9. 9 #2
He set down the knife, realizing he had been waving it around as he spoke, and continued on.
“So, these women that you think I swept off their feet, living out some romantic fantasy. . . It was nothing like that. I was a dick to them. If we are being honest, they’d be jealous of you, because you’ve seen things they couldn’t understand, and now you’re a part of my world.
Imagine going to a guy’s house and he’s got a room that is locked from the outside, and then you find out it’s a room filled with guns and he won’t tell you why.
Obviously that guy must be a psychopath.
” He turned back to his task, cutting the lasagna into slices. “I’m sorry for the rant.”
I felt like a dumbass. “I’m sorry, too. That was like, stereotypical levels of crazy.”
He shook his head. “No, you can have questions and feelings. Aside from giving each other bedroom eyes at work, most of our time together has been confusing. I expected a bigger blow up about us being on the run. I thought you might eventually go crazy and shoot me. I’ll take questions about exes over that, no problem.
” He got a plate ready for me, and set it on the table. “Here.”
“How are you so patient?” I asked, sitting down.
He thought for a moment, sitting in the seat next to mine. “I don’t know.”
We ate in silence.
Two people inside of me were competing for the spotlight.
A bright girl, full of love and laughter with a quick wit, was fighting for her damn life.
She loved nothing more than dancing around her bedroom to her favorite bands and eating pad Thai with chopsticks just to prove that she could.
She was confident, and everyone knew it. That was me, it had to be.
The second woman I was familiar with. Insecure and neurotic, she showed herself in the most stressful situations, doing her best to ruin a good moment on a date with the feeling that she wasn't good enough.
Sometimes she sabotaged her own research, scrapping her thesis multiple times because she knew she was a fraud, undeserving of any recognition.
While they fought inside me I became the innocent bystander.
“Before we leave here, I think we need to go over some self defense,” Elias said, setting his fork down. “You’re not going to be fighting any black belts, but you need to be able to get out of a hold or two without using a weapon. Do you have any experience in martial arts?” He asked.
“No,” I said, my mouth still full. I was having a hard time eating, mostly just scooting my fork around the plate.
“I guess we’ll do that tomorrow then.”
“How long are we going to stay here?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered quietly. “I’m not sure what to do next. But we need to be prepared for whatever that is.” He noticed I had barely eaten. “I’ve got a million protein bars if you think you’d rather have one of those.”
“Those taste like chalk,” I muttered, shoving a fork full into my mouth.
“You asked why I was so patient,” he said.
“Yeah?” I said softly.
“My parents were addicts. Learning how to navigate that as a child really altered my brain,” he said.
“I spent a lot of time cleaning vomit off the floor and forcing them to take care of themselves. I have a sister, she’s ten years older than I am, and she left right when she graduated high school.
She protected me from seeing it all as long as she could, but she had to leave.
” He sighed, taking a long drink. “The worst was having to drive my mom to the hospital when I was twelve because my dad was too high to drive, and she was overdosing. I hid on the floor of the car, afraid someone would see me out there waiting and call the police.”
“I don’t even know what to say.” I thought about reaching out to hold his hand, but he leaned back, putting his palms on his lap.
“I’ve heard it all, really. The sorry's, the pity. It’s just how my life was. I really loved my mom. She was such a beautiful person, so full of love. She just couldn’t shake her addiction. It’s so hard to watch someone you love go through that.”
I stood up from the table and found the backpack by the door, grabbing the photo I took from his office. “I took this from your desk,” I said, handing it to him. “I knew who it was immediately. I can see you in her features.”
He held the photo in his hand, turning it over. Popping the frame open, he pulled out a ring, a claddagh, and held it up for me to see. “It was hers, a gift from her father. My dad let me keep it.”
“You’re Irish?” I asked. He was Hispanic, at least by the look of him. I mean, his last name was Correa.
“Grandfather on my mom’s side,” he smiled. “My dad’s Colombian, mom’s mom is Mexican.”
“I’m glad I grabbed it, I didn’t even know that was in there,” I said.
“This means a lot to me,” he said, grabbing my hand. “Thank you.”
He walked to his bedroom with the photo and ring, and I sat back down, trying to eat the rest of my food. He wasn’t gone long, making another drink before sitting next to me. I reached over and stole a sip, expecting it to be straight liquor this time, so my face didn’t scrunch up.
“What happened?” I asked. “To your mom?”
“She had normal days when I was a kid, you know? But as I got older, it just got worse and worse. When I was a freshman in high school she got really sick, and it turned out to be an infection in her heart. She was pretty weak at that point and things just compounded and she couldn’t beat it.
It scared my dad straight, but it took some time.
He used pretty heavily for a few months until I beat the shit out of him,” he said, looking up.
“You mean that literally? Like you hurt him?” I asked.
“He didn’t literally shit himself, no, but I beat him up pretty bad. I was just a kid, and my mom had just died and all he could do was feel sorry for himself. He’s sober now, but our relationship is just kind of strained.”
“That is so fucking sad, Elias,” I said. He had definitely put some distance between himself and his past, so I wasn’t about to get sappy on him, but wow.
“It is, isn’t it? Feels pretty good to talk about it, though.”
“I’m guessing you don’t talk about it much?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Only during mandatory psych evals, but that’s less about healing and more about finding out if I’m fit for duty.”
“Damn,” I said, looking down. The heaviness he carried between his personal life and his work was more than one person should have to, that much was clear. My own problems felt so much smaller.
“I told you, Cassie. Those women never knew me,” He stood up now, grabbing our empty plates while I snuck another sip of his whiskey. “You know, I can get you your own glass, if you’d like.”
“Just a little,” I said. “I don’t think I can commit to an Elias sized pour.”
“You got it,” he laughed. “Can we pretend to be normal for a little?” He asked, turning around at the sink.
I cocked my head. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing would make me happier than laying on my couch and watching a movie. It’s not like there’s anything else to do out here. If we get bored, we can kiss a little,” he said, a goofy smile plastered on his face.
“Is that your idea of domestic bliss?” I asked, raising my eyebrows in return.
“Definitely.”