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.”
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