Where You Can Find Me by Fiona Cole

33

“Doyou feel ready to go home?”

I took in the wrinkles beside the therapist’s eyes, imagining she’d lived through a lot of laughs to get them. She wore them well. I wondered if I’d be able to smile enough again to get lines like that. Doubt crept its fingers from the shadows of my mind and whispered its truth, no. I shoved it back and forced my lips into a semblance of a smile.

“I do. I’ve worked hard in physical therapy, and the doctors tell me I’ve recovered remarkably fast.”

“What about your mind? We both know that’s what I’m asking.”

“I’m okay.” It was the closest to the truth as I would give. “I’ve worked hard here, too.”

“You have, but we can always continue past what was prescribed.”

I almost recoiled at the thought of continuing to come week after week to talk about the things I most desperately wanted to forget. There was nothing I could do to change it, so I just wanted to shove it aside and not let it affect me anymore.

“I know, but I feel confident in the progress we’ve made.”

“Okay, then. This is where we part ways.”

I nodded with as much confidence as I could muster. She reminded me she was only a phone call away, and I walked out of her office for the last time. The bustle of nurses and scent of antiseptic permeated my sense. With each step, I promised myself I wouldn’t be back, that I would be strong enough to not have to face this place again.

Evie and Jameson waited for me back in my room, a thick silence descending as soon as I walked in. Jameson stared at his feet, and when I raised a brow toward Evie, she just rolled her eyes with a shrug.

“We’re just waiting on the doctor, and you’re good to go,” she said.

“Good. I’m ready to leave this place.”

“Is Jack coming?”

“No, he had a meeting come up he couldn’t miss, despite how hard he tried.”

I remembered watching his back go rigid when he got the call and imagined it was yet another fire he had to put out since the world knew his business partner had been a serial killer. Between that and the time he took off to be by my side, he’d done nothing but play catch up.

“Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah. Besides, he’ll be by the house later.”

The truth was that I was more than okay. He’d been by my side every waking moment, doting on me and making sure I had everything I needed. I appreciated it, but every time I met his eyes, a part of me froze and cracked, letting the memories seep back in.

When I woke up, there were moments of bliss. I remembered Jack, I remembered our time, but for those first moments, ignorance lingered. Then I had to open my big mouth and ask what happened. The fear wrapped around my throat when the light dimmed from his eyes, and the memories came flooding back as soon as he started.

Since then, I fought to hold back every recoil and cringe. He gave me space and never instigated touching, but sometimes it was easier to avoid him. I knew he saw it, and I hated it. I hated it because I loved him so much, but I didn’t always know how to process the turmoil inside me.

But with each passing day, I worked with my therapist, and I faced it all with her, so I could put it behind me. I hadn’t lied about my progress when I left her office. I hadn’t lied about my confidence to move forward on my own. Yet, something lingered, but I remained strong in my refusal to dwell on it. I only wanted to look toward my future because I couldn’t change the past.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Jameson asked, his blue eyes dark with concern. “You know you could always stay with me.”

“Of course,” I responded with a forced smile. He winced, letting me know he saw right through me. He always did. “Listen, I’m good. Promise,” I reassured, stepping closer to him. “It will be good to be home.”

He reached a hand out to clasp my shoulder and pull me into a hug like he’d done since I was little. But this time, I flinched and jerked back, cringing at the obvious recoil. I tried to hide it by turning away to rummage through my already packed bag, but the awkward silence lingered behind me, and I could only imagine the looks they shared between each other while I cowered by the chair, struggling to take deep breaths and slow my heart.

Choking back the frustrated scream bubbling up my throat, I clenched my fists around the canvas bag, digging my fingers so deep, I feared I’d pierce the fabric. It was hard to look forward when I couldn’t even handle comfort from my brother.

Every touch never failed to remind me of him. Of the feel of him. Every touch brought a surge of memories. Memories of when I willingly gave myself to him—and when I didn’t. The worst was when they bled together and became hard to tell apart.

“Ready to go?” The doctor’s calm voice splashed into the room, snapping me away from the edge of losing control.

“More than ready.”

As promised,Jack came over that night, bringing me Italian takeout. He kept his distance and followed my lead, letting me set the pace for the evening. It was…good. Better than I thought it would be on our first night. We ate, watched TV, and laughed more than I thought possible. When he left, he only squeezed my hand after asking.

After two weeks of repeating the process most nights, I felt brave. I’d started sleeping better, and energy only built my confidence. So, when he came over that night, I felt lighter than I had in months. I stirred the noodles, swaying my hips to the music. Wondering if Jack saw, I looked over my shoulder to find him leaning against the opposite counter, his legs crossed at the ankles, one hand loose at his side and the other clutching a glass of wine. If I thought he looked sexy standing there, it was nothing compared to when I reached his eyes, and they simmered with heat as they lingered on my bottom.

His tongue slicked out to trace his full lips. Lips I hadn’t pressed to mine in entirely too long. Lips, that for the first time in months, I fantasized brushing mine. A fantasy that didn’t shift to panic. Excitement surged, and I set the spoon aside, giving in to the moment.

His eyes tracked up my body like a physical caress when I turned. His body stiffened, and I imagined the muscles I remembered tracing with my tongue rippling under his fitted black shirt. Warmth bloomed in my chest and spread down to my belly with each step I took, closing the distance between us.

He didn’t reach for me when I stood only a few inches away. He set his glass down and gripped the counter, almost like he was anchoring himself to keep from reaching for me.

With a deep breath, I willed my hands to not shake when I held them between us. I allowed only a moment of hesitation before resting them on his flat stomach and skimming them up over his chest. A rumble vibrated under my seeking fingers before a soft groan escaped his lips. Peering up through my lashes, I met his heated gaze and basked in the desire dipping to my core.

Yes. This is what I need. This is what I want.

I could do this.

Closing the gap, I lifted to my toes and pressed my lips to his.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered against my mouth.

I knew it took everything in him to not take control, but he remained still, letting me search and explore his lips with my own. He allowed my hands to reacquaint themselves with each ridge and dip of his chest, arms, and shoulders. He let me suck his bottom lip and nip the thick flesh with my teeth.

Tentatively, I stroked the bite with my tongue and pressed against the seam of his lips. As soon as his tongue met mine, the flavor of rich red wine on his tongue got me more drunk than a shot of tequila. I wrapped my arms around his neck and opened my mouth to his, brushing our tongues together, desperate to rediscover his taste.

Lightheadedness crept in, and I realized I needed to breathe. Pulling back, I ended with soft pecks and more flicks of my tongue, almost giddy at the success of kissing him and not once being pulled out of the moment.

With the smallest increments of movement, Jack slowly lifted his hand, giving me plenty of time to pull away. Instead, I held his gaze, finding comfort and peace in him.

His fingers brushed my hair aside, and he scanned my face with warm, smiling eyes. “I love you so much.”

I dipped my head into his touch, never wanting this to end. “I love you, too.”

He brushed my hair behind my ear. “So beautiful.”

Beautiful.

Beautiful.

Just feel me, beautiful.

Just like that—a smash of ice-cold water choking me—the now washed away, leaving only the past.

I jerked back, and shameful heat crept into my cheeks. I wanted to stomp my feet and berate myself for the quick jerk to the past, but that would completely steal this win from me. So, instead, I shoved it down and forced a jerky smile, not quite meeting Jack’s eyes.

In my periphery, I saw his frozen body, unsure of my reaction, and I took the moment to shove us far away from the memory, pretending it was all okay.

I was okay.

I was safe.

I was brave.

And I could at least fake it til I make it.

“I thought the noodles were bubbling over,” I explained, turning back to the stove.

We both knew it was a lie, but he let me have it.

He let me have my bravery, and I loved him even more for it.

We sat at the table, candles lit and soft music playing in the background. He told me about a phone call he got earlier in the week from a kid asking to hire him to find their missing stuffed animal and how it ended with the mom apologizing profusely when she caught the boy on the phone. We laughed, and for a moment, the bravery came back. I reached across the table and stroked his rough fingers with mine, linking just the tips together while we finished our drinks.

It was perfect, and for a moment, I actually believed I was brave.

But all thoughts of bravery came to a crashing halt when I stood at the sink washing dishes. One hand appeared, setting the dish on the counter while the other rested on my hip. An easy unthought-of touch. A soothing one to let me know he was there.

But all I felt was fingers digging into my hips, ripping my underwear from me. All I saw was darkness and hell, and fear.

A surge of adrenaline shot through my veins so sharp it hurt. The burn pulled my muscles tight, snapping them into motion, and I whirled around only to shove him away. The plate crashed to the floor when he dropped it to catch himself, and it only served to add chaos to the whirlwind of past and present and hate and anger and sadness and fear and panic raging like a storm in my mind.

He held up both hands, his eyes wide as I curled in on myself, shaking too hard to hide. He took a step as if to comfort me, and another shot of fire sparked in my blood.

“No. No,” I shouted. “Don’t. Don’t touch me.”

“Luella,” he breathed, not moving an inch.

Shaking my head side-to-side, I bit my lip, almost breaking skin, and backed up until my back hit a wall. Shame twisted my stomach. Bile churned at the defeat, and I couldn’t stand the feel of his eyes on me anymore. I imagined what I looked like, and I hated myself even more. I didn’t want him to see me like this. I didn’t want him to make it worse.

“Get out,” I shouted.

“Luella, please.”

“I said get out.” He hesitated, and I finally met his eyes, letting him in to the crazy torrent of emotions wracking me from the inside out. “Get. Out. Leave. Getoutgetoutgetout.”

I became lost in myself—in the panic. With each fracture in my mind, I needed him gone more. It was my sole focus to make him leave before I completely crumbled, and so I screamed until he finally took steps back.

I bared my teeth like a wild, panting animal, tears streaming down my face. The hair he so carefully brushed back earlier, a wild mass clinging to my wet cheeks. I didn’t know who I was anymore, and I didn’t want him to see me this way.

Once he cleared the doorway, I slid down the wall and wrapped my arms tight around my knees, hoping if I squeezed tight enough, I could hold the fragments together.

“I’m calling Evie. Once she’s here, I’ll leave. I just…I can’t leave you alone,” he called from around the corner.

I couldn’t respond. Burying my head in my knees, I broke down. My chest shaking with silent sobs as I rocked back and forth, trying to bring order back to my mind.

I didn’t know how much time passed, but in the blink of an eye and the longest stretch of panic, Evie’s lithe form filled the doorway, decked out in a sparkly black dress.

“Don’t touch me,” I breathed. “P-p-please.”

The wide-eyed shock of finding me on the floor shifted to the calm, proud confidence I wish I could have an ounce of. “I’m just going to sit down.”

With each step, I curled tighter, keeping my eyes on her like she could attack any moment. But as promised, she plopped down next to me, her legs stretched out and crossed as he leaned back on her hands—not a care in the world.

“I mean, it’s hard to keep my hands to myself, you know I’ve always had a thing for this nerdy vibe you have, but I’ll manage.”

Amazingly, a gurgling laugh escaped, only serving to bring on a new wave of tears.

I realized Evie was struggling more than she let on when I noticed the tips of her fingers turning white from where they pressed into the floor so hard.

“You don’t happen to have leftovers? It smells fab, and I had to leave before we ate.”

“I’m s-s-sorry.”

“Bitch, please. He was lame, and the place was too fancy. They would have had like a two-ounce piece of meat and one string of vegetable I’ve never heard of. You probably saved me.”

I calmed myself down to only a few gasping breaths and a constant stream of tears. Evie inched her hand closer, and I forced my muscles to release the death grip I had around my legs, grasping onto her instead, like a life raft in the torrent ocean.

“I’m b-broken, Evie.”

“Nah.” She turned her hand and squeeze mine back. “A few bumps and bruises, but no one can break my best friend.”

“Shit,” I breathed.

“I got you,” she promised.

And with that, I let go of myself and clung to her. She caught me in her arms, shifting to her knees in her beautiful dress on my kitchen floor with shattered glass, and held me tight. I cried into her shoulder and clung to her, letting her grip my broken pieces to keep me from crumbling.

“I’ve got you,” she promised again. “I’ve always got you.”

She rocked me back and forth and stroked my hair, calming me down, inching me back from the edge of insanity.

Once I calmed down enough and stopped shaking so hard, she hoisted me up and helped me to my bedroom. She stood over me as I washed my face and helped me into my pajamas, pulling a pair out for herself too. She tucked me in like a child and climbed in with me, holding me close.

“You are safe. You are not alone.” She whispered the affirmations, continuing to stroke my hair until the edges of sleep crept in.

Before I succumbed, she made one more promise.

“You’re going to therapy. Even if I have to drag you there myself and duct tape you to the chair. Even if you hate me. I love you enough to make you get help when you’re too stubborn to get it yourself.”

I didn’t say anything because exhaustion wore me down to nothing, and arguing with Evie took more than I had to give. Instead, I focused on her soft words and let sleep claim me.