22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
A s I watch Tobias finally rest, I want to feel peaceful. I should feel peaceful.
He’s here and safe. He’s not nearly as injured as he could be. I deposited him on the couch, because I know how comfortable he feels there, and put on one of his favorite gore-filled movies on in the background before covering him with more blankets than I probably needed to.
Now I’m sitting, watching him and keeping him safe, and he believes in that enough to let himself really rest.
Everything is fine. Or it’s going to be fine.
So why do I feel like I’m so full of rage that I’m choking on it?
All the images are playing on repeat in my head while I sit. Everything I can imagine Eamon doing to him, interspersed with what I saw on that goddamn security footage. I try to distract myself by making a list of everything Tobias needs to do when he’s feeling up to it.
Micah gave us a little care package with PrEP and DoxyPEP before, so he’s mostly covered on that front. Not 100%, but better than nothing. Tobias told me he was on PrEP regularly before this all went down, so he’s only had some inconsistencies in being able to take it, instead of being completely unprotected.
I find the website Tristan recommended anyway and order another home STD screening panel. The fact that I have to get this makes me feel nauseous, but I’d rather face the truth than ignore it and have him get sick.
There’s other stuff, as well. More legal stuff than just the police report. Seeing if he’ll be willing to try for a protective order, although I can already see him saying no. I look up support groups he probably won’t go to—spoiler alert: they’re fucking thin on the ground out here if you’re not into Jesus—and make notes about therapists he definitely won’t let me pay for him to see. If I could even afford them, anyway.
It doesn’t help. I’m trying to be proactive, but instead that angry, impotent feeling is coming back even stronger than before.
The only thing that doesn’t make me useless is something so unrealistic that it’s laughable. I picture killing Eamon in a thousand different ways. I plan out how I could hunt him down. How I might find him holed up in another sleazy hotel and surprise him.
I’m a little bigger than him, but he fights for a living, so I’d have to be prepared. I could shoot him before he even knows I’m there. Or I could do something to immobilize him, like a stun gun or a tranquilizer, before tying him up and telling him how much he deserved it as I tortured him to death.
Maybe it’s the grotesque movie playing in the background. I hate violence. Even when I was angry all the time, it never gave me this specific kind of bloodlust. But it’s the only thing I can think of that doesn’t make me feel like I’m about to vibrate out of my skin with how useless I am.
It goes on for hours until I feel utterly consumed by it. I have nothing else to do but think these sick, soothing thoughts and wait for Tobias to wake up again.
He doesn’t wake up with a gasp, like I was expecting him to. I can tell he’s awake because of the way his body suddenly stiffens, but he doesn’t move, and his eyes stay closed. I don’t move either, giving him the chance to work through whatever he’s thinking about.
When his eyes do eventually open, he looks around the dark room for a while before focusing on me.
“Good morning,” I whisper. “Or good night, technically.”
It’s 3am, and he’s been asleep for about nine hours. Thank god, because he needed it. I’m eternally grateful to Tristan for whatever painkiller he gave him. Even if he said it was a non-narcotic, it clearly helped.
“You stayed awake this whole time?” he asks, sitting up against the arm of the couch.
“I promised.”
I try to smile at him, but it doesn’t feel right. I shouldn’t be able to smile when I’ve done nothing but simmer in my worthless anger all this time.
He brings up a hand to scrub at his eyes and makes a face at me.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah, you did,” I say, cutting him off. “It’s fine. I wanted to. I’m glad you slept.”
I move forward until I’m perching on the couch with him. He sways, like he’s inexorably leaning into my orbit, and it makes my heart squeeze uncontrollably.
“I should shower,” he says, still sleepy.
“Yeah.” I push one dark curl out of his eyes, but it immediately tumbles back. “Do you want me in there with you or to go alone?”
His whole posture changes, shrinking in on himself.
“Alone, please,” he says in a small voice that I fucking hate.
“No, baby, of course. I didn’t mean you can’t. And I didn’t mean it in a weird way. Just in case you felt weak, or anything. I’ll be out here, okay? I won’t come in unless you yell for me.”
Tobias looks at me. He looks at me hard, like he’s looking inside me, and I have to resist the sudden urge to squirm.
“Gunnar, I don’t…” His voice trails off, but then he takes a deep breath and tries again. “I don’t know how I can thank you for all of this.”
Like always, I have the lingering fear that he’ll think he owes me something in return. It’s weaker now, though.
I trust him. I don’t know if I trust myself to help him in all the ways he needs, no matter how much I want to. But I trust him to tell me when I screw it up.
“You never need to thank me, Tobias.” I don’t let myself touch him as I say it, but I try to get all the meaning I can into it. “I’d do my small part a thousand more times for nothing in return. All I need is for you to be safe.”
It’s clear from his expression that he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t fight me on it. I lean back, giving him as much space as possible to get up and head to the bathroom. He gives me another lingering look as he goes, walking slowly, still obviously hurting. I look away, though.
At first, I was worried about poisoning him with my anger. Now I’m trying to remind myself not to get too lost in my own handwringing that I lose sight of what’s important.
And no one is here to tell me what to do.
~
Unfortunately, I have to work. After a mostly sleepless week and one entirely sleepless night, it’s the last thing I want to do, but it’s my bar and no one else is going to do it for me. Today we’re supposed to be reopening, now that the repairs are mostly finished, and I badly need some money coming into the register to start plugging the hole that Eamon put in this place.
Who knows how long the insurance claim will take to come through, if it does at all? I deleted the security footage, but this whole situation still stinks of impropriety. I wouldn’t be surprised if they found a reason to deny the claim or even accuse me of being in on it.
Insurance fraud charges are the last thing I need, so I’m trying not to think about it. I almost didn’t file the claim. It’s not fraud. It was a crime that I had nothing to do with, and Tobias had no control over. But I get how it could be difficult to see it that way if you’re not on the inside.
Hopefully, the company takes it all at face value that someone just broke in and trashed the place, and doesn’t consider my many, many police reports about Eamon and Tobias to be connected.
These are all the thoughts racing through my head as I get the bar ready to open. I asked Tobias if he wanted to hang out with me down here, but he refused. I hate it. I’d feel so much better if he was in my line of sight. It’s not like Eamon doesn’t know where he is, and at least if I can see him, I can see exactly what’s going on with him.
He put his foot down, though. I think my irritation must have been obvious to him, because after he told me he wasn’t coming downstairs, he’d practically given me the silent treatment. Something about him is different this time. He’s more closed off.
I get these moments where he looks at me with intense vulnerability or gratitude, but then a wall comes down. I have no idea if it’s something I’ve done, or just something going on inside his head.
Like everything else the past few days, it seems to make me angry. Not at Tobias, but at the situation. Or maybe at myself for not being able to fix it.
Which is why I’m currently angrily cleaning things that have already been cleaned, like a housewife in an old mafia movie, when Sav comes in.
He looks around the place, giving a low whistle. I’m aware that it’s not completely back to normal, but he doesn’t need to point it out. At least it’s up to code.
“Where the fuck have you been?” I can’t control the snappiness in my tone.
Sav doesn’t say anything. He looks at me, his eyes wider than usual, but the same inscrutable expression as always on his face.
I huff, but my irritation is still riding shotgun, and it refuses to let me back down yet, so I ignore him and get back to cleaning. Sav continues to walk inside, doing a slow inspection of the place before joining me behind the bar.
“You don’t look good,” he says.
I stop what I’m doing and practically throw my rag across the bar when I look at him.
“Yeah, well I’ve had a lot on my mind. Tobias is back and alive, in case you didn’t know. If you care.”
Sav’s expression darkens, and when he leans in toward me, I get the barest glimpse into the kind of man he used to be before he changed. The violence that simmers underneath his normally tranquil surface.
I’m not very easily intimidated, but it’s enough to make my breath catch.
He seems to realize it though and backs off after only a few seconds.
“I did know. I’m glad,” he says, sounding carefully neutral. “Now you can both move on with your lives.”
I frown, but my head is so full of angry static, I feel like I’m only hearing half the words he says. “Sure, until Eamon comes back, and we do this all over again.”
Because that. That’s the thing that’s driving me insane. Living in limbo like this; never able to truly settle. Will Eamon come back? Will Tobias move on from the trauma? Will Tobias move on from me, or am I just a stopgap?
It’s all too much to juggle emotionally, so I settle for a blanket of seething rage instead and picture Eamon’s head exploding like a water balloon.
“I should have killed that motherfucker,” I mutter to myself.
I’m pretty sure Sav hears me, but apart from arching an eyebrow, he doesn’t say anything.
After that, things are quiet. I seethe. Sav helps prep. Kasia shows up and eventually we open to the same steady stream of locals that we normally serve at this time of day.
Time stretches on and on, and I do my best to put on the mask of the affable, mentally stable bar owner and not obsess about what Tobias might be doing upstairs.
By the end of the night, I’m so exhausted I can barely see straight. We’re still not technically closed, but Kasia kicks me out, calling me a ‘little bitch’ because my brooding is giving her anxiety. I’m glad for the reprieve from having to talk to people, even though talking to people is normally one of my favorite parts of the job.
I think I just need to see for myself that Tobias is okay, and then get some sleep.
Of course, I haven’t even made it up the stairs before my phone rings. I jump to answer it, in case it’s the police with news or the insurance company with an update, even though only my sleep-addled brain would think any of that would happen this late at night.
No. It’s my mother. Which immediately makes me heave out a giant sigh, then flood with guilt for that being my first reaction.
I haven’t gone to visit her since everything started. Normally, I see her once a week. Which means I haven’t missed that much, because Tobias has only been staying with me for…
Wow. It’s incredible to think how much my life has changed in a couple of weeks. I can’t go back to being the person I was before, though, pretending I didn’t care about him as much as I do. It would be futile.
“Hi, Mom,” I say when I finally get the balls to slide my thumb over and accept the call.
“There you are. I was beginning to think you were dead. I haven’t heard from you in weeks.”
She sounds more irked than concerned, but I ignore it.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been helping a friend with some legal issues, and it’s been distracting. I should have called.”
She’s silent. There’s a lot said in that silence that I don’t want to hear, and I find myself rubbing at my temples as I stare at the peeling paint next to the staircase. I want to finish getting upstairs and be done with the day, not go fourteen rounds on what is and isn’t an appropriate way to spend my life.
“I hope you’re staying out of trouble.” The terseness is unmistakable.
“Of course. I’m just trying to help someone out who’s in trouble.”
She doesn’t say anything but makes a huffing noise that’s so familiar I can picture the exact face she must be making right now. Like she’s sucking on a lemon.
“Meddling does more harm than good. I thought you’d learned your lesson by now.”
The white-hot rage that swells up in me is so entirely disproportionate to what she says, I’m a little shocked by it. It’s yet another sign that I’m quickly spiraling out of control. Gritting my teeth, I decide I have no patience left for platitudes.
“Look, it’s late. You should be in bed and I’m exhausted. I’ll come visit soon. I can’t talk right now.”
I don’t bother to say ‘goodbye’ before hanging up the phone, because I don’t think my mouth will form the shape.
It’s like there’s a wellspring of old hurt inside me that has a thin piece of plyboard slapped over it. Most of the time it’s fine, but when she touches it from just the right angle, even with the lightest brush of her fingers, it cracks, and old, bubbling venom pours out to fill my veins as if it never left.
With a deep, shuddering breath, I square my shoulders and finish making my way up to the apartment. The least I can do is not take out this attitude on Tobias. Hopefully, he at least got some rest today while I was working. Maybe he’s feeling better and I can convince him to come sleep in the bed tonight.
The apartment is quiet when I knock and then let myself in, but that’s what I expected. It’s dark, apart from the flicker of the TV. On the screen is a movie I now recognize; Tobias has watched it enough times since he’s stayed with me, and I turn away before I’m forced to watch a particularly gruesome murder sequence for the fourth or fifth time in my life.
He’s on the couch, like I expected. I move closer to see if he’s sleeping, but as soon as I do, the smell hits me.
Alcohol. A wall of fucking alcohol. Stronger than I probably smell of it, and I’ve been serving it all night.
On the ground next to the couch is a mostly empty bottle of vodka that was mostly full when I left for work before, and Tobias is turning to look at me with bleary eyes.
Even in the low light, I can see that his cheeks are burning red, which always happens when he drinks and would give him away even if the rest of it didn’t. But he’s got the whole drunk package going for him: his movements are slow and sloppy when he turns to look at me, his eyes are slightly unfocused, his hair is a mess, as if he’s been pulling at it, and he has to blink owlishly at me several times before he seems to process if he’s going to speak or not.
“Hey,” is all he says in the end.
I can’t contain my urge to sigh. “Hey.”
“How was work?” he asks, with an unmistakable slur to his words.
“It was fine. How are you?”
The fact that he’s pretending everything is normal and we’re having this banal conversation is cranking up my anger even more, for some reason. This is why I didn’t want to leave him alone. This is just one more way that he’s in danger, and if I can’t watch him, how can I keep him safe?
“Drunk,” he says, letting his body collapse back onto the arm of the couch after leaning forward to greet me. “But I’m much more relaxed, so I guess it did the trick.”
He holds his hands up as he says it, moving them through the air in a nonsensical pattern which I guess is meant to reflect how relaxed he feels. He studies his own hands as they move, all his gestures syrup-slow, then eventually turns his gaze back to me.
“You look angry.”
It’s a statement, not a question. And while he doesn’t quite shrink in on himself as he says it, there’s a hint of uncertainty in his posture.
I try to dispel my anger. My irrational, lingering anger that has been mounting day by day, hour by hour since the moment he was taken.
Hurling it at him would be not only useless, but just about the cruelest thing I could do. He’s been the brunt of enough anger for one lifetime. But no matter how much I try to breathe through it and suppress the feelings, they stay right at the surface, roiling and chaotic, begging to be let out.
I’m standing there taking one deep breath after another, my legs spread wide, and my fists clenched. I can only imagine what I look like. All the images of Tobias and Eamon and my fucking dead father are rolling into one and plastering themselves on the inside of my eyeballs until I feel like my brain is about to melt out of my face like hot lava.
“I’m going to take a shower.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say that gets me a little distance until I can pull my head out of my ass.
Tobias sits up again, though, looking alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just… I need to shower. I’ll be back. Don’t fucking drink anymore.”
I turn toward the bathroom, but a noise behind me draws my attention back to him. Tobias is up and off the couch, scrambling to get to me on clumsy feet.
“ Nonono ,” he says all in one breath. “Don’t be mad. I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I didn’t mean to. I just couldn’t breathe. It was so fucking exhausting, and I wanted everything to be quiet. I’ll stop, I promise. Please don’t be mad.”
The words are an assault on my senses, rapid-fire attempts to placate me like my unspoken anger has tripped some kind of warning system in his brain that’s pushing him to appease me at any costs. Guilt churns inside me, and I can’t even look at him when he grabs for my shirt to pull me to him.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, desperate, before pulling me harder.
I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to exist in the toxic dynamic that we’ve somehow managed to create in the last minute and a half, because I don’t know how to crawl my way out of it. But he yanks me hard, too drunk to be cautious, and it ends with me whipping my whole body to face him.
Whatever look is on my face, I don’t want to know. It makes him shrink back in instinctive, protective fear. He lets go of my shirt immediately and takes a step back, his gaze dropping to the floor, and I feel like the scum of the fucking earth.
None of what’s happening here is right, but I’m still standing here, not stopping it.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, this time a whisper. The flush on his cheeks is even darker than before, and there’s a sway to his body that he’s trying and failing to hide.
My hands shake as I try to grasp onto something rational inside myself—anything—and feel like the old me. The calm, collected version of myself who always knows what to say instead. Because repressing my emotions is clearly not enough for him to not be affected by them, and ignoring this irrational anger isn’t making it go away.
An idea hits me out of nowhere. It’s the best I’ve got, so I do it.
I sit. I sit down on the floor, crossing my legs and looking up at Tobias. Now he’s the one looming over me, at least, and I can stop feeling like I’m halfway to becoming a monster who haunts his dreams.
“No, I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m upset and I shouldn’t have let it scare you like that. I’m not angry at you. I’m angry, but not at you. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I hold my hands out to him as I say it. He slowly takes in a deep breath, and I can see the fear leech out of him.
I can also see the moment that embarrassment tries to crawl in to replace it as Tobias starts shuffling his feet and looking away from me, but I don’t let it.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m the asshole right now, okay?”
He nods. Reaching up, I hold out one hand to see if he’ll take it.
Tobias slips his warm fingers between mine and then follows as I tug him down to the floor, sitting opposite me in the same position, mirrored so our knees are touching.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I was pissed about something else before I even came in here, and then I saw the vodka and I started to get scared, which I guess turned into more pissed, and then I scared you. Which scared me back. I’m sorry.”
Tobias nods, ducking his head and his gaze at the same time. “It’s not your fault I’m a mess.”
“No, but it’s my fault I’m a mess. I shouldn’t be falling apart right now. That’s your job.”
I’m trying to make him smile, but it doesn’t land. He’s not smiling, and neither am I. There’s an unspoken tension between us, I think, because neither of us knows what the fuck we’re doing from here.
“Actually,” I rub my forehead with one hand, trying to relieve the pressure lingering there but not succeeding. “I’ve been kind of a disaster the past few days. Even more of a disaster than you would expect, given the circumstances. And it probably has to do with some childhood shit that I try not to think about, so instead I’m just walking around, acting like an asshole all the time for no reason. Well, for no obvious reason.”
Tobias finally lifts his face so he can look me in the eye. He’s still alcohol-hazy, but his focus is entirely on me, which makes this a little harder.
I hate talking about this. I only went to therapy to talk about it when it became obvious that if I didn’t, the messy anger I was carrying was going to boil over and potentially kill me, and now I feel like I’m right back where I was seventeen years ago. Except this time, Tobias is in the sights of my unregulated emotions.
Which isn’t something I’m willing to risk.
“So, it sounds worse than it is. Well, it is awful. But it sounds so bad when you say it. Which is why I never talk about it to anyone, but I guess you deserve to know. Just listen to the whole story before you make any judgments. Okay?”
He nods.
I take a deep breath and try to wall off the part of my brain that produces mental images, like I always do when I think about this. Eventually, when I’m still nowhere close to ready, I speak.
“When I was nineteen years old, my brother killed my father.”
Tobias looks at me with wide eyes. “What the fuck?”
“Yeah, I know. Just let me tell you the whole thing.”