Easier to Run (5 page)

“Ben, p-please. T-tell m-me.”

“Sweetheart,” I cupped her cheek. “It's not you. I swear it has nothing to do with you. And I'm sorry, but I just need a few minutes.”

I kissed her forehead, willing her through the brief touch to understand. I needed to be alone.

Cassie

Ben disappeared so fast I felt like he sucked all of the oxygen from my lungs on the way out. He said it wasn't about me, but... I glanced around the room. What if he was just protecting me?

I slid my phone out of my bag, more of the same old message and nothing important. What if he'd read one?
No, he wouldn't do such a thing
, I assured myself, tapping the phone against my palm before making sure it was silenced and tucking it away.

I ran the towel through my hair a few more times before tossing it over the back of a chair. Then, I curled up in the cold bed, tucking the blanket as high on my neck as it would go.

Still wrong.

All wrong.

No matter where I went, I didn't bring anything good with me.

All a mistake.

After what seemed like an hour, I heard the door pop open.

My chest muscles tightened so much I couldn't get a single breath of air.

It's happening again.

I felt my body ripped away. Staring up at the ceiling above where I used to sleep. I'd stay quiet, hoping he would forget about me. Hoping my sister would come home.

Every time, that hope was dashed by the sound of the doorknob turning, and the door creaking open, then clicking closed again.

“Cassie?”

I heard my name, but it was too distant. Or was it part of the memory? I couldn't tell.

Someone get me out of here.

A featureless form moved around my bed.

Please. Please. Please, leave me alone.

His hand moved toward my face. I jerked away.

The smell of cigarettes and alcohol burned my nose, seared their memory into my lungs.

“Cas, look at me.”

I reflexively squirmed to get away, even knowing that the more I struggled, the more it'd hurt.

“Cassie, I'm not going to touch you.”

No
.

Ben.

Hotel.

I couldn't see a thing through the tears.

It was all a flashback, but I still couldn't move. My breaths came so fast I started to feel lightheaded.

Trapped. Please pull me out.

I wasn't fully back. I wasn't fully dreaming.

“Ben,” I managed in a whisper.

“Yeah,” I felt the bed shift as he leaned over me, still not touching me. “No one is going to hurt you. It’s just me and you, Bug.”

I managed a nod at the name he’d started calling me when I was a kid. Someone made a remark about me watching everything like a fly on the wall. I was silently offended, but Ben turned it around and started calling me Cassie-bug. Or just, Bug. He always protected me—most times from my own self-doubt.

Finally, I swallowed. Blinked away the tears. But the nauseating smell still burned at my nose.

I sat up, inching toward Ben, hoping he'd drive away the shadowed remnants, but the smell got worse. I grabbed his shirt collar and smelled. “When t-the hell d-did you start smoking?”

“It's a rarity,” he whispered.

I backed away and tucked myself back into the blankets. “You reek.”

“I'll take a shower, but... I don't want to leave you like this.”

I shook my head. I didn't have a response. No words to tell Ben that he shouldn't smell like
him
. That it made everything worse.

“I'll be right back,” he said, patting my leg.

Yeah, he'd already told me that once. I was still wrapped in a thick fog of anger, fear, and resentment.

I stared down at my balled hands and ordered them to relax. “I'll be fine.”

I didn't look up to see if there was any chance that he believed me, but he moved away from the bed and seconds later, the shower kicked on.

Stay here,
I told myself.
Don't slide back.
I started counting the flowers in the painting on the wall, and when that didn’t help, I climbed out of bed and paced over to the window, slipping behind the curtains and pressing my face against the cool glass. From the window, I could see the distant traffic of the freeway. Blurs of lights melded with the visions that continued haunting me from the deep recesses of my memories. The constant barrage exhausted me. Time and time again leading me back to the same events, reopening the scars, and dousing them in endless salt water.

I squeezed my eyes closed and pressed my forehead against the window. My body ached with injuries that were no longer there. No longer visible to anyone except me.

Over the last six years, I had tried every prescription for depression. Some turned me into a zombie, some made me want to eat the equivalent of my own body weight for a single meal, but none of them touched the deepest of the pain. At best, they added a thin film that blurred everything together.

Tolerable….

Tolerable was the best I ever got.

Sometimes, the zombie feeling was a step up. Numb. Forgotten. No expectations. No disappointment.

“Cassie,” Ben called softly.

I was torn between staying frozen in my protective cocoon of thick curtains and running to him, but I did neither. I slowly slipped out but didn't move away from the window.

“I'm sorry,” he said, holding out his arms.

I wondered if he even knew what he was sorry for, yet, I had no doubt that he meant it.

My throat burned and my chest ached with words left unspoken. Feelings tucked away, but unforgettable. I rubbed my eyes with the backs of my knuckles like a child trying to avoid a nap. I had plenty to avoid.

“Where do we even start now?” I whispered. I felt like a falling feather, not enough weight in the world to cause any kind of disturbance or dictate my own course.

I must've zoned out for a moment because I didn't see Ben move, but the next thing I knew his arms were around me. He smelled like himself again—no heavy scents or artificial perfumes. The smell of the same laundry detergent—the body wash wasn't quite the same, but close enough. The smell was a musky and almost grassy scent that reminded me of the years we spent playing in backyards and on football fields.

He smelled like peace and sleep, comfort, happiness, all of the ease I'd missed in the last six years. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to break whatever momentary spell I was under that knocked the pain back to a dull buzz at the back of my consciousness.

“Save me,” I whispered, closing my eyes. I had no idea where the words came from or why I said them. Or even what I expected him to save me from. Life, I guess.

I didn't want a fairy tale prince and maybe I didn't need a man to save me. But I sure as hell needed help. And he was the only one I could be vulnerable with. The only one who could hold me together while my soul was stripped down to the most painful levels of barely existing.

And maybe, after all, I did want a little fairy dust. It couldn't hurt. I was tired of struggling against the current to find some kind of traction before it whisked me away to nothingness.

“I've got you, sweetheart,” he whispered. He walked me across the room, nodded toward the second bed and pulled back the covers.

I shook my head, barely a millimeter of movement.

“Just watch some television with me.” His voice never rose, staying just as soft and sweet as I ever remembered.

He slid under the covers, moving the pillows so he could sit up against the headboard, and I nestled in beside him as he draped the layers of blankets around me and tucked me against his chest.

“How much is 'not often'?” I asked, referring to his response when I asked him about smoking.

“Bought the pack in January and I'm barely under half.”

“So tonight, whatever it is....”
If you press him, he's going to press you
, I reminded myself and swallowed the rest of the words. Why couldn’t the conversation be about some stupid TV show? Something light-hearted, not soul-wrenching.

“My ex called while you were in the shower.”

My skin burned and tingled, pulling tight against muscle and bone and preparing for the impending impact.

“We had,” he held out each word, “a choppy relationship. We did a lot of fighting and making up until a couple of months ago when I swore not to go back.”

I didn't understand why anyone kept going back to those situations, but I bit my tongue. A lot I knew about relationships.

“It's always something, and I just get,” he closed his eyes. “I have no idea how to explain it, Cas. Like the alcoholic who knows he shouldn't have another drink, he knows the destruction it could cause, and yet he picks up the glass and drowns out the rest of the world anyway.”

That, I could understand. Not the exact scenario, really, but I could relate.

“She called to—”

I inched into a sitting position, putting just enough distance between us to see his face. I'd never seen him struggle so much to say anything, but he didn't look at me, he just stared down at the blankets in front of him.

“She's pregnant. Having an abortion.” His voice was barely even a whisper, but so loud that it echoed in my chest.

I felt my mouth fall open, but not even the outline of words came. I had nothing. Shock twisted my insides, buzzed along my nerves until I thought I'd burst from the constant stream of tension.

“Yeah,” Ben said. “That was my reaction, too.”

He settled back pressing his head into the headboard and closing his eyes. “I don't even know what to say. Or if there is anything to say. Am I supposed to have a voice in all of this?”

“Maybe you can get her to talk it out…. Why'd she tell you if she didn't want you to?”

“I have plenty of guesses, but she's doing it in the morning.”

I knew Ben well enough to know for certain that he would have been the most fantastic dad in the world whether or not he could stand his ex. It didn't matter that he'd just found out—it wasn't fair to throw that at him and then rip it away. “I don't think I like your ex.”

“Yeah. Sometimes it feels like everything's a game with her. A constant push and pull. Ups and downs. She could be the easiest person to get along with until some little thing would set her off and she… changed. I let her get away with it because….” He made a sound in his throat. “Because I didn't really care.” He eyed me then closed his mouth as if he'd opted not to say something he really wanted to say.

I wasn't sure I wanted to know, but I pushed forward. “What?”

He shook his head and lifted my knuckles to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to them.

My mind darted away from his ex, wondering if we'd be in this position if he knew how I really felt. How much I just wanted to melt into a puddle at his side.

“I knew we weren't going anywhere. Knew it was nothing, but I let it keep going. I let her keep getting her way as long as,” he slowed, “I was getting mine.”

“You were dating the bitchy girl just to get—” I thought I could say it, but I couldn't. I felt my cheeks warm and I turned before he could see.

He chuckled lightly behind me and drew me back.

“It's been a crazy couple of months,” he said. “I let things get out of hand and made some stupid decisions.”

I bit my lip. It was hard to imagine him being the screw-up. “That's life,” I said quietly, but when I looked up I could still smell the cigarette on his breath and I crinkled my nose.

“You said you'd do anything for me, right?” I rested my hand on his chest and watched it move up and down with every breath.

“Not another cigarette,” he said. “Unless you had some other request.”

I shook my head.

“Is that what set you off?” He clasped his hand over mine, pinning me there with that one simple, innocent gesture.

“I don't want to talk about it.” I tried to shift away, but his grip tightened.

“If it triggered a flashback we need to talk about it.” His tone was soft and sweet, but he had no idea how terrifying those words could be.

I pressed my lips together. Saying I didn't want to talk about it didn't even scratch the surface. I wanted to believe that if I ignored it long enough, I'd never have to talk about it—no one would ever need to know.

“It was the door,” I admitted quickly. “The sound of the door.” My body shook as if there was no heat left in the room.

“No one's getting in this room except us, sweetie.”

“I know and it's stupid—” Tears burned at my eyes, but I willed them back.

He sat up, moving around so we were face to face again. “It's not, Cassie. It's not stupid.”

“I should let you sleep.” I started to climb away again, but he still wouldn't release my hand.

“I won't press anymore tonight. Stay here and watch some TV with me.” He brushed back my hair and I stared down at the pillows next to him. “Unless you're uncomfortable.”