Cy
When the car comes to a stop and the engine shuts off, I lift my head off the seat and open my eyes. No longer holding her hand since she had to use it to shift the car into park, I realize I miss her touch, her warmth. I can't look at her, not yet. I still can't believe she came outside, and that I told her things I have never spoken of to anyone but my mom. Yes, it was only a small piece but for it to have been her, there is no way she will ever look at me the same again.
I sit in the car, lost in my thoughts, and don't notice Evie has left until she opens my door. I look up at her and blink a few times. With the sun at her back, her golden-brown hair hanging over her shoulders in soft waves, she looks like an angel. One I don't fucking deserve, and who I wish would have let me end it all. The pain crashes back into me with such force, it has me buckling over in the seat and pulling in deep breaths.
Her hand rubs my back as her voice floats to me. "I'm here. Take your time. There's no rush."
I'm so fucked up. How can she show me sympathy? I was the biggest dick to her in high school. Always doing things to draw attention to her, and not in a good way. Every day it was my mission to embarrass her, and yet here she is helping me as if none of that ever happened. How can she forget so easily? How can she want to be near me when I was so cruel to her?
The pain subsides to the point I'm able to sit up and get out of the car. It's still there, waiting in the background to slam into me again. I don't meet her eyes when I get out. I'm not worthy of her or her kindness, yet I follow her like a lost puppy. I am lost. Completely fucking so far off the path lost. I merely exist at this point. Walking behind her is done with zero thought. My body wants to be near hers, and I let it. At least I'm not walking back into that house. The house I shared with the woman who raised me, then brushed me aside, as if nothing I said to her was worth her time. The woman who, no matter how many times I begged and pleaded with her to help me, turned her back on me. She believed him over me, even when I came to her bleeding from him being too rough. She told me I must have done that to myself and, how it wasn't nice to lie and make other people look bad when they've done nothing wrong. I still can’t comprehend how she thought I’d hurt myself like that. Or maybe she wasn’t paying attention to me at all. Brushing me off because she was busy working.
For a while, I thought it was me. Maybe what he was doing was how things were supposed to be, but then he got rougher. He hurt me. God, he hurt me so fucking bad. And not just my body. He would say things to me; make me feel as if I was insignificant. That I was a spoiled little rich boy who didn't deserve anything I was given.
No matter how many times I hid, or locked the door, he always got in and found me. He would drag me from whatever spot I hid in to try and escape him, and he would force himself on me, so he could “teach me a lesson”. I did nothing wrong in my eyes. I would come home from school and go right to my room. Out of fear of what he would do to me, I never talked back to him or showed him an ounce of disrespect. The only time I opened my mouth to him was when I would cry out in pain; pain he inflicted. But he had ways of silencing me. Ways he would say were used to get me to toughen up and deal with the punishments he was giving me. Was it really a punishment, though? Now, I know it wasn't. Back then I would search my mind trying to figure out what and when I did something wrong. I wanted to know, so I would never make the mistake again. I never came up with anything but in his eyes, I was a horrible, ungrateful child.
"I'm on the second floor," Evie says, pulling me from my dark thoughts. She turns to me and I immediately drop my eyes, as if by her looking into them, she will know everything I'm thinking. Then her hand finds mine and she laces our fingers together. I try to swallow but can't. My throat is thick with emotion. She's showing me kindness I don't deserve, and I can't push her away.
She leads me up a flight of outdoor stairs to the second level of her apartment building. We walk to a dull, blue door with the number seventy-eight on it, which looks like it has seen better days. She unlocks it and pulls me inside behind her.
Releasing my hand, she closes the door and locks it. "It's not much, but it’s home," she says, smiling. "I'll be right back. Don't leave, okay?" I nod.
Not moving from my spot in front of the door, I look around the room. The living room is simple with light beige carpeting, a deep mocha couch, and a television on a small stand. To the right is a small area with a sliding door, which leads out to a balcony. On my left is a kitchen with a tall counter you can sit at that separates the kitchen from the living room. There's a glass-top table with two chairs sitting in a tiny dining room. This is where Evie lives. All alone. At least, I think she lives alone. She could have a boyfriend for all I know, but I would have seen him around if she did. Wouldn't I?
She emerges from what I can only assume is the bedroom on the other side of the living room wall. Her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, and she changed from her skirt and blouse to a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. She walks to me, watching me like I'm about to jump and run. I would, but where would I go? I have no car, and she took my gun. I want that back before I leave. I need to know I have a way of ending my misery that will be swift and over before I know it. I've thought about all the ways I could kill myself, but none were as quick as the gun would be.
She stops when she's directly in front of me. I’m able to hold her gaze. "Do you want something to eat?" I shake my head. "Drink?" I shake it again. She reaches up to rub her hand over my cheek. Her kindness is too much. I turn my face away, even if all I want to do is get lost in it. "Let's get you to bed. Maybe some sleep will help." I know better. Nothing will help. Not sleep, nor alcohol, nor a wide variety of drugs. I've tried them all. Nothing numbs the pain. Nothing makes me forget. Not even the many women I've buried myself in, hoping to replace the horrible memories with better ones. Those women weren't better. I barely remember their names. Their faces all blur.
She takes my hand in hers again and leads me to the bedroom. The second I'm in the room, her scent hits me. It's all over this room, reminding me of a fresh spring morning. One where I got to school and knew I'd see her, even if it was only to torment her. Her scent is sweet like a flower mixed with the crisp air of a new day. It fills my lungs and has me holding my breath, wanting to keep it inside me. Maybe if I can capture a part of her inside me, I'll always have her there. Always reminding me that somewhere in the world, there is some good.
She walks me to her bed and pulls back the bedding. I stand there, unsure of what to do. I know I should sit, but I fear once I get into her bed I'm never going to leave.
"Sit," she tells me. I do, autopilot kicking in again. She starts to bend down but stops. "You're not wearing any shoes." I didn't realize I didn't have them on when we left my house. She's on the floor in front of me, pulling off my socks and placing them on the floor. "Lie down. Rest. I'll be in the living room if you need me."
She turns but my hand reaches out to grip hers. I can't let her leave. The last thing I want is to be alone. Alone is never good for me.
"Stay," I whisper. She nods and climbs into bed beside me. We both lie on our sides, facing one another. Her deep blue eyes are holding mine.
There has always been something special about Evie. Ever since the first time I saw her, freshman year of high school. She was different from all the other girls, although I think I was the only one who noticed. I saw her from the very start. My stupid ass didn't know how to treat her, however, and resorted to picking on her. It was a dumb move, although it ensured I would see her. Every day I made it my mission to lay my eyes on her at least once. It was enough to get me through. What I should never have done was hurt her. She could have been my friend. If I would have treated her decently from day one, who knows where we'd be right now? Maybe if I had her kindness all those years, I wouldn't have resorted to trying to end my life. I was hurting so bad, I took out my pain on her. Once I started, I couldn't stop. All my pain and inner turmoil were cast out onto her—someone completely innocent.
Her mother started working for mine. I saw Evie at my house often. Each time, I looked at her with disdain.
I was gaining in popularity with every quip I made at her. I had people following me around school, hanging on my every word. Once they found out I was wealthy, they never left. I could have had any girl in school, and I did have a lot of them. Being with every one of them was meaningless. Some tried to get attached, but I quickly put a stop to that.
After high school was over, I'd bring them to the house and have them stay the night. He had stopped abusing me by then, but I couldn't let my guard down. He didn't come near me when someone was there. He didn't want anyone to know our little secret. God forbid they did and believed me over him. So the string of girls I had at the house was a defense mechanism, as well as someone to get lost in for a little bit. I hated that Evie saw them. I hated that when she was at my house, she saw me walk each one out.
"They didn't mean anything," I say quietly. I’m not sure why I'm telling her. Maybe so she won't view me as such a dickhead if she knows. Maybe it's to lift a little of the weight off my chest, which has me feeling like I'm lying on the bottom of the ocean with a ten-ton boulder sitting on me.
"Who didn't mean anything?"
"The women. All of them."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"I thought you should know."
"Okay."
There's so much I want to tell her. So much I want to say, but what if she only looks at me with pity from then on? I wouldn't be able to stand her seeing me with sad eyes.
A thought suddenly pops into my head. "Where's my gun?"
"I put it away. You won't be able to get to it."
"Dammit, Evie! What if I need it?"
She sits up in bed, crossing her legs. "I'm not giving you the gun. No way. You're not ending your life as long as I can help it."
"What if I told you I also used it as protection?"
"If that were true, then why haven't you killed him already?" Of course, she knows where my mind went. "Why did you try to kill yourself and not him?"
"Fine. So I had it to kill myself, but everything’s changed."
She shakes her head. "Nothing has changed between an hour ago and right now. Not a damned thing."
I suck at talking. I normally shut down and say nothing when I'm feeling something. Years of being told I was lying did that to me. Now, talking to Evie, how the hell do I tell her things? Sure, I said stuff when she was kneeling before me, but I don't know if I can say more. I need to at least tell her this, however.
"Remember last night at dinner when I got in to it with Everett?" She nods. "Do you know why that started?" She shakes her head. "I caught him staring at you, more accurately, your chest. While you were eating, he was checking you out. I saw him lick his fucking lips." I roll over to my back and squeeze my eyes shut.
"Maybe it was because he had food on them and was licking it off. He could have also been looking at my plate."
I sit up and face her. My hands cradle her cheeks as I lock eyes with her. She's trying to say it was nothing. She wouldn't be the first person not to believe me, but it's different with her. I need to convince her.
I don't waiver as I speak. "Every night when he came into my room, he would look me up and down, then lick his lips. It was only a matter of seconds before he was on me, pulling my clothes off, touching me, forcing himself…into me." Her eyes widen. "So when he looked at you in a way I was all too familiar with, I had to stop him. The image it put in my head of what he wanted to do to you, where he would put his hands on you, I saw red. He couldn't look at you that way. Not you, Evie. Never you."
She's trembling beneath my hands. She blinks repeatedly. I release her and stand to pace the bedroom, raking my hand through my hair. "What if he comes here?" I ask. "What if he comes for me, or you? I need to be able to protect us. I need the fucking gun, Evie!"
"No. I'd rather him break down my door than let you hold that gun."
"You don't know what you're saying." There's no way she does.
"I've never been so scared in my entire life as I was when I saw you press that gun to your head. I never knew fear like that existed. I would've done, and will do, anything to keep you from taking your life. If that means I must face Everett, then so be it. If he tries to get in my apartment, I'll call the cops and get the gun myself. I will fight for you, Cy. That gun, however, is never getting back in your hands again."