He tilts his head from side to side, studying me. Wes wants to know if I’m being honest with him. I remain completely neutral, hoping that I’m still relaxed enough to convince him.
“Abby, it’s me. You don’t have to put on a brave face for me. Why would you want to fake how you’re feeling around me?”
“I’ve never faked my feelings around you—or faked them at all for that matter.” I chuckle. “Though I’m glad you accept that I’m never going to be normal.”
“Abby, what’s going on?”
Other than I feel like I’m losing my shit? Nothing, Wes, thank you for asking.
Would he understand what’s happening to me? Everything I built and who I became over the past five years is suddenly disappearing. I think I forgot to pack my strength while I was packing all my other belongings. My courage was left at the airport security line. Little, scared Abby is back. The girl who felt awkward and out of place while growing up is taking over my body. The tone of normalcy I lived with over the past years vanishes as the minutes pass.
It’s not like I expected my life to be normal. Just different from that girl who couldn’t run away, defend herself, or protect those around her. Only a few hours ago I was content with my life. Now … I touch my wrist, find my bracelet, and count the quartz.
“I’m twenty-three and I should know by now that there aren’t any monsters inside the closet or under the bed.”
“You’re not afraid of those kind of monsters,” he says with conviction. “Those nightmares are the product of something else.”
“That’s not up for discussion.” I glare at him.
“I wish I knew what happened to you. Maybe then I could fix it for you.”
“You want to fix me, buddy?” I frown, crossing my arms and walking toward the front door.
Weston Ahern has a savior complex. He loves to help people. No matter the day or time, anyone who needs him gets his attention. It’s not like he’s a misogynistic man who tries to solve women’s problems. This guy self-designated himself as the savior of his family and became indispensable to them. If he can solve their problems, they will love him. That’s why he still works for Ahern Inc.
The day I arrived broken at his doorstep six years ago, I became his to save. I love that he wants to take away the pain, but he has no idea just how broken I am. Would he even talk to me if I ever were to tell him about my past? Doubtful. I’d rather have him think that the reason I have nightmares is because I witnessed my sister’s death. He doesn’t even know that the girl was my stepsister. I just don’t talk about it.
“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” he says frustrated. “It’s been years since the incident,” he continues. “Since the day I met you, I’ve cared about you. We connected. But that secret you guard feels like a barrier between us.”
“You have secrets too,” I remind him.
“They’re different because I worked through them already. You … look, I just want to know what happened and … there has to be a way to make things better.”
My lungs constrict. My chest tightens at the mere thought of letting everyone know what happened that night. The local news covered what the police released, what they could see. That’s all anyone will ever know.
“There’s nothing to fix. This is who I am. You can take it or leave it. Thank you for your hospitality, Ahern.” I open the door, glance his way one last time, and leave his apartment.
My secret is safe with me. I’ll be safe as long as I don’t breathe a word.
10
Wes
Dealing with Abby’s past is as complicated as dancing on a tight rope. One wrong move and I’m falling over the precipice. Visiting the past is jarring for many. I get it. It wasn’t easy for me when I had to confront it, or when I learned how to behave like a normal kid. It was hard to understand that adults are meant to protect children, not use them. That starving them isn’t normal, and that my parents were supposed to love me.
I can’t imagine where I’d be if the Aherns hadn’t pushed me to deal with everything I suffered through.
It’s been years. Six long years since Abby came to me. Well, to my parents. I know there’s more to her sister’s death than she’s telling me. My gut tells me that there’s much more to the story than what circulated around the news. If I could just make Abby see that burying the pain won’t help her heal. But I’m afraid that if I force her to open up, she’s going to run away, and I couldn’t tolerate her absence.
I finish cleaning up the kitchen, then go to my bedroom to change. A pair of running shorts and a t-shirt will do. I grab my sleeping bag and turn off the light before locking the apartment. Instead of using my key, I knock on her door.
“Hey,” Abby greets me when she opens it.
“Look, I was out of line,” I start my explanation.
“No, you weren’t. I just want you to understand that nothing you say will change my mind. Because there’s nothing I can do that will make it go away.”
“So, you agree,” I say. “It’s still there, and you need … someone to be with you.” I show her my sleeping bag.
“That doesn’t mean I should be using all these ridiculous crutches to avoid the nightmares.”
“They work,” I say with a shrug. “For now, at least for tonight, take it. Take me.”
The words come out innocently, but I wish I could say them with a deeper meaning. Take me as a man, Abby. Be with me for the night. Forever.
I can’t remember when my feelings for her changed. One day she was my little friend, Abby, and the next she became the woman of my dreams. I want her to get better for her, but also for me. Whatever is going on with her emotionally doesn’t allow her to see us as more than friends. I haven’t been direct about the way I feel for her, but she avoids any conversation that would lead to me confessing my love for her.
“Wes,” she whispers my name.
“Abby. Abby girl,” I repeat her name, gently taking her hand.
She stares at our linked fingers for a few seconds. My heart beats faster, and I’m hoping she’ll say something meaningful. Give me a sign that she cares for me more than as a friend.
Instead, she scratches her ear, staring at my sleeping bag. Taking a step back, she opens the door widely letting me inside.
“Would you still accept me if you knew what happened to me?” she mumbles chewing her bottom lip.
“We’ve always accepted each other, haven’t we?”
“Sometimes you make it sound like if I don’t change—”
“Every time I bring up therapy, it isn’t for my sake, but yours.” For the most part. “I hate to see you in pain.”
She presses her lips together, staring at the floor without saying a word. This quiet, scared Abby reminds me so much of the girl who trembled in the foyer of my parents’ house that first day. She was skinny and wore rags. Her warm, brown eyes were too big for her boney face.
“You can’t save everyone, Ahern,” she says walking to the kitchen checking the cupboards and the refrigerator.
I should’ve bought some food, knowing she likes to have enough to last her at least two weeks. Mom said I was the same when I first arrived. Always making sure I had enough food for the next day, that the cereal was fully stocked, and we had enough milk for me to drink. She explained that it’s a coping mechanism that children and teenagers who have been starved use once they have access to food.
“There’s food across the hallway.”
She turns around looking over my shoulder and smiling slightly. “Sorry, some things never change.”
“I assume your parents were in financial trouble.”
Abby shakes her head.
“If I didn’t behave, I wasn’t allowed to eat.” She closes her eyes. “Mom’s rules. After she died, my stepfather made sure to enforce them.”
“Wait, your mother died before your sister?
This is a new development. The way the social worker worded it was that she had lost her whole fa
mily and the only person left was her stepfather—who didn’t want to take care of her.
“I need to shower,” she breathes harshly touching her scalp.
Abby doesn’t wait. She’s avoiding my questions. I want to remind her that her hair is still slightly damp from her previous shower, but I know her well, better than anyone. She needs to cleanse herself of whatever is on her mind. Also, when she’s anxious she can spend a long time under the water—shower or rain—counting the drops that fall into her right hand. She didn’t say much, but I already know a lot more today than I did yesterday. Who lets a child starve because of their behavior? What kind of people raised her? And what did she do that was so wrong her stepfather let her go hungry?
— — —
Some nights I wonder if this relationship is healthy? I sit on the floor, watching Abby sleep, guarding her dreams. This isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last. I pray that one day she won’t need to count crystals, or make sure there’s enough food, or lock her doors and windows so she can fall asleep.
I remember the first night she spent at my parents’.
— —
Abby Age Seventeen
“She doesn’t talk,” Mom told Dad before we headed to the dining room for dinner.
“They never said she was non-verbal, but if we have to, we can learn sign language,” Dad reassured her. “You’re always great with all of our foster kids, you’ll be fine.”
“Abigail can talk,” I told them. I wasn’t sure if by telling my parents that I was breaking her trust, but I figured they should know before they hired tutors or other unnecessary employees.
“She chooses not to. I think she’s scared,” I said as we approached the staircase.
Mom stopped at the top of the stairs and turned toward Abby’s room. “Do you think she’s coming downstairs for dinner?”
She didn’t wait for my answer and walked over to Abby’s door.
Dad shook his head. “We’re too old for this.”
They were too old, but they were also one of the best couples in the foster care system. About twenty-five kids had stayed in the house since Mom decided to open her heart and her doors to kids like Abigail and myself. I was one of the lucky ones who got to stay with them forever.
Before I could say anything to Dad about his age or reassure them that they were the best parents a foster kid could have, I spotted Mom approaching us.
“Abigail likes cereal and popcorn,” she said quietly. “Could you please go to the pantry and make sure that we have enough. We’re changing the menu for tonight.”
Dad sighed and looked at me.
“She told you that’s what she likes?” I frowned.
“She only nodded when I said cereal and popcorn.” Mom twisted her mouth. “She scrunched her nose at the mention of peanut butter.”
“We should feed her something else, Linda,” Dad proposed.
“Hmm …” She tapped her chin. “Maybe we can give her a little of everything. We can order Chinese, Thai, Mexican, Greek, Italian … what else?”
“Sushi?” I suggested. “Why don’t you order it, get directions of the places that don’t deliver, and I’ll go and pick up the food?”
“That sounds like a great idea,” she said excitedly.
“Where is she?” Dad peered around us.
“Taking a shower. We have time.”
When I came back with the food, Abigail was eating a bowl of cereal. Mom and Dad helped me open the bags and cartons. As soon as she was done with her food, she continued with what I brought. She was hungry. Mom and Dad tried to ignore the amount of food she devoured, but I couldn’t help but watch her in amazement. When she was finished, she smiled at Mom and mouthed “Thank you.”
That night, after everyone went to sleep, I stayed in the studio to finish a few proposals for Dad. But I ran upstairs as fast as I could the moment I heard her scream.
“No, please don’t,” she begged.
Mom and Dad were already there when I reached her room.
“It’s okay, sweetie, no one is going to hurt you,” Mom assured her, holding Abby in her arms.
The girl flung her arms and legs, begging, yelling, and crying. When Dad spoke, her shrill cries became painful to my ears.
“Leave, Will,” Mom ordered him. “Actually, bring me some warm milk.”
“Abby, sweetie, you’re safe,” Mom repeated several times as she caressed her arm.
Finally, the cries became sobs, and Abigail opened her eyes.
“You woke us up,” Mom said calmly.
Terrified, Abigail jumped out of the bed and fled to the corner of the room. She reminded me of a little mouse trapped among feral cats ready to shred her.
“I don’t want to leave,” she cried again. “I’m sorry. Give me another chance.”
“You’ll stay with us for as long as you want,” Mom said quietly. “We just want to help you.”
“You can’t. Nobody can help me. They’ll find me.” She hugged herself.
“The guy who killed your sister is dead, sweetie. You’re safe.”
Abigail closed her eyes, sliding down the wall against her back and hugging her legs.
I crawled to where she sat and whispered. “No one can get in this house. It’s secured. But if they try, I’ll be here, protecting you.”
“He’ll find me,” she mumbled.
I rose from the floor and pulled her up with me.
“What if I stay on the couch to guard you?” I offered. “At least for tonight.”
“Wes?” Mom questioned me.
“It’ll be fine, Mom. Let me help you.”
“Thank you, darling. You’re the best son a mother could ask for.”
“Don’t let Sterling hear you or he’ll give you hell,” I warned her. My little brother was jealous of everyone, even the pets.
I kept the lights on while Abigail tried to fall asleep. Her eyes remained wide open and she stared at the chandelier. I took her hand and began to count the crystal drops out loud. After twenty-five she joined me. By the time we hit eighty-nine, her eyes were heavy. By one-hundred-and-thirty-four, she was fast asleep. Over several months, that became our nightly routine, and Abby became my companion. She helped me look for my first apartment, but I didn’t move out of my parents’ house until Abigail left for Berkeley.
11
Abby
The bedsprings squeak. She screams. I shrink under my bed. He’s here. Now I’m sitting in the corner of the room, he’s running the cold metal along my jaw. I close my eyes, but I hear his intoxicated laughter, her screams pleading for it to end. His gaze finds mine—his smile mocking.
Boom!
The sound of the gunshot rings in my ears and the smell of gunpowder suffocates me.
“Abby girl, you’re okay. You’re safe.” Wes’ voice pulls me away from my old house and back to reality.
When I wake up, my cheeks are damp. The room’s lit with the soft glow from the night-light next to the door. Wes is right beside me. His blue eyes are filled with worry, and his fingers tap my arm lightly with the same tempo he’s used since my second or third night at his parents’ house. One. Two. Three. Four. Pause. One. Two …
I breathe deeply, trying to catch my breath, and order myself to stop crying.
“Where are you?” He asks the same question he’s asked since my second nightmare.
With you. I open my mouth to respond, but I can’t find my voice. I freeze, my hands clutching the sheets.
“Abby,” he repeats my name louder. “Come back to me.”
His blue eyes filled with tenderness call out to my soul, soothing it. He’s so close to me that I could reach out and run my fingers along his rough jaw.
If I could talk, I’d beg him to hold me in his arms—to promise me that my nightmares are only bad dreams and not memories. To make me believe that I’m safe. That nothing will happen to me. I turn my head away and look out the window. It’s too open—unsafe. We’re so high, there’s no way
he can climb and break in without being noticed.
“Where are you?” Wes asks, caressing my cheek with the back of his finger.
“I’m home, with you.” I finally find my voice, and with conviction, say the exact words he needs to hear.
The brave woman responded exactly how she should after a stupid nightmare. But the girl inside me still shakes in fear. Nothing has changed. I’m the same trembling girl afraid of the monsters that live in her house. The ghosts are back. It’s because I can feel him, near me. He can find me and …
Please, never let me go, I want to beg Wes. Stay with me, forever.
That’s too much to ask from one man, a man who has already put his life on pause for a long time because of everyone else. His dad, mom, brother—me. I can’t believe he doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor next to my bed or on the couch after all these years.
As I’m about to get out of bed to take a shower, he hands me two granola bars.
“You were ready.” I smile.
When I first started living with the Aherns, I had a strange ritual. Before going to bed, I made sure to have plenty of food at home. Then, I’d hide two snacks under my pillow. I don’t hide them anymore, but I do make sure to have plenty of food inside my nightstand. My disorder is so much different from any other. My food insecurity pushes me to store food everywhere.
After a nightmare, I would get upset. Emotionally agitated is how Linda described it. I’ve finally stopped eating large quantities of food in one sitting—but I eat more than many people. That’s the one thing I can control, what I eat—and when I eat. The second is how much I exercise my body—until I’m exhausted.
“I was prepared but hoping I wouldn’t have to use them.”
This hasn’t happened in so long.
Since I moved away from Denver, I’ve been so much better. Instead of coming home for the holidays, I’d meet with the Aherns somewhere else in the world. We’d go to Vancouver, Switzerland, Australia … there was always a place where we could travel to and celebrate Thanksgiving, Christmas, or spend summer vacation without having to come back to Denver.
Begin with You Page 6
