by W Winters
I don’t even realize I’ve driven to Seth’s house until I put the car in park. I pull up next to his, noting that the headlights are still on. Did he just get in?
As I’m walking up to his door, the headlights go out. That’s the first thing that startles me. It’s always an uneasy feeling when lights go out and leave you in the dark.
The second thing that nearly gives me a heart attack is when Seth opens the door without any notice at all. I choke on my scream and my hand holding the keys flies up to my throat. It’s such a jarring quick response, I almost jab myself with the key I’m so on edge.
“Fuck,” I sputter, my heart pounding in my chest so hard, it makes me question if I remembered to take my medicine this morning. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Seth’s grip isn’t gentle when he pulls me into his house. “Where were you?” he demands in a low, threatening tone. Ripping out of his grasp, I look at him like he’s lost his mind.
Fear, not anger is etched into his handsome expression. Everything about him reminds me how damaged he is. Everything but the booze coming off of him.
“Are you drunk?” The accusation in my tone is evident.
He breathes out heavily. Slamming the front door and moving around me to go to the kitchen sink.
I can’t believe the sight of him. Never taking my eyes off of him, I toss down my keys and purse. Seth’s busy washing his face at the sink as I take a look around the room. He couldn’t have been here long, but still, there’s a hole punched into the drywall that leads to the hall.
“You hurt your hand?” I bite out, feeling angrier by the second. What the hell is wrong with him?
His shoulders are hunched over the sink still as he braces himself with his forearms after wiping off his face. “I thought someone took you,” he admits to me. His breathing still hasn’t calmed and guilt quickly replaces the anger.
I never know what to feel when it comes to Seth. Right now though, I feel sorry for him. He’s still in his suit pants but his shirt is disheveled and I can see from here the bruise already covering his battered hand.
“I should have texted sooner; I just had a bad night.” I apologize with every ounce of sincerity I can muster. I know the wars he fought, both physical and emotional, have left scars on Seth.
“You had a bad night,” he huffs out humorlessly and then covers his face with both of his hands, leaning his head back.
It’s so fucking insulting. Like I can’t have a hard night because I don’t do what he does. It’s hard not to be angry. It’s more difficult than anything not to engage and let him know punching holes into walls and yelling at me because I’m late—even though he was too—isn’t acceptable.
“I’m sorry you thought something happened to me,” I say, speaking up to make sure he can hear me as I grab my keys. The sound of them jingling finally brings his gaze back to me.
He looks like he’s gone through hell and back. I get that. I do, but I didn’t sign up for this shit.
“I’m going home and when you’re sober—”
“The hell you are.” Seth’s tone is demanding and desperate all at once. “Get your ass over here.”
My feet are cemented where they are, undecided on whether or not I should have a backbone and leave, or whether I should go to him. The fluttering in my chest and the way my throat goes tight when he looks at me like that, desperately from across the room, that’s what makes me put my keys back down and make my way to him.
The second I put a foot in the kitchen, he pulls me in tight and hugs me to him. Yes, he smells like booze. He smells like him too. This deep masculine, heavy scent that I used to dream of. A scent I swore I could smell on one of my shirts once so I refused to wash it until I could no longer make out his fragrance.
“Please don’t treat me like that,” I breathe into his shirt, my eyes still open. His are closed though. Both arms wrapped around me, he rocks me right there in front of the sink.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs and then kisses my crown.
It’s then that I remember a similar night. A night like this. One where I was ready to leave, but I didn’t. Because I love him. I love the way he holds me; I love the way he smells. I love what he does to me and what I can do to him.
But as I stand here, too sober, too exhausted, too wrung the hell out, I remember very clearly something I told myself for years as I cried myself to sleep.
If I’d left that night, Cami would still be here.
That thought is why I push myself away from Seth, not wanting to cry anymore. His rough fingers brush my skin when I back away. The counter hits my lower back and with both of my palms pressed to my eyes I walk out of the kitchen. The silence behind me proves he doesn’t follow me.
Fuck, I can’t take any more today. I swear I can’t take any more.
“What’s wrong?” he asks me, clearly having no idea.
“I don’t know where to start,” I say and breathe out heavily. Wanting to sit on the sofa, but also looking toward the door. Therapy taught me a lot when I was in school. It taught me I should be by myself when I feel like this. When it gets to be too much, I don’t communicate well. I know I don’t. “I had a really bad day and I just… I can’t do much of anything right now.”
“Can’t what?” Seth questions from behind me and I turn around to face him. With his tie loose around his neck, the top two buttons undone and the one closest to the top hanging on by a thread, Seth looks rough. Rough has always looked good on him, but not tonight. Not the way he looks at me with his lips parted, still breathing heavily. He looks wounded beyond repair.
“Are you okay?” I ask him, swallowing the wretched emotions that come with seeing him like this. He nods, not telling me anything and that’s okay too. He doesn’t have to, not right now. Not ever if he doesn’t want to. We do need to talk about him reacting the way he did though. His anger; his fear.
“I think we should sleep,” I suggest, not feeling well myself. “If I look the way I feel, you know I need sleep right now,” I tell him although I can’t look him in the eye.
“Talk to me,” he urges.
“What’s gotten into you?” I question him, not liking the way he looks at me like he’s about to lose me.
“You don’t want to know,” is all he says, again shaking his head. The hand he bloodied rises to his eyebrow and it’s shaking. My strong man is trembling.
“I’m here, I’m here,” I reassure him, holding him like he held me. This time I close my eyes and I let him rock me. I whisper against his chest, fighting sleep and refusing to be anything less than a rock for him now. “I do. I want to know.”
“I have secrets,” he tells me and I don’t know if I should laugh, or maybe roll my eyes. It would be insulting if he wasn’t wasted right now. I watch his throat tighten, the stubble on it even longer without him having shaved since I last saw him, as he swallows.
“You think I don’t know that?” As I speak, my voice is soft and it’s meant to be comforting, it’s meant to make him feel better. I know he has secrets and he hides things. I accept it.
“You don’t know the half of it. You don’t know what I did,” he says and his voice goes tight and again he covers his face, forcing him to let go of me. He scrubs his eyes like he wants the vision to go away.
“Seth, tell me what’s wrong?” The unsettling, gut-wrenching feeling takes over. Something is not just wrong, it’s gotten to him more than I’ve seen anything get to him. He’s scared. I feel it rock through my bones, his fear and despair. “Seth, please,” I beg him and he only shakes his head, his hands on the top of his head, his eyes closed tight.
“Tell me,” I demand and pull at his arms, forcing him to look at me, not knowing what else to do. Not knowing how to help him and not knowing what I’m going to do. I’m so on edge.
“I killed your dad!” Seth screams and the rage and brokenness that was written on his face changes quickly.
What? His words sink in slowly, like a dark red sky l
ate at night before it all turns black. Shock is a reality. It’s numbing.
“Laura.” He speaks my name and reaches out for me with both hands. I shake my head, not accepting his grasp.
“You’re drunk; you didn’t kill him. He—he died in a car accident. He was in a car accident.” It was an accident, but my chest feels hollow hearing Seth say something like that. There’s no skip, no beat of any sort. My heart has fled.
I rip my arm away from him and he stays like he is, hunched down with his arms out to me even though I step away. “You need to stop and go to bed,” I warn him, feeling my throat go raw with horrible emotions.
“I did.” His wretched words are spoken like they’re true, but they’re not.
“It was a car accident,” I say as I take another step back until I’m fully in the living area and he’s in the kitchen. “You need to stop,” I warn him again, raising my arm. Of all the days to bring up my dad, it would have to be this one. When he’s been on my mind the entire drive here.
Seth takes a cautious step forward and suddenly I feel like I’m choking. Just from the way he’s looking at me, like he’s about to break me.
“He was a rat. That’s why.” My bottom lip wobbles when his eyes turn glossy.
“Stop it,” I say and try to cut him off, but he keeps talking. “No he wasn’t. You’re just tired and not—”
“That’s why Vito was going to hurt you. To get to your father.” I have to blink away the shining haze of tears in my eyes as I back away. He’s lying. My father would never rat. Seth would never kill him. It doesn’t make sense.
“Stop it!” I scream. “You don’t know anything about my father,” I say, barely getting the choked words out, tears flowing easily down my cheeks as I take another step back, hitting the coffee table and nearly falling backward.
Seth explains, his eyes turning red and a tortuous tone in his voice as he says, “My father… he couldn’t let yours live. I wanted it to look like an accident. I didn’t want to kill him. I didn’t want to, but he made me. He said it was the only—”
“Stop it, please,” I say as my legs go weak and tremble. My shoulders hunch in as I round the coffee table, backing away as Seth gets closer to me. I need to get to the door. I have to get the fuck out of here. “Stop it,” I beg him.
It’s not true. He’s just drunk. It can’t be true, but the hurt in my chest, oh my God, it can’t be true. Denial is the first stage of grief.
“He said I had to do it if I wanted it to be an accident.” Seth’s eyes reflect mine. Glossy and wishing what he’s saying wasn’t true.
I don’t know how or why, but I slam my fist into his jaw, only once before taking off. It’s all a blur. I don’t remember thinking of reacting, choosing to leave. My body’s hot and numb and disbelief turns me blind to what’s happening. I do it, though. I hit him square in his jaw. Leaving Seth behind me, holding his jaw in shock. I run faster than him, I get out of the house and into my car before I see him in the doorway. The burning pain in my knuckles is nothing.
It’s nothing compared to the pain ripping through me as I speed away.
Seth
Fuck. That wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. My head’s spinning. I shouldn’t be driving. Jase was right, I should have stayed at the bar or with him or anywhere else. I shouldn’t have let him and Anthony drive me home.
I wish they’d been there when I walked in and saw she wasn’t there. I stayed outside while they drove off, gathering whatever composure I could. It was a recipe for disaster. Everything about our story is meant for tragedy. It all could have been different, if only.
Fuck! I slam my hand onto the steering wheel, feeling the stinging pain from the already formed bruises. I do it again and again, just to feel it. I deserve it.
Reckless. I was reckless with her. I never should have said a damn thing. Selfish. I did it because I needed to know she’d still love me after. Selfish.
The lights turn red. I swear every light has turned red on my way to her house. Praying she’s there, praying she’ll forgive me, doesn’t offer me any hope. Why would she? I already knew she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t love me if she knew. She never really loved me, because she didn’t know. It’s why I could never make the first move; it’s why I could never tell her those words she needed to hear, I love you. It was such a lie.
I was never worthy of that love. It wasn’t real.
Thunk! I slam my fist against my window, wanting to feel even more pain. The pain is so wretched in my chest that swallowing feels like suffocation.
I wish I could take it back. All of it. I wish I could rewrite our story.
My head falls back against the leather seat as I slow to stop at another red light. My face is hot and my breathing staggered, but my body is wired. My leg doesn’t stop the constant tapping.
Thank fuck the streets are barren. There’s not a soul out tonight.
Time moves too slowly; all the while anxiousness eats me up inside. My tires squeal when I pull into the parking lot outside Laura’s place. Her car’s already parked.
My body sags with relief of at least knowing where she is.
She’s safe. That’s all that matters tonight. She’s safe.
If Jase hadn’t wanted me to tell him… If I didn’t have to tell him, I wouldn’t have had to relive it.
With my fist at my jaw, I stare at Laura’s window. The lights are on; she’s inside. The sad truth is that it was going to happen eventually. I always knew it would. Her leaving me was a blessing. I should have let her go. I shouldn’t have brought her into this hell again. Selfish.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, feeling the loss all over again and knowing it’s my fault. My hands don’t stop shaking.
I did it for her though. I remember telling Jase over and over. I did do it for her. She didn’t have to know her father was a rat. Vito wanted to hurt him by hurting Laura, and that wasn’t something that could happen.
It didn’t change the fact her father had ratted. He was a rat and he had to die.
Fuck, my chest sinks, remembering the old man. Everything was a joke to him. It was never serious but the shit he talked about to whoever would listen… it wasn’t something we could allow.
My father knew he had to go the second he took charge and everyone agreed. They were going to do it in the warehouse, then dump him in the back alley.
Then what would Laura have had? She would have known. Everyone would have known with his body being left there and she would have been the daughter of a rat.
I wanted to hide it from her. I wanted to protect her. Everything inside me needed to protect her.
Then you do it. My father’s voice echoes in my head as I stare straight ahead at the bright lights in Laura’s living room. Her curtains are parted and I can see her silhouette move from one side to the other.
My father put the gun in my hand and I shot her father in the back of the head while he begged for his life. I never wanted to do it. I didn’t want to kill him. I just wanted to protect her. I had to do it alone while they watched. Getting his body to the car, driving it to the top of the cliff, disposing of the gun in the cement pit round the back.
They were going to kill him one way or the other, but I did it.
I didn’t want her to know. It would have killed her. She was already so alone.
“I’m sorry,” I say again in the darkness, all alone where I belong. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
My throat’s raw, my body humming, my emotions thrashed, which is why I hesitate to believe what I see. Two sets of lights are on.
My body’s cold in an instant. Fuck, no. No. It can’t get worse tonight.
She’s visible in her bedroom.
So are three other figures, in her living room.
Laura
I hear the front door open and I know it’s Seth, but I don’t say a damn thing. I don’t even know if I can speak right now without screaming incoherently through the pain.
My father’s been lon
g gone. I have to cover my face with my hands as it crumples and the sadness rips through me… he wasn’t a rat. He wasn’t.
They didn’t have to kill him; he never would have told anyone anything. He wasn’t a rat! My knees are still weak and I sniffle, angrily brushing under my eyes. I can hear Seth in the living room, but I don’t go to him. I want to, I want to scream at him, hit him. I want him to lie to me and tell me he made it up. I want it to be a cruel joke I can beat the shit out of him for and for him to hold me until this shaking and the sobs disappear.
He said we’d be together to make the hurt stop, but it doesn’t. It never stops with us.
A shuddering breath pulls the energy from me and I hear something in the living room. He moved something around.
I want to tell him to get the fuck out. I want to scream at him and shove my fists into his chest. At the same time, I don’t want to see him or be around him. I don’t want his large hands on me, his warm body pulling me in. Why? Because I desperately need someone to hold me right now and I have no one.
It’s hard to inhale; harder to calm my wild heart down. It trips like it’s falling down an endless staircase and it hurts. God it hurts.
“Get out!” I scream and the sound is ragged. My fingers fly into my hair as I hunch my shoulders down and cover my face with my forearms. I grip on for my sanity.
Just breathe.
I’ve been doing it all day, thinking it all day, but at some point, breathing doesn’t help.
The bang sounds again from behind me. He’s still moving shit around in there.
I know that he’s drunk, I know he’s hurting, but right now, I can’t have him here. I can’t allow it to happen. I’m crumbling into nothingness and he doesn’t get to watch that. He doesn’t get to be around me when it happens. I don’t care how badly I need him.
“Laura,” a voice calls out just as I get to my bedroom door and chills flow down my spine, sinking into my blood as I stop with my hand on the knob.
Thud, thud.