Underwater (8 page)

Eventually, I stood and his eyes followed me with a lost look on his face. He looked more shaken than I did, if it was even possible. This guy needed help. That, I was sure of.

Looking around, I located my bag on the floor. I moved toward it and picked it up, wrapping my arms around it like a protective shield. I noticed from the corner of my eye that Dorian began to stand. Once in front of me, he buried his hands in his front pockets, bent his head down and stared at the floor.

He looked so lost and I felt pulled in two different directions.

To stay.

To run.

“Aria... I’m so sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry...” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to… I would
never
hurt you… please tell me I didn’t hurt you.” His voice cracked at the end. He appeared so vulnerable. So lost. It made my heart hurt. The crazy thing was that I believed him. We didn’t know each other, but his confession… deep down, I knew it was real.

He would never hurt me.

“I know,” I said. “I’m okay and I… I believe you. I’m not blind. I could tell you weren’t with me in those moments.” I forced a smile. “Luckily, you didn’t do damage to me today, but tomorrow?” I swallowed. “There’s a chance you could harm someone else. Whatever you’re suffering from, it’s none of my business, but there are a shit ton of ways to deal with it. Don’t keep it buried. Nothing good can come from it.”

He looked at me with wide eyes. Giving him one last weak smile, I turned around and began to walk away.

“H-how did you know?”

Halting my steps and without turning around, I answered, ”I didn’t. I only assumed.”

“You’re not gonna ask me anything about it?”

“Nope. We aren’t at the stage of sharing dark secrets of our pasts, yet.”

“There’s going to be an ‘until next time’ for us?”

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. And with those final words, I walked out the door, not sure if our paths would ever cross again.

“In that book which is my memory, on the first page of the chapter that is the day when I first met you, appear the words, ‘Here begins a new life’.”

—
Dante Alighieri

I
t had been over two weeks since I last saw her.

Crazy, but she was all I could think about.

She never showed up again. At the beginning of every meeting, I told myself repeatedly that she wouldn’t show, but no matter how much I tried to prepare myself, I always felt the pang of disappointment when she didn’t walk through the door. And in the midst of it all, I was afraid too. Afraid and ashamed and guilty. The way she’d looked at me when I lost my shit and hurt her in the process would haunt me for the rest of my life.

Lying in bed, I kept thinking about her. Her frightened green eyes haunted me at night, adding to my already existing nightmares. The crazy part was that somehow, dreaming about her cut me even deeper than the rest of my fucked up dreams.

I wanted to fix it. I fucking needed to fix it. Even though she took the whole situation calmly, deep down, I knew she wouldn’t want anything to do with me.

Not even being my friend.

Who could blame her?

I fucking attacked her five seconds after I met her. Knocked her down. Held her hostage. God, I could still remember her fear. It wrecked me. I wanted to see her and talk to her. I wanted to apologize again. I just... wanted to see with my own eyes that she was okay. Day and night, all I thought about was
her
.

I was going fucking crazy.

Closing my eyes tightly, needing to think of something else beside that green-eyed beauty, I recalled the last few days. I‘d just been going through the motions, blind to my surroundings.

My mother, Maggie Black, was the strongest woman I knew. But life hadn’t been kind to her. She lost her husband, while at the same time her son was captured by the enemy. She fell into desperation that was near impossible to pull through. I checked on her and my little sister Lizzie regularly, while making sure they were handling things without my constant presence.

The only reason I didn’t come back to live with them was Paul. After my father died a few years ago, my mother was a wreck. She drowned in her grief and suffered from depression. Lucky for her (and us), she had Paul by her side. He was her childhood friend. His wife had died seven years ago in a car crash, and during his grief, my parents helped him through the dark days. My dad loved him and I had no doubt that before he died, he asked Paul to take care of us. He was always at the house, taking care of everyone and everything. He adored Lizzie and treated her as his own. I was comforted that she had another father figure in her life. My father’s death affected her deeply. She was still young and the impact was severe.

Even though moving out was the hardest decision I’d ever made, it was the right one. It’d become harder and harder to control the nightmares. Even though they never complained, I knew that my mother, Lizzie, and even Paul, had no clue how to deal with me. Living with a person who was haunted by their dreams and woke up screaming every night couldn’t possibly be easy. The sad part was that they couldn’t even comfort me. Their touch burned me and made my skin crawl. Whenever they got close, I flinched. It made my mother cry and I hated it.

More than anything, though, I didn’t want to expose Lizzie to this side of me. I knew it was far too late to change the past. She already witnessed all the fucked-up parts that were hidden in me… but for some reason, I wanted to do all I possibly could to keep her away from it. She was nine years old for God’s sake, and she’d been through enough already. Watching her big brother falling to pieces wasn’t a picture I wanted her to see.

Besides my family, I also worked at
Toby’s
bar as a bouncer almost every night. The job was a blessing. It fit me perfectly. A job I could do quietly, without being dragged into meaningless conversations I didn’t want to be engaged in. The fucking rumors and my scars kept most of the people away.

My role was to keep the place in order. When the rush of the arriving patrons died down, I entered the bar and sat in a corner, watching and making sure that the place ran smoothly without incident. It was rare, but when a fight broke out, I had to control the situation, separate them and then throw out those who were involved. That brought me to the downside of the job. The fact that
touch
was a trigger for me… I had a few problems at the beginning. Luckily, I learned how to manage. The adrenaline from the fight usually took over my body and mind, and it gave me the distraction I needed to do it smoothly. After, when I kicked those fuckers out, I would go outside to calm the hell down. I needed a few minutes to get myself under control.

But all in all I felt comfortable there. It wasn’t sociable work and I could keep to myself most of the evening, without interacting with anyone. Most of the workers knew about me, but never dared to get too close.

I was lucky to get this job. Not only was it closer to where I lived and paid the bills, but I held a deep respect for Toby, the owner. He was one of the good guys, and like Bennie, he’d saved my ass more times than I could remember. He’d known me since I was a kid and hadn’t hesitated for a minute giving me this job. He didn’t care about the rumors, the scars or my fucked-up head. He treated me like a person – something I hadn’t felt in a long while.

Not until a tiny angel came into my life and looked at me like I mattered.

And then you fucked it all up by jumping her.

Shifting and laying on my side, I couldn’t help remembering her last words to me. To say I was shocked would be the understatement of the century. I knew she thought I should see someone. Professionally.

I also knew what I had. And I’d accepted it.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
.

I’d been to a shrink once. It’d been my first and last time. It hadn’t gone well. The only place I could stand that type of help was Bennie’s support group. But it wasn’t enough. He knew that. I knew that. Everyone fucking knew that.

Helping me deal with the death of my father from cancer? Maybe.

Helping me with my PTSD? Fuck no.

Closing my eyes, willing myself to fall asleep, I retrieved the memory of Tiny’s beautiful face, wishing I could see her once more.

She was the last thing on my mind before sleep pulled me under.

T
urning off the car’s engine, I laid my head on the wheel and closed my eyes. I still couldn’t believe that I just quit my job. It’d been so hard to keep working at the clothing store. Leaving my dad alone at the house during the day was messing with my head. I was sure that everyone saw my quitting coming a mile away. Everyone
but
me. Now, I needed to find a new job, one where I could be home during the day for my dad and work nights. The last few days were rough with my parents constantly fighting and my dad’s rising anger.

His last tantrum was still running through my mind.

It was the first time in my life that my father scared me.

I was lying in bed, listening to a few songs on my iPhone when I heard sounds of breaking glass mixed with my parent’s shouts. I sucked in a sharp breath while thoughts of the worst formed in my mind. My body started to shut down on me as my fingers held my phone in a death grip. I needed to get out there and stop whatever was happening, but I was frozen in place, frightened of what I would find if I went downstairs.

Just as I was about to make a decision, I heard a small tap on my bedroom door. The door opened and Adam, my brother, entered through it. His boyish face looked alarmed as he made his way to sit next to me.

“What’s going on with dad? Why has he been so angry lately?” His voice cracked and he lowered his head, hiding the tear that fell down his cheek. He wasn’t fast enough. I saw. I felt a lump form in my throat.

How could I keep lying to him about dad’s condition?

“He and mom keep fighting all the time. I’m scared, and now he’s breaking stuff! Should we stay here? Should we go downstairs? I’m–”

I cut him off by pulling his body against my chest and hugged him to me while rubbing his back with my hand up and down, slowly. God. This kid. I had no idea he was so aware of what was happening at home.