Eluding Nirvana (The Dark Evoke Series Book 2)

by Brock, V. L.

  “She’s awake.” A soft, familiar brogue sounded from the right of my feet. Eyes being rubbed to within an inch of their lives in sleep removal, I peered down at the doorway. Walker was leaning against the doorjamb, his hair all wet and unkempt from his shower, while the shape and broadness of his body was presented by the hugging of dark jeans and a black tank top. He looked utterly divine––especially with that dark scruff coating his mouth. “I have coffee,” he added, practically forcing his speech through a shy smile.

  Bringing the coffee mug to his chest, he began gradually strolling into the room.

  The springs inside the mattress squealed as I sat myself up, muttering a sleepy, “Thank you,” while seizing the mug of happiness from his clutches. As the bitter taste of Heaven slipped down my throat, the black wrought iron bedframe squeaked when he lowered himself onto the edge beside my feet. Embarrassment chased my lustful ogling of his muscular arms. It was the first time I had seen them, and the tribal sleeve tattoo ran down his left arm, whereas a large, Celtic-styled cross lay covering his right bicep.

  “Should I even ask why you have a mirror on your ceiling? You’re not just an Irishman are you? You’re hiding some kinkiness under that exterior,” I giggled; although, I’d be untruthful if I didn’t admit I felt some sort of spear voyaging through my heart at the mere contemplation of Walker being intimate with anyone, especially in the bed I was currently occupying. It was stupid and immature, I knew that. Still, it didn’t stop me.

  He tipped his head back on a small, husky chuckle, the prominence of his Adam’s apple eliciting unexpected effects from my body and my mind. A vision of me setting my mug on the bedside table, pushing myself up onto my knees and gliding my tongue from the hollow of his throat, up and over to his jawline, and through that facial hair, was killing me. “You’re still new to all this, Kady. I’ll explain it one day.”

  “Wow,” Pouting, arching my brow and bating my eyelashes in unison, I lowered my coffee, “You’re being very…Yoda-ish this morning.”

  “Yoda-ish? That’s a new one for the Oxford dictionary. I umm…” Walker dropped his focus to his hands and momentarily trailed off as he wrung his fingers in his lap. “I thought we could go out for breakfast.”

  “Go out? Walker, I am far from suitably attired to be going anywhere, let alone somewhere with patrons.”

  “Don’t be silly, darlin’.” The bed groaned its irate noise, which could rival nails down a blackboard, as he shifted and plowed into the walk-in-closet, which was more of a cupboard, at the foot of the bed. After a little delving around he said, “Here,” and in his grasp, hung a white Lonsdale sweater.

  He had to be kidding me. I had never been one for brand-named sportswear, even in my own house. I certainly couldn’t go out wearing it, unless I was going for a run, at least. Returning back to his position as he perched himself, once again, on the bed, Walker handed me the sweater. The cautionary glare I was directing upon the material, contrasting with the hopeful gleam in his eye. “Kady, you could be wrapped up in a potato sack and still look gorgeous, darlin’.”

  I sighed loudly with a flail of my head in defeat. “Fine, you win, I’ll wear it. But first, I have business to take care of.” I fumbled around with the comforter until I’d finally unbound myself from the gothic-styled bed, only to have Walker halt me with a warm, passionate grip around my wrist.

  I had no idea where my yoga pants were. I stood before him, under his intense scrutiny in only my panties and camisole, but I didn’t care. For some reason, I felt that what we shared together the night before––although nothing sexual––had brought us closer together and strengthened our friendship. It was almost like it had bonded us.

  So with a shudder at the single contact of Walker’s fingertips brushing and tracing over and around the oval and circular silver scars coating my thighs, I merely peeked down and studied him, studying me.

  Did I feel at all embarrassed like I had with Liam? No, I didn’t, far from it. Did I feel ashamed of how I had defaced my body as I sought an outlet? No, I didn’t, because at that moment, the only person in the world who understood me, was the one who’s fingers were caressing my flesh. I didn’t feel an ounce of pity, of shame, or disgust coming from this man, but understanding, support and attachment.

  When he peeked up at me, I was smiling down at him, my heart and body swelling, but in a good way. Gazing into his eyes, I could see it all, all his emotion, all his fondness. A universe of understanding looked back at me. And the barrier I had placed up before me and my own secrets, to remain masked by everyone in my life, was lowered. At least, it was lowered for this person.

  With Walker, I could truly be myself.

  Forty-five minutes later, Walker was holding my door open like a gentleman, as I lowered myself out of the truck in front of the red and yellow diner.

  “Walker, I’m really feeling uncomfortable in my state of sloppy-dress, here,” I griped for the eighth time since leaving his apartment, burrowing my hands into the oversized pouch pocket on my abdomen. Yesterday’s pink yoga pants, a pair of flats, a certain someone’s five times too big Lonsdale hoodie and disheveled blond hair piled in a knot atop of my head with the odd, windswept tendrils escaping and framing my face, was not the most gracious state of dress.

  “Jesus Christ, Kady, you look gorgeous. You got that natural beauty about you, stop grouching.”

  The proffering of his hand went overlooked with a small shake of my head, and an apologetic, tightlipped smile. I simply followed behind his towering physique, while replying teasingly to his previous statement, with, “Yes, sir.”

  “Morning, Walker.” Behind the counter a pretty woman tugging her high set ponytail even tighter, before refilling a patron’s mug of coffee, greeted him.

  As I combed my gaze around my surroundings, I came to the conclusion that the Diner had that 1980’s, milkshake after school, kind of feel to it. I liked it.

  “Mornin’, Tiff,” he answered.

  “Take a seat; I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  “’Aye, whenever you’re ready.” He waved her off when we slipped into the comfort of red pleather bench seats of one of many booths along the perimeter.

  “An old flame?” I pestered, taking possession of one of the menus.

  “Who, Tiffani?” he snorted. “She owns the place, darlin’. I’m always here, can’t get enough of their breakfasts.”

  “Tiffani’s Diner?”

  “’Aye, well, I’d be a little concerned if it was called Tiffani’s Diner, and the owner was a fat balding guy called, Shamus, wouldn’t you?”

  Certain that a simple amused chuckle would be unfeasible, but more like a, ‘roll on your back while clutching your side and clapping like a demented sea lion’ kind of hysterics, I fought to maintain my poise. With a collected shake of my head I resumed the task of scouring through the menu.

  “I’m sorry about that, busy morning today,” Tiffani chuckled, looking a little windswept while she brushed, what I could only presume was clammy palms, down her retro yellow waitress dress and red waist apron. Notepad and pen in hand, with a smile and deep composed breath, she waited for our order.

  “I’ll have my usual, Tiff, and for the lady…”

  “I’ll just have a strong coffee and the waffles with maple syrup, please.”

  “Sure thing; won’t be too long.” She smiled again, and scampered off to the kitchen.

  I was amidst people watching from the window along my right, and toying with one of the sachets I had pulled from the caddy, when I eventually summoned the courage to ask something which had been playing on my mind.

  “Walker, how did…” When I chanced a glance over the table, he was toying with his own little sachet while studying me. “How did you know what I needed last night? How did you know what would help me––”

  “Is that really a question you want an answer for?” There he was, the little green guy with big ears surfacing from him again, and I’m not taking about a lepre
chaun either. “It wasn’t that difficult, Kady. I knew it the night at Hamersley’s.”

  “But how––” I scowled.

  “You rush from the table like a mare that’s been startled by a snake in the reeds, and you come back looking practically serene.”

  The heaviness and brute honesty of his words had my head dropping forward. If it was so blatantly obvious to him, was it that obvious to the others? “I’m so weak,” I sighed.

  “Weak?” The sole word was gasped from across the tabletop.

  I raised my head with a sullen look burned into my features, and met his staunchly fixed expression from under ashamed hooded eyes. Griping pleather drilled into my ears when he shifted to the edge of the bench, his body virtually folded over the white table separating us.

  “Kady, I like to think that people like us are as strong as they fucking come. A man goes to work, gets stressed out, has a game of golf over the weekend and all is right with the world. But for us, we let things mount up. We’re strong enough to keep adding and adding to the pile of shit that fills that damn balloon, and after a while, we just can’t take no more. A puncture in that balloon isn’t going to help, we need to gut that sucker open and release all the shit that we, as strong motherfucking people, managed to accumulate and conceal.”

  “But why? Why does it work that way? How––?” That is what I wanted and needed to know. Why? Why did it work that way? I knew most of it was down to sheer control, but why would someone who was emotionally hurting, need to physically hurt themselves to feel better? It didn’t make any sense.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows?” Weighed sighs and perplexed expressions filled the time lapse, before he finally spoke again. “Kady, I want to ask you to do something for me, and if you say yes, it means you’re going to have to make me a promise.”

  Intriguing. “Go on.”

  “When you feel that way again––and I am straining the ‘when’ because it isn’t a case of if anymore. Your mind has already processed that in doing this to yourself you’re able to get instant relief, so it is a matter of when––you’ll come to me. I don’t care if it’s at 4:30 in the morning or if Liam is beside you, you make an excuse and you come to me.”

  I did a pretty shit job at masking my confusion. His speech was full of passion and seemingly desperate. With furrows in my brow and a minute cock of my head, I pursed my lips. “That’s a strange request, Walker.”

  “Kady,” he rubbed his forehead with his left hand, virtually exasperated, before going back to his sachet with a heavy droop in his posture. “It’s easy to lose control, and I don’t want you to lose it.”

  “Lose control? I––”

  “I’m going to ask you a very personal question, darlin’. What’s your method?”

  Without a second thought, I tossed his question back at him.

  “Well, I didn’t see any lacerations on your body, so I know you’re not a cutter.”

  How did this conversation get so deep, so quickly? He really wanted to know? Me sharing something, a secret which was mine, and mine alone, a dark and dirty secret full of so much sin, was something that I couldn’t even contemplate. I didn’t want to share this. But it was Walker, and he knew me and how my twisted, warped mind was working, better than I did. This was all so new to me, and by the way he talked and explained it, he was obviously talking from experience. Good God alive, how can someone be experienced in the art of self-harm? It was twisted.

  The sphere of apprehension cleared from my throat with a loud grunt. I licked my lips. “Heat,” my voice was scarcely a whisper over the clattering of cutlery around us.

  I watched on as his eyes widened and glimmered. Rays blazed in through the window to my right, casting a stream of light across the table and brightening his already ridiculously bright eyes. “Heat, like wax?”

  “Heat, like…” damn this was hard. In sharing this with him, I was sharing my soul. I dropped my head to focus on the table distancing us, unable to look him in the eyes when I bore myself to the only man in the world who understood me. “Heating metal, or anything that’s there really.”

  The moment I sought his gaze, I discovered his eyes twinkling with knowledge. He nodded his head pensively, “Makes sense. Okay, this is just an example, okay.” His statement was enhanced by the firm gesture of his hand. I’d felt his calloused before, but I never really saw the physical damage to the skin over his palm until then.

  I nodded.

  “One day, you will have stored so much in that body and mind of yours that the simple blistering steel on your skin, won’t help alleviate it quick enough. You will be in so much emotional pain, so much fury inside of your body, that your judgment will be clouded by sheer greed and desperation. You won’t see the consequences of your actions because all you need is to gut that swelling open and free yourself of that anger, and emotional suffering.” He spoke with his features set in a hard, uncompromising fashion, The Indian Ocean darkening as his head tumbled forward slightly, yet they still possessed the intensity to pin me in my seat from the opposite side of the table.

  He spoke like he had experienced this before. It was scary.

  “That day, is the day you will cross a line and lose utter control. You won’t go for a spoon, you won’t care about reaching your limit and reeling yourself back, you’ll push that limit to get instant relief. You might set yourself on fire.”

  I scoffed, “On fire?” That was too farfetched for me to stifle any forms of disbelief.

  “Example, Kady,” he chided before resuming. “My point is: if you set fire to yourself, your brain registers that within a millisecond you’re free of that emotional, pent-up frustration. The next time it happens, you’ll remember how quick it was to free yourself. You’ll no longer abide by your body’s limits, Kady; you’ll keep exceeding them, overstepping them. You’ll have no respect for them or your body, and one day, you’ll wake up not recognizing who you are.”

  “You speak like you’ve faced this before.” A wistful smile was offered from my side of the booth, before I narrowed my eyes perceptively. “Have you ever lost control?”

  His head lowered, but his eyes remained lingering on me. “Yes,” he admitted bluntly, and the flow of air caught in my throat at his admission. “And it’s something that I can’t escape from––something that is always there and something which I have to focus on, when I need my next form of relief. I’m not proud of it. But that is something that I don’t want you to go through, darlin’.”

  “You just admitted to losing control with yourself, how do I know you wouldn’t lose control with me?” Fair question, I thought.

  “You have just shared with me the darkest, and probably the biggest secret you will ever have in your life, Kady. Do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” I replied without a second of hesitancy, because I did. He was right. I just shared a piece of my soul with him. I did trust him, probably more than a certain someone.

  Our moment was broken when the waitress came with plates in her hand. “I have Walker’s usual, and waffles. I’ll get your coffees now.” She set the large white plates down on the table and returned back to the counter.

  Gathering my hands in his as he extended his arms across the table, the look of undiluted restraint burned brightly in his eyes. “Please, Kady. I want to help you. Let me help you. Let me be your anchor.”

  When Tiffani came back with our beverages, I couldn’t shift the voice in my mind which kept telling me that, I was new to all this, by the looks of things, Walker knew damn well what he was talking about. I knew I’d be safe there. I knew he would keep me safe, I’d never doubt that.

  As my answer was conveyed by a simple nod of my head, a smile tiptoed across his face.

  In his clutch, my hands were lifted up to his mouth. “Thank you, Kady.” He kissed the back of my hand with a sigh, his callouses grazed my palm as his scruff grazed my knuckles. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was four ho
urs after leaving Walker’s company when Liam strolled through the front door. This was the moment which bred my anxiety, my fear. The mere sound of the front door closing behind him had me struggling for vital breath amidst the heavy blanket which fell above me, storing all negativity that was surging its way through my system, retaining it as it frantically sought an outlet.

  The sound of his footsteps had me quaking. In that moment, I idly pondered how it was possible for the soft sounds of feet padding over hardwood, to be both gentle and menacing.

  Behind the kitchen island, I stood immobilized staring down at the cellphone that had caused so much heartbreak just last night. A soft, cheerful whistle wafted through the house, the lively melody was shaded by a not so lively man.

  I didn’t venture a look at him. I kept my regard fixed firmly on the handset on the oak surface of the island, my hands gripping lightly at the ledge, upholding my weight through locked arms. Seeing him in my peripheral vision at the dining table, I granted the much needed breath I drank in, to surpass the penetrating sense of foreboding. I wanted to cry. I wanted to break. I wanted to just run far, far away and live, or not live, the rest of my life without this sickening, fisted ominous feeling in my gut and my chest––the same one that was the foundation of my everyday life.

  It was consuming.

  Liam was consuming.

  “Well, this is a warm welcome if I must say,” he sliced the silence with his cutting words, his tone one of derision.

  This wasn’t going to go down well. I think I dwelled for those full four, lonely hours on how I was going to advance this hurdle, and how I was to fare with the ramifications afterwards. I still hadn’t called my mom back. There was no way on this God’s green Earth, was I going to fail to attend my Nan’s funeral, however, I wasn’t going to provoke Liam by jumping straight in and demanding. I had to try and take the right steps.

  If only I knew what the right steps for this problem were.

  Gripping hands turned white and cold as the blood of my knuckles ceased with the increasing pressure initialized on the island ledge. A shudder spawned as I felt him prowling toward me. The heat of his glare practically stripped the flesh from my bones.