Seeking Solace

by Chelsea Camaron

  For this was how my life had to be without Giano.

  Six

  Some habits die hard.

  Getting lost in my morning run was a new habit and one I couldn’t shake or break. I knew I was out of control, but I didn’t know what to do with my emotions. I couldn’t run from them but I certainly couldn’t hide away, holed up drowning in the dark recesses of my mind. I didn’t know what to do, what to think, or how to channel everything I felt.

  I was angry.

  I was sad.

  I was filled with guilt.

  I was everything damaged.

  Being late was just another fuck up in the list of how messed up my life had become. Although, I guess I shouldn’t consider running a habit as much as a failed coping mechanism. I used running to work out my emotions like a therapy of sorts. It probably wasn’t the best thing, but I was out of options. I failed to be successful in healing because I didn’t know how to stop. I would push my body until I couldn’t any more than and only then would I return home. This meant I constantly lost track of time.

  For the mind was a war zone, at least for me. My emotions were at battle between grief and elation. I obviously grieved for Giano, but I found small happiness in the fact that I was indeed getting by.

  Who could say they were given a second chance like me? Who could say that in that second chance came a third that left endless possibilities for the future? Some people would give anything for this clean slate, but not me.

  I had to be broken, unrepairable, not to find some happiness in the gifts Giano had left me. I wasn’t so ungrateful as to have zero appreciation.

  It was just tangled in my grief.

  The loss took over every other emotion I could feel. In everything, every day, I pictured him. I pictured the life I could have had with him if I hadn’t crossed the line.

  It wasn’t like Giano wouldn’t have sent me to college.

  I only wished he was here. The money, the lifestyle, the education—I would give it all to have him back.

  In this time and distance apart from his home, I had come to terms with things. A line had truly been crossed. One that we could not uncross.

  Now, I had to learn to deal with and accept the consequences for those actions.

  Accountability.

  Another human trait or flaw dependent upon one’s ability to hold themselves accountable. I struggled with it at times.

  These were the many thoughts I had as I pushed the pavement under me. Running. Pressing on. As each foot hit the gravel beneath me I was propelling my body and my mind.

  I would let the memories invade and then let the pain of my aching muscles remind me I was still alive.

  I knew I needed to get a handle on life.

  I needed to structure my runs to be more fitting to my class schedule.

  I didn’t have the self-control to stop when I was going too far or too hard.

  Like today as I, yet again, rushed into Professor Patrick’s class late, I allowed myself to get consumed in my pace. Time was forgotten.

  As I was running, I kept seeing his eyes as they locked onto mine yesterday. The way he seemed to sear my very soul with his gaze.

  I had felt that once before.

  When I was ten years old and my savior came.

  Except Professor Shawn Patrick was not my savior. He was my instructor and, by the red flush to his cheeks, highly pissed at me as I made my way into the room and to my seat.

  “Ms. Diamante, I’ll need to see you after class.”

  His tone left no room for me to argue so I nodded, knowing I had truly gotten myself into it now. I knew I was not leaving a good impression. Not that I cared what he thought. This was not good for my academic career to have a string of hits for tardiness in the first week of the second semester. What could I say? He wouldn’t understand my head space. He wouldn’t forgive my lack of respect for his class. I was another student in a random class who, to him, had a punctuality problem.

  Class droned on with him commanding the room with a no-nonsense attitude that I was certain commanders of Army would have been proud of. He carried himself well with features that had a hint of arrogance to them. Such as the way his eyebrows slightly lifted as he spoke, seeming to imply he was merely gracing the class with his presence. The words flowed from his mouth as if he were tired of speaking to people who could grasp the depths of his knowledge.

  Or maybe, my mind was playing tricks on me.

  Maybe, I was seeing this pompous ass inside of him as a self-destructive way to stop any attraction in its tracks.

  One thing I knew was self-awareness. It was the hardest lesson I had learned in my loss of Giano. And being aware of myself, my mind was thoroughly fucked up. I knew that as much as I knew my name was Fallyn Valencia and not really Angelina.

  Class ended and I stayed in place until everyone filed out of the doors. Only then did I make my way to the front.

  “Do you have a problem telling time, Ms. Diamante?” He propped himself against his desk and folded his arms across his chest as his eyes bore into mine.

  “No,” I managed to reply.

  “Is this going to be a daily thing, a habit of sorts?” he asked me tersely.

  “No,” I said firmly, my agitation growing by the second.

  “Did you read the expectations? Do you understand my policy on tardiness?”

  “Yes,” I lied.

  It was a history class. The policy didn’t matter. I would go to class, get my assignments done, and move on. History was not my major and would not do a damn thing for me in the future. It was a requirement, nothing more, nothing less.

  His brow furrowed. “You’re a psychology major, which is rather surprising to have that already written in your file as a freshman. Then again, your late application and easy acceptance are also quite striking, too.”

  My breaths hitched. He knew too much. He went digging and was asking questions. I felt my body temperature rise. The fear was taking hold. Was he tied to someone from Giano’s world? Would he figure out who I really was? Maybe I should have stayed on the East Coast.

  “I know you come from a special background,” he said, making me shake my head in confusion.

  “I don’t know what assumption you’re making here, but you’re wrong!”

  “You are Angelina Diamante. Your father was a master hitman for many elite crime families on the East Coast.”

  Fury.

  I felt it overtake me as he mentioned Giano. How dare this man speak of my life as if he knew a damn thing about any of it. How dare him think of mentioning Giano. I made a mental note to speak with Alanzo about him. I needed to figure out his ties to Giano and what he might really know of my so-called past.

  “My father’s job is none of your concern. I’ll be to class on time. My acceptance here is not of your concern either because you were not, and are not, on the admissions board.”

  “The Diamante temper. You should know I pose no threat to you. I just understand more of what you went through than you realize.”

  I shook my head in absolute disbelief. “So you kept me here to,” I wildly threw my arms, “what? Bond with me? I don’t need friends, Professor Patrick. I’m here for an education, and yes it is centered around psychology.” I was reckless, out of control. I moved to the West Coast to avoid ties to Giano’s world so why would my professor bring him up?

  He stood stock still. “I merely kept you here to find out why you keep arriving late to my class. You see, your general studies are required for a degree of any sort so my class is required no matter what your major is. If you have such a disregard for my time, my class, then one must wonder whether you will give your true attention and energy to the classes that will matter in your profession one day.” He was so calm, unshakable, and it only frustrated me more.

  “I lost track of time. This is a new schedule. It won’t happen again.”

  He laughed and I felt my tensions ease. “I can only hope time is all you lose track of or yo
u will have a long life ahead of you in college.”

  What a condescending asshole! Before I could reply, he pushed off his desk and passed me. “Don’t be late again.”

  If I stayed here, I wouldn’t be late again. If Professor Patrick knew too much, then it would be time to reset life somewhere else. I came here to be away from the scrutiny of the people in Giano’s world. I wouldn’t remain here if that were to continue. Alanzo made sure no one from there would bother me here. I wanted to be alone. Live alone. Heal alone. I didn’t need the shadow of past regrets. I didn’t need the reminders of what I had done to Giano.

  Professor Patrick’s attitude sparked something in me. He challenged me.

  I wouldn’t be late again because Shawn Patrick would have no power over me. No man would ever again.

  That I knew to my very core.

  Seven

  The cool water flowed over my skin. Waking today, the rain had drowned my chances to run. My body being accustomed to a morning run craved some sort of exertion. The college pool was open to free swim in the morning and times like this I took advantage of it.

  Lately, I had too much pent up energy so anything to release some of what I was feeling was important. Even with all these months having passed, I still missed Giano and the life I had with him. I was always restless here and even with studies to focus on I couldn’t seem to find my own groove in life. I was existing, but I wouldn’t call it living.

  I glided down the lane, taking steady, deliberate strokes, while keeping my breaths fluid as I moved. Just like running it was a way to burn off stress and clear my head. I had to remain focused on where I was going and controlling my breathing.

  As I finished my last lap, the burn in my legs and arms was a nice reminder I was alive, even if at times I felt completely dead inside. Just like running, I had to get to this point before I could stop. I had to remember there was life still inside this body of mine.

  Sometimes I wanted it all to end.

  Alanzo told me Giano would want me to go on.

  While I knew he was right, I struggled.

  The dark depths of my mind taunted me. They told me I wasn’t worthy. No one would miss me anyway. I would be gone and no one would cry at my wake. No one would put flowers upon my grave. No one would question or care what really had happened to me.

  I was dead inside.

  Why continue to make my body go on, day after day? I should give in and let it all end.

  The thoughts swirled. The power of the darkness was winning. I had no friends anymore. I left them behind when I came here and I didn’t call anyone but Alanzo. I had nothing but school and a lost childhood.

  It could all be over.

  At the side of the pool I let myself slowly sink. My body went down, down, down, as I allowed little bubbles of air to escape.

  For a moment, I thought of letting myself stay there.

  Who would miss me?

  Alanzo? He would move on in life. He was strong like that.

  It all went back to the mind.

  Just as I was clearing my head to be done with it all, to let go, instincts took over and I found myself floating to the top. My lungs burned for air as I fought to keep my head down. Part of me wanted to open my mouth, suck in the water through my nose, and drown. The other part of me didn’t have the balls to let me go through with it.

  In a split second, I was emerging from the water gasping for air.

  Coughing, hacking, and spitting up water, I was a wreck. My breaths came in deep intakes but my lungs were caving under the pressure. The pain was intense.

  Our minds, advanced as they were, always craved life.

  Wasn’t that a disappointment? I had to win the battle of my mind to force my body into death. Yet, I was already losing the battle of my emotions because I was so very ready to end it all.

  To be successful at ending that life, one must learn to override self-preservation. I wasn’t there … yet.

  Maybe in time.

  Maybe not.

  The only thing I was certain of was that today wasn’t my day to die in a pool.

  Rather than dwell on what went wrong or the why’s that landed me to feel this way, I needed to press on. So getting out of the pool, I let my feet lead me as I dressed and headed to class.

  And today I was on time.

  The next day, I managed to get my run in before the rain. My classes passed and I finished my day in the library. Looking at my phone, it was a little after eight and I knew I should head home, but I was wound up. Deciding I wouldn’t be able to sleep, I headed back to the pool.

  The workout yesterday was a nice change of pace and maybe this would tire me out for tonight. Or maybe I could tie some weights to my ankles and hold myself down. Either way, the pool was calling for me.

  Lap after lap, I got lost in the water. I wished my emotions could flow around and through me the way the water did. Instead, they were like weights holding pressing me, sinking into the dark abyss. Except every time I would allow myself to give into them, to wallow in them, something inside of me would fight for the light. I just wanted it all to stop.

  When my body burned from top to toe, I stopped. My one-piece swimsuit felt like it was constricting my lungs, and that’s how I knew I pushed hard enough. Resting my elbows on the ledge, I tried to calm my rapidly beating heart. This was a solid workout even though that had not been my plan. Looking up, my breathing stopped.

  Professor Patrick came strolling toward me, shirtless in swim trunks that fit him perfectly. He looked around, over his shoulders, and scanned the pool area before stopping to crouch to my level. His golden eyes locked onto mine. It was a trance.

  “Ummm, Professor Patrick,” I stumbled out my greeting.

  “Shawn. We’re not in class, so you can call me Shawn, Ms. Diamante.”

  I smiled at him, “Okay, Shawn, you can call me Angelina.”

  “Why are you here so late? I’m always here alone at this time of night.”

  I wished I had goggles to hide my eyes. I was fighting not to stare at his bare skin and the tattoos adorning him. Knowing about his defined abs, muscles, and ink would make focusing in class impossible.

  “I needed to clear my head. I usually run, but it was late so I thought this was a safer option.”

  “Indeed it is. You run at night often?”

  “No, usually in the morning.”

  “Ahhh,” he nodded his head. “Losing track of time and being late to class.”

  I found myself smiling bigger. “Sometimes.”

  He slipped into the water beside me, dipping under to wet his hair. Coming up, he treaded water beside me as he pushed his hair back from his face.

  “Clear your mind with me,” he invited before he took off gliding beautifully through the water. His legs kicked without making splashes, arms extending far as he cupped his hands to slice into the water rather than splash down on it.

  His form was impeccable.

  He completed the lap, returning to me as I stayed in place with my mouth hanging open. Swimming had never been sexy until now. What was wrong with me?

  “You have a text-book technique,” I complimented. “Do you coach for the team here?”

  He gave me a smile. His perfect teeth shone as his face relaxed in a way that had me wanting to touch him. I resisted … barely.

  “My parents paid for private lessons and the instructor was harsh, firm, and accepted nothing but quiet strokes that were fast.”

  “Sounds painful,” I admitted honestly.

  “Nah, relax the shoulders and think of your body as a boat pressing through.”

  I nodded.

  “Take a lap with me.”

  This time when he pressed off the wall, I followed suit. When we completed the lap, he positioned behind me. “Try this. I swear the difference will give you more laps before you feel the burn.”

  I was frozen as goose bumps sprung over my arms at his contact.

  “Roll your shoulder, allowing your bod
y to shift with it. Don’t fight the movements. Keep your kicks steady and cup your hands so that your fingertips enter the water before the palm.”

  He looked down at me. His eyes lingered on my lips.

  My mind screamed, kiss me please. While my chest rose and fell with deep breaths.

  He licked the water from his lips and I found myself repeating the action. He swallowed hard and pulled his heady gaze from mine before shifting to rest against the pool wall.

  “Give it a try,” he encouraged with a groan.

  I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to kiss me. It stirred all of these bad things inside of me. I was locked in place, unable to move, to breathe, to think.

  I shook my head, “Maybe next time. Gotta go.”

  Rushing to push myself out of the pool, I felt my thighs scrape harshly on the concrete, but it didn’t matter. I needed space.

  Letting my feet move me again, I took off, headed home.

  I found my escape from him … until he found me in my dreams. Hot, wet, and craving the Professor in my sleep only made me wake for a new day unsatisfied and conflicted.

  For once again, I was attracted to the forbidden man.

  Eight

  The week dragged on endlessly as I was completely caught up in these new emotions. Each day, I found myself struggling to understand and grasp these new thoughts and feelings. Attraction wasn’t something I had a lot of experience in.

  Forbidden desires, well, those seemed to fuel me. But that had been unhealthy and look where it landed me, as well as Giano.

  I was damaged, broken, and a fucked up person to go from ruining one man to desiring another that I couldn’t have. Why couldn’t I break this cycle?

  I laced my shoes.

  Running.

  It suddenly didn’t have the same appeal as swimming.

  This was ridiculous.

  My emotions were out of control. My mind was a place to get lost in, but instead of finding solace, I found confliction and pain.

  Maybe I needed professional help. A shrink to tell me how to get my head screwed back on straight. What was I going to say, my name is Angelina Diamante, and I fucked my father so he blew his brains out? Yeah, that would get me committed for sure. I made the choice to move on as Angelina. That was Giano’s wish in his paperwork. Even though he left me with my real birth certificate, social security number, and even a high school diploma for Fallyn, I chose to remain as Angelina. Which meant I chose to be his daughter, so how could I actually explain his suicide?