Page 80 of When I'm Gone

I pause the music playing in my ears so I can hear the tires crunching on gravel behind me. Hear the way it speeds up incrementally as I do. Panic seizes my chest, but I don’t stop. I’m probably being dramatic, right?

God, how I want this to be me being dramatic.

My feet move faster and faster, relying solely on my familiarity with these streets as tears blur my vision.Just don’t stop,I beg my aching lungs and burning calves. The car continues to trail me, but I don’t dare look back. With my luck, that’ll send me over the edge into a full-blown state and I can’t get away like that. I can’t slow down to call Chase or my brother, can’t do anything but hope this maniac gets bored and gives up. I’m sprinting, but it feels like I’m moving with cinder blocks tied to my ankles.

Each breath saws painfully through me, threatening to tear me in half with every step I take. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, drowning out the noise I desperately need to hear. Last second, an idea strikes, and I veer left, cutting through an alleyway too narrow for a car to follow. First one, then as many shortcuts as I can find. Instinct tells me not to look back, so I don’t. Escapes are made by looking forward, otherwise you’ll trip and they’ll catch you.

When I see the black front door with the front porch light that stays on no matter the time of day, relief floods my system so suddenly, I could sob. Dashing up the stairs and throwing the door open is more muscle memory than anything, but as the lock slides home, I whisper to the empty room, “You’re safe. It’s all okay now. It wasn’t even like that.”

Maybe it wasn’t. But nothing is allowed to touch me when I’m here. This is my home now too, and no one is going to make me feel scared in these four walls. Chase built this place full to the brim with love and laughter and friendship. Nothing is going to tear that away, especially some creep with a road rage vendetta.

Slowly, I force the anxiety from my bones, breathing deep. In through my nose, hold it for five seconds, then out through my mouth, just like Chase taught me. The garage door vibrates the floorboards, and I rush to meet them in the kitchen.

They’re arguing, color me shocked, and a smile takes over my face as Chase rounds the car waving a reusable grocery bag like a weapon. “Put me out of my fucking misery and get a girlfriend! Divorce me for a younger woman! I can’t make this marriage work anymore.”

My shoulders shake with laughter as Brady follows in his wake as Chase ducks down for a toe-curling kiss. “Hi, sweetheart. I missed you. We should get a leash for our dog.”

“Uncalled for!”

I lock my arms around his neck and steal another kiss. “Did he chew up another pair of shoes? What are we going to do with him?”

Brady ruffles my hair as he walks past, winking at me playfully. “Et tu, Easton? I thought for sure I could count on my baby brother to have my back.”

He starts unpacking groceries, and Chase hands me the bag he was holding before going to help. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be having your back about. No one has passed along the memo yet.”

My brother lights up at the opportunity to clue me in and potentially have an ally in whatever disagreement they’re having. “So, get this, right, we’re in Target, minding our business as people do.” God, this is already so dramatic, I love him so much. “We’re debating on tacos or stuffed chicken. I’m obviously on team tacos, and I’m winning. I almost have him convinced that tacos four times in two weeks is the best idea I’ve ever had, and then this raggedly old lady?—”

“I’d like to plead my innocence here. Just for the record,” Chase interjects.

Brady rolls his eyes. “So, she walks by us in the aisle and eyes us up and down real good. You can just fucking tell what she was thinking, but I wasn’t paying any attention until she bumped into Ace—on purpose, how rude can you be—and called him disgusting. Can you believe that? Obviously, I wasn’t going to stand for that, and it’s frowned upon to fight someone four times your age, even if she is a stark-raving lunatic, so Chase became my situational boyfriend and I made it my mission to make her uncomfortable.”

I try not to laugh at the phrase situational boyfriend, and ask my not-situational boyfriend instead, “Are you okay?”

He scoffs “I’m fine. It was so minor, it barely registered. One day, your brother is going to instigate with the wronghomophobe and I’m going to have to bail him out of jail, though. Not that he seems to care.”

Brady happily supplies, “I don’t. And for the record, I’m not discriminatory. I aim to make all bigots uncomfortable. Not just homophobes.”

Chase sighs, affectionately, but this is clearly something they’ve argued about before. How did I ever believe those awful things about him? Aaron’s claws were in deep so quickly, it scares me to think about.

For the millionth time, a spark of resentment flares to life in my chest. Maybe if I didn’t grow up thinking relationships with massive power imbalances were normal, this wouldn’t have happened to me. Maybe I would have seen that he was manipulating me from the very start.

“How was your run, Chaos?” Chase asks.

My brain scrambles. Their banter and teasing makes me feel so warm and happy; the last thing I want to do is bring the mood down and tell them about the weird incident. It’s over now anyway, so what’s the point of worrying them? “It was good.”

That’s the first lie I’ve told him, it makes my stomach flip-flop and sweat bead on the back of my neck. Because I’ve never given him a real reason to doubt me, Chase doesn’t even blink. Just kisses me again as he moves around the kitchen, still bickering with my brother. I almost correct it, tell him how scared I was and let him soothe all my troubles away in that way that only he can do.

Instead, I peek into the bag he handed me on his way in, worried I’m holding something they’re about to need to make dinner. “What is this?” I murmur, running my hand over the fabric.

Chase looks up from assembling a salad. “Oh yeah. I saw them in the store and thought they looked like you. I couldn’tpick between a few so I got them all. We can take back what you don’t like.”

One by one, I take out a half dozen black band T-shirts, just like I used to wear before someone else dictated my wardrobe. My throat burns and my hands shake as I lay them out on the counter. How can one person be so thoughtful?

“Don’t get me wrong,” Chase begins. “I love seeing you in my clothes, but you came here with barely anything, so I thought it might be nice for you to have some things of your own.”

My head bobs in a nod while I try to get words out. The helplessness and absence of identity I felt when I had to watch as all of my clothes burned still hurts like it was yesterday. On the bigger list of issues, it was one of low on the priority list of things I was trying to undo. But now that it’s staring me in the face, I can’t help but wonder how I let this be taken from me. For most people, it’s a pile of inexpensive T-shirts, but to me, it’s so much more than that. When Chase met me, I wore clothes like this. I had to fight with my mother tooth and nail, convincing her that it wouldn’t make me a devil worshiper.

Him not only remembering that minor detail about me, but handing back that little piece of myself that was missing like it’s no big deal, is so agonizingly, perfectly Chase. Thoughtfulness is engrained so deeply in his heart, he doesn’t realize the effect it has on someone who has never been valued. Love always looked a lot like hurt, and changing gears and seeing what it should be is so refreshing, also a huge mind-fuck.

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