Underwater (7 page)

“I can’t tell you any percentages Aria, because I don’t believe in them.”

He didn’t believe in them? Well, news flash, I didn’t fucking believe that my dad could get cancer either, but here we are.

I walked to the closest wall and stood against it, leaned my head back and tried to control my breathing. I could already feel my heart beating fast, my breaths quick and shallow. I was having another panic attack. Since we had gotten the news, I was having them more frequency. I hated them. I hated feeling powerless.

Inhale, exhale… inhale, exhale.

The first few times I had the attacks were the scariest experiences of my life. Eventually, I realized what was happening to me, thanks to Ella, my childhood friend. We grew up together, and when I moved away, we still remained in contact. She was like a sister to me, the best friend I could ask for. She had been studying psychology in college and she taught me the breathing exercise. After long seconds of slow and deep breathing, I opened my eyes.

“Are you okay?” Dr. Brown asked.

I forced a smile and nodded. “Please, tell me about my dad’s condition.” My father would be back soon and I needed to hear it before he returned.

“Let me put it like this,” he said. “Let’s assume I tell you he has an eighty percent chance of full recovery and twenty percent chance of losing the battle. What do you think would keep him up at night?”

“The twenty percent,” I said, hanging my head. He was right, I couldn’t lie. I would think about the twenty percent too.

“Exactly. Because we’re human, Aria. It’s human nature to gravitate towards the bad in life. To think about it constantly. Even if I told him he had a ninety-nine percent chance of full recovery, the remaining percent would keep your dad up at night thinking about all the things that could go wrong.”

Well… when he put it like that. He had a point. I knew that. But it still didn’t answer my question. The unknown would also keep me up at night.

“I get what you’re saying. I really do, but…”

He gave my arm a squeeze, then said, “Believe me, the best way to help your dad is this way. Let me play it out for you like this.” He straightened and curved his body in my direction. “When you walk on a thin board,” he started, “you don’t look down to see how high you are. You continue to look straight ahead. If you happen to look down, it might frighten you and cause you to falter and fall. The best way for your dad to deal is to move forward, blindly to the final destination.”

I could still feel the anguish of those pivotal days creep into my bones and paralyze me from the inside. Even now, weeks later.

Feeling like I was about to choke, I stood abruptly in order to escape to a place where Dorian couldn’t see me. I took a step forward and felt Dorian grip my arm, concern on his face.

“I’ll be right back,” I assured him, voice thick and raspy.

He opened and closed his mouth several times, however no sound came out.

“I’ll come back,” I whispered again. “I just need a moment.”

His grip tightened until he nodded and let go.

I knew I was being rude leaving the room like that, but I couldn’t let him see me falling apart.

I wouldn’t let anyone see me shattering.

“D
r. Brown doesn’t believe in odds or percentages.”

Her answer surprised me.

Their doctor didn’t believe in percentages? That was strange. I’d been told that the doctor who treated my father told them all the facts up front, without leaving any detail out. But then again, there were tons of doctors out there, and I guess it depended on your doctor’s outlook.

When she stood and started to move forward, it took me a few seconds to understand what was happening and before I realized what I was doing, my hand shot out and gripped her arm.

Touching her again for the second time, the pain never came.

“I’ll come back,” she whispered. “I just need a moment.”

I let her go. I knew she needed to get herself sorted. Even though every part of my body screamed to get up and follow her, I remained seated. She looked like the type who appeared tough on the outside and wouldn’t dare let you see the pain on the inside. I knew that because somehow, when I looked at her, it was like looking in a mirror. One of the things that drew me to her was the similarity between us.

I stayed seated and watched the door. I couldn’t turn my back on anything. I had to face every door and every window. I couldn’t put myself in a position where I would be vulnerable.

I brought my hands to my head and pulled the thick strands tightly, trying to avoid the flood of memories that was trying to take over. The usual fear was creeping in, the helplessness I felt lying on the dirty gravel while the monster towered over me, laughing at my powerlessness. I felt it all, but I couldn’t lose it. Not here. Not now. Not when she was this close.

Her presence, for some unknown reason, quieted the screams and mocking shouts. But she wasn’t here with me now. I was alone.

Always alone.

Frustrated, I pulled my hair even harder, trying to banish the nightmares. The episodes usually happened at night and it was rare for one to occur while I was awake. When it did, it was intense and powerful – and I didn’t fucking want to go there.

Standing abruptly, I started pacing around the room, hands still pulling the abused strands.

Don’t come… don’t come… don’t fucking come to me
, I murmured over and over. But the images of blood mixed with death were too powerful for me to block.

Afghanistan, 2012

Darkness.

Pain.

Soreness.

Darkness.

Agony.

Despair.

Darkness.

That was all my mind could absorb. Pain cut through my body, taking over my senses. My vision was blurred. Dust was heavy in the air, my breathing strained. I couldn’t move.

Our team fell right into those fuckers’ trap. I tried to scream for my brothers, but I couldn’t make a sound.

I heard footsteps coming towards me. Relieved that someone survived, I turned my head in the direction of the person approaching. Every positive thought I had disappeared.

He was no rescuer.

Coldness washed over my body, paralyzing me to the ground. Fear crept in as I looked at the black eyes of the monster we were supposed to kill.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he sing-songed with an evil smile. It was hard to intimidate me. Spending years in the center of danger did that to you. But I wasn’t stupid. I was well aware of my situation. I was lying on the fucking ground, couldn’t move a muscle, while this killer stood above me with a Bowie knife, stroking the blade.

I was going to die.

Someone touched me and I knew what I had to do
.
Adrenaline kicked in and without thinking, I charged, pushing down the enemy. Climbing over his body, I grabbed his hands over his head and pinned him to the ground.

“Dorian…”

Her voice brought me back and the reality of what I had done punched me in the gut.

I flashed my eyes open.

Tiny.

I was on top of her, straddling her waist while pinning her arms above her head.

No. No. No… this couldn’t be right
.

I saw the terror written all over her face, her eyes wide with fear.

I released her hands and shrieked back, as if I had been burned. I wished I had. I deserved to rot in hell for what I’d done.

She stared at me, crawling backward until she hit the far wall. Pulling her knees toward her chest and wrapping her hands around them, she rested her head on top and closed her eyes.

Fuck… What have I done?

H
e opened his eyes, blinking rapidly, unfocused with pure terror. Shock and panic soon followed. I was sure my expression mirrored his.

He jumped back and freed my body from his hold. Without thinking twice, I crawled backwards until I felt the hard and cold wall behind me.

Every instinct in my body told me to stand up and run for my life. I wasn’t a runner, though. Even contemplating the thought made me feel weak.

I felt his eyes watching me intently, but I couldn’t look at him. Not now, at least. First, I needed to calm down.

“Aria...”

With my head still bent low, I shook my head hastily, and he stopped talking. “Give me a few minutes. Please,” I begged in a muffled voice.

“Okay,” he whispered sadly. The dejection I recognized in his voice caused my heart to ache.

Running away was out of the question.
I could do this,
I chanted. I would say goodbye, and hopefully would never see him again.

When I came back from the restroom, Dorian was on the floor, legs drawn up into his chest, hands buried in his hair. The sight of him in a fetal position and hearing his choking sobs made my heart lurch. Without thinking, I’d run towards him, unsure what was wrong with him, but needing to help.

And now I was the one on the floor.