Moore than a Feeling

by Julie A. Richman

  Portia giggled again. “I don’t need one. I only need two. My dad’s not here.”

  “No?”

  “No, he’s back in the city until this weekend. And Holly stayed home tonight. So, it’s just me, Mom, and Natie.”

  “Holly didn’t come?”

  Portia shook her head, but didn’t say anything.

  “Is she feeling okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  He could tell the little girl was feeling uncomfortable talking about her sister’s absence from the family dinner, so he let it go. “You’d better get those back to the table before all the bubbles fizz out and Natie has a flat drink.”

  “Okay.” She nodded. “See you later,” and walked carefully from the bar, trying her hardest not to spill the drinks.

  What the heck? Holly rolled over and reached for the phone. Who is texting me in the middle of the night? The noir ringtone let her know it was a text.

  Hey Holly, it’s Billy. Did Aiden come to your house?

  I don’t think so. But I’ve been sleeping. She looked at the clock on her phone. It was only 12:45 a.m., but she’d gone to bed early, around 11:00, and had been in a deep sleep. What’s going on?

  He was in here and left about 30 minutes ago. He was really drunk and a mess. He kept talking about ruining your life. He was saying he needed to apologize to you, then started talking about the world being a better place without him. And that freaks me out. I’m working ʼtil 2:00 and there’s no one here tonight to cover for me, then I have to clean and lock up. Can you check on him?

  I don’t even know where he lives? You want me to just knock on his door???

  Do you remember the Andy Metzger house my ex lived in on Denhoff Walk two summers ago?

  LOL the ugly green one?

  That’s the one.

  Aiden’s living there???

  Yes. If you go around the stone walkway on the side of the house, there’s a door there for a studio apartment and they keep a key behind the big terracotta planter.

  Holly was sitting up in bed now with the light on, talking into her phone doing voice to text as she pulled on cut-offs and a tank top.

  Billy, you seriously want me to just let myself into Aiden’s apartment in the middle of the night.

  Well, I’d knock first. Maybe he’ll answer. I’d use the key if he doesn’t. Just to make sure he’s ok.

  Crap Billy you’re scaring me. I’m leaving now.

  Text me if you need my help with anything.

  k.

  Heading downstairs quietly, so as not to wake anyone, she grabbed her keys off the kitchen counter and slipped out the front door. Walking toward Midway, Holly felt more secure walking alone at this hour as she began to pass people who’d been out at the bars, making the streets feel less deserted as she headed toward Aiden’s. At the corner of Denhoff and Midway, she stopped, standing in the glow of a streetlamp, taking a moment to think, and formulate a strategy. I’ll knock first and call his name. Hopefully he’ll answer, even if he tells me to go away. If he doesn’t answer, then I’ll find the key.

  Please God, please let me find him safe. With each step the dread built, fear cramping her stomach as she silently prayed he hadn’t done anything drastic.

  The winds were beginning to kick up as she walked down the street toward his house, heat lightning flashing in the distance. Crossing her arms over her chest, she wished she’d grabbed a jacket before leaving. It had been awhile since she’d been on this end of Denhoff Walk, but she recognized the house immediately and located the path that curved around into the side yard. With the scrub pines growing up against the house, she couldn’t get close enough to peer into the windows, but it didn’t look like there were any lights on. Maybe he’s not even home. He could have gone to that waitress’s place.

  When the path ended at the door, she just stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath before knocking.

  “Aiden. Aiden, are you home?” Waiting a moment, she put her ear to the door, but heard nothing and banged again. “Aiden, open up.” She banged harder and continued to be met by silence.

  “Shit,” she muttered and reached behind the planter, searching with her fingertips for a key in the night.

  “Aiden.” She banged again before inserting the key into the lock.

  Opening the door, she stood very still waiting for her eyes to adjust to the pitch-black studio. In the quiet, Holly could hear Aiden’s deep breathing, his fast-asleep breathing, a comforting sound she knew so very well, one that had lulled her to sleep on many a night. She stood in the doorway, relieved, as she listened to the familiar sound. Billy had said he was drunk, and now he was passed out, but at least safe and sound in his own bed.

  Closing the door gently, so as not to make a sound, Holly pulled out her phone and swiped the flashlight function, illuminating a conical path. Across the room was a queen-sized bed and Aiden was on the left side, his side of the bed, sleeping on his left side, the way he always slept. Slowly, she walked over to the bed, approaching on the right side, and looked down at him, thankful to see him sleeping peacefully, and sleeping off whatever caused the alarmedly drunken state that had concerned Billy enough to text her at 12:45 a.m.

  Her heart began to swell with emotion just seeing the peace on his handsome face, an inner tranquility that defied his external scarring. Even in the darkened room, she could see the purplish-pink scars that told the story of the hell he was trying to hide. Continuing to gaze at him, she silently hoped he was someplace pleasant in his dreams, somewhere far from the reality that had altered his life so drastically.

  Slowly, she sat down on the right side of the mattress, careful not to disturb him. How many nights had she watched him sleep, just like this? Too many to count, she smiled. With her eyes now acclimated to the dark, she could see his eyes darting back and forth behind his lids, indicating he was dreaming. Not ten seconds had passed when his lips began to move, and unintelligible words emerged, the tone indicating strife, and she immediately felt like a guilty intruder.

  He’s safe in bed. I need to leave.

  As she planted both feet back on the floor, the room illuminated simultaneously with a crackling sound from a startlingly close bolt of lightning, followed immediately by a sharp clap of thunder.

  “No! No! Get out now!” Thrashing, Aiden shouted the words clearly, internalizing the summer storm, immediately transforming what had been a dream that had turned stressful into a full-blown nightmare.

  His scream was piercing as a second nearby clap of thunder rattled the windows of the small house.

  Her reaction was instinctual. “Aiden, you’re okay.” She leaned into him, her hand gently grasping his shoulder to shake him awake and pull him from whatever was closing in on him.

  His reaction was instinctual, too, and with a guttural scream he shot up, his hands wrapping around her neck, his fingers digging in, as his chokehold on Holly tightened.

  “Aiden,” she wanted to scream, but his grasp snuffed out the air needed for the words to make it up from her vocal cords.

  Flailing, she punched at his shoulder, trying desperately to make him stop, but she could see from his face, which was screwed up in anger, that his eyes were still closed. That is when she realized this was all happening in a dream for him. But it was no dream for her. This nightmare was very real, as real as his, and as his face started to swim before her eyes, the thought racing across Holly’s consciousness was, I can’t die this way. Please God, don’t let me die this way. Knowing it was her last-ditch effort before she blacked out, she thrust her left knee forward praying she still had the strength for it to hurt him and jolt him into an awakened state.

  Please God, she silently begged.

  “Ahhh,” he screamed, as her knee made a hard-enough contact with his genitals and he fell backward off her, his hands immediately releasing her neck, and rushing to his groin.

  A sickening gasp arose from Holly’s throat, followed by a series of heaving sounds as her lungs st
rove desperately to replace the air that had been robbed from them.

  “What the hell is going on?” A now awake Aiden dove for the interloper in his apartment.

  As he went to jump her again in the dark, she was able to croak out, “Aiden. No,” making him stop before he was on her again.

  “What the…” He appeared disoriented.

  “It’s me,” her bruised vocal cords produced a harsh whisper.

  Backing off, he sat back on his haunches, his sight finally focusing. “Holly?”

  Her answer was a strangled sob as Aiden flicked on the lamp, his eyes wide with confusion.

  “Holly? Holly, what are you doing here?”

  Her eyes searched his face in disbelief as her hands went to her bruised neck.

  “Oh my God, did I do that? I just did that to you, didn’t I? Oh my God.” Her bruises were turning purple before his eyes, the bile rising in his throat as he oriented himself to the situation. “What have I done? What did I do to you?” As he moved toward her, he could see the substantiated fear in her eyes. “I am so sorry.”

  Her lips moved, as if she were going to respond, but the only response from her body, were pronounced twitches from her tensed muscles as she put her hands out in front of her to stop him from getting any closer.

  “Holly, I am so sorry,” he repeated, looking at her in disbelief, wanting more than anything to hold her as he apologized, but he could see the fear still in her eyes. Fear of him and the monster that he had become. “Let me get you ice.”

  Springing up from the bed, he crossed the studio to the refrigerator, and pulled a tray of ice out of the freezer at the top. Quickly opening a series of drawers, he found a large plastic bag and dumped a whole tray of cubes into it.

  As he went to put the ice pack against her throat, she again put her arm out to stop him, and took the bag, placing it against her own throat, and wincing at the initial pain before the cold began to numb her burning skin.

  Sitting down on the bed next to her, he shook his head, closing his eyes as he said, “I am so sorry. You cannot even imagine how sorry I am. Can you tell me what happened? How did this happen? Oh God, Angel.” He shook his head. “How did I do this to you?”

  They both jumped at the next clap of thunder. But this time Holly made no move to comfort him. Instead, they both sat silently, seemingly listening to the rain relentlessly pounding the windows, while all the while, each listened to relentless screaming in their own heads.

  “Please, look at me. I need you to look at me. I need to know you don’t hate me for what I just did to you.”

  “Aiden, if I harbor any negative feelings toward you, it’s not because of anything that happened here tonight.” The ice was cooling down the burning of her skin, but the bruising inside her throat and the pain in her heart, far eclipsed the stinging of the bruises. “Do you have any anti-inflammatories and some water.”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure. Oh, sorry, I didn’t even think about that.” He brought her back three Tylenol and a bottle of water. “So, what are you doing here?” Again, he sat down next to her and twisted the cap of the bottle before handing it to her.

  “Billy texted me. He was worried about you tonight. Afraid you might do something to hurt yourself and he couldn’t get out of work, so he texted me, and asked if I’d come and check on you. So, I did. When you didn’t answer the door, I used the key behind the planter to let myself in.”

  Aiden looked away, his face filled with emotion. “So, you came to make sure I was okay, and I practically killed you for caring about me. Please tell me you know I would never hurt you.”

  “Never hurt me? Are you serious?” The anger quickly swept across her face.

  “I mean physically hurt you. I would never lay a hand on you. Please tell me you know that, Angel.”

  Holly just stared at him, then nodded. “I know that, Aiden. I know you would never intentionally hurt me physically.” No matter what had gone down between them, Holly knew, one-hundred percent, that Aiden would never be physically abusive. That wasn’t in his make-up. But if anyone saw the bruises on her neck, they would never believe that. Flashing across her mind was the thought that she’d better find somewhere to go this weekend before her father got back to Fire Island. She knew all he’d see were the purple fingerprints on her neck and the circumstances behind it wouldn’t matter to him at all.

  “But, unintentionally, I did. And I am so sorry. I’m a mess, Holly.” He raked his fingers through his thick, dark hair in an exasperated gesture. “And I know I keep saying this, but it’s really best for you to stay away from me. I hope you can see that now.”

  “Do you also not want me near you because you don’t love me? Tell me the truth, Aiden. Now is the moment for the truth.”

  Remaining silent, he met her angry glare.

  “For God’s sake, you almost killed me. Just tell me the truth.” Her already hoarse voice was tightening with emotion.

  “You can’t be near me. Emotionally, I’m a timebomb. Never in a million years did I think I had the capacity to hurt you physically. That’s never what this was about. But I did. Tonight, I did.”

  “Aiden, you weren’t even conscious when it happened. And it was just crazy circumstances. Even I know that. But you still haven’t answered my question.” She stood her ground.

  “Because I need you to stay away from me.”

  “And I need you to answer my question.”

  Raking his hand again through his hair, he just shook his head. “I don’t want to ruin your life,” his cadence was slow, emphatic. “Don’t you see that. I’d rather hurt myself than hurt you, Angel.”

  “Well, you’re not succeeding.”

  “I know. And I hate myself for that. And I hate that I ever met you.”

  “You hate that you ever met me? Nice, Aiden. Really nice.” Holly had enough. Taking the ice off her neck, she placed it on the nightstand, and swung her long legs over the edge of the bed, ready to head out the door into the raging storm, anything to distance herself from the torrent that was raging in her heart.

  Reaching out, Aiden grabbed her arm, pulling her to him.

  “What are you doing?” She tried to wrench away, but he used the motion to tug her to his chest.

  “I’m hugging you. Whether you want me to or not,” he whispered softly, mirroring the words she had used on him twice.

  “I need to go,” she insisted.

  “No.”

  As he shook his head, she felt his chin moving through her hair in a massaging motion.

  “No,” he repeated. “I can’t let you go.” And he tightened his embrace.

  “If only you meant that,” she said against his bare chest.

  “Look at me, Angel.”

  She shook her head, still smarting from the comment that he wished he’d never met her. Tonight had been painful enough already, both physically and emotionally, she didn’t need any more.

  She just needed to leave.

  “Angel, look at me.” His hands slid to her shoulders. “I need you to look at me.” His third plea was a whisper. When her eyes met his, he continued. “I think you misunderstood my intent when I said I wished I’d never met you.”

  Her only response was the slight tremble of her bottom lip.

  “I wish I’d never met you because then I never would have caused you pain. And I know I have and I’m sorry,” he paused, “and the answer to your question is no.”

  “No?”

  “No, I don’t want you to stay away from me because I don’t love you.”

  “So, what does that mean?”

  “It means I want you to stay away from me because I’m not in a good place. And it’s probably going to take me a while to get to a good place.”

  “If you really think pushing me away is going to pull me out of Hell, think again, Aiden.”

  “I just don’t want to take you to Hell with me.”

  “Where do you think I’ve been since the day you told me you didn’t love me anymo
re?”

  Leaning his forehead against hers, he just sighed. “I’ve really made a terrible mess of all this, haven’t I?”

  Holly nodded, her forehead still against his.

  “I’m sorry, Angel. For everything. Well, everything except loving you. I’m not sorry for that.”

  “Then let me help,” she pleaded.

  “Please listen to me.” Gently, he stroked her hair. “I have so much shit to go through before I can open that door.”

  “That door?” she questioned. “The one that lets me in?” But you let Janine in, she wanted to say. Instead, “I need to go.”

  “Holly, I’m not letting you walk home in a storm in the middle of the night. Just stay here. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  Sleep on the couch? She knew he was just trying to be a gentleman, but after all the other comments of the evening, it carried the sting of rejection.

  “I really want to go,” she insisted.

  He just shook his head. “Not happening. Let me get you a tee-shirt.” He rummaged through a drawer before pulling out a faded gray tee that said, “ARMY Est. 1775” in navy blue lettering. Walking back over to her, he placed it in her hands. “Bathroom is over there.”

  He was covering the couch with a flat sheet when she came out of the bathroom, his shirt fitting more like a short dress. Looking up, he smiled at her in his shirt.

  “That doesn’t look very comfortable. I feel bad making you sleep on the couch. Why don’t you just sleep in the bed with me.” Pulling the covers back, she sat down on her side of the bed.

  Straightening up from where he’d been tucking in a corner of the sheet, Army-style, he raised his brows, looking at her questioningly. “Are you sure? I mean, the couch is just fine.”

  “Whatever you want.” Worn out from what she perceived as continued rejection, Holly settled in under the covers, and turned off the light on the nightstand, plunging the room back into the darkness she had entered less than an hour before. Only this time it doubled as the perfect cloak to hide the pain that had been steadily mounting. How overwhelmingly sad, she thought, we’re finally in the same room, and yet, separated by terrain that neither of us know how to successfully traverse. Quietly wiping tears she didn’t want him to know she was shedding, she strove to make her tone sound normal. “Goodnight.”