Footsteps come down the stairs and I look up to see Aiden, unfortunately fully clothed.
“Hey.”
“Morning,” I reply as I slide the box of Froot Loops toward the bowl I set out for him earlier.
He bites back a smile at our little inside joke about Froot Loops, but doesn’t make a move to pour his own, instead taking a seat beside me at the counter. He’s sitting right beside me but he still feels so far away. I pretend to be superinterested in my now-soggy cereal.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, trying not to shift nervously in my seat.
“Better with some rest now. I talked to the twins. They wanted to know why they had to stay at Julian’s last night instead of at their friend’s like they usually do on Fridays.”
It takes me a second but I connect the dots pretty easily. Friday is when Aiden goes to the Tracks and races, which is how he makes most of his money. The twins probably spend that night at their friends … free babysitting for Aiden, I guess.
“What did you tell them?” I ask.
“I said I had to go out of town last minute and wanted Julian’s parents to watch them. They don’t seem to mind, though. They said Julian’s mom is making homemade waffles for breakfast and I’d better come quick to get some before they’re all gone. I’m so glad they weren’t home when Greg showed up, or when whoever killed him was there.”
His shoulders tense and there’s a tick in his jaw that appears whenever he mentions something that could harm the twins. It’s hard, thinking of something terrible happening to someone you love more than anything in the world. He’s practically the only father those boys will ever know, and them getting hurt must be Aiden’s biggest fear.
“They’re okay, Aiden,” I say, not knowing how to comfort him. “They’re safe.”
“There are so many unanswered questions. Why was Greg in front of my house? What did he want? Why did he have my old cell phone? Who killed him?” Aiden rubs his hands through his hair and I refrain from reaching out and soothing the tension from his brow.
“I’m sure the cops are working on it. This isn’t really the right way to say this, but at least you don’t have to worry about Greg ever again.”
“Good fucking riddance.”
The loud vibration of my phone against the hard counter interrupts us, and I pick it up to check what’s going on. “You probably haven’t been checking the group chat, but it’s basically been blowing up.”
All our friends have been wanting to know if Aiden is okay, how he’s feeling about the death of his loathed stepfather, and if he’s free and clear of any charges.
“We should all get together and have a conversation after I get the twins,” he suggests. “I doubt sending I’m fine back in the chat will go over well. Ten bucks says Anna punches me.”
I’m glad he’s finding humor in the situation. I poise my fingers over the phone’s keyboard. “What should I tell them? We can use my house if you want.”
“Tell them to come around seven, with some food.” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m going to go check on the twins, see if I can come up with something to say to explain why we can’t go home for a while. Maybe I’ll see if they can stay at Tyler’s, that way it’s more fun for them.”
That conversation isn’t going to be easy, but neither is the one I’m going to have to have with Aiden, preferably sooner rather than later.
I can’t look at him as I say, “We’re going to have to have a serious talk too.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Thea.”
But I do. The guilt sits in a pit right in the middle of my chest. I’m leaving this town, leaving Aiden, and if I’m going to go, I need to leave him with the truth. Aiden’s been nothing but honest with me. He let me in when he really doesn’t let anyone in, so I want him to know me, the real me.
“It’s not about owing,” I say. “I need to tell you. All in, remember?”
I look away from him, willing my face to not turn bright red from his intense and unwavering gaze.
“Before everyone gets here tonight, you and I will talk,” Aiden says.
The rest of the afternoon moves slowly while I try to keep busy and not overthink. My mom sends me another text, just like her first one earlier this morning, reprimanding me again for letting Aiden stay the night, but what’s she going to do from Canada? I’m not really worried about getting on her bad side since she’s already ruining the semblance of a normal life I have by relocating me. When was the last time I had a boyfriend? When was the last time I felt as close to someone as I do to Aiden? The only boy who ever got somewhat close to me was Hunter, which was a few months ago when I was Hailey, but even he never got past a few dates. He never gave me mammoth-sized butterflies like Aiden does. He never made me feel safe and secure and completely at peace with who I am like Aiden does. In comparison to Aiden, Hunter was a blip on my radar while Aiden takes up the whole damn thing.
By the time Aiden texts me to let me know he’s on his way, I’ve vacuumed and mopped the entire house twice.
“Hey,” I greet him as he enters my house. “Where are the twins?”
“They wanted to stay and play with Bubba. We’re going to stay the night with Julian before we move into Mason’s, since we’re not cleared to go home. Tyler’s parents have some event tonight and some teenage babysitter can’t handle all three of them.” He laughs a bit as he takes his shoes off and follows me into the kitchen. “So they’re spending real time with Julian’s dog. They can see how much work goes into taking care of him, since they keep asking me for one.”
Laughing at the mental image of Jason and Jackson trying to play with Julian’s fifty-pound bulldog, I hand Aiden a glass of water.
“You’re moving into Mason’s?”
“Brian’s our legal guardian. The social workers are going to be checking up on us and stuff. Since my house is still a crime scene, we figured we might as well stay there for a bit until we can sort everything out.”
I nod, then bite my lip. The dark circles under his eyes do nothing to take away from the attractiveness of his face. Neither does the hard set of his jaw or the tension he holds in his back. I wish this wasn’t happening to him, that he could’ve been dealt a better hand.
“How did telling them about Greg go?”
“It was hard.” He lets out a heavy breath. “I sat them down and told them that a bad thing happened to Greg, and it was outside our home. They kept doing that twin thing where they lock eyes and communicate with each other without saying anything. I told them I’d go back home to pick up some things, but they were kind of freaked out when I told them we’d need to stay with Mason for a bit.” He releases a sad, humorless chuckle.
I shake my head. The last thing those boys need is to be worried about anything happening to Aiden. He’s the only stability they have. I can only imagine how terrifying it would be to see your house covered in police tape; I’d never had to.
“I didn’t tell them the whole story. They’re nine—I don’t want them to think about a murder happening on the front lawn of where we live. I don’t need them to have that kind of trauma in their lives, it’s enough they’ve already lost our mom. They know Greg’s dead, but I sort of left it at that.”
Putting my hand on Aiden’s shoulder for support is all I can manage to do. Even though my own heart aches for them, I don’t dare to speak over the lump in my throat.
He looks at me for the first time. “I assured them that I wasn’t going anywhere, that nothing would ever split us up.”
“They’re just in shock.”
“I hope so,” he says. “We sat and I answered all their questions, and they’re handling it well, considering. They seemed like their usual selves before I left. I hate that this is going to ruin their winter break.”
“We’ll find a way to make it fun,” I assure him, already running through a mental list of things we can do before school starts again in January, forgetting for a moment that I won’t be here.
He shakes his head as if clearing the troubling thoughts from it. “Anyway, if you still want to talk, we should before we get interrupted by everyone.”
My breath hitches, but I still manage to choke out, “You’re right.”
Suddenly, the two of us standing in front of one another feels awkward, distant. Keeping my secrets has been about survival; they’re stories that should probably be reserved for me and a future therapist. But I’m going to tell him anyway, which makes me realize just how much I trust Aiden. “Let’s go sit on the couch. It’s more comfortable, and it’s a long story.”
The last time we sat on the couch alone together, it ended up turning into the best make-out session of my entire life. We sit, and I turn my body sideways to face him, crossing my legs underneath me. His facial expression is neutral, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking, probably Get the fuck on with it, Thea, and stop being so dramatic.
“Do you remember when I told you about my dad, how he died? How he picked me up one day plastered and ended up killing himself and a six-year-old named Sabrina?”
If Aiden’s surprised about how this is starting, he doesn’t show it. I’m suddenly all too aware of how much space Aiden takes up on my couch, of how his body is turned toward me, how he’s giving me his full and undivided attention. Ignoring the squeezing in my throat, I push on with the story.
“You know that Tony, her father, hates and blames me for what happened. But I didn’t tell you to what extent. How his sorrow turned to anger, which turned to revenge. He’s made it his life’s mission to haunt me, to destroy me.”
A deep breath calms me as the memories I’ve tried so hard to repress come flooding forward. My focus shifts to the wall behind Aiden, because if I look directly at him, I don’t think I’ll be able to continue.
“The accident happened in November of my junior year, and that was a really bad time for me. We were still living in Mayford, my hometown. I was mourning the loss of my father, who, despite everything, I loved and missed more than anything. I was thinking about what I could have done differently to prevent the death of my father and of Sabrina, playing the accident over and over in my head, torturing myself with the what-ifs. I was consumed with guilt and was an emotional wreck. Add that to my broken arm and other physical injuries from the accident, and I was not good company at the time. I wanted to be alone, and I was haunted by my father and Sabrina, an innocent little girl. I even slipped into the back of the church during her funeral, just to torture myself some more.”
His strong but gentle hand grabs my face, pulling me out of my reverie, and turns me so that I’m looking deep into his eyes.
“Thea,” Aiden starts. “It wasn’t your fault. I’ve said it before—”
“Aiden, stop.” I cut off his assurances and pull myself from his grasp. “Please. Just let me tell the whole story. No interruptions. Okay?”
He hesitates for a second but then reluctantly nods. Satisfied with his reply, I force the memories to come back to me.
“In the weeks following the accident, I’d walk. I never told anyone where I was going or how long I’d be out, because the point was to be alone. I was trying to clear my head, trying to mourn my father. Night or day, snowing or sunny, I was outside, not paying attention to my surroundings and hoping to clear my thoughts.”
My vision blurs as I recall the next part, my heart beating faster, as if I’m reliving the experience again.
“Just over a year ago, after dinner, I decided to go for a walk despite the biting cold and inky darkness spreading through the air. My thoughts consumed me and I didn’t notice that a truck had been following me since the moment I’d left my house. I didn’t turn to look when it pulled up beside me and a door opened. I barely blinked when there were heavy footsteps crunching in the snow behind me. Only when I heard my name being called did I turn around. Only then did I realize that it was too late for me to stop living in the past and to start paying attention to the present.”
My throat feels like it’s closing, and just when I’m sure I’m going to pass out, a comforting hand lands on my leg, just above my knee. Aiden’s hand tightens on my leg, and he doesn’t need to speak out loud for me to know what he’s saying. He’s here with me. I’m safe. Silently borrowing his strength, I force the words out.
“There was a man, pointing a gun at my head. Shock took over, and I didn’t recognize him at first. He held the gun on me with callous determination, his eyes dark and empty, like an open grave. Tony Derando, Sabrina’s father. He said that I killed his daughter. I replied that I didn’t, but I was sorry that she’d passed. That’s when his expression changed.”
The wall behind Aiden suddenly looks very interesting, and I keep my attention there.
I can’t explain it. He was an empty shell of a man with no hope, with no desire to move on. It was like he didn’t care about the future, didn’t care about anything except right then, that moment. It was like he saw nothing except a way to relieve the anger, relieve the pain over losing the most important—the only important—thing in his life. His rage radiated off him, and even then I knew that he had a need to exact revenge, to hurt me.
At this point I zone out, the memories rushing back to me as if a floodgate has opened and the angry water is speeding out, almost overwhelming me with how clearly I remember everything. It’s as if I’m reliving the moment my life changed forever as I share my story with Aiden.
“Tony was going to shoot me. Should I try to run, talk him down, or just accept my fate? He took the decision from me when he suddenly lifted his arm and smashed me over the head with the end of the gun, and that’s the last thing I remember.”
4
The first thing I noticed was soreness. The pounding in my head was hard to ignore, but the rest of my joints felt stiff, as if I had been thrown around. I was lying on the floor and hazily sat up, rubbing my head, my body pushing to stay conscious.
My feet were completely bare but I could’ve sworn I’d left the house with shoes on. The light-blue color of my cast wasn’t obstructed by my winter jacket. Where was my jacket? It was cold, I hadn’t left the house without it.
But I was no longer outside, I was in a small bathroom. Standing up, I assessed my surroundings. In the bathroom there was just a toilet and a sink; there were no mirrors or cabinets, and the walls were bare and windowless. There was an eerie chill in the air, which had nothing to do with the fact that I was just in jeans and a T-shirt.
The door wouldn’t open. It wasn’t locked because the knob turned, so there was probably some type of dead-bolt system added to the outside too. Heavy things seemed to be pushed in front of the door as well, since when I looked through the tiny slit between the door and the threshold, I was met with some type of sturdy, wooden furniture.
Tony had taken me, and I knew it was only a matter of time before he came to finish his plans with me. I had to get out. There were no windows, so my only hope was to escape through the door. I tried to escape for hours, sitting on the hard floor and kicking at the door until the heels of my feet bled. Desperation took hold. Even punching and clawing at the door and its hinges until my fingers were numb and my knuckles were raw and bloody did nothing. I was hopelessly trapped.
After the adrenaline and desperation of trying to escape faded, frustration at my own uselessness clawed at my chest. I wasn’t strong enough to break the door down, and I wasn’t smart enough to devise a plan. All I could do was think of all the ways Tony could hurt me—all the ways he would torture or kill me. All I could think about was how before he took me, he seemed to lack all compassion or humanity—he’d had the eyes of a desperate man with nothing to lose, nothing left to live for.
There was only one thing left to do—lay down on the floor and cry. I cried so hard that my stomach ached and I could barely breathe through the gasping. I cried until there were no more tears left for my body to expel. Laying there on the bathroom floor, staring at the white ceiling littered with pot lights, I was overta
ken by a sense of emptiness.
I didn’t bother to wipe the hot tears from my face, and exhaustion took over. I had used my anger and fear to try and escape to no avail, and crying had accomplished nothing except giving me a blotchy, puffy face. It was then that the lights cut out, enveloping me in a darkness that rivaled my growing despair, a darkness that matched the hole in my heart where hope had been. I lay there in the dark, tearstained and bloody, feeling hollow and drained, and allowed sleep to distract me from my new reality. Time didn’t exist while I was trapped in the bathroom. I was told later that I was missing for three days—and it was arguably the scariest and worst three days of my life.
Tony never visited me, never brought me food. I didn’t know where I was or what Tony wanted. I didn’t know if he was planning on torturing me or killing me, or even just leaving me there to starve to death. I was weak, drained of energy, and survived by drinking water from the tap and from sheer force of will.
The lights of the bathroom flickered on, and it was obvious Tony was coming. It was so bright that I had to shield my eyes with my arm until they adjusted to the brightness again. The last thing I was prepared for was a confrontation, but when I heard heavy things being moved away from in front of the door, something in me snapped.
My survival instincts and my burning will to live gave me a rush of adrenaline. All I knew was that I wasn’t about to let myself be a victim—I wasn’t going out without a damn good fight. If I was going to die, I was going to do so knowing that I’d taken a chunk of Tony with me.
My breathing was loud in my ears and my heart beat hard against my rib cage. The blood in my veins sped up as Tony got closer to me. With the lights back on in the bathroom, I surveilled my options. There was no mirror that I could shatter and use as a weapon, no cabinets I could search or unhinge. As the last heavy object slid away, the part of my brain that was being blocked by hunger and fear took over, and my attention narrowed in on the toilet—specifically on the lid of the tank.
Stay With Me (A Wattpad Novel) Page 3