream had.

"So, you're a psychiatrist now? You're trying to analyze me. No thanks, I already have a bogus shrink who pretends like he has all of the answers."

"I may not be a psychiatrist or even a psychologist, but I know when someone needs help."

"Yeah, the
feeble cripple needs all the help he can get, right?"

"It's not about your body,
Zach, so don't start that pity shit with me. This is a mind injury, something going on in your brain, your soul. And it's something you need to face sooner or later."

"
Well, whatever it is, I'm not facing it with you."

The words came out harsher than he had meant. He knew part of it was the fear of the unknown, and
the other part fear of what he was capable of doing. Obviously, even in an unconscious state he was able to hurt her.

Just as he was hurting her now. The look in her eyes told him that he had hit something vulnerable
in her with this words. Words that had hit as hard as his fist.

"
Zach, I…look it's late. If you want, I can drive you home."

He was already shaking his head. "
No, I can get home myself. I don't need your help."

She was standing
there, unself-conscious in her nakedness. But it was her face that was truly naked as a million emotions passed over it.

"Maybe we should rethink this," she
finally said. "You came to my class with a specific purpose which was to find a way to face what's going on inside you. Painting me isn't helping you do that. And fucking me isn't going to help you either. Sex is great. Our sex is great. But you need something more than that. Look, the class doesn't end for another three weeks. Maybe you should come back and see if you can confront the thing you refuse to draw. That you've been running away from."

He
shook his head, his anger still tight.

"No, no more of
this shit! And you're right, Maya. This whole thing isn't working for either of us. No need for you to be saddled with half a man. Just hand me my clothes…please."

Maya
gave him a withering look, and stood there motionless in front of him for a second or two before she finally picked up his jeans, briefs and socks from the floor and handed the clothes to him. Then she trod barefoot across the hardwood floor, the sound of her feet a soft plopping as she retrieved his shirt from the dining area floor and brought to him.

She didn't move to dress herself, but stood there watching h
im get back into his clothes. Watched as he shifted from the couch to his chair.

She stood silently, her eyes saying
so many things. All of them accusations.

He hadn't meant to hurt her, not after what she'd gone through with her former boyfriend.
He knew that he had fallen in her estimation. To her now, he must appear to be a coward, someone who would rather run than face whatever frightened him. But he couldn't afford to stay.

After a few clumsy minutes, he was fully dressed.

"Can you open the door for me?" he asked somewhat humbly.

Still silent,
her eyes daggers, she walked to the foyer and opened the door. She held it wide enough for him to wheel through.

"Bye Zach
," she said drily. There was no rancor, just sadness in her voice.

"I'm sorry Maya," he said, no longer fueled by anger, but deep regret.
Then he wheeled out of her house. Out of her life.

###

The weather outside the studio was funky. Gushing rain, dark clouds, a distant sound of thunder. A barometer of her mood.

She should have cancelled the class but had de
cided against it since there were only three sessions left.

Today she had assigned the five students
who'd ventured out in the weather the simple task of drawing a vase of hydrangea. They were using chalk pastels for color. This was the first week of June and thankfully the flowers were more abundant. She'd gone by the pier's florist that morning, hoping to find something lovely to pick up her mood.

Then the rain had started and it'd seemed like the day had decided to mimic the sadness that had been dragging her down since her argument with Zach
the prior week.

She did a mental shake. Every
time she consciously thought of Zach, the lapse made her feel worse. This was different than the breakup with Bryan, mainly because then she'd been walking away from a toxic relationship. Getting away from someone who poisoned your love was a good thing and she had no regrets about ending that.

But she
was full of regret now. Her anger that night had come from nowhere but she'd known she was right even as she'd berated him. Zach needed more healing than she could give him. More than his psychiatrist was seemingly providing him. But what could she do?

Certainly, starting a relationship with someone so damaged hadn't done either of them any good.

"Ms. Temple?"

The query came from
Robert Borneo, or Bob as he preferred to be called, one of the bohemian gentlemen. His straggly dark beard ironically gave him a wizened look, making his age inestimable. He might be anywhere from fifty to sixty.

"Yes,
Bob?" she responded, walking from the front of the class to the near rear where his easel was situated. His partner, Jess, was busy drawing, his eye strain apparent as he squinted at his easel. She'd asked him weeks ago if he wanted to move up front, but he'd shaken his head.

"Naw, this'll do me just fine."
What he defined as "fine" was obviously not working for him.

She arrived at Bob's
easel and looked at his progress. Passably OK. He still had a problem with form, even though he somehow managed to make a decent presentation with his shading.

He looked up at her with
intense blue eyes that were incongruous with his dark hair and parched, over sun-tanned skin. She'd only recently noticed his eyes these past weeks and for some reason, they reminded her of Zach's gray eyes, eyes that had pulled her in that first day, a lifetime ago.

"No, I'm not having a
ny problems with the sketch," he assured her as she asked about his drawing. "No, what I wanted to discuss is the final assignment you talked about last week. I know we're supposed to present all of the techniques we've learned over the trimester. The thing is I want to do something more than just flowers or vases, and I was wondering if I could bring something in. Something special to me."

"That's a wonderful idea, Bob. As long as it has some dimension for shadows and some texture, I don't see why not."

Just so not to show any favoritism to any one student (although she had to admit Bob was one of her favorite students), she went to the front to make an impromptu announcement.

"Class, Bob has brought up an interesting idea. For the final class, instead of my providing the still life, you can feel free to bring in something personal to you, something you would rather sketch than just an ordinary object. Does that sound like something you'd be interested in?"

She saw signs of assents and heard murmurings of "yes." So now she would have to repeat this suggestion to the next class for those absent today.

"And just to make the class interesting, you can do a five minute presentation on why you picked the subject that you drew. What meaning it has to you."

They continued for the hour, as a thought began running through her mind, one moment summarily dismissed and then just as quickly called back.

Of course he would say no.

But he was still registered as one of her students. And he's returned the refund check to her. If he wanted to pass this course, he would have to at least do the final.

She waited until the class was dismissed before she pulled out her phone. No use trying to talk directly to him; he wouldn't pick up the phone
anyway. That much she knew.

Why she was even trying she didn't know. He had been nothing but trouble since she'd met him.

No, that wasn't true. He'd given her something, even if she'd been slow to admit it to herself. He'd brought new life, excitement and a sense of fun. And in their short time together, she'd learned to enjoy herself, not take herself so seriously.

She'd miss him. But she could go on. And that was something she had learned from Bryan.

Still she was obligated to this class and that meant
all
of her students.

She dialed his number and t
exted him the assignment. Once that was done, she let out a soft sigh.

S
o now she'd offered him a chance and it was up to him to fulfill his final duty as her student.

But as she clicked off her phone, she knew that she'd never see him again.

Zach read the text
before wheeling into Dr. Madison's office, peered at each word as though it would bring her to him. Then he deleted it.

It took all of his strength to do
that small action. She'd sent it a couple of days ago but he hadn't gotten around to checking any of his messages until just now. Not that it mattered.

She was playing teacher and it was just too late for that. The whole situation was all fucked to hell.

When he took his regular position in the circle of chairs, the first thing he noticed was that Jerry was a no show. This was the first time since the group sessions had begun that Jerry had not sat in. Maybe the doc had assigned him to another group. Probably for the best. He had become mostly a distraction, which meant less time for the others to talk.

Dr. Madison stood by the door as one last straggler wandered in.
The doctor peered out expectantly and Zach knew then that Jerry hadn't been re-assigned as he'd thought.

After a minute, the doctor closed the door.

"Hmm, I guess Mr. Easton has decided to deprive us of his presence today. Well then, let's get started."

No sooner had Dr. Madison took his seat at the head of the circ
le than the office door opened and Jerry skulked in. There was no other word for it but
skulked
. Jerry looked around furtively as though expecting to be ambushed. Zach couldn't be sure the man wasn't having some sort of flashback right then and there.

"Mr. Easton, so good of you to join us," the doctor said someone
sarcastically. Zach had to wonder at the man's density. Couldn't he tell something was up?

Zach had gone through two tours before his incident. During that time, he'd honed his spider senses. Knew when something wasn't going down right.

Today Jerry was different. He was always wired wrong, always a tinderbox ready to explode.

Today Zach knew they were about to feel the full brunt of Jerry's
explosion.

No sooner had the thought passed through his head than Jerry reached inside his combat jacket, the one he was never without no matter the weather.

Delia was the first to let out a gasp of surprise as Jerry pulled out an AK-47. Zach's adrenaline surged as he stared at the mean piece of artillery and realized there was no escape.

Jerry was no longer sane, i
f he'd ever been since returning from his last tour. His paranoia, his accusations, everything had been leading to this moment.

"Man, what the hell are you doing?"
Arnie yelled out as he stood up. Bad move.

Jerry's answer was a
barrage of bullets into Arnie's chest. The man collapsed to the floor lifelessly. Zach stared at the fallen man, trying to tell whether Arnie was dead or not. Most likely not considering the direct hit. A scene out of a war zone.

Outside the sound of running feet
and shouting said that others on the floor had heard the shooting and were in a panic.