by Vera Hollins
“Then why do you do it? Why do you bully?”
He balled his hands into fists. “Because I’m filled with so much anger. Sometimes it feels that no matter what I do, it will never disappear, and I feel powerless. I know it’s sick and wrong, but in those moments, it’s my coping mechanism. It feels like it’s the only way for me to gain control over my life and my emotions, and for a while, I can get rid of the constant pressure and stress.”
I thought about his words, trying to put myself in his shoes. I couldn’t sympathize, because I never wanted to hurt anyone and bullying was wrong no matter the reasons behind it, but I wanted to understand him. I wanted to understand his reasons.
“It’s like smoking,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Smoking?”
“Smoking helps you get rid of anxiety, right? My dad smoked a couple of years ago, and he said he couldn’t quit for the life of him. It helped him get rid of stress. But he knew all the while that smoking was bad. He knew he was making a poor choice by choosing cigarettes, not only for himself but also for his family, who were worried for his health, but he still chose to smoke.
“But the relief is always temporary. You always need another cigarette. You always need that next inhalation of smoke that damages your body more and more. It’s the same with drugs, alcohol, bullying, and so on. So in the end, it’s about dealing with negatives in a negative way. We all do it at some point in our lives, in one way or another. I did it when I made myself throw up. But it’s never the solution.” I smiled at him. “So instead of bullying, how about you cope with negatives in a positive way? You’re already doing it. Basketball, listening to music…there are so many healthy options.”
He didn’t say anything to that, watching me, captivated.
I blushed. “What?”
He ran his teeth over his lower lip. “Nothing. It’s just that I like listening to you. You have a calming voice, you know that?”
My cheeks turned even redder. I couldn’t for the life of me understand how he found my high-pitched, childlike voice calming, but it made me happy nevertheless. “Thanks.”
“No, thank you. Again. You helped me again, and I don’t think you know what that means to me.”
“No need to thank me for that. It’s the human thing to do.”
“But it’s not just a human thing to do. There’s something about you, something purely good.”
He laced his fingers through my hair, and it was getting harder to breathe under his warm gaze. He cupped my chin with his other hand and ran his thumb over my lips, stealing my breath away. My eyes went to his tattoo.
“Um…” I started.
“Yes?”
“There’s something I’d really like to know.”
He grinned and pulled his hands away. “As if I haven’t poured my heart out to you already.” He chuckled when another blush permeated my cheeks. “Just teasing you. Come on. Say it.”
“I understand that you don’t want to talk about triggers, and I hope this won’t be triggering, but you mentioned… Am I…?”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, but am I really your trigger?”
He exhaled a long breath and pinched his brows together. “You are, but not in that sense.”
“What do you mean?”
He moved and stood up. His body was on full display for me as he walked over to the windows, clad only in his boxers. It was definitely not the time for it, but I couldn’t stop my eyes from running down his impressive back, sexy round butt, and long, defined legs.
“In the beginning, my PTSD was so bad I couldn’t sleep for weeks and had up to twenty flashbacks a day.”
I gaped at him. “Twenty?”
“Yes. I had flashbacks and panic attacks, and when I managed to fall asleep, all I had were the nightmares of that time in the basement. I couldn’t go anywhere without breaking down, and this lasted for a really long time. Combine that with the constant anxiety and depression, and you had a complete fucking mess.
“Until my therapy started showing results. I could finally sleep again and had no nightmares. The panic attacks were gone. I only had one flashback a week, sometimes two. I still felt explosive anger, but at least I could deal with my triggers. But then you came, and the hell started again…from the first day I saw you.”
“But I don’t understand. Why?”
He placed his hand against the glass, looking through the window at the starry sky. The silence stretched until he let out a long sigh.
“This will sound strange, but when you entered the cafeteria on the first day of our senior year, my first thought was that you were so fucking cute. I thought you were cute and so shy, and you needed someone to take care of you. And in that split second, I felt I could be the one to take care of you.”
My hand gripped the sheet as I took a quivering breath.
“That was a red flag for me. I thought and felt something that was forbidden—something I felt for the first time since Emma’s death—and I didn’t like it. I couldn’t feel that way. I couldn’t let some strange girl get to me after—what? Just one glance? It was pathetic. So I told myself you were most definitely a manipulative bitch and just acting all shy and cute. You weren’t someone who should be protected, and you certainly weren’t someone I could ever trust. I didn’t trust people. I couldn’t trust you. That’s where that welcome party comes in.”
I stared at my hands in my lap, frowning as the images of the first day of school rolled through my mind. “You’ve never given me the chance to prove myself to you,” I whispered into my chin. “You just pegged me as bad and continued to bully me.”
He turned around to face me, a veil of regret shading his face. “That day, yes, but that’s not all. The welcome party was like my knee-jerk reaction to you. But then, that night, I had the first nightmare. And the next day, the flashbacks started again, followed by panic attacks and more nightmares. The more I saw you, the harder it was, and I blamed you. I blamed you for bringing my symptoms back, and I had to get you away from me, so I did all I could to make you leave, as you now know.”
I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to alleviate the rising ache that throbbed there. It hurt a lot hearing this, but at least he was finally giving me the truth. He wasn’t sugarcoating it. He was just stating the facts from the past, but that past still had power over me, just like his past still had power over him.
“But you stopped after New Year’s Eve. For a while, you acted like I didn’t exist. And then you started again before we got detention.”
He smiled regretfully. “That’s because I was so jealous and angry when I saw you with Robinson. So I started lashing out. I didn’t want to admit I wanted you, and I even convinced myself it was all to punish you for affecting me the way you had from day one, but each time I saw you with him or Burks, I felt so possessive. But you weren’t mine. Not by a long shot.”
I tucked my hair behind my ear. “Do you still blame me? For bringing your symptoms back?”
He looked back through the window and fisted his hand against the glass. “No. I still don’t know why your arrival made my PTSD worse, but that’s not your fault. It was never your fault. It’s all about my sick mind.”
I stood up and walked over to him. “Don’t say it like that, Blake.”
“How do you want me to say it? It’s true. I could try to rationalize it, but there’s really no excuse for what I’ve done. There will never be. And I realized too late that hurting you only made things worse. It made me feel like shit. It fueled my guilt…so much guilt that it seemed endless.”
He pressed his forehead and hands flat against the glass, his body tensing all over again.
“Sometimes, I’m so tired of myself. I’m sick and tired of constantly navigating through life with my stupid traumas and PTSD. I’m sick and tired of this explosive rage.” He hit his fist against the glass hard enough to make it shake. “I’m tired of being this shitty person.”
I stopped next to
him and looked out the window. The trees surrounding the estate ebbed into nothing in the distance, merging with the starry sky that stretched indefinitely. The full moon created a bright pathway that continued into the dark nothingness, and the contrast between light and dark was mesmerizing. They complemented each other, just like hope complemented despair.
“There is hope, Blake. I can only imagine how hard life with PTSD can be, but as long as we don’t give up on hope, things can get better. We can better ourselves. You can be someone better than a bully.”
He turned to look at me with dull eyes, his lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s too late for me to better myself, but I can do something right for a change.” The final tone of his words carried a clear meaning, and the lead in my stomach returned to drag me down.
“Revenge.” I barely whispered the word, but its impact was echoing in my mind and heart.
“Revenge,” he confirmed, and I closed my eyes, fighting against the tears.
“But I don’t understand. How can you face them with your PTSD?” As soon as I asked this question, I realized this must’ve been what Masen had asked him about after they lost the race to Bobby Q. Blake had PTSD, but he was ready to face his tormentors directly in order to get justice.
“By staying focused on what needs to be done. I’ll go through hell if I have to.”
His harsh words helped me fully grasp what our reality meant. Everything we’d shared had happened on borrowed time—each kiss, hug, caress, and soft-spoken word. Our bodies dancing the first and final dance until the song was over and the never-ending silence took over our lives.
Blake cared for me, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to conquer his need for revenge. It wasn’t enough for him to want to keep living, and that was the sharpest shard that penetrated my heart and created a puncture that took away all the hope and joy.
Anything was better than this. Even if we always remained enemies, it would be better because I would at least have the consolation that he was somewhere out there, alive. But this…this…
“Please.” My voice was no more than a whisper, carrying the sorrow that pulsed through my whole being. I kept my eyes firmly closed, afraid to look at him because if I did…I would break down, and I didn’t want to break down. Blake was right. Making love to him had only made things worse, but breaking down…breaking down here in front of him would taint the time we’d spent in each other’s arms, and I couldn’t allow that to happen.
“Please reconsider. You don’t have to kill them to get your revenge. The cops can arrest them, and I’m sure they would receive a maximum sentence. They would rot in prison.”
“I don’t want them to rot in prison. I want them dead.”
“But don’t you see how much it poisons you? I understand that you want them to pay, and they should pay, but why do you have to put yourself through something horrible for the sake of revenge? Think about Emma. She wouldn’t want you to destroy or sacrifice your life to—”
He pushed away from the window. “Stop. Don’t go there.” He sat on the edge of his bed. “Don’t.”
I closed my lips and looked at the moon. A tear slid down my cheek, but I brushed it away quickly and took a few deep breaths.
“I have to avenge her. She died because of me.”
I darted to him. “Don’t blame yourself, Blake. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t kill her. They did.”
He clasped his head with his hands and placed it between his knees. “They wouldn’t have killed her if I’d listened to them.”
“That’s debatable, and you know it.” I sat down on my knees in front of him and laced my cold, trembling fingers through his hair. “They wouldn’t have killed her if they hadn’t already considered it. They were thugs. Lowlifes. Her death is on their hands, not yours.”
He raised his head to look at me, and my heart twisted at the tears on his face. He swept them away, but it did nothing to prevent the new ones from collecting in his eyes. “You think I haven’t told myself that? You think I haven’t tried to get rid of this fucking guilt? But no matter how I phrase it in my mind, the result is always the same. She wasn’t supposed to die. She wasn’t supposed to get fucking kidnapped, raped, and killed!”
With a soft cry, I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him into my embrace, pressing his head against my shoulder. It took me a lot not to cry myself, but I had to be strong for him.
“There’s no other way for me, Jessie.” His whisper was final, punching the permanent pain into me. I couldn’t do or say anything to make him reconsider.
I held him until his shivers and tears stopped, remaining silent. I checked my phone for messages and found a few from Mel and Sar.
“Mel and Sar are waiting for me at Mel’s place. We’re having a sleepover.” I finished the sentence with a dose of uncertainty, leaving it open for him to tell me I could stay.
I wanted to stay. I was afraid to leave him alone with his thoughts and nightmares, but he’d closed himself off and put on that invisible shield he always carried around with him.
“It’s okay. Go. I’ll be fine.”
“But I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I want to be alone.” He hardly looked at me as he put his shirt and sweatpants on, his tone leaving no place for argument.
“But—”
“Jessica, it’s fine. Just go.”
I didn’t want him to deal with his demons on his own, but the spell that had held us together today was losing its strength, and the distance between us increased again.
“I see. Okay then. I’ll leave.”
I texted Mel back saying I was on my way to her place. I kept a blank face, but it was like he could see through me. He stopped in front of me with remorse that darkened his features.
He raised his hand to touch my cheek, and I held my breath, more than aware that I was wearing only his shirt and my panties, but he pulled his hand away before our skin could touch. “It’s better this way. For both of us.”
I just nodded, trying my hardest to keep it together.
Thankfully, I managed to stay composed on my way out of his room, his house, and most likely, his life.
I stopped next to my car and directed my gaze at the sky, looking for the moon, but unlike earlier, it was clouded and hardly visible, showing that even the mightiest of lights could be conquered by a veil of darkness.
There had to be a way to make Blake’s clouds disappear. His light, as weak as it was, couldn’t just diminish.
Even though it felt like it might be too late.
I entered my house with heavy steps. I felt like a zombie because I’d hardly slept a wink the previous night. It hadn’t helped that Mel had grilled me when I finally arrived at her house with puffy, bloodshot eyes and asked to use her shower, which had raised even more questions I couldn’t escape from. We’d ended up talking until it was really late and they could barely keep their eyes open.
I hadn’t mentioned anything about my conversation with Blake or his nightmare, only sticking to the sex. Mel’s jaw had dropped to the floor when she heard Blake and I had done it. It was funny just thinking about her expression, but I couldn’t find it in me to smile now on my way to the kitchen, psyching myself up for the moment of truth.
Seeing the way Blake pushed through his life with PTSD had geared me up for the conversation I was bound to have with my parents. I didn’t want to delay it any more. Performing in front of the whole school had been just one step toward making my dreams come true. Telling my parents who I truly was was the next.
The smell of waffles greeted me when I entered the kitchen, and my stomach growled. I’d come home as soon as I woke up, so I hadn’t had any breakfast yet.
My mom stood by the kitchen island. She smiled. “Hey, honey. How was it at Melissa’s place?”
“It was okay. Mel snores a lot.” I took a plate and reached for one of the waffles before taking a seat at the kitchen island.
Mom giggled. “She should sleep o
n her side or with her head raised to keep her airways open.”
I swallowed my waffle in three big bites and took another one. “This is Mel we’re talking about—she rolls around in bed like she’s practicing samba in her sleep. I think I have a few bruises from her elbows and knees.”
“Ouch. So you got to sleep next to her?”
“Yep.” I bit into the waffle. “Sar got the better end of the deal. She slept on the sofa. I should sleep there next time.”
“You do that. Anyway, there is something I’ve wanted to ask you since your solo,” she said with a small smile, watching me knowingly. “Your song was pretty emotional and…well, personal. So, I assume it’s about you, right?”
My cheeks warmed. “Right.”
“You never told me you fell in love with someone.”
I didn’t want to talk about my feelings, and even if I had, I wouldn’t have known where to start. “It’s a long story.”
“I bet, after hearing the lyrics. Is everything okay between you and that boy now?”
I opened my mouth to give her some vague answer, but Dad entered the kitchen and smiled at me, talking to someone on his phone.
“I’ll check it tomorrow.” He sighed at whatever the person on the other end of the line said. “Robert, it’s Sunday. You know better than to call me on Sunday. We’ll go over those reports tomorrow. Talk to you later.” He ended the call and stopped next to me.
Mom’s smile was amused. “They keep calling you on weekends?”
Dad rubbed his forehead. “And it’s not even eight yet. Hey, sweetheart.” He smiled and ruffled my hair. “How’s our most amazing singer? You were extraordinary yesterday.”
I bit at the cuticle of my thumb, hoping Mom wouldn’t press me to hear about Blake now that Dad was here. “You think?”
“He even recorded it with his phone,” Mom said. “He wants to show it at the office.”
I frowned. “Daaad! Don’t do that! That’s embarrassing!”
“There is nothing embarrassing about it. I want to show everyone how talented my daughter is.” He and Mom looked at each other and silently communicated something. I was none the wiser about what it was about.