CHAPTER 45
TRENT
Mitch is sound asleep in his bed when I peek my head in to check on him. I click the TV off and move the word search puzzle book off his chest.
In the quiet of the room, with only the steady sound of Mitch’s breathing, I finally break down. I bite my lip so hard I taste copper, then lick at the wound trying to soothe the sting. It’s no use. My lip hurts, my head hurts, my heart hurts. There’s an ache in my core, a wound in my chest that has never fully healed, but has continued to be picked at. Constantly raw and aching, no matter how much I try to get better. It never works.
Warm tears are cutting lines down my face. Every moment where it felt like my world was falling apart over the last two years flashes before my eyes. Kian leaving. Mitch getting sick. Moving out of the apartment Kian and I called home. Every birthday he wasn’t here to celebrate with me. Every anniversary that went by without a hug or a kiss from the person I love most in this world.
I replay every memory, soaking in the despair I felt in those moments, even though I brushed those feelings off like nothing could hurt me. But they can hurt me, they did hurt me. I can’t be strong like this any longer.
I cry until my head hurts and my tears have run dry.
The flashes of Kian pulling his hand back from mine play on a loop inside my head. He was so quick to flinch away, like I physically hurt him just by being in his vicinity. It was painful, and a stark reminder that we’re not the same people we were before, no matter how much I want to kid myself that we are.
He was giving mixed signals, but I can’t blame him for that. What I did was beyond fucked up, and I hurt him in the worst way possible. I can’t expect him to forgive me, not without us actually talking about it. Is there ever a chance of us being able to talk about it, though?
I saw him and was in shock. Millions of questions ran through my mind. Why is he here? Did he really come home?
His answer was a cop out- and I knew it. But I was too excited to see him to truly push the subject.
And w hen he showed me what he was working on, it felt like he was letting me in again. Letting me see a part of him he doesn’t show to everyone. He never posts about his photography on his social media pages. I should know, because of how often I obsessively check it.
T hen it all fell apart right in front of me. I couldn’t stay there and watch as the disgust started to take over the happy feeling. Because that’s what would have happened. He hates me. He doesn’t have to say it, but his actions prove it.
I wanted him to come back for me, but no matter how nice that dream is, that’s all it is. A dream of a reality where we are still together. I could cook for him, the recipes I’ve been working on perfecting, while he dances around the kitchen to a custom playlist we made together. A dog running wild in the backyard and then cuddling up with us on the couch. Puzzles with Mitch. Everything. It’s too good to ever be true.
My mind goes to the night that I fucked everything up. It only goes there when my brain is too exhausted to fight the memory.
The bartender slides another cup of water in front of me, and I reach out to grab it. My hand is shaking, and it’s a struggle to clasp the cup in my hand. The condensation makes it slick, and I watch as the glass slips out of my hand and hits the wooden counter, spilling its contents all over.
Whoops.
I try to inconspicuously dry the water up with the small, square napkin the bartender had been setting my drinks on. It’s not working. There’s way too much liquid.
“Here, let me help,” a southern twang whispers in my ear. He kind of sounds like that one guy… I can’t think of who it is now, but it’ll come to me later.
“Thanksss.” I draw the ‘s’ out way more than necessary and have to fight back the laugh that wants to erupt out of my mouth. I sounded like a snake.
I sit there in silence as the stranger mops up the water and the bartender glares at me from the other end of the bar. I lift my hand in a friendly wave and nearly fall out of my seat. Fuck, I need to go home. Like thirty minutes ago.
The guy leans in close to me again and pushes a cup of water in front of me. “Here, it was mine but you look like you need it more.”
I nod and lift the glass up to my mouth with both hands, making sure to hold it securely this time. I down half of it in one go, then pause to take a deep breath. My stomach feels way too full now, like I might throw up. Ugh.
“What’s your name?”
I look over my shoulder at the stranger, his bleach blond hair and blue eyes make him look like he just walked off a beach. All he needs is a puka necklace and a surfboard to complete the Cali-boy look.
“Trent,” I offer, slowly sipping the water.
“I’m James. What are you doing here alone?”
A fight with Kian, Kian telling me to leave. I can’t tell a stranger that, though.
“I just needed some time for myself,” I say, shrugging my shoulders sloppily, making some of the water flow over the side of the cup.
“Yeah, me too.” He sits down on the stool beside me, and the bartender comes back. She hands me another water glass, her hard eyes on me, and she stands there while I slowly drink it. Once I’ve finished the whole thing, she nods, pleased with herself, and refills it before she goes to the other end of the bar to take care of the patrons.
James scoots closer to me. “Wanna get outta here?” He rests his elbows on the counter, close to my cup, while he stares at me.
“No, I really should go home,” I say. But I can’t go home. Because Kian told me to go to Mitch’s, and I can’t go to Mitch’s the way I am right now. If I spend just a little longer here, and drink more water, I’ll be sober enough to go to Mitch’s. “Actually, I need to sober up a little more, then I’ll go home.”
He nods, bumping his hand against my glass as he pushes it closer to me. “Drink up, then.”
I sip the water, feeling the cool liquid on my tongue, a slight bitter taste flooding my mouth.
James leans in closer to me until our faces are a breath apart. He presses his lips to mine, and I don’t fight against it. It feels nice to be sought after, to be wanted. His tongue grazes my bottom lip, and I open my mouth to twirl my tongue with his.
My mind is hazy, the water isn’t doing its job of sobering me up. My thoughts grow hazier as I fight to keep my eyes open. Bright blond hair enters my line of vision, helping me out of my chair.
And that’s the last thing I remember.
He assaulted me. Taking something that I didn’t willingly give. The thought of him doing that and recording me sends shivers down my spine, nausea pooling in my stomach. And I never would have known. I would have been none the wiser.
The day all hell broke loose came in the form of a newspaper when his face took up the whole front page. In big bold letters, claiming that he was being released on bail, awaiting charges for seven counts of sexual assault. The same man whose bed I woke up in. The bitter water and feeling worse instead of better. Water always helped sober me up, at least partially. That night was different, though.
Then, to add insult to injury there was a hotline to call at the bottom to report if you had also been a victim. I didn’t see myself as a victim. How could I have been one? But my curiosity got the best of me, and instead of calling, I went down to the police station. The friendly and empathetic detective told me they had video footage of all his attacks.
I thanked her for her time, leaving my name and phone number with her in case she needed to get into contact with me.
I drove around town trying to remember where I had been. When I pulled up in front of the man’s house, I parked my car on the side of the street. I calmly knocked on his door, and when I saw his face, I lost my shit. I punched him until my knuckles bled and his face was bruised beyond recognition. I told him if I ever found him doing that shit again, I would kill him.
He ruined everything for me. My life. My relationship. My self esteem. For so long after that, it was hard for me to wake up in the morning and look at myself in the mirror. Knowing that I had put myself in that position is something I’ll forever resent myself for. Karuna constantly tells me it’s not my fault, but she doesn’t understand that my actions led me to that bar, into James’ house, and into that situation. I’ve been working on reassuring myself it’s not my fault, but it’s not something I’ll snap out of overnight.
Maybe if I ever get the chance to explain it to Kian, it will help me close that chapter of my life. Knowing that I have his support and his understanding.
I rest my head on the side of Mitch’s bed, letting my forehead bury into the soft blanket that smells exactly like the detergent Mitch uses. The same one I use because it smells like home. I inhale deeply, letting the scent burrow itself into me, and close my eyes. Soaking in the freeing thought that one day I’ll be able to move on.
And hopefully, that day will come soon.