Easier to Run Page 5

  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.”

  I shook my head. It wasn’t our current position that made me uncomfortable—being next to him had the opposite effect, so I quietly curled up, resting my head on his shoulder and focusing on the chatter coming from the TV. I had no idea what we were watching. Instead, I was lost in my own thoughts.

  I'd slept for most of the morning so I figured the chances of getting to sleep were slim—and I considered that to be a good thing. I wasn't ready for Ben to see me freak out again. I resolved to stay in my spot—my warm spot at his side until he fell asleep.

  But when he switched off the lamp, I found myself fighting sleep. I forced my eyes open, his hand tightened on mine when I squirmed. Then, his fingers pressed gently at my knuckles, working between the small bones and tracing the tendons like a mini-massage. I peeked over to see my hand fisted into a ball against his shirt.

  When had I done that?

  His soft touches continued until I flattened my palm against him. My fingers felt like they hadn't stretched out in an eternity.

  I blinked away sleep again. What was he doing to me?

  Ben rubbed his hands over his eyes as his older brother took a seat on the table next to him and handed him a large cup of coffee.

  “How long you been up, man?”

  “I got a few hours of sleep before we came here.” His voice was roughened by his groggy state. “If not for that, I’d be going on twenty-six hours.”

  “Still no more news?” Mark asked.

  Ben shook his head and traced his fingers through Cassie’s straight blonde hair. She still hadn’t said a thing in the two hours since the doctor had come in. She was quietly curled against his side with her fingers clutched at his shirt near his heart.

  “I want to wake up now,” Cassie whispered against his chest.

  “I know, honey.” He kissed the top of her head, wishing there was something more he could do. Being reduced to fighting off sleep and holding her small, exhausted body left him feeling helpless.

  The door opened slowly and another doctor stepped in. “Bryant family?”

  “Yes,” Rachel shot up, “How’s mom?”

  The doctor’s expression said everything before he uttered a single word. “We lost her on the table—”

  Cassie’s world turned to a loud static as the room erupted into chaos around her. None of the sounds came through, so she squeezed her eyes closed and blocked out the rest as well.

  “Cas,” Ben nudged the side of her face. As soon as she opened her eyes, reality rushed in and crushed her from the inside out.

  “No,” she cried. “No, no, no. I want to wake up.”

  Rachel knelt next to her. “I know, Cas. But we can’t. The doctor said we can go in and see her.”

  Cassie shook her head. She didn’t want to say goodbye. Goodbye meant it was over. It meant she’d lost both of her parents. Even as she grappled with that understanding, most of all, she didn’t want to see their lifeless bodies with nothing left. “I don’t want to see.”

  “We’ll go with you,” Beth said, rubbing Rachel’s shoulder. “If you want.”

  Rachel nodded, leaving her sister with Ben and Mark while everyone else accompanied her and the nurse down the hallway.

  Ben

  Cassie rolled away at some point in the night. By the time I woke, she was curled on her side facing the thick curtains covering the window. It was still long before dawn, so I changed into a new pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt and stretched out in the armchair near the bed to surf the internet on my phone.

  Not that there was really anything new to read. I checked the weather, the local traffic, and news, but all the while I had something else on my mind. I debated over calling Liz. Threw the idea around in my head until I felt dizzy from going back and forth. Without a doubt, we’d end up fighting, and I couldn't very well sit right next to Cassie's sleeping body and yell at my ex over the phone. I couldn't leave Cassie either.

  As it neared half past five, I put away my phone and repacked my bag.

  “Cassie,” I whispered, brushing her hair as I tried to gently wake her. My luck she'd punch me in the face for it.

  Her eyes popped open and she glanced around the room, taking a quick gasp, then letting it out slowly. “It's morning.”

  “Yep. We can pick up a coffee and a bite to eat, then we should hit the road.”

  She rubbed her hands through her hair again, scratching her head. “Morning,” she repeated softly.

  “Yeah,” I sat down on the bed next to her. Based on her reaction, I wondered how long it had been since she'd actually slept through a night.

  She wrapped her arms around my neck and sank against my chest. “Thank you.”

  I squeezed her tight, nuzzling the top of her head with my chin. She could push the bad thoughts away—she was the only person who could. “I didn’t do anything, sweetie.”

  “You have no idea how much you did.”

  I smiled, brushing back a strand of hair from her face. Despite all of the differences I’d noticed, it was her eyes that showed the most. Every day of the last few years was written on and around them. Those deep brown eyes belonged to someone far older, someone who’d experienced the darkness of the human spirit. All I wanted to do was forget my own problems and chase hers away. “Come on, Cas. Let's eat.”

  Blinking away the last bits of sleep, she grabbed he
r clothes and went into the bathroom to change, emerging only a few minutes later in a pair of jeans and a pink shirt.

  She stuffed her pajamas in her bag, and I wrestled it away from her, throwing it over my shoulder. She gave me a pout but followed along behind as I headed toward the hotel lobby. Continental breakfasts weren't usually my early morning idea of nourishment—especially since I usually avoided hotels altogether, but the hotel had a nice spread, so we each filled our plates and settled into a corner table.

  As I nibbled at the last bit of toast and jam, my phone twitched nervously in my pocket, setting my anticipation on edge. My chest tightened, and I fully considered ignoring it, but my hand slid into my pocket and slowly pulled it out.

  The message was from my sister, Jenny—to my relief. Pictures of her two kids, Devon and Bree, playing at the park. Jenny was usually up early, too—the product of growing up with a truck driver as a father—so she sometimes texted me before I hit the road. I smiled as I flipped through the three images, then I flipped the phone around and showed it to Cassie.

  She squinted for a minute, then dropped the last half of her bagel. “No way. Is that Devon?”

  “Yep.”

  She reached for the phone and I let her take it.

  “He's friggin tall. Reminds me of you.”

  I snorted. “He's nine now. Bree is four. There are more pictures if you scroll through. Mark's daughter, Maddie. His fiancé, Abby, and her son, Mason. Some other family pictures, too.”

  She looked at me skeptically for a second, then gave in and flipped through the family album I'd collected. My sisters and brother wouldn’t stop sending me pictures of every life event. I’d never complain though. It made being away all the time more tolerable. Dad had been a driver for as long as I could remember, but as I watched my nieces and nephew grow up via text message, I wondered how he survived being away from us all the time. That was the life we were used to though. And I never thought of Dad as anything but the best dad in the world—well, maybe when I was in trouble. When he was home, family time was practically sacred.

  “Seems like a lifetime since I've seen your family,” Cassie said. “Your parents don't look much different though.”