Lydia #2
The guy laughs and looks at Bash. “Careful, man. I read what she did to him. Would hate for her to get another one. She’s pretty, but the pussy can’t be good enough to kill yourself over.”
That’s what shatters whatever control was left. Simone and Bash both rise at the same time, giving the same look that says don’t. Mason’s hand clamps gently around Simone’s wrist while Erik’s palm finds Bash’s shoulder and squeezes, pulling him a step back.
Sandro steps between the table and their blanket, with Lani backing him up. Those two are a frightening pair.
And as sweet as Erik is…he’s got a bad boy side I wouldn’t mess with.
All of them standing up for me makes me feel very protected, even if it doesn’t stop the anxiety from already hitting.
“You’re done,” Sandro says calmly, hiking his thumb in the opposite direction. “Get up. And leave.”
Ponytail opens her mouth to say something, and Lani just tilts her head.
“Babe,” she says, sweet as sugar, deadly as a sharp blade.
“If you say one more word, you’re gonna be crying in front of your little friends, and I really don’t feel like taking my earrings out right now to drag you across this table. ”
They go quiet. The guy mutters something, but he’s already standing. They all leave with the sort of slow walk cowards think makes them look like they have a backbone. Like they didn’t just get linked out of here.
I don’t breathe again until they’re far away. The quiet around us isn’t quiet to me. It’s loud and jarring, and I start to hear the same voices from years ago. The same taunts. I hear a siren. I hear the voice of a boy I once loved and then hated.
Bash turns back, and the look on my face must tell him everything. He drops down, kneels in front of me, and takes both my hands in his. He tries to soothe me with his fingers, but it’s not much help.
“Walk with me.”
I nod because I can’t talk right now. He helps me up, keeps our hands woven together, and squeezes when he thinks I need the reassurance.
We cut through bodies and tables, and I just stare at his hand, trying not to go too far away in my head.
My throat feels like there’s glass in it.
I can’t swallow; I’m panicking, and I can’t get a full breath in.
He takes me behind the gym to a bench where it smells like rubber mats, dirt, and sports equipment.
The noise calms a little when he presses his cold water bottle to the inside of my wrist. The shock snaps at my skin.
Another on the other wrist. He reaches up, brushing the hair out of my face like he knows exactly what to do.
Like he knows what I need before I know.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do. His eyes are soft, but they don’t pity me. They just want to help.
“Breathe with me,” he murmurs. “In for four.” He inhales slowly, not counting, just letting me watch his chest rise.
“Out for six,” he says, mouth barely moving.
He guides my hand onto his chest, and then his hands slide to my ribs, fingers wide, letting me feel the breath in his body the same way he’s doing with mine. “Match me.”
I try, but it’s hard. I think he sees that because he brings my knuckles to his mouth and kisses each one.
It’s ridiculous and perfectly sweet in the moment, and helps distract me with his addicting touch.
“You’re here…and everything is okay. And Lani is probably back there standing guard like a little vicious chihuahua.
No one is coming back or able to bother you anymore or hurt you. ”
A tiny, unwilling laugh breaks loose, and I laugh through the tears coming on.
“Good,” he says. “There she is.” He looks around, grabs a random orange slice from a fruit bowl on the bench next to us that’s probably someone’s personal stash sitting next to their bag, and then he presses it into my palm. “Bite it.”
“Bash—”
“Trust me,” he smiles. “The mouth is weird during panic. Citrus helps.” He winks like he’s telling me a secret and not something he’s learned the hard way. Something he’s found worked when he needed it himself.
I bite, and the sour hits my tongue, forcing my brain to recognize we’re not in danger. The relief makes my shoulders finally drop, and my body stop tensing up so much.
“Tell me three funny things you can see,” he says, voice low.
I know it’ll help, so I do it.
“Your eyes because they remind me of Blondie brownies,” I whisper. “Those ants that are stealing someone’s Doritos right now from that bag. And…the sky cause it looks like blue Gatorade.”
He grins. “All elite answers.”
“My hands are still shaking.”
“They can shake. I’ve got them.” He threads his fingers with mine, thumbs sweeping over them. “Say you’re safe.”
“I’m safe,” I say mockingly, but can’t help smiling.
“Say ‘I’m here.’”
“I’m here.”
“Say ‘Lani is going to kill me if I let those sad people ruin this day’.”
“She is,” I laugh. “She really is.”
“Good. Now breathe again.” He leans his forehead against mine for a second. The contact makes my body remember him, remember his safety, remember that this is a person who doesn’t demand, doesn’t push, doesn’t punish me for being normal.
I swallow, and the shame still rises up. “I’m sorry,” I say, quickly. “I’m sorry. My past is always going to ruin things. Whether it’s people bringing it up or me. I’m too—” I can’t say it, but it sits there between us—too much, too messy, too broken.
“Hey.” He squeezes my hand. “That’s not true.”
“It is.” The laugh that sneaks out is ugly. “I’m a walking headline and a tiny grenade, and you keep trying to cradle me like I won’t go off.”
“Lydia,” he says my name so smooth and tenderly. “You are not a grenade. You’re a person who survived the explosion. That’s different.”
My eyes burn. I look away because I don’t want to cry and make him deal with that too. He won’t mind, and that almost makes it worse. I can’t stop myself from being this obvious mess around him.
“I want…” The words get stuck because I don’t know how to ask for something without apologizing for wanting it, knowing I’m going to screw it up. “I want what you keep offering me. I do. All of it, but I feel like I’m ruining everything even when I’m trying to be careful.”
“You’re not ruining anything,” he says. “I’m not here because it’s easy. I’m here because it’s you. I like you. In the big way. In the ‘sit in the grass and look like an idiot’ way. In the ‘steal kisses behind the gym because I can’t not’ way—”
I stare at him, confused for a moment, before he takes my face in his hand and leans in to kiss me.
He doesn’t do it because he thinks it will fix me. He does it because he wants to share the moment with me, help coax my brain a little away from the panic.
When he pulls back, his nose skims mine.
“We take this at your pace, and if anyone tries to pull your past into our present again, I’ll keep you out of the blast radius, okay?
And not because I think you need saving.
” He pauses, keeping his eyes locked on mine.
“Because I want you to feel safe and strong enough to save yourself.”
That undoes me in a different way. Not the panicky kind, the kind that feels like gratitude for experiencing something I didn’t think I would ever get to experience.
“What if I mess up?” I ask.
“Then we deal with it.” He brushes his knuckles down my jaw. “Not by pretending it didn’t happen. Not by making it your identity. Just…deal with it. Together, if you want. I can’t promise perfect, but I can promise I don’t scare away easy.”
A shout comes across the lawn—Lani’s voice, obviously.
“IF YOU’RE KISSING, DO IT RIGHT!”
I chuckle.
Bash doesn’t turn toward the noise. He just stares at me and tucks another piece of hair behind my ear.
“You want to go back?” he asks. “Or you want to stay here a minute and insult my athletic abilities like you enjoyed doing earlier? Cause I haven’t seen a smile that big on your face in maybe ever—”
I huff a tiny smile. “You mean your lack of it?”
“Whoa. Words hurt.” He squeezes my thigh, then comes to sit next to me.
We sit together in the shade, only a couple of yards from our friends. He keeps my hands in his, squeezing every once in a while to tell me I’m okay.
The buzzing and mean voices in my head lower to something I can deal with. My brain might be misfiring, but it’s still working. It’s just doing its job. It can’t really hurt me.
I don’t know if I’ll ruin him. I don’t know if I’ll ruin us. My brain is already doing the loops, whispering what-ifs and but-when’s. I’m still me. Still loud inside. But he wants to still be here. And I don’t know if I’m thankful for that or scared of it.
When we walk back toward our friends, he scoots me closer.
I let myself enjoy and take in his presence and comfort, and when Simone shoots me a look—You good?
—I nod, and when Mason pretends he didn’t realize he was still holding her hand in his lap, I pretend not to notice too.
Lani tosses me a bottle of water, and Erik bumps my shoulder with his and grins, all silently showing their support.
Bash sits beside me and leans close enough to steal another little kiss that no one is supposed to see.
He murmurs into my hair, “You could never ruin me, Lydia.”
I wish I could believe him. I don’t, but I let the words try to sink in. I let myself just be here in the moment for a change, his hand wrapped around mine, and the knowledge that I could run if I needed to…but I won’t.
Not right now. Not yet.
I want to enjoy any small moment with him that doesn’t seem damaged yet.