In Your Head

Chapter 21 Ruin

RUIN

KAT

At six-thirty sharp, I storm through the foyer of Pearson House, not even bothering to take off my heels. I round the corner through the living room and spot Zayn in the kitchen exactly where he said he’d be. Savory aromas of roast beef, vegetables, and garlic meet my nose.

I slam the newspaper down on the dining room table, folded in half so the headline faces upward above the fold. Wine sloshes out of the glass that sits to my right from the force of my hand.

Zayn turns to greet me, wearing that ridiculous half chef’s apron, the sleeves of his black oxford rolled up just above the elbow.

“Hey Doc,” he starts, but trails off after catching sight of my expression. I make pointed eye contact with him. I already know this was him. I know it in my bones. He just has to confirm it.

Zayn strides over to me and peers down at the folded newspaper, taking in the bold headline.

After a moment, his eyes meet mine. He says nothing. On top of the newspaper, I toss down the strip of paper with Dr. Wagner’s name written on it.

“Those chains in your car…” I start, trailing off. “…f-for Josh?”

He says nothing, regarding both me and the damning evidence laying on the table between us.

“Kat…” he begins, taking a tentative step toward me. But I cut him off.

“You’ve been lying to me,” I spit out.

Zayn’s eyes narrow as he takes in my words. He steps toward me, his hands outstretched.

“Yes, but it’s not exactly what you think it is, baby…”

“Don’t,” I interrupt, cutting him off, “you told me to trust you, Zayn. You begged me to trust you.”

“And you can trust me, baby, please,” he starts again.

“Did you kill my father?” I shout.

The question sounds utterly absurd leaving my mouth. And still. I have to know.

“Of course not!” Zayn huffs out. He’s more flustered than I’ve ever seen him. “Jesus Christ, Kat, of course not. Look, Dr. Wagner was the same doctor who treated my mother when she was sick. I referred your father to him.”

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” I bark.

And he starts to answer, but I interrupt him again.

“Did you kill Josh?” I hurl the question at him before he has time to spin any bullshit.

Zayn says nothing. He just holds my gaze.

“Just tell me,” I implore, my voice dropping lower now. “Please. Tell me that you had nothing to do with Josh’s death. Tell me the truth.”

Zayn pauses a long moment, his deep blue eyes carefully searching my own.

“Do you want me to tell you I didn’t have anything to do with Josh’s death? Or do you want the truth?” he asks.

My hands fly to my mouth. I knew this about him, deep down. Knew he was capable of something like this. I mean, he had killed his own father, hadn’t he?

Who would he kill next?

Suddenly the house feels too small around me. Zayn’s form spins in front of me. The cavernous space of Pearson House seems to be collapsing down all around me, the many dark windows all caving in.

“No. This can’t be happening,” I start, turning toward the entryway, continuing breathlessly, “I need some air… I have to get out of here.” And ripping open the front door, I bolt.

I flee from the house, my legs moving faster than I would have thought possible in heels. I charge down the stairs two at a time, and tear into the night. My feet find the pathway that connects Pearson House to Bronwin home, and the Ruins.

I can sense Zayn pursuing me, close behind, his heavier footsteps sounding out a steady beat on the damp earth.

Thin branches and arms of twisting plants reach out into my path and whip and cut at my face as I fly down the worn trail.

I barely even blink as one cuts across my cheek, leaving a stinging welt in its wake.

Rounding a bend in the trees, Bonn’s Ruins suddenly come into view. I slow, and reaching out my hand, let it trail across one of the stone formations. Soft tendrils of hanging moss drip down across the edges. It looks as though it had once been a doorway.

I stop running and feel Zayn’s eyes on my back. I whip around to face him.

There he stands, still as one of the stones that surround us. And his gorgeous blue eyes search mine, his chest heaving from the run. He stands back from me, as though afraid to get too close. He appraises me as though I might bite, or run again, and isn’t sure which one.

I’m not entirely sure either.

“Please,” I implore, still breathing hard myself, “please just tell me, Zayn. Did you kill him?”

Zayn takes a step toward me. Honesty is there in his eyes, and I know the answer before he says it.

“Yes,” he finally admits. “I killed him. And I’d do it again.”

I exhale sharply, whispering, “Why?”

“He had been following you for weeks, Kat. You knew that, right? And he was about to rape you that night. He would have done it. You would never have been safe.”

I gasp and wring my hands. He was right, of course. I knew that Josh had been following me. But this is fucking murder we’re talking about. I had spent most of my career helping to make sure that men like him never took a free breath again.

What did it mean if I forgave him for this?

“I had to keep you safe, Doc,” Zayn says, taking a tentative step toward me. “I had to. He—”

“I love you,” he says simply.

It's then that the first prick of tears burns at the corners of my eyes. Zayn’s ability to be so starkly vulnerable, so open and honest about his feelings for me.

.. it both inspired and terrified me. He said exactly what he thought, said what he was feeling, and he meant it.

It was alarming and exhilarating all at once. But mostly, it made me want to run.

And I wonder if it’s all the years of my career catching up with me. Like, if all the fucked-up shit I’ve heard has finally filled up my brain and now has nowhere else to go. I am consumed by it, flooded with it.

But… if Zayn isn’t scared of anything, then surely the monsters, the haunted past, and general fucked-up-ness inside my head wouldn’t scare him either. Right? Not when his own head mirrored the very same darkness. The same ferality.

Zayn holds my gaze and I search those ocean eyes of his with so much scrutiny, expecting him to blink or look away. But he doesn’t. He isn't afraid. The intensity and sincerity of his gaze pierces right through me.

“I love you, Doc,” he says again.

And I desperately want to answer him: I love you too. Of course, I do. But I don’t say it.

He killed someone for you, Kat. And he’d do it again if given the chance. That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t a healthy kind of relationship. And it certainly wasn’t love.

Death and destruction had permeated every single facet of my life. Could I not just have one small part… one good, protected piece that was pure and untainted by death?

No, I couldn’t. Zayn was just another harbinger of the same destruction that followed me, intent on ruining everything in its path. Mom’s death. Dad’s death. Rae’s escape and untouchable distance. My patients, the Demon… it all flowed from the same source.

With a wrenching in my chest, I think of all the years that I kept people at arm’s length.

All the years I hid behind my career, focusing solely on the problems and deficits of others.

All the degrees and the certifications. Always keeping my goddamn schedule packed with session after session.

What did it all mean, if at the end of the day, I was alone? Utterly alone.

Crazy Kat, all alone, and stuck in a well of grief and distrust. With only her cat to comfort her until she dies. Or finally kills herself—just like her father.

Shut up! I tell the voice in my head. I bring my hands to either side of my head and squeeze hard, trying to regain some semblance of control.

Maybe I could take this leap with Zayn. Just jump out into the darkness and cling to him, and… trust.

But… I can’t. Not even now. Especially not now. The leap came at too high a cost. Zayn was a killer and a liar, and if I stayed with him, that confirmed that something equally as ruinous was wrong with me, too.

“Please stop hiding from me, Katherine,” he steps right in front of me now, desperately grasping my cold hand in his.

“Hear me. I love you. All of you.” And his deep voice is a plea. A prayer. It's as though he knows exactly what dark thoughts are spiraling through my head. And the cadence of his voice is the antidote to it.

Chest heaving, I break our gaze and yank my hand away from his. With that gesture, my skin screams in protest. I want to be near him. I need to be near him. Every fiber in my body is begging for me to do the exact opposite of what I am doing right now.

To disguise my trembling hands, I wrap my arms tightly around my middle and fist them into balls under my sweater. I take a nearly imperceptible step back from him. Zayn remains rooted to the spot, his eyes falling down to take in my subtle movement.

Meeting his eyes once again, I feel a heavy wall come down within me, like a drawbridge clanking shut against the stone siding of a castle.

“I-I just can’t,” I whisper. And it sounds loud in the stillness of the dark evening.

A light rain begins to fall through the mist, and cold droplets cling to my hair and lashes. I take another step backward. Away from the burning in his eyes. Away from the stark vulnerability and love there.

“This is really what you want?” he asks. His low voice now, a whisper as well.

I pause for just a moment before choking out, “Yes. I just don’t think this is something I can move past. I’m…” My voice breaks off and I clear my throat to find it again. “I’m sorry, Zayn.”

And with that final word from me, Zayn turns on his heel and stalks off into the night.

I don’t dare exhale until his tall, dark form is gone from my sight. Once sure that he has really left, I let my legs do what they’ve been threatening to since he first followed me here, and I collapse.

With a sob wrested deep from the center of my chest, I feel the first hot tear streak down my cheek. More tears join it and mingle with the cold rain now streaming down my face. I sob and wretch there on the ground, letting myself fully break apart.

I hear a booming shout ring out into the night and I’m not sure if I've imagined it or not. It’s an anguished sound. I feel it ricochet off my skin, not unlike the cold rain sluicing down my face.

Slipping my glasses off and dropping them onto the long, wet grass beneath me, I pull my legs up to my chest and curl into a ball. I cover my face with my hands and stay there, slowly rocking back and forth as grief pours out of my eyes.

I had done it; I had passed the test. My heart remains my own—impenetrable and protected.

But if that was true, then why did it feel broken?

____________________

ZAYN

God fucking damn it.

I tear at fistfuls of my hair with both hands as I stalk away from her. Even now, in this bare and honest moment, where all other defenses are stripped away, she still holds others at arm’s length. Holds me there.

“Fuck!” I bellow out loud into the night. I hear birds leave the trees nearby.

The rain begins to fall in earnest and quickly soaks through my clothes, marring my vision as I walk. I could not give less of a fuck though.

Kat, my Kat. Fuck, this hurt. I had followed Lachlan’s plan. I had followed through with my word to him. And to her.

I thought that she and I had finally connected, finally saw one another. She had asked for honesty. And I had given it to her.

But her bids for honesty and connection are still a deflection. She couldn’t even meet my eyes after I asked if this is what she really wanted. I challenged her to do it. Every cell in my body screaming out for her to do it. To choose me, to choose us. And still, she can’t. Or won’t.

Underneath her anger at my decision to handle Josh, I could sense the secret question she was desperate to have answered—the question that ultimately ALL of us want to ask.

Am I loveable? Can you love me? Am I even worthy of love?

I was so ready to answer that question for her.

YES, I would have shouted. Would have screamed.

Yes, you are loveable and perfect, and so fucking perfect for me and I want to be there beside you forever.

But I didn’t say it, didn’t reassure her.

Instead, I had turned and walked away, leaving her standing there in the mist and rain. She looked so small. Like she did as a girl, in these same woods all those years ago.

Things were no different now. She had walked away from me back then. And she had done it again tonight.

I am barely even cognizant of what I’m doing as I tear through Pearson House, collecting my shit.

I barrel into the driveway towards my Beemer, grateful for having driven here earlier in the evening.

The powerful six-cylinder engine roars to life.

The car fishtails on the wet pavement as I slam the gas pedal to the floor, and haul ass down the drive and into the night.