Chapter 53
Idon’t know how or when Boone got me upstairs, but I’m sitting on my bedroom floor against the wall, and he’s standing in the doorway wearing his best scary look.
“What the hell was that?” He asks.
“I saw red,” I say, using the palms of my hand to clear my vision.
“You don’t get to do that—not here,” Boone sighs. “We need the Hollow, Bri. And if you start swinging on every guy that hits on our bouncer, we’re going to get shut down.”
“My—” I start to argue. She’s mine. I don’t know how to explain to him that Rhea fixes something that I thought was irreparable. “Just because she’s the bouncer doesn’t mean she has to put up with harassment.”
“Oh fuck off, that wasn’t harassment, and you know it.
You saw your girlfriend getting hit on and went full asshole because you’re in a bad mood.
” Boone says. It’s rare he speaks to me like this, because he walks on eggshells to keep things like tonight from happening.
The guilt eats at me, knowing that I’m a burden to them even when I think I’m doing good.
PTSD doesn’t warn you before it destroys your life—it just does.
“I wouldn’t call a friend dying a bad mood, Boone.” I scowl.
“You’ve been in a knot for weeks, this was just the catalyst,” he says, “she told Sunday that you’ve been sleepwalking again.”
“Fuck—”
“Yeah, how often?” He asks.
“Once a week, maybe,” I snap. “Less when she’s home,” I admit, and Boone nods.
“Okay,” he sinks to his heels in a squat and stares at me. “So tonight?”
“Lucid—but he touched her, and…" I flipped out like an animal. The anger had been building since this morning, and I knew eventually it would snap. I just didn’t think it would look like this. “Is she mad?” I ask quietly.
“She’s fine, working the bar with Kaia.” He shrugs it off. “Can I trust you to be alone with her?”
“Wow,” I scoff.
“It’s a legitimate question, Bri, if you’re not in control…”
I’d never lay a hand on her.
“We’ll be fine.”
“Not what I asked,” he retorts.
“You can trust me,” I sighed.
“You aren’t alone.” He stands and taps the door frame. “I just wish you’d figure that out because it's getting exhausting banging on closed doors, Bri.”
“Try living behind them.” I drop my head between my knees as he disappears, I don’t breathe properly again until I hear the front door open and close.
I don’t know how much time passes before I open my eyes again, but I hear the bathroom door shut, and I know Rhea has finished closing up downstairs.
I check my watch, and it flashes two am in my face like it’s laughing at me.
She could have come upstairs at any point to talk, but she didn’t because you’re an idiot.
I push off the carpet, stripping from the Hollow t-shirt and tossing it on the floor. It’s only then that I look around and see the mess I made this morning. Everything is tossed about and misplaced. I start cleaning my mess, piece by piece, until the room is back in order and I can breathe again.
Just go talk to her, coward.
What if that was the straw? What if that aggression drives her out of reach? I only knew what she wanted me to know about her dad, but I know he was rough on her. On all of them. And tonight I proved that that monster resides somewhere in me. She’s probably terrified of you.
I pull on a hoodie and walk down the hall, hesitating before I knock on the bathroom door. The water isn’t running, and I know she’s behind it, but she doesn’t answer.
“Hellcat…” I try her nickname first, trying to sound gentle instead of guilty.
I’m a hot head, I know. Just don’t ignore me.
“Hey.” I knock again and wait. “I shouldn’t have done that tonight.
Can you just… open the door?” I ask, wrapping my hand around the knob with the intention to go inside anyway.
If she wouldn't come to me, I’d make her to look me in the eye and tell me that she’s done.
But it’s locked.
I breathe in, trying it again.
Still locked.
“Rhea.” I press my head against the wooden door and try it again, but it doesn’t budge under my advances.
I knock again, only to be met with more silence.
“Don’t do this,” the plea is quiet. There’s nothing to stop the panic that surges up through me, and any other day, I might be able to curb it, but I'm walking on a tight rope with little to no balance left.
I’m not mentally equipped to deal with a locked door today.
“Rhea,” I say again, louder this time, and bang on the door with my hand.
It heaves under the weight but doesn’t open, and she’s still silent on the other side.
My hand shakes against the door, and I try to focus on the sound behind it as my memories flicker dangerously around in my mind.
It’s like a wall is breaking and every single suffocating memory is seeping back into my consciousness with remorse.
I can feel the tub overflowing and drenching the carpet under my feet, and I can smell the blood on my skin weeks after returning home. My whole body tenses.
Sunday would have taken your place as the seventh.
I bang again.
“Rhea, come on! Open the door, please.” My voice cracks, but it doesn’t budge.
You would have let that happen because you weren’t strong enough.
I hit the door with my shoulder before a rational thought can form.
And you aren’t strong enough now.
You can’t even get to her through a door. What if she’s in actual danger?
My friends are dying, my daughter avoids me, my brother doesn’t trust me, and Rhea is afraid of me. The gunshots ring out, and I can’t seem to get to them; every memory I run through is dark and endless. You’ll never get to them in time. To her.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.