Numb

by Arissa Alexston

  A woman with a good head on her shoulders and life goals could help me sort my shit out and keep me on track. I needed a woman akin to a rock, who would ground me for fear of losing a good thing. Could I ever have something healthy and normal? Was I mentally ready for such a strong commitment and permanence? I wanted to think so, but no matter how I tried to picture a happy future, my inner nightmares seemed to strangle the dreams. I would rip the goal away from myself before even trying. If I fucked up my one good chance at that life, it would be the last time I attempted such a thing. I couldn't promise people wouldn't find me in a coked out heap falling deeper into despair because of my failure.

  Muffled noises came from the porch, and I quieted my breathing to listen better. Still unable to make out the voices, I got up and stepped into the foyer. Leaning in close to the front door, I heard the distinct sound of keys falling on the ground and a masculine chuckle. My fists balled, and I restrained myself from whipping the door open and ruining their romantic porch moment. He was out there, with her, with Nadia. I gnawed on my lower lip, redirecting some of my simmering temper boiling within me. It wasn't my fucking place, but I wanted it to be.

  "Go on, pick 'em up," her date murmured.

  "Really, just go back to your car, Cameron. I'm good."

  "Sure you don't want me to come in?"

  There had been a pause from Nadia. "No, I—stop, what are you doing?"

  "I thought you wanted this."

  "You want this. Don't say a word to anyone." My breathing picked up and I counted to ten to remember my therapy to help stop the anxiety triggers. I shook my head to remove the memory of Ray's deep voice from the here and now. The shadow of my past was always an onslaught of misery and phantom pain that seem to punch me right in the gut when I least expected. Goddamn it. I needed to keep myself in check in case I had to intervene, but I struggled to rid myself of the shackles dragging me deep in the mud of my emotions. I braced my hands against the walls on either side of me and fought to keep the past from bleeding into my present. Fuck, the visions shuffled through my mind like a deck of cards on a casino table and I was seconds away from folding.

  "Pick the keys up and we'll finish this inside," Cameron murmured and I heard movement against the door from her probably being pressed against it.

  "Please stop. I will scream. Don't make me."

  Her voice sounded as weak and defenseless as mine had when Ray took it well past inappropriate touching. And it snapped something in me. I wanted to kill the fucker touching her against her will, just like I'd wanted to kill Ray but was too chicken-shit to do. Instead, Vashton had done it, making me look and feel all the weaker. What grown-ass man couldn't face his violator and take revenge? One who still battled bullshit panic attacks when he thought of the past, that's who. However, this Cameron guy I could do something about. I could easily take all the pain and rage boiling in me and direct toward him.

  I opened the door and had a second to react to Nadia falling against my chest. I steadied her with one arm thrown protectively across her ribcage. The fucking prick had her pressed so close against the door that he stumbled over the threshold after her. Legal enough for me to kill him if I wanted, but my point would be made. I fought to keep myself from seeing red and going postal. I focused on the predator struggling to right himself as his already wide eyes took in my hulking frame.

  "What the fuck?" He uttered and winced as I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt with my free hand. I twisted to leave little airway and felt the cloth pinch into his neck. I hated this pretty boy: Ivy League, blond hair and khaki pants. In some parallel world I would've been like him had my life not been tainted by drugs. Only difference, I wouldn't have cornered any woman for sex.

  "Listen to me, and listen to me good. I will fucking lay you six feet under if you even look in her direction after tonight. I will kill you, motherfucker, and not think twice about it. Take a damn lesson that when a girl says no, they fucking mean no. And this girl…" I nodded down to Nadia against my chest. "She's mine, and if she so much mentions that you stepped in her direction, I will not hesitate to go to prison for ripping your goddamn dick off and shoving it in your throat. The men in my family have gone to prison for less." I felt his nervous gulp against my knuckles and watched him nod a little too fast as his wide blue eyes searched my face. The classic Deranged Duke within me on the rise. Vashton would be proud.

  I let the bastard go and watched him scurry away like a damn rat. I shut the door and realized I still had a firm grip around Nadia, her palms were pressed against my forearm, stiffly crossed along her chest. Her soothing scent grounded me in a way that helped me press through the dangerous adrenaline coursing through my veins. But it wasn't enough. In the middle of my anxiety attack, holding her sparked a fucking memory of me crying and wailing against Ray's grip as he used me to satiate his own dark needs.

  I released her quickly; she stumbled a little but turned toward me, her gazed roamed over my face and she chewed her bottom lip. "Thank you. Are you okay?" Her gaze looked worried in the dim light coming from the small lamp on the hall table.

  I ran my hand over my hair and down my beard. "I need to go…I need…to just go for a drive."

  I grabbed my keys hanging off the hook with shaky hands. Triggers were fucking nightmares. The rushing adrenaline charged up my craving. I needed a bump, bad. I lived in Macon before, so I knew where to score a hit. Fuck, no matter how I tried to move forward in recovery, I couldn't stay clean. Life was too fucking much to handle, especially when it threw nasty curve balls my way to watch me squirm and struggle. Maybe a dark part of me didn't want to stay clean, who would care? It seemed everyone expected me to relapse. I was a letdown anyway, so I might as well live up to the mantle on which I have been placed. I twisted the door knob, marched outside, and then got behind the wheel of my car. My passenger side door opened, and Nadia slid in beside me as I turned the engine over.

  I turned the music down before facing her. "What the fuck are you doing?"

  "I need to go for a ride too." She wiggled in the seat and twisted to buckle in her seatbelt and closed the door softly.

  I shook my head and pointed back to the house. "Get the fuck out."

  "No." She squared her shoulders and pushed her glasses up on her nose.

  "Goddamn it, I'm not your friend; I'm not someone you can hang around with."

  She smiled wickedly. "But you said I'm yours now, remember, so that entitles me."

  I scoffed. "It doesn't entitle you to shit. I told him that to get him off your ass. I don't want you like that." The lie felt weird coming out of my mouth, and I couldn't look in her direction.

  She deflated a bit but shrugged off my callous and untrue remark. "I'll be quiet and let you think, I promise."

  We stared at one another in silence, never breaking eye contact as my shortness of breath got under control. Why did she care? Why did she follow me out and seemed adamant about sticking with me. Then I saw it there in her gaze. The fucking pity everyone threw my way. Knowing Aunt Celeste, she didn't believe in keeping secrets of this magnitude in the shadows, lest it give them power. She more than likely warned Nadia about my battle with addiction. Why else would Nadia feel the need to tagalong with a man she first claimed a racist and then acted like she couldn't stand?

  This was probably some bullshit attempt to detour me from going down that old road again. Did she want to come for my benefit, or because she didn't want Aunt Celeste to be broken-hearted if something bad happened? It wouldn't be easy to push Nadia out of my car when she was determined to stop me from finding my old dealer. However, I had to curb my addiction because I couldn't lay a hand on a woman like that, and I would never take her to a sketchy part of town.

  On the other hand, the old druggie in me would have no problem doing a line in front of her. Hell, I'd even try and fuck her in the backseat when the rapture elevated my psyche. I'd shed a lot of damaged skin over the last few months to get rid of that man. The soulless part o
f me had been someone I never wanted to revive again. My will to relapse kicked into high gear, but for once, I thought about someone else other than myself, which was a mind-blowing first. It caused me to pause to think about my attempted actions and how far back it would set me. It also shone a light on how it would fuck up my future.

  I hoped to fucking hell she didn't know about my molestation. I struggled to think of myself as a true man being physically abused by another man. Not even Amy knew what happened to me as a kid. To any woman who knew my past, I felt like they would view me as a weak little bitch. No matter what they said in the therapy sessions, I never shared my past with any woman. I didn't want Nadia to know because I felt that, if she did, her pity in me would knock my masculinity down and she could never see me as a strong man. I felt like I was incapable of being a man of worth to an independent woman of her stature.

  "How much do you know about me?" I narrowed my eyes at her.

  She shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  I twisted in my seat and released her seatbelt. "Don't fucking lie to me, tell me the truth or get the hell out."

  "No and no." She snapped her belt in again.

  "How much to you fucking know?" I leaned across the armrest, putting my nose mere inches from hers. The console's blue lights where dim, but I she avoided my gaze as I tried to grill her on the details.

  "Does it even matter? Who are you today, in this moment?"

  Embarrassment choked me hard, making it tough to gather air for a moment. Did I not have one ounce of privacy, even to strangers? "I'm gonna need you to get out, so I can be alone to think."

  "I'm not going to sit by and know you fell off sobriety because of my date. So what was your favorite line to me? Oh yeah, fuck off." She parroted me from the passenger seat. I sat back, snorted in amusement and gazed at her stern and beautiful profile in silence. Her sassy remark chipped away at the resentment rising up in me. She slowly flipped my emotions back to a manageable level with comedy and sarcasm. After a moment of watching her examine and pick at her nails, I gave up and put the car in reverse. I slowly rolled out the driveway and turned up the music on the radio as we headed out of the neighborhood. Her eyes widened at my radio screen. I laughed at her gaze bouncing between me and the display.

  "What's the matter? Don't like Snoop Dogg?" I yelled over the rattling bass.

  "I prefer Motown hits, but I never thought you—never mind."

  I smiled at her confused expression, feeling myself float back down. "Oh, that's right, I'm supposed to be a racist. Where the hell did that accusation even come from?"

  "Well, you were rude from the start, and I thought you didn't like—"

  I cut her off because I didn't want to hear any negatives about myself while I was still in a rocky space mentally. "I like you…Nadia. More than you think." I gave her a genuine smile so she knew I wasn't lying.

  I chuckled when she looked away shyly and kept her eyes glued out the passenger window. I had no plans on where to go to help clear my headspace so I drove to the one place I knew provided tranquility for weary Macon souls. I hated that it was a tad too chilly to let the top down because I would've loved to see her against the backdrop of the city lights as I cruised around. After a brief highway drive, I exited off a small turn-off next to the Ocmulgee River, which would allow us to park and walk the Ocmulgee Heritage Trail. I just wanted to think, and it was the only remote place I knew at such a late hour.

  I parked along the riverfront, got out of the car, and leaned against the hood. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I stared out over the open water and tried to calm my mind like my drug counselor taught me. After some time of private meditation, my mind settled and my craving for drugs subsided a tiny bit, but my thoughts continued to race. I had nearly lost my shit in front of the woman still sitting in my car. I turned back to look at her in the soft glow of light from the overhead lights. Barely able to see her from the windshield glare, I knew she waited for me to tell her it was okay to exit the car. I waved her out before turning back to face the dark water. What was I going to do about her? She twisted my shit all up. I didn't know how to interact with her, and when I did, it often lead to fights and pent up passion.

  Nadia exited the vehicle and came to stand beside me. My automatic headlights clicked off after a minute, and all we had was the silver moonlight overhead to provide a subtle glow.

  "You know I never stopped to see this place before." She tentatively leaned against the hood beside me as I digested her careful words.

  "I used to come here to get high." I turned to see her nod with pursed lips. Reaching for normal conversation, I tried again for something that might appeal to her unique sense of style. "There is a statue of Otis Redding down that way."

  Her face lit up and she clasped her hands together. "Wow! I would love to see that."

  "Figured you might." I widened my legs and crossed my arms over my chest. "I'll show it to you during the day sometime."

  "Just let me know when and I'll be ready." She stayed silent for a few breaths. "I want to ask you something personal. You don't have to answer. Why did you come to Macon after rehab?"

  I shrugged off her question and tried to stay private. I knew I needed to talk it out. Therapy said at times it was easier to talk to strangers instead of beloved people in your life. The judgment of strangers didn't mean shit if you never saw them again. It felt ironic seeing as how it seemed hard for me to let people in. After another week or so, I would never see Nadia again, so telling her about some of my burdens might ease the heavy load some. "I need to do something about my life. Macon is ground zero for me. The bar on Tybee held me up for years, but it also kept me deep in the habit. At times I want to sell it, but Carlos runs it so well that it functions without me being present." Like most of everything in my life. "It's a guaranteed paycheck. Stepping away leaves me with what? Nothing, except feeling like a big failure."

  "So why not keep it and do something else?"

  I frowned and looked out toward the direction of the river before answering her. Really giving the question some thought. "I'm not sure I have it in me to do anything else, or I don't care to, not sure which. Probably both. Motivation is seriously lacking for me right now."

  She made a non-committal noise, which had me turning to look at her. Her raven hair curtained around her shoulders and shone a deep indigo under the silver moonlight. I finally got my mind to focus on what she had worn for her botched date. I let my gaze roam over her, kicking myself for not pulling my head out of my ass long enough to concentrate way earlier than now. She donned a short dress, probably the vivid shade of a blue jay's back, but in the night looked like dark denim. Over that, she wore a short white, or maybe tan, coat to keep her arms warm, but the old-fashioned dress accented her hourglass shape. The thin material oozed conservativism and made her hips flare in a way that made my mouth salivate.

  The fool Cameron should've taken the hint that Nadia was a traditionalist by the timeframe she cherished. I loved that her unpretentiousness and unique qualities left many scratching their heads. With what I'd seen of her outstanding personality, she was irresistible to me. I put my hands in my pockets, so I could keep my own actions in check. The glow light reflected off her glasses, which kept me from seeing her brown eyes, but she was no less enthralling in the night's stillness. Her vivid pink lipstick almost seemed neon against her ebony skin, and I liked the vibrant color choices that reflected her life.

  I had a few questions of my own for her. "What is with the sixties getup?"

  She laughed and turned to me. "Everyone asks me that, and I can never give them an answer they find satisfying. I'm a huge 1960s vintage enthusiast. I love how that decade exuded sexy without meaning to be: the clothes were classy and vibrant, and the music was passionate. The time fits me as a person. Everyone has their niche. This one is mine."

  "Why were you out with a guy like that? You like them straight-laced and pompous, huh?" I probed out of curi
osity about her choice in men. The posh, upper-crust Ivy League was so far from me. If she only fucked with dapper douchebags on the regular, than I could hang up any chance of being with her in any horizontal setting.

  She sighed. "First and last online date with an asshole. I try to stay normal, but sometimes it doesn't work out too well."

  "Normal is overrated," I said, sliding a bit closer to her.

  "That's for sure." I caught a flash of her teeth. "Since you're asking about my dating, are you single?"

  I winced. "Uh, yeah." I cleared my throat; it had been the first time anyone asked since my breakup with Amy. It felt odd saying yes to a question that had been no for years. Even though it had been some months, I felt sore on the subject of how toxic my last relationship with Amy had been: the hard drugs and the random bed partners, done both apart as well as together.

  "Oh, you don't sound too sure." She eyed me suspiciously.

  I moved to let my knee rest against her thigh, she glanced down but didn't remark on my proximity. I wanted to be as close as I could with her, still feeling like she had the control to move away if she wanted. She didn't move away; in fact, she pressed against my knee firmly, solidifying that she seemed okay with me touching her.

  "Oh no, it's over for sure. It was a long and fucked up relationship." She nodded, and I could see her brain working to fill in her own gaps. So I decided to be upfront, especially since she already knew my drug history. "We were both junkies. It made everything sour. She fucked up, and so did I. Talking about it paints a dark picture that doesn't go in the new gallery." I smiled at her to try and lighten the mood and get my mind off Amy while I had another beautiful woman in front of me. "Any more questions?" I joked.

  She laughed. "Just one. How did you get your name? It's so different."

  I mulled over her words. How bad had she'd been thinking about asking me this? She'd been thinking about me. It pulled an unexpected smile from me. "My brothers and I have unconventional names. With me, I was told that my mom watched Gone with the Wind in the hospital during the last hours of labor. She didn't have anything picked out for me, so when they asked for a name, she blurted out, 'Gable Ashley Duke.' She told people she'd change it, but she never did."