Through Her Eyes (28 page)

“You’re not fine.” Her eyes become glassy, as if she’s fighting back tears.

“If I wanted your opinion, I would have asked.” My forehead furrows.
I’m fine
. Why can’t she just leave me in peace?

“You look like a skeleton. Your hair is a mess.” I walk toward the other side of the room and grab my drink. My listless body plops down on the couch.

“Want one?” I point to the tumbler across the room. “Please feel free to barge in uninvited and have a drink with me.”

“Look at you. Look at what you’re becoming. Look at
who
you’re becoming! I know you lost him, but he would never have wanted you to become this.” With that, I stand up and move directly in front of her. My eyes narrow, and my disdain for her interference pours out of me. Why can’t she just let me be? Why does she have to bring him up? She didn’t lose Parker, I did.

“What the hell do you know?” I shout.

“What’s with your attitude?” A fine line appears between her brows.

“You won’t have a drink with me, and you can see I’m okay. Please feel free to show yourself out.” Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she shakes her head once.

“Every day since Parker passed, I see you becoming more and more like your mom. Like everything you hated. Every day you are less the girl I know—”

“You mean the girl Parker loved, the one who crushed him?”

“You think he would want you to be like this? He worked so hard to show you that you were more than Owen’s sister, that you were more than the shadow behind the ghost of your brother.”

“A lot of good that did him. I killed him, just like I killed Owen.” She steps toward me, placing her hand gently on my shoulder. Her eyes soften, fill with compassion.

“Don’t do this. It wasn’t like that,” she says, and I know she’s trying to make me feel better, to give me comfort, but I don’t deserve it, and it’s not true. None of what she says is true. It’s my fault. Everything is my fault. “I know Parker loved you, Aria. He would never want you to blame yourself.”

“But I crushed him. He never knew.”

“He knew.” But no matter how her words came out, no matter what she says, she knows nothing of how he felt, and her thinking she does makes the anger inside me simmer. It’s a heavy feeling that’s brimming to spill out.

“You know nothing at all. Nothing,” I snap. I’m finally done hearing her.

“Listen to me. He knew more about you than you know yourself. Don’t you think he died knowing that? He knew you loved him.”

“What the fuck does any of this matter? Who gives a crap what he died knowing? He’s still fucking gone. You hear me? He’s dead, so why the fuck does it matter? Nothing fucking matters. You know all that matters right now? That you’re ruining my buzz. So either drink with me, or get the fuck out!”

“Aria Bennett, I love you, but you’re a nasty drunk. I’m leaving before you say anything else that you can’t take back. Sober up and call me.” She slams the door behind her, and I crumple on the couch. The alcohol courses through my body, making my mind burn with memories so vivid I want to gouge my eyes out. I thought I could handle this. Fuck, I don’t know what I thought. I don’t know how to move past this. I’m not any closer to finding out. Every step I take forward, I somehow take two steps back.

I grab my glass and take another swig to hush the voices. I’m desperate to drown them out. I’m exhausted. Even though I’ve slept for days, I’m so tired my body aches. Parker, Parker, Parker. His name spins through my head like a record on repeat. He echoes through my thoughts. My eyelids become heavy. Visions flash against my lids. One more sip will drown him out. One more sip will make me forget.

Sophie and Chase continue to call the next day and the day after that. My mother and father have also tried to contact me. I refuse them, too. Unlike Sophie and Chase, they aren’t calling to make sure I’m okay. Since I declined all their calls they started belittling me through text messages.

Dad: Are you ever planning to come to work?

Dad: It’s time to make a decision, young lady.

Mom: You really are a disappointment.

I need to tell them that I’ve decided I’m not working for Dad. That I’m not taking over the empire. That I’m not Owen. But I just can’t bring myself to text them back. Every time a new message arrives, the flood gates re-open, and I fall apart. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with myself. I know I have to get up. I have to stop this madness, but I can’t. Every time I allow my subconscious thoughts to surface, I feel as if I’m being dragged down. It’s too much. Feeling is too much. I tuck my thoughts away with one sip. That’s all it takes. One sip and the feelings lessen. Eventually they will disappear, and so I wait . . . fading in to the hum of the TV that drones on. It’s just a matter a time. A few more burns down my throat. I lay in my bed, and the drowsiness washes over me. It’s only a matter time before I succumb to sleep yet again. I dream of nothing when it comes. Pure peace.

Tick

Tick

Tick

My eyes flutter closed later that night. His eyes appear behind my lids. His blond hair is soft. The dimple I’ll never see again creases his cheek, and then he morphs. Perfect steel, a five o’clock shadow. Chase Porter. My eyes jet open, and I reach for the bedside table. Warm liquid coats my throat, burns my lungs, and forces out all the faces. Stumbling and sliding, I make it to the bathroom. Vomit splashes against the toilet. I grasp the porcelain as tears begin to stream.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I say, defeated, through my tears. No one is here to witness my hysterics, but my drunken mind doesn’t care.

“I can’t”—A sob rips through my chest. My throat aches and burns. I cover my face with my hands and lie down. My body shudders against the cool tile.

I wake up sometime later, still on the bathroom floor.
I must have passed out from the exertion.
The world is spinning. I drape myself over the toilet and let my stomach empty again. All my energy has been stolen. With every bit of strength I have, I crawl across the floor until I make it to the hardwood of my bedroom. I let out a moan that’s so loud and primitive, I fear the neighbors will call the cops as I pull my listless body into bed. Wrapping my arms around my torso, I try to cocoon myself, as if my frail limbs will keep the torment that lurks in the corners of my mind at bay. Through deep breaths, I try to calm my body as it shakes uncontrollably. A chill, black silence starts to surround me, and I allow it to cloak me in darkness. I welcome the reprieve.

T
HE SLEEP EVAPORATES.

The coolness of the air conditioner hits my limbs peeking out from my sheets. Light bursts in through gaps in the drapes hanging across the room. My eyelids flicker against the brightness. I reach out to swat it away, and my head throbs with the movement. It feels as if a train ran over me. My other senses awaken one by one, and I smell the alcohol lingering in the air. Reluctantly, I force myself to sit up in the bed, but when I’m fully seated, I realize what a mistake that is. My head spins and throbs from the movement.

What the hell do I do to feel better?
And then I see it, the bottle of whisky on the bedside table. That will make it all go away. One sip and the hangover will be a distant memory. Swallowing hard, I shake my head. No, I’m stronger than that. As my gaze wanders back to the bottle, I clutch furiously at my chest. I roll over onto my sheets, cover my head, and try to fight the need coursing through my veins. I need it. I can taste it dripping down my throat even from across the room.
No, you can’t do this.

Chase’s words rip through me.
“Dig deeper. You can do this.”

I can.

One step at a time.

By slow degrees, I lift myself out of the confines of my bed. My feet hit the cold wooden floors, and I want to seek my refuge under the warmth of my sheets. As I take tentative steps, I groan. It hurts badly, but I need to make it to the bathroom. It’s only a few more steps.

“You can do anything for forty-five seconds.”
That’s what Chase said, and he was right. I could and I would.

Entering the room, I make quick work of turning the shower on and stepping inside. The water is scalding. It’s so hot that it loosens the muscles that were tense only a few minutes ago.

I feel my soul being cleansed by the tiny droplets hitting my body. It soaks through me to the root of my problem. My shoulders slump forward as I allow the water to wash away my pain.

Chase inspired me. He motivated me to push myself outside of my box. Regardless of what happened between us, I couldn’t let those lessons fade away. No. From this moment forward, I will bask in the memories. I will treasure them. I won’t let his actions rob me of that. And most of all, I will continue to seek out what he taught me.

Live the life intended.

Inspiration can strike at the strangest times.
A giggle escapes, shocking me. The sound is so foreign after everything I’ve been through these past few days.

Ideas of how to accomplish this goal race through my mind. The first step is to finally come to terms and figure out what I don’t want. Chase helped me realize so much, and Parker did, too. My lips turn up and my nose tickles from the familiar feeling of tears starting to brew. Nope. No more tears.

I put on my plush terry cloth robe and make my way to my phone. My heartbeat accelerates with fear. I was pretty awful, but I can’t stand the idea of Sophie being angry with me. I don’t remember exactly what I said the other day, but I know it was bad. I was drunk, and that’s no excuse, but unfortunately, it’s the only one I have right now.

“Hello.” Even though it’s just one word, I know she’s still on edge that I’ll jump down her throat about something.

“Hey, Soph.” My voice is sheepish, and as I wait for her to respond, I stare off across the room and out the window. When she doesn’t answer, I continue.

“Listen, I’m so sorry. I never should have . . . I . . .” I grab a piece of hair and twirl it in my hand.

“I know, Aria. I know that wasn’t you talking. I know it was the grief. You scared me, though.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry for that. I didn’t know how to cope, but it’s no excuse. I was wrong. I haven’t had anything to drink since yesterday, and I’m feeling pretty awful about everything.”

“You were scary, Aria. It was like my friend was gone. I know you have been through a lot, but if you feel you’re spiraling into self-destruction again, call me. And if you don’t want to speak to me, make an appointment to speak to someone. It’s not healthy to drown yourself in a bottle.” I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I know. I promise.”

“Have you spoken to Chase?” she asks, and I sigh. I was still avoiding his calls.

“No,” I admit.

“Are you planning to?”

“I’m not ready for that yet. I have a lot of soul-searching to do. I spent so many years trying to be Owen, to replace him, and in the end Parker was right. I need to learn to be me.”

“When you’re ready, you should speak to Chase. I think you need to even if only for closure.” I can hear the concern in her voice.

“I’m not sure of the point.”

“Sometimes people pretend so much it starts to become real. Maybe he intended to tell you, but it just got out of hand.”

“I hear you, but in the end he did lie to me. How can I ever know if anything was genuine? If he actually ever cared or if I was, I don’t know, some sick, twisted—”

“Don’t even go there. Okay?” And with that, I stop myself. She’s right. I can’t go back to dwelling on that. Not when I finally began to make progress.

“Okay,” I mumble.

“So, do you want some company? Can I help you with anything?”

“I was just going to lay low and think about things, but yeah, why not? I would love some company.”

“I’m going to stop and pick up a pizza. We can talk about things once I get there. I’ll see you soon.”

“Thank you.” I hang up the phone, and it’s as though a weight has lifted off my body. I feel lighter than I have for days. Knowing she isn’t angry with me is just what I need to help me start healing.