Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Tori
Grief, anxiety, depression, they are unwanted guests that now take residence inside my body.
My body and my mind no longer feel like my own.
They belong to these uninvited guests. I feel like I’m burning alive.
I spend my days on high alert. Waiting for the next blow to hit.
Every knock on the door, every ache and pain in my body tells my brain something’s wrong.
Something is coming for me, and I don’t know how to end this vicious cycle.
I no longer trust anything. I don’t trust my body, my mind, or the world around me because it feels like every single one of them failed me in some way.
Trying to survive your own mind is one of the hardest battles in the world.
I can’t figure out how to move on, and I’m not sure if I can or even if I want to, because if I move on, does that mean I forget about Trent and my baby? A life without them feels like a life I don’t want to exist in, and that may be the most terrifying thought of all. Living without them.
Noah kept his promise. He came to see me every day once I got home from the hospital until he had to leave last week for a training exercise. The doctor keeps suggesting I go to rehab, but being away from friends and family is the last thing I want.
It’s been almost a month since my overdose, and I lost the baby, and the only time I get a little reprieve from the agonizing pain is when I’m around my family or Noah.
I lived for his visits.
I spent my days with my parents and my evenings with Noah. My mom insisted I move in with her, but I still need my space. I use my nights to grieve. I cry into my pillow to muffle the sound, and I can’t put my parents through that pain.
But today, for whatever reason, it all feels too much.
I canceled seeing my mom; I lied and said my friend, Hannah, was coming over, but she wasn’t because I lied to her too.
I have laid in bed, and barely a sip of water has passed my lips.
Maybe it’s because I’m nearing another month without hearing Trent’s voice.
Maybe it’s because I should be at a point in my pregnancy where I would have felt my baby begin to move, or maybe it’s because Noah hasn’t stopped by.
My reasons to get up and show up are dwindling.
Just putting one foot in front of the other is a challenge.
I avoid going into town. I can’t stand the stares and the sympathetic smiles.
One of the joys of living in a small town is that everyone knows your business.
I still find it funny how Trent and I grew up just a town apart, and we had never met until Harry joined the Marines and became friends with him, but maybe that was how it was supposed to be.
My chest aches thinking of the first time I met him when I went to see Harry at his base, after he had passed basic training.
I fell for Trent’s cheeky grin and wild green eyes the moment I saw him.
His zest for life is what drew me to him.
There were so many things he wanted to do but never got around to, and that thought shatters my heart beyond repair. Life really isn’t fair.
My doorbell rings, and I ignore it, pulling my comforter over my head, but it sounds again and again.
“Tor, it’s me. Everything’s okay, just let me in,” a muffled voice yells through the door.
I throw back the cover with an enthusiasm I haven’t had in months and drag my sorry ass to the door. I look through the peephole and my heart rate spikes when I see a familiar face. I turn the lock, slide off the security chain, and yank the door open.
“Noah,” I say on an exhale.
“Hey, Tor.” I don’t notice the bags he’s holding; I launch myself at him and cling to him like he’s my saving grace.
He chuckles. “It’s nice to see you too, but can I take these into your kitchen? I’m scared I’m going to drop them, and I got tacos, chips, and caso.”
My stomach grumbles at the idea of food, and I reluctantly release him.
“Sorry, sure. Come in. Sorry about the mess.”
I race ahead of him and quickly scoop up the dirty glasses and place them in the sink before I grab the takeout boxes that are days old with uneaten food in them that my mom had delivered into the trash.
Noah scans the space and eyes me suspiciously. “Have you been taking care of yourself this week?” he asks, concern in his tone as he unpacks the bag, the smell of beef tacos invades my senses and my mouth waters.
“Uh, I haven’t really felt that hungry.” I shrug, wrapping my arms around my thin frame. I know I’ve lost weight, a concerning amount, but I can’t bring myself to eat most days.
“Well, I’m going to make sure you eat tonight. Sit,” he says, gesturing to the stool at my tiny breakfast bar. I take a seat and watch as he lays everything out in front of me. He’s dressed in his uniform. A dark olive-green t-shirt, camo pants, and boots.
“When did you get back?” I ask, taking a sip of the soda he’s placed in front of me.
“About an hour ago. I got off the bus and headed straight here to see you first.” He says it so casually, like it’s no big deal, but his words send my heart racing.
He came to see me first.
“You didn’t need to do that. I’m sure you have better things to be doing,” I say shyly.
“I wanted to see you,” he says firmly. The heat of his stare and the sincerity in his voice have my words lodged in my throat. I want to tell him I have missed his visits, that I have missed him, but before I can, he speaks.
“Eat, please.” He slides the wrapped taco over to me.
“Yes sir,” I tease, realizing that a little piece of me has come back to life and only Noah Jones seems to be able to revive.