But then, because of course, in this night of horrors of course I will never catch a break, another car pulls up.
It’s as slow as when the monster was following me, but this time it feels different, and I’m not sure if it’s a safer different or even worse. It stops next to me, a slight squeak in the breaks as it does so.
This time I don’t walk away; I can’t run.
This time I’m out of energy; I’m spent.
I look around, ignoring the ringing sounding from my phone, to see the car is parked directly behind mine. The knowledge hits me like a brick to my face—I’m sure, I’m so sure it’s someone coming to finally take me away. The monster was sent first, and he couldn’t do the job. Then it was the cop, but he must have been distracted. And now, now it’s whoever this is. He’s here to take me away, to arrest me, to kill me, I don’t know what. But I do know he’s here for me.
And I deserve it.
I drop down to the ground as the gravity washes over me. I’m so sure, and the surety is heavy.
I don’t run.
I don’t run.
But reality doesn’t stop, either. The car door still opens, quieter than the last car. Someone still gets out, pausing for a while before closing the door again. I can’t look up; I won’t. It’s like I’m a child again and if I don’t look then I can’t be seen—or equally ludicrous, what I can’t see isn’t really happening, and if I don’t look it’ll disappear.
Deep down I know neither is true, obviously, yet I still can’t raise my head to check.
I’ve stopped vomiting, completely sure my entire body is laid out on the sidewalk and the grass, dissolving in stomach acid, but I still won’t stand. The crouching is uncomfortable, my joints and muscles protesting every moment, but somehow it feels protective too.
And I’m not close enough to my car. If I were then I may have dashed for it, run away without looking. I’d never make it, though, not first at least. So instead I’m frozen. And, you know what, so be it. I can’t fight anymore, not tonight. If this is it, then this is it.
“Bumble…”
The world shatters, and shards fall all around me, cutting into the oppressive anxiety, the paralytic fatigue, cutting until it falls away and I can breathe again. “Aidan?” I ask, still not looking up. But I already know. His voice, it transports me home, to warmth and belonging; I’d know it anywhere and instantaneously.
Then he steps closer, close enough to touch, and I can smell him. It’s like smelling a memory, like smelling a feeling, like smelling the color pink.
Finally, I look between chunks of hair falling in my eyes, and I see his face. It’s tentative, his brows pulled in and his mouth a hard line. But it’s Aidan.
Reaching for me with one hand, he tries to smile. It’s weak, pained, but it lifts one of his cheeks. I reach back without hesitation and spring upward, into his arms, closing the distance in less than a moment. I press into him until there’s no room, not even for a whisper of air, between us, until I can feel the breaths he takes against my own rib cage.
And then I wince, reminded of the beating I’ve taken.
No wonder he looked frightened—for me or of me, I’m not sure I even want to ask.
Aidan pulls back, leaving our chests together when I protest, just enough to look into my eyes with his. They flicker back and forth as he searches my face for an explanation, for more than I’m giving him.
Finally, he says, “What. The. Fuck?”
And I surprise myself with my answer. I’d been sure I would cry. I was ready for the tears to fall, and for his strong arms to comfort me in response. But instead laughter bubbles out of my mouth, falling to the ground like ocean waves crashing into shore. Maybe I shouldn’t have been shocked, though.
“I reiterate,” he says, his brows creating deeper lines than before, positive I’ve gone crazy, I’m sure. Holding up one finger to indicate I need a moment, I try to compose myself, and when I’ve reduced the sound to quiet fits of giggles, Aidan smiles in earnest.
“But how did you find me?” I don’t answer his question—instead I ask my own—because I’m not sure where to start, so I start with nothing, deferring to him.
He takes the lead, surely realizing I need more time just by the looks of me. And I hope he doesn’t ask to go to a hospital, though he probably knows better. I need to, but I can’t tonight, I can’t be anywhere near here. I won’t chance the issues it could cause.
Thankfully he restrains himself, walking me toward the passenger door of his car, bypassing mine.
“I tracked your phone.”
I lift my eyebrows at his words, but he looks away, ignoring my unspoken questions. Closing my door once I’m seated, he takes a slow breath just outside my door before jogging over to his side. But once he’s next to me he waits, not inserting his key. His eyes fix on the dash, and he opens his mouth a few times, no words coming out, before he seems ready to continue. I don’t interrupt like I want to. I don’t probe or ask more questions. I let him work it out. I owe him that much after all of this, anyway.
Don’t get me wrong, I want to. I want to delve into every issue in this one space of time. I want to throw a thousand words at him, the most important ones sticking, and let the rest fall to the floor where we’ll pick them up later.
But I think about his finding me, his coming back. Coming back to me. And I wait.
Finally, Aidan turns his honey eyes to mine, baring everything before even speaking.
“The moment I heard that voice mail,” he looks down to my torn dress, my torn skin, and he pauses, but thankfully he doesn’t stop altogether, because I’m not ready to get into those tears, “I started tracking your phone. It all fell away—my anger, everything—all evaporated when I heard your voice; I’ve never heard you sound like that.”
Now it’s my turn to look away, and I do, closing my eyes when they reach the windshield. But he doesn’t let me for long, because soon Aidan’s hand is cupping my chin, gently turning my face back to him.
“I’m still mad, don’t misunderstand me.”
My heart sinks.
I open my mouth instinctively, ready for a defense I haven’t crafted with words yet, just knowing I can’t let him go.
“Wait,” he interrupts, and I close my lips once more. But I don’t look away, even though I want to. “I am still mad.” I huff out a loud breath, but I don’t argue. “But I shouldn’t have left. That was stupid, and I’m sorry.”
I nod. He laughs, because I could be agreeing to his stupidity, his apology, his right to be angry, or all of it. Really, what he doesn’t know is that I’m agreeing because I’m sorry, too. I am. It was all stupid, both of us. But I don’t think he’s ready to hear it yet, so I just nod.
And I wait for more.
“It was stupid because I know you. I know that, I do. I just saw red, and I bailed. And that was pretty unforgivable.” Again I open my mouth to protest, but he lays a finger gently on my wrist, stopping me. “It was. I know you. We’re the same, and I don’t care about a name. I thought I did, but I know more than a name. So I don’t care anymore, not really.” His words come out quickly, almost overlapping, and he takes a deep breath, blinking a few times as he does. “I mostly don’t care. Not really, not now that I know. I thought it was worse. My brain was creating horrible scenarios and feeding me lies that I should have known couldn’t be true. I thought you were going to leave me, so I preempted that.”
“I’d never,” I say. No more words come, though it’s enough anyway.
“I know.” Aidan is the one to nod this time, looking out the window before back to me. And when his gaze returns, he cringes as he looks to my nose, my eye, to whatever damage is still forming all over my face.
“Do you want to know something funny, the stupidest part of all of it?” he asks.
“I could use a laugh.” And it’s true, we both could.
“I thought you were leaving me for Jason.”
He lifts his shoulders like he�
��s going to laugh, but nothing comes out, not even a smile. I do let a chuckle out. It’s not cathartic like the fits of hysteria other times, but it does lift the space around us a little, breathes a little air into us both.
“I would never…I can’t imagine…just no.” I fake gag, he winks, then there’s a long pause.
“I know,” he says finally.
“Good.”
“I did, though. I had all these crazy things running through my mind, and I couldn’t see straight.” His tone hardens. For the first time, I can feel the hint of anger he’s holding back, that he hasn’t totally let go of yet. “In the end, I think we both screwed up.”
And he’s right, saying what I’ve wanted to. There’s an odd mixture, leaving me a little breathless—his words are a little accusatory, somewhat hostile, but they’re also forgiving and coated in guilt. It hits me like being clapped against both ears at once, leaving a ringing inside my head.
“Are we okay?” I don’t know what else to say, and I have to know.
“We will be.” Aidan reaches for my hand, his tentative and asking permission. So I thrust mine forward to meet him halfway, dizzy from the changing mood, the plethora of emotions. “But,” he isn’t finished, and I hold my breath, hoping, “only so long as we don’t keep any more fucking secrets anymore. Not from each other. Never again. Okay?”
His eyes hold mine to his. I want to look away, because I can feel the color draining from my face as I blanch. All that’s happened, all I now need to confess to him about this one stupid night, I have to get it out now. I can’t hold onto a secret if I want to hold onto him.
And I want him more than the ability to hide.
“Tonight,” I start, so ready to unleash the cheating and the attack, and everything else, “since you left…in the spirit of sharing it all.”
“Stop,” he says.
I blink.
“Can we just go home now? I promise, we can get into it later. But I’m tired. Aren’t you?”
I really am. My limbs feel heavier after the acknowledgment, and I sink into the seat a little deeper. I’m so, so tired. “Let’s go home.” He doesn’t reply, just turns on the car and pulls out of the parking spot, leaving my car there without a word of discussion about it.
***
The drive was too quiet, silent other than the news on the radio, which was turned down low anyhow.
I chewed my nails and looked out the window. Aidan drove slowly, making the drive even longer, and shook his head when I tried to put my hand in his lap. Now we’re here, in the driveway, and the low words of the radio are easier to pick out without the competition of the engine.
“Updates on the vacation disappearances and deaths—some new information from police.”
I want to say something, bring it up, but I don’t think Aidan is even here right now. He’s up in the clouds, in his head, far away. So I keep my lips pressed together. I keep the words inside my own mouth, pressing into my teeth and my cheeks, while I try to think of something else, something better to say.
Nothing comes to me.
So we sit.
It gets colder in the car without the heat swirling from the vents, but we sit. The stars start to fade out of sight as tiny rays of warmth start to pierce the cool blue of the night. But we still sit.
I don’t know how long it is before Aidan turns to open his door, maybe it’s been centuries, but when he does, he does so without saying anything. He gets up, gets out, and walks into the house. No more apologies, no invitations, leaving me in the car to wallow in my own mess.
Our mess, I guess, but still a mess.
I wish calm inside with my inhales, and hope for toxicity to leave with the exhales, visualizing it with each breath. I don’t know if it will help, but it can’t hurt. Nothing with good intentions can hurt at this point.
I only wait a few minutes, but it’s enough to wish I hadn’t, because when I get into the house all of the lights are already off. At least he didn’t lock the door, but he didn’t wait for me either. I get into bed, wanting to crush myself to his heat, and I resist crying when I realize he’s facing away from me.
I don’t get out, even though the sting of rejection tempts me to.
I could use the excuse to shower, I really need to, or to brush my teeth or change. But I know that if I get up now, my pride may prevent me from getting back under the covers if he’s still facing the wall when I’m clean.
Challenging myself, trying to make up for what I’ve done and be a better partner, I reach my hand over, letting my fingers search for a resting place against his body. He moves in response, and I smile, letting myself relax. But I freeze when instead of holding my hand once he finds it with his, he lifts my arm away, taking it off him.
He’s gentle about it. He doesn’t stiffen or get angry. But the space he needs hurts almost as much. I get it, but it hurts.
I try to stop myself, but I can’t and tears fall down my cheeks as I turn my back to him as well. I try to compose myself, but after several failed attempts I decide it’s okay to cry after everything.
So I do.
And Aidan doesn’t comfort me. He doesn’t dry my tears or hug his body to mine.
But he doesn’t leave, either. He protects his need for space, for a breather, but he stays close enough to show me that he isn’t leaving again. It’s not what I want, but I know that it’s enough.
So I keep crying, until I fall asleep.
And with a flutter I can see everything I don’t want to see.
My head was heavy, and it lolled to the side before almost tipping me over with the movement then jolted me back into myself. But I don’t want to see any of this.
Black oozes down the walls, already spotty with mold and mildew. It reeks, filling my nostrils and lodging in the back of my throat with the acrid memories. I swivel, as best I can, searching for something, for someone, for anything.
But there’s nothing, nothing until there’s something.
It starts faint, like a shimmer in the air, but solidifies as the feeling of horror increases all around me. Faces start to appear, ashen and pieced together, but they’re definitely faces. Teeth bared and eyes accusatory, I watch them materialize, shrinking back into myself.
Aidan, with the blankest expression I’ve ever seen him wear.
Eva, decomposing.
Couples in vacation clothes, big floppy hats, and too-wide smiles.
Griffin surrounded by flowers.
Parker, simultaneously cowering and looking smug but with tears in his eyes.
The monster, he’s last. I’m pretty sure the order wasn’t coincidental, because he looks the most terrifying.
They walk toward me, all at once, as if they’re controlled by the same strings. One step toward me, and then another, and as they walk little bits of them fall to the floor with the movement, like they were only meant to remain still but couldn’t resist with me so close. It sends a shiver throughout me, forcing me to blink. When my eyes open again, they’re closer still, and I strain to scream.
Shock takes over.
Confusion clouding in.
Because I try to scream, but can’t. Nothing comes out. There’s a guttural moan, visceral and as dark as the shadows closing in around me, but there’s no volume to it, no depth. It’s not something that will get me the help I need.
And they’re getting closer still.
I try again, and still nothing. Although I do notice a gentle tug on my lips—my lips that won’t part. Won’t part, because…I lift a hand, hesitant, I’m not sure I really want to know.
When I do know, after my shaking fingers find what’s there, I wish I didn’t, wish I hadn’t. My lips, they’re sewn shut. Thick stitching knots them together, forever pressing them closed, preventing my search for a savior.
Then Aidan is the closest, and he points to my lips, the rest behind him. As representative, maybe, and the only one alive, he comes close and points to my lips, the things that can’t move, the useles
s accessories. He points so fiercely the fist behind his finger shakes, and he continues.
He points to all I’ve omitted, every little thing I haven’t shared being held in by the sewing and penance. He glowers and he rages as silently as I beg him—two sets of eyes trying to communicate and failing to be heard above the white noise of the other.
Then he’s gone, taking the others with him; in a single breath the room is empty, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the rage building in my stomach.
***
I gasp, too much air rushing down my throat too quickly, leaving me choking, sputtering in the confusion and lingering fear.
I shake my head, blink my eyes, and push my hair off my sweaty forehead.
Jolted but awake now, I look around, head still on the pillow, to see a gray morning soaking into the room. A chill is in the air that attaches to me like a leech, and it’s hard to push away the negative warnings spinning around my head.
Shivering, I sit up, letting the blankets fall away despite the cold.
I know why I’m colder than expected, but I don’t want to look because a confirmation seems worse that an assumption. Though, I can’t help myself, and I reach my hand over to the other side of the bed to feel even chillier sheets.
No Aidan here.
Instead of a panic I feel a sort of numbed disappointment, and I try to push even that down until I can’t feel more than a little seed in the pit of my stomach. Telling myself to knock it off, I get up and out of bed.
He didn’t leave, he wouldn’t again, he couldn’t have.
I’m not as sure as I’d like to be, but I slip on a pair of his sweatpants—because I’m giving myself all the good omens I can—and walk out of the bedroom, toward the rest of the house.
I let my head dip, my chin nearly to my chest and my eyes on the floor, walking slowly down the hallway. Glancing into the bathroom, I hold my breath until I see it’s empty. Same with the kitchen and the living room.
Deeper into Darkness Page 24
