Page 53 of Grotesque Love

She swallows, before pushing herself up into a sitting position. “I don’t know what happened. I couldn’t speak. And then I couldn’t breathe. He said he’d be back soon.”

I say nothing, allowing her to continue at her own pace. For a few minutes, she remains silent, fingers anxiously twiddling with the edges of the blanket.

“I don’t want him to come back,” Ari finally confesses, her voice cracking, as if she’s afraid speaking the words aloud will conjure him.

She wraps her arms around her knees, and rests her cheek on them.

Sitting up beside her, I place my arm around her shoulder offering this gesture as a show of solidarity and protection.

“We will protect you,” I swear. She gives me a small nod but there’s no conviction in her eyes.

“Is that what you were dreaming of?”

“No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, sliding my hand down her back and rubbing small circles, offering her a connection to keep her in the room with me instead of retreating inside her own head.

With infinite patience, I wait for her words, knowing how important they are. I would wait decades to hear her open up to me, centuries even, as long as it takes – it doesn’t matter.

I want Ari to feel safe, to be comfortable confessing her innermost thoughts and desires, to share her hopes and dreams, as well as the nightmares that haunt her.

“I dreamt of my mother,” she eventually whispers, her gaze glassy. “She’s been on my mind a lot lately.”

I hum, acknowledging her but continuing my silent support.

She sniffs, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. “It’s like she’s haunting me. Lingering on the edges of my mind.”

Ari bites down on her bottom lip, chewing it between her teeth until I’m afraid she might break the skin.

Gently lifting my finger and pressing it against her mouth, I free the poor flesh from her gnashing. “Why do you think she’s haunting you?”

She blinks. “Because it’s all my fault.”

Again, I wait. Silent. This is about her.

Clearing her throat, she glances away. “I should have been the one who died. It should have been me.”

Her guilt almost visibly weighs her down. This, and the poison Carver feeds her, is what has been trapping her inside her own mind like a prisoner. The burden she bears is a heavy one, but I’m almost certain it is not entirely hers to bear alone.

“How did she pass?” I ask gently, as I pull Ari onto my lap, deciding that there is too much space between us even though we are sitting with our shoulders touching.

She moves easily, pliable and compliant as she settles with her legs wrapping around my waist. “Car accident.”

“Were you the driver?”

“No.” She rests her forehead on my collar bone while playing with the ribbons on her nightgown in the space between our chests.

I gather the hair covering her face as she continues to hide from me, and drape it behind her carefully. “Did you cause the accident somehow?”

“No…” she murmurs. “No. But we wouldn’t have been in the car at all if it wasn’t for me.”

Placing my hands on her hips, I lay a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

She sighs. “I?—”

“Did not kill her.” I keep my voice firm. I will tell her every day if need be. I will remind her over and over again that the guilt that is eating her alive is misplaced. It was an accident. A situation outside of her control. She does not owe the universe her sanity or her soul.

Her blue eyes lock with mine, watery and conflicted. “But…”

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