Redefining Us: A Reclusive Novel

by Harloe Rae

  I can’t believe I almost lost my shit in front of her. She was seriously testing my already short fucking fuse when she wouldn’t tell me who was picking her up. Then she had to touch me. The pain that flashed across Willow’s face at my reaction made me feel like such an asshole. I could have tried explaining my response if I hadn’t been using all of my energy to stop the looming meltdown.

  What could I have possibly said to make it any fucking better?

  To make matters even more confusing, I didn’t feel the typical repulsiveness when Willow’s hand made contact with my skin. I yanked my arm away out of pure instinct rather than the searing pain that causes my reaction. I was shocked to find it didn’t hurt. Before I could explain anything, Willow mumbled out a completely unnecessary apology and started walking away. If anyone has stuff to be sorry for, it’s my messed up ass.

  I can’t stand being touched. It feels like acid is burning my flesh then slowly ripping away from the bone. The doctors couldn’t explain the sudden onset. I refused to sit through any head shrinking sessions where they would conclude I was fucked up beyond repair. I already knew all that shit. They ended up tossing it in with all the other trauma symptoms I was suffering from. It wasn’t like I planned to be around people so what did it matter.

  The more I reflect on it, the more I realize Willow’s touch was actually soothing. For one short moment, I felt a breath of peace. Then I went and fucked it all up because that’s what I do. Nothing good happens to me and I need to fucking accept it, even if Willow tries blasting her blinding light into the depths of my darkness.

  Her unexpected presence disrupted the warped routine I was used to but now I’ll slink back into the abyss. There is no escape from this distorted existence I’m suffocating in. I don’t deserve any reprieve from the constant battle waging war inside my head.

  Why am I still standing here? Why am I obsessing over this?

  With that thought, I turn back to my house to retreat into my reality. When I try to step forward, it feels like I’m pushing against an armored wall. Almost like my feet are cemented to the ground. I have officially gone insane. I grit my teeth and plow through the invisible force field attempting to hold me captive.

  The first thing I do once I get back inside is rip all the sheets off the bed. I can’t have any reminders of Willow lingering around. With the fabric crumpled in my fists, I lurch back when her scent reaches my nostrils. The distinct lavender aroma screams her name. It forces memories of countless occasions I breathed the exact perfume deep into my lungs whenever I was near her.

  It smells so fucking good.

  I’m powerless against the desire to inhale more of the intoxicating fragrance.

  Willow shoved her way into my bleak isolation and splashed it with vibrant color. She was here for less than a full day but the impact she had on me will be unforgettable. Now she’s gone and I’m alone once again. I should be glad since this was what I wanted. Instead, I feel like my lifeless heart has been jammed in a meat grinder?

  If I wanted to be real honest, slivers of hope had started forming in my dejected soul.Even though I didn’t let my impassive mask slip and show her how she was affecting me, I thought she might stay.

  Why the fuck would she?

  I’d been nothing but an asshole from the moment she arrived at my door.

  What the fuck am I doing? I can’t handle being obsessed with her. I don’t need to be more crippled than I already am. I drop the offending scraps of tainted material and move toward to kitchen. Getting blackout wasted sounds like the best way to deal with this shit.

  I realize my mistake when the images start seeping into my peripheral. I let my guard down by agonizing over Willow and now I’m going to be punished. I chug the liquor directly from the bottle to speed the process up but I know it’s too late.

  The visions that flash before my eyes are appalling and cause goosebumps to form on my flesh.

  Severed limbs.

  Dead eyes.

  Choking breath.

  Blood pouring out of broken men.

  The most horrific are from the few seconds of clarity I had right after the explosion hit. My brothers’ faces morphing from shock to excruciating pain. Watching their forms thrown from the vehicle without seeing where they land. The smell of their burning flesh. This is my fucking truth. I deserve this for letting Willow stay. I wish I could say I regretted it.

  I didn’t think my life could get worse but I was fucking wrong.

  The darkness is clawing at me and the psychotic illusions are threatening to pull me under. I take another long swig of whiskey. My brain is a scramble and I can’t fucking focus.

  The shadows on the wall morph into haunting hallucinations. I dig the heel of my palms into my eye sockets. I punch my skull until I’m dizzy. I yank on my hair until my scalp burns. I can’t fucking ignore this crazy shit.

  Nothing is fucking working!

  I start pacing around the room, clutching my head to try and stop the madness. A stabbing sensation shoots through my temple. Why is this happening to me all the fucking time? I’m not strong enough to endure this shit for the rest of my miserable life. I know I’m the only one who survived but why am I being constantly punished?

  When the noises start, I know I’m doomed. I fall to the floor and curl in on myself. My body is shaking uncontrollably and I don’t know if I’ll survive this time.

  Fuck my life.

  * * *

  I’m sitting at my parent’s kitchen table, drinking a cup of hot tea, and absentmindedly tracing lines along the grain with my fingernail. It’s the middle of the night so I should be sleeping, but I couldn’t get my jumbled thoughts to quiet down. My pulse is pounding while my legs shift nervously under the covers. My mind has been spinning nonstop since coming face to face with Xander the day before. I can’t seem to come to terms with how much he’s changed.

  As soon as I got in my mom’s car earlier, she demanded answers. I filled in all the gaps and recapped everything that occurred while I was at his house. Xander’s detached persona. Anxious mannerisms. Panic. His blunt coldness. His extreme behaviors. Mood swings. The condition of his house. All of it.

  Well, I did leave out the part where I creeped on him while he was splitting wood. She didn’t need to know about that.

  Any decent psychologist would be thrilled to have such a fascinating case dropped at their feet but I could only worry about what must have happened to cause these drastic differences from the boy I grew up with. Xander was always on the reserved and quiet side. People often didn’t grasp his unique personality and thought he was rude, but his athletic abilities and physical appearance provided him with acceptance regardless. Those connections were always surface level though. They weren’t interested in getting to know who he really was. Everyone just wanted the status and good looks. Such garbage.

  He had a small, tightly knit group of very close friends. Xander didn’t mind spending time alone but I never predicted he would one day become a shut in. He was always devastatingly good looking so he had his pick of girls to date. It broke my heart a little more each time he found interest in one enough to keep her around for a while.

  Why didn’t I ever admit my feelings for him?

  The last time I saw Xander, we were twenty years old and still so darn naive about the world. The military was always his plan. He had enlisted in the service when he was eighteen but managed to stay stateside those first two years. When he found out his unit was headed overseas, Xander saw it as an opportunity and a privilege to fight for our country. In addition to getting the chance to protect our freedom, he thrived on order and structure. He was eager to be part of something bigger than any of us.

  I was so proud of him but also very concerned about how the war and combat would impact my friend. I have no clue what he was involved in during his tour, which makes me so freaking sad I could start sobbing all over again. I should have voiced my worry. I should have done more for him.

  I’m he
aded back to his place with my dad tomorrow to get my car plowed out of the snow. I wonder if I will get the chance to speak to Xander again. I was so freaking angry and frustrated when I left but I was too harsh in my judgement. My impulsive attitude caused a more compound fracture between our already broken friendship. I’m ashamed of how I acted and admitting that is the first step to fixing it.

  I don’t think I can handle leaving things between us how they are now. I love that man so much. Even after all this time and with everything that has happened.

  I guess I’ll see what tomorrow brings.

  The drive back to Xander’s cabin is fairly uneventful. I’m lost in my thoughts and keeping quiet even though my dad tries grilling me for information. When he doesn’t get the hint and makes another attempt to chat, I decide to give in.

  “Why do you think Xander is staying all the way out here?” My dad’s question shakes me out of my daze because I’ve been asking myself the same thing.

  I shrug my shoulders in defeat. “I have no idea. I tried talking to him but he wasn’t interested in divulging any details. Xander hardly spoke to me. To be honest, my visit with him only made me feel worse,” I reveal quietly. I turn my face toward the mirror to hide my oncoming tears.

  “Willow,” my father murmurs, trying to recapture my attention. “Xander will come around. War changes a person but that doesn’t mean we have to accept it. He needs to know we care and want to support him. It could take years but healing will happen for him. I know you want to be part of the help he needs, sweetie.”

  A few drops leak from my eyes and I let them trail down my face. I don’t know what to say but I’m saved from responding since we’re approaching Xander’s place. I mutter a nearly silent, “Thanks, Dad.”

  Upon arriving, we work fast to get the job done. My body protests as I push my limits with each heaping load of snow I remove. I don’t want to risk Xander overreacting about our presence and cause an explosive scene with my father around. An involuntary shiver rushes through me at the thought of him storming out here in a mad rage. I pick up the pace with that image in mind.

  My dad easily cleared the excessive amount of snow out of Xander’s long driveway. He helped shovel my car out of the pile of white fluff it was buried in before towing it out of the ruts. He made sure I could leave without a problem and then took off for home. All before noon.

  Now I’m standing by my driver’s side door, pondering my options and feeling really conflicted. Should I just take off without trying to talk to Xander? Or do I try to make amends?

  The decision is made for me when I hear a loud crash from inside the house. It isn’t just my relentless curiosity that drags me to the front door. I still have deeply instinctive concern for Xander and the combination makes my choice simple. I could never forgive myself if I just walked away without knowing he is all right.

  I soon discover he’s definitely not.

  I don’t get a response when I knock and the knob twists easily, which is my first sign that things are definitely not good. I notice how destroyed the room is with my first glimpse inside, which is really saying something. The place was not in great shape to start. It appears that a disastrous storm swept through and wreaked havoc on the meager furnishings spread about. Everything is flipped over, cast aside, or shattered on the ground.

  When I spot Xander, I can’t keep the sorrowful gasp concealed. My gosh, he looks even worse than yesterday. He’s slumped into the corner by his bed and looks to be passed out. Xander’s skin is a sickly shade of white and his cheeks are sunken. His clothes are filthy. It smells disgusting in here. Like vomit. Further inspection of the room presents the source of the vile stench. Puke is dripping down the wall near the bathroom.

  I slowly walk deeper into the house, careful to avoid stepping on anything. I don’t even know where to direct my gaze. Xander groans and shifts slightly on the floor, reassuring me he’s at least breathing. I head in his direction then pause a few feet away. He must have heard me enter and approach because I get a reaction from him quickly.

  “What the fuck do you want? You left without a backward fucking glance,” he wheezes through cracked lips. His eyes are still closed but Xander rolls his neck so his face is turned away from me. His hands are trembling on his thighs and I wish so badly that I could reach out to steady them.

  I’m not sure how to respond in order to avoid a hostile altercation. I don’t want to set him off. “Xander, I heard a crash and was worried. You didn’t answer when I knocked and the door wasn’t locked, which really concerned me. I didn’t mean to barge in on your privacy again. You have to understand that I care about you and just want to help,” I ease out as calmly as possible.

  He whips his head towards me once again and his brilliant blues eyes flash open. They are full of fire and look positively livid. So much for keeping it cordial. “How many times do I have to say it, Willow? I don’t need your fucking help. I don’t want your pity. I don’t know why you keep coming back here but just leave me alone. I don’t want anything you have to offer.” His voice rumbles with more emotion lashing across his pained face. Xander’s lip curls into a snarl as he glares at me.

  My hands shoot out in front of me in a placating gesture. “I never meant to disrespect you, Xander. You are my friend, even if we haven’t seen each other in years. I will never forget what we’ve been through together. When you were gone, I thought about you constantly. I missed you, Xander. I would never pity you and I am only trying to offer support. Like we always used to do for each other. Please let me be here for you,” I plea while trying to control the threat of tears. I can’t seem to stop them from flowing around this man.

  I swear I can see his shields lock firmly in place as he prepares for a fight. My words seem to have poured gasoline on the coals and now the flames are blazing. It’s so frustrating and does a great job drying my moist eyes. Whatever is about to transpire will not be pretty. I can only hope it is somehow cathartic.

  “Fuck you, Willow. Fuck. You. Stop pretending that you actually want to be here. You don’t know me. I don’t want you to. I couldn’t care less what you say or what you think of me. Our past is fucking irrelevant. I want you gone. Out of my house and out of my life,” he roars. Xander is positively seething but I’m not afraid. I can handle the verbal attack he is about to unleash upon me.

  I know Xander is pushing me away to get me to leave. He’s in so much pain but won’t admit it. Heaven forbid he ever ask for help. That is one consistent thread that ties these two versions of Xander together. It gives me hope that I will discover more similarities between the two versions of my friend. He’s self-destructing right before my eyes and I can’t stop it. I am watching the havoc first-hand and I know I won’t leave him again.

  Xander struggles to stand and I make no move to help him. It goes against all of my natural impulses, and takes Herculean effort, but I continue to just stand there. His current weakness fuels the rapidly building rage. His eyes are feral and a growl tears from his throat. I shiver uncontrollably and am ashamed that these animalistic tendencies turn me on.

  Keep it together, Willow!

  My friend is crumbling before me and obviously suffering. He can shove as hard as he wants. Xander can attempt to scare me with his nasty attitude. He can even try to guilt me but I won’t budge. In this moment, while I’m staring at this stranger, I am hit with an epiphany.

  No matter what, I won’t leave him again.

  I keep holding strong. “Stop pushing me away, Xander! I’m trying to help and clearly I’m screwing it up. Again. I’m just trying to do the right thing but your dang protective walls are so thick you won’t even give me a tiny glimpse. I’m not going anywhere. Can you understand that? You need to find a healthy outlet to let whatever is eating at you escape. Hiding away here won’t solve your problems and it’s only succeeding in dragging you down deeper. You’re stuck in your head with those poisonous thoughts to keep you company.”

  “Don’t try your psych
o-babble-bullshit on me, Willow. Been there, done that. You became a therapist, right? Just like your perfect little plan intended? Makes sense why you’re trying to stick around. I’m not a new patient for you to fuck with. I deserve to suffer in silence. They all died and I’m alive. Living and breathing. I’m not interested in getting better. You can’t fix me.” Xander gets closer to me as he continues ranting.

  “STOP!” I yell. “I am so frigging sick of talking in circles. I am not trying to analyze you, Xander. For goodness sake. You are important to me and obviously not doing well. It doesn’t take someone with a mental health degree to figure that out. Get off your entitled high horse and knock it off. You can’t scare me away.” My breathing is heavy and I feel like I’m panting. This guy gets me so worked up. I can’t stop my slight perusal of his amped up frame.

  Xander is glowering at me but takes another step closer. Even though his house reeks and I’m pretty sure he recently spewed all over the wall, Xander has a masculine aura surrounding him that turns me on. He is huge everywhere, which makes me feel so petite and feminine. I can imagine being swallowed up by his bulky body.

  What a delicious thought.

  Geesh, I am really one to dish out advice when I’m perving on this tormented man.

  My ridiculously good looking, especially when angry, best friend of a man. With his rugged and disheveled hair that badly needs a trim. Whose hands are so big he could easily palm the entire expanse of my butt. With his bulging muscles that suggest he could effortlessly toss me around. His shoulders are so wide that his shirt is close to tearing at the seams. His grizzly beard only adds to his appeal. I imagine all that coarse hair rasping against my soft skin and leaving evidence of his manly presence.

  My extremely sexy, purely platonic pal has an enormous erection tenting his sweatpants.

  Wow.

  I’m so glad I’m not the only one affected. We take turns devouring each other and I’m not sure how much more I can take.