Chapter 14 - Amber
She was in her old house. It was a beautiful day outside.
She had always loved this house. It was cozy, even if it was a bit small.
She had liked the fact that it was tucked away from most of the world.
There was solitude there that she’d never experienced anywhere else.
Most of the time, it was great. Other times—
The door banged open, and the sky outside darkened in an instant. She froze, eyes growing wide. A monstrous thumping sound reverberated through the house. It seemed to rattle her core, to shake her insides. Fear gripped her. She wanted to run, but her feet remained rooted to the spot.
The footsteps grew louder. Slowly, heart still thumping, she turned.
Eric stood in the doorway. He seemed to tower over her, dwarfing her. She shrank back as he marched forward until her back was pressed against the counter. His eyes seemed to burn, and all she wanted to do was fold in on herself until she was invisible.
“I’m starving,” he said. “Where’s my dinner?”
It was a familiar greeting for him, one he used more frequently than “hey, how are you?” It took her a minute to answer, the words refusing to form on her lips.
“It’s not ready yet,” she said. “I was a little late getting things ready.”
He sneered. “Worthless. What good are you?”
He began to stalk toward her, and she retreated.
As she twisted to run, the world morphed around her.
She was no longer in her kitchen. Instead, she was in a long hallway that stretched for miles.
She was running as fast as she could, but her feet weren’t moving fast enough.
She could hear someone thundering behind her, someone continuing to lurch after her.
She knew without having to look back that it was Eric.
She kept sprinting, but Eric’s footsteps grew closer. She could see the door at the end of the hall. If she could just get into the room beyond and lock the door behind her, she might be safe. She might be able to get out of this.
Except the door kept moving further away. Eric was closing in on her. He would grab her and punish her for not having dinner ready in time, or for the house not being clean, or for some other reason.
His hand wrapped around her wrist and tugged her around. She looked up into Eric’s sneering face. Her heart thundered, and she knew there was nothing she could do.
The furious face glowered down at her. Eric opened his mouth to speak—
“Amber?”
The voice wasn’t Eric’s. It was too gentle, too concerned, more baritone than a brash bass. She frowned, staring at Eric, confusion cutting through the terror.
“Amber? Wake up.”
She didn’t know what was going on. She didn’t care. Her hand lashed out, striking Eric’s face.
“Ow! Fuck.”
Again, that didn’t sound like Eric.
Her eyes peeled open. Her old house and that long hall vanished, replaced by a darkened room.
A warm comforter weighed her down. Hovering over her was not Eric’s narrow, sneering face, but a man with a square jaw and expressive eyes that were currently creased in concern. A hand was stroking her forehead.
“Cillian?” she asked.
“You were having another nightmare,” he said.
She pushed herself to a seated position, back leaning against the headrest. Her pounding heart slowed.
“I guess I was,” she said, still trying to drag herself out of that dream.
She focused on the soft fabric of the comforter, the sound of the HVAC kicking on, the dark of the room, so different from the surreal brightness of that hallway.
Cillian’s hand rested on her thigh, warm even through the layers of blankets, a small but steady weight that was more reassuring than it should have been.
He rubbed his nose, wincing. The memory flooded back to her. Horror filled her eyes, and she gasped, hand flying to her mouth.
“Oh, God. Did I hit you again?”
“Yup,” he said cheerfully. “Really, it’s my fault. I should have expected it after last time.”
He lowered his hand. His eyes searched her face, his expression uncharacteristically somber. He was shirtless. The injuries she had tended to were healing, but they somehow seemed to only enhance his appearance, complementing his smooth muscles and accentuating his six-pack.
“Same thing as last time?” he asked.
“It’s nothing,” she muttered, glancing away from him. It was embarrassing that she was even having them at all. She should be stronger than that. But she wasn’t. She was weak, just like Eric had always told her.
She didn’t want to admit that, not to Cillian. Heat rushed to her face, and she wished he would leave. She felt embarrassingly vulnerable, and she didn’t want him to see her like that.
Cillian’s hand went to her chin and gently tugged until she was staring up at him.
“You don’t have to hide it or pretend that part of your life is behind you,” he said.
“Trying to repress that sort of thing is only going to make you feel worse. Pretending it never happened is like running away without facing the problem. It’s going to come back and bite you at some point. ”
I did run away, though, she thought. She swallowed, unsure what to say or how to say it. She hated feeling this weak. She hated that Eric had burrowed so deep into her that the instant she thought about him, she seemed to freeze.
As if he could read her thoughts, Cillian’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t let him run your life,” he growled. “The asshole’s not worth it.”
Her mouth parted, but words wouldn’t come. What was she supposed to say to that? “I’m fine,” she finally choked out, though even to her own ears, it wasn’t particularly convincing. She sighed, rubbing her face. “I’m fine.”
She heard a sigh. When she glanced up, she saw Cillian looking at her with more care and affection than she had ever seen from anyone.
“You don’t need to pretend you’re okay if you’re not,” he said. “Just because you aren’t okay doesn’t mean that you’re weak. You went through hell for years. No one would expect you to be fully okay after that.”
This time, she swallowed, then peered up at him. Some of the steel had returned to her voice, and she sucked in a deep breath.
“Like I said, I’m fine,” she said. And her voice was strong enough that she almost believed herself.
Unfortunately, Cillian didn’t. He gave her an exasperated look and brushed a strand of her hair from her face, the light touch sending shivers rippling through her.
“Pretending isn’t going to help you or anyone else,” he said.
She snorted. “And you would know about that?”
He raised an eyebrow, not glancing away from her. “I was in the military for years,” he said. “I’ve seen some horrible shit. I know a thing or two about pretending you’re okay, and I know what it’s like to fixate on things.”
“I’m not fixating,” she insisted, still aware she wasn’t convincing him or even herself.
Of course, she was fixating. How could she not, when Eric kept plaguing her nightmares and when she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he had barged into her Airbnb and held her there before ultimately selling her?
“You are,” he said, though not unkindly. “And that’s okay. That asshole made your life hell. I don’t blame you for it. You just don’t need to berate yourself for it, you know.”
She didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure if she knew how to answer.
“That said, I’ve also learned that dwelling on bad things only makes it worse,” he continued when she remained silent.
She gave a bitter laugh. “Easier said than done,” she muttered.
He smirked. “No kidding,” he muttered. He shifted so he was perched on the edge of the bed. She tried not to think about how close he was. “It’s not an easy habit to break. I had to teach myself not to do it. Even now, there are some things I still fixate on.”
There was something in his tone that made her heart stutter. He stared intently at her, and he was so close. She didn’t have to ask what sort of things he fixated on. It was plain on his face. Her stomach clenched, her mind freezing temporarily before she was able to bring herself back to reality.
She considered Cillian. Maybe it was the dark, or maybe it was because she was still half-asleep, but something made her want to open up to him. Not want; that was too weak a word. Need.
“I hate this,” she said, and her voice broke. “I hate what he’s done to me. I thought I was over it. I really did. Instead, the second I see him, I just freeze. I’m instantly that scared little girl again that I thought I had left behind. What good am I if I crumple whenever I think about him?”
Cillian let out a low breath. “I’m no therapist,” he said. “But if you ask me, you never really addressed the real problem. You just shoved it into the closet and hoped you’d never have to deal with it again.”
“Only the closet’s opened, and it’s all spilling out,” she sighed.
Cillian barked out a laugh, deep and genuine and hearty.
A smile spread across Amber’s face despite herself, and she started laughing, too, some of the tension ebbing from her shoulders.
The night cast long shadows across the bed and both their faces, but she could still see the tenderness and concern on his features as their laughter subsided and his expression sobered slightly.
“I don’t know exactly what you’re going through,” he admitted. “But I know about having regrets, and I know what it’s like wanting to hide part of yourself from the world. But you have absolutely nothing to hide, Amber.”
“If I don’t have anything to hide, then why am I still ashamed?” she asked. “I ran like a coward. I never stood up to him. It was easier to run. I still want to run. What does that say about me?”
“It says that you’re human,” he said. He raised an eyebrow. “And sometimes running is the best thing for you in the moment. You just need to know that, at some point, when it’s safe and you’re ready, you’re still going to have to turn around and face what you were running from.”
She swallowed. Her heart kept hammering. Her fingers curled into fists, tightening around the sheets.