Chapter 22
Fight, Flight, Freeze
Kiki
Paul insisted on paying again. I argued to split the bill, but the way he grinned when I gave in was too endearing to resist. I headed outside to the Olive Garden parking lot while he paid, claiming I needed some fresh air—but the truth was, I needed a moment alone. Whatever was going on between us, it confused me in ways I didn’t see coming. I sighed, leaning against Paul’s Fiat and wrapping my arms around myself. The spring evening was surprisingly chilly.
Jon’s letter lingered in my mind. Despite my best efforts, a part of me was beginning to feel less resentment toward him.
There were moments when it felt like Jon and I were characters in a romance movie: the smart girl falling for the bad boy with a secret soft side. But in this story I was the only one who fell head over heels. The bad boy stayed bad until the credits rolled. The end...
But could it be the end if it felt this bad?
“Hello, pretty.”
A man all dressed in black emerged from the shadows. His face was shrouded in darkness, revealing only the reflection of piercings, bloodshot eyes, jagged scars on weathered skin. I knew I was in danger when he approached me.
I quickly looked around. The parking lot was empty except for me, the darkness broken only by a few streetlights. I reached into my bag and felt around. Behind a stick of deodorant was the object I was looking for—pepper spray.
“Leave me alone,” I said.
The man smirked, taking a provocative step closer. “Or what? You going to scratch my eyes out with your nails?” I shuddered as he grabbed my hand and ran his fingers over my neatly cut fingernails. “They don’t look like they would serve that purpose.”
I gritted my teeth. “Leave. Me. Alone!”
But the man came even closer, tightening his hold on my wrist.
I had once wondered how I would react if someone cornered me. Would I have the guts to fight or would I make a run for it? Now, cowering here with a stranger’s breath on my cheek, none of these options felt valid anymore. I was—simply—frozen—my hand uselessly clenched around the pepper spray.
“Do you know him?” The man kicked the tire of Paul’s car.
“I... who? P-Paul?”
“Yeah, Paul Shields. He took something from us. And now I’m here to take something from him.” He narrowed his eyes at me and my heart beat faster. I opened my mouth but no words came out.
“You’re his girl, aren’t you? Maybe I should just take you then.”
“Get away from her!”
Paul was miraculously there, grabbing the man by the shoulders and yanking him away. I gasped at the force of it. For an eighteen-year-old, he was strong.
The man gave a scary laugh. “How cute, the boy coming to rescue his little lady.”
A growl emerged from my throat. I wasn’t so helpless! With a swift, determined movement, I brandished the canister, poised for an attack—but Paul unleashed a barrage of fists on the man.
My eyes widened at the violence unfolding before me. Each one of Paul’s punches was a calculated demonstration of power. The man staggered backward, trying to retreat, but Paul pursued him relentlessly, his eyes glazed with a primal anger.
“Paul, stop!” I screamed.
“No!” Paul roared. He pushed the man down to the pavement and pummeled him.
I wasn’t naive about all those movies with fist fights where all they got was a black eye. I’d studied anatomy, read some cases. One hit on the wrong spot and this man could be dead.
I ran up to Paul and threw my arms around him to pull him back. I wouldn’t let him mess up his life for this. He turned, fist raised. His eyes were foreign, like he wasn’t in control of his actions anymore.
“Paul!” I threw my arms over my head.
His fist froze in midair.
His face went from red to pale as a ghost.
“Kiki... I’m sorry,” he gasped as if waking from a trance.
“It’s okay. Let’s go.” I pulled him by the hand to his car.
“You’ll regret this, Paul Shields,” the man cursed, wiping blood from his face and spitting on the ground. He looked all right, I hoped. We couldn’t call the police. Paul had thrown all the punches; he didn’t look like the victim here.
“How do you know my name!” Paul spun back around.
“Paul!” I yelled. “Let’s go! Now!” I pushed him into the passenger seat, taking his keys and the role of the driver.
It took all the way to my house before Paul’s breathing finally calmed. I turned off the engine and asked the question that was burning in my gut. “Was that the man who attacked you before?”
He shrugged, staring out the window, his body shaking.
“Are you okay? Do you think you can drive yourself home?”
He didn’t say anything, only stared at his ripped-open knuckles. All that blood. I looked out at my house. My parents’ shadows moved behind the curtains in the dining room. There was no way I could get Paul in without them seeing us.
“I’ll drive you to your place,” I decided.
The look on his face when he accosted the man. It wasn’t the Paul I knew. He terrified me.
I was pretty sure he terrified himself as well.
“You don’t have to come in,” Paul said, staring at his bloody hands.
I shook my head. “Nope, I’m coming with you.”
Getting out of the car, I realized that my legs were shaking. After a few seconds he followed me out. He pointed at the garage. “Let’s go through there so my parents won’t see... this.” He held up his mangled fists.
“You got a bathroom in your basement?” I asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“I have to pee,” I admitted, finally getting a twitch of a smile from him.
We slipped under the garage door and he let it down again. When he turned on the lights, I almost blew our cover and screamed, surrounded by skeletons and dead bodies.
“Right, I forgot about Zack and his haunted house obsession,” I gasped. “Been a while since I’ve been here.”
Paul gave me a tired smile. “Sorry, I got so used to it, I sometimes forget it’s even here.” He went ahead into the house and I hurried after him.
Once we were in the basement, Paul touched a door and said, “Here’s the bathroom if you want to use it.”
“All right.” I opened the door and slipped inside. The moment I turned on the faucet I let out a whimper. My lower lip was trembling hard. Releasing all the fear and tension locked in my muscles, I broke down and cried.
When my chest had relaxed a bit, I took some toilet paper and dabbed away the smudged mascara beneath my eyes. Then I unlocked the door and peeked out. “You can come in now.”
Paul gave me a confused look from the couch.
“You know I’m studying to become a doctor, and your hands need to get cleaned and wrapped up. Where’s your first aid kit?”
I searched the cupboards. A brand-new first aid kit appeared in the second drawer. I looked up to find Paul at the doorframe.
“Come here,” I said, reaching out my hand. He stared at it for a second before coming droop-shouldered like a tortured dog.
I gently picked up his wrists and inspected the wounds. The light in here was dim but I managed. Dirt and partly dried blood smeared his knuckles, so I washed them off in the sink. Paul didn’t even flinch. Either he wanted to impress me—or he simply didn’t feel a thing.
When I had applied the bandages, he suddenly grabbed my hand. He was sitting on the edge of the counter and I was standing between his legs, closer than we’d ever been. Well, except for that one night when he cried in my arms about Emily.
“Thank you, Kiki.”
The words were so soft, I had to check if he had actually spoken. Judging by the crease in his brows, he had.
I drew a shaky breath. I had to ask him. I couldn’t ignore it anymore, not after what I’d witnessed tonight.
“Paul, your knuckles... I noticed earlier how they’re scarred, and you don’t seem to feel much pain there. I know you punched Jon once, but I’m afraid that wasn’t all, right?”
Paul let go of my hand. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” I stepped away and crossed my arms. He sighed, leaving the bathroom with quick steps. I followed him. “Hey, don’t walk away from me!”
He whirled around, anger visible on his face again. “It’s not your business, Kiki.”
“Fine,” I snapped. “I thought we were friends, but if you don’t think it’s my business, then I guess we’re nothing.”
He flinched and ran his wrapped-up hands through his hair. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I rolled my eyes. I was used to the I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it line from Jon. It had lost its effect on me.
“Paul.” I stepped up to him again and placed my palms on his sternum. “I got pulled into this tonight. I deserve to know what you’ve got yourself caught up in. I promise not to tell anyone.”
“You should stay away from me,” Paul mumbled.
“Why though? You’re a good guy.” I knew him. He wasn’t what he looked like on the outside with his scars and anger.
“Oh really?” He suddenly went off as if I had pulled a trigger. “Then would a good guy do this?!” He strode to the nearest wall and ripped off poster after poster, exposing the holes beneath. “I can’t control my fucking emotions, Kiki! That’s why I started with football again. Because I’m so fucking angry! Fuck, I almost punched you when you tried to stop me!” He turned to the wall and drew back his fist.
“No!”
I flew over and grabbed him by the elbow just in time. He froze, and I slowly brought down his arm. Then I hugged him from behind.
“It’s okay,” I said. “You went through a lot in the last few months. You’re allowed to hurt. But you don’t need to hurt yourself.”
His body was stiff against mine, and for a moment, I thought he was about to push me away. But then he turned around and hugged me back.
“She’s afraid of me, Kiki. I can’t control it. I miss her so much. Even though she’s right here...”
“I know... it’s okay.” I patted his back and didn’t let go.
My anger toward Emily doubled. How could she be afraid of Paul? He loved her, despite everything she had put him through. I would never hurt him like that. He deserved to be treated better.
The tension in his body was easing. And then we were shifting against each other, leaning forehead to forehead. I could feel his breath on my mouth. My parasympathetic nervous system modulated to sympathetic, accelerating my heartbeat. I looked into his eyes but he glanced away.
“Paul...” I whispered.
He pulled himself free and paced around the room as if he was looking for something. I stood frozen with my arms around myself, trying to understand the intensity of my longing.
Paul stopped his madman walk. “Do you want to watch a movie?”
A movie—? I nodded.
I settled on the couch, accepting a blanket and leaving a conspicuous amount of space next to me—but he sat on the floor in front of the couch.
“What do you want to watch?” he asked.
“How about a horror movie?” I suggested, and he nodded, impressed.
“Heck yeah, it’s been forever since I watched one of those.” He smiled and flicked to the horror genre on the TV.
I didn’t ask why because I already knew the answer.
Emily.
That was the answer to any question about Paul.