Almost Matched (Almost Bad Boys) (18 page)

“She was a freshman, hardly eighteen, right out of high school. Her mother kept drinking herself into oblivion until, one afternoon after school, Faith found her dead on the front porch, bottle in hand. She didn’t want to talk about it much, but once it kinda slipped.” He takes a deep breath.

I feel my eyebrows pull together, but I don’t interrupt. Colin’s arm goes back to drape over his eyes. It is so hard to watch him in such pain. I want to express my support, so I touch his shoulder and gently stroke it.
 

He takes another slow, deep breath, and the words tumble out, “Faith’s father was a control freak. He wouldn’t let her go anywhere, even with her best friends. She wasn’t allowed to leave the house after walking back from school until he came back from work. And even then she could only go to the grocery store. Everything else was driving distance from their little town. She didn’t own a car. Her father would drive her to the library or if she needed to go shopping. Faith got accepted to five colleges, including one Ivy League. But her dad wouldn’t hear about her moving away from California. Her only option was UCLA. That’s where we met, at a party. It was the very first party in her life, and she was in awe. She was so naïve and so… pure. There was something different about her, something… child-like. She was fascinated with everything she saw. I asked her out, and she got so shy, she couldn’t even look me in the eye. But we started dating… slowly. Faith was… well, you know… she was a virgin; never been with anyone before.”

Colin stops talking, and I am waiting, not wanting to ask any questions. Hell, I have no idea what to ask. He seems so fragile, so vulnerable. I’ve
never
seen him like this. It’s as if he morphed into a complete stranger right in front of my eyes. My confident, funny, sexy Colin is gone. And in his place is this sad, broken guy. But it is Colin, and that’s what scares me. I realize I don’t know my boyfriend at all.

He turns his head to look at me and takes my hand in his. He presses his lips to my knuckles. I think this is his way of calming himself down.
 

“After a while, Faith started to get drunk at every party we went to.
Really
drunk, to the point of passing out. She tried drugs too. I didn’t think much of it. Hell, we all did it.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, as if disbelieving his own words.
 

Now I start understanding his reaction to me getting drunk. I feel horrible. I wait for him to keep going.
 

“First it was some Ecstasy and weed, but soon she moved onto crack and meth. She hid that from me. Or maybe I was a dumb ass and didn’t… fuck, I had no idea! No idea that she could get so into this shit. It happened really fast—the innocent, sweet girl that I knew disappeared. Faith became mean and confused. Aggressive too. She couldn’t sleep. She was rapidly losing weight. She was a tiny thing to begin with. Soon she looked like a skeleton of a child. And she wouldn’t listen. She would sneak out and get high, miss classes, throw violent fits, stuff like that.”

I scoot closer to him and carefully drape my arm around his chest. I rest one bent knee over his thigh in an attempt to calm him down. “I’m sorry. These memories are still quite vivid, aren’t they?”

Colin nods and shoves his hand through his hair. His jaw works, and his nose flares. “One day she got high and drunk… hell, I should have known… I always tried to watch her, but she would find a way to sneak in some shit. I was young and stupid. I didn’t stray from drugs or booze myself. We were at a party, and this time she got herself pretty messed up really fast. She started making out with some guy. I got pissed and socked him in the nose. She laughed in my face and ran outside. I chased after her, but she hit me with a bottle, and I blacked out. She jumped in her car and started to drive away. I was able to get in. Tried to stop her, but she was so angry, totally psychotic. It was as if something possessed her. She must have taken some heavy-duty drugs. She swerved into the upcoming traffic and…” Colin starts breathing very deep and very fast.
 

I jump up and grab his arms. “What it is? Colin, what’s happening?” I hold him down.

He’s shaking, his teeth start to chatter, his eyes are unfocused. Fuck, is he on drugs? Colin hates drugs now! He told me that. We talked about that more than once!

“Baby, slow down. I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” I whisper and press myself on top of him, trying to restrain him. I’m freaked out. Maybe I should call an ambulance.

Colin grunts and continues hyperventilating. He tilts his head back and screams through clenched teeth.
 

“God, what’s going on? What can I do? Did you take some shit? Talk to me!” Frantically, I look around as if I could find a solution in my bedroom. His eyes are dilated. He’s still shaking, but his breath is slowing down a bit. I grasp the phone from my side table and dial 911.

The operator’s calm, professional voice asks me about the nature of my emergency. I explain what’s happening to Colin, give her his age, and my address. She says the ambulance is on its way. Soon there is a knock on the door. By then Colin is lying motionless, still breathing fast, his fists pressed to his eyes. I jump off him and run to the door. Two paramedics walk in. I take them to my bedroom. Colin is now sitting up on the bed, rocking back and forth.
 

I kneel next to him and hold him tight. “The paramedics are here,” I whisper. “Tell them what’s happening, baby.”

“I’m having a panic attack,” Colin says between deep breaths.
 

The paramedics are talking with him, giving him instructions, checking his blood pressure and pulse. Soon, he swings his legs down from the bed and sits slumped with his feet on the floor. I stand next to him, ready to help, although I have no idea how. I hear him tell the medics that his panic attacks started in college after the car accident that took his friend’s life. He had PTSD for a few weeks afterwards, which I learn is the post-traumatic stress disorder. I don’t know much about such stuff, but I’m sure this is serious.
 

Colin’s face is more relaxed now. His skin has lost that weird ashen color and it’s back to its normal, healthy hue. I smooth his hair and kiss the top of his head. He touches my arm and looks up at me. I’m not sure how to interpret his expression, but I see a mix of gratitude, trepidation, and embarrassment.

“Hey,” I whisper, squatting down in front of him and grasping his hands in mine. I smile, hoping to put him at ease. “I’m here. It’s okay. Whatever is happening, it’s okay.” I squeeze his hands and he squeezes mine back.
 

When the paramedics leave, I lock the door and find Colin deep in thought.
 

“Can I get you a glass of water?” I say gently.
 

“Yeah, that would be great.” His voice is quiet, and he’s not looking at me.

I return from the kitchen with a glass of iced water and I give it to Colin. He drinks half of it at once.
 

“So, a panic attack,” I start cautiously.
 

He nods a few times. His brows are bunched together, and a deep crease forms between them. I lay down on my side. “Come here. Lay down next to me.”

Colin obeys quietly and a moment later he has his arms crossed under the back of his head. He’s looking at the ceiling. “That’s what I meant when I said that I haven’t been honest with you.”

What? And here I was, right away accusing him in my head of cheating. I am such a bitch. Ugh. I feel like shit now. “Baby, why would you even think this is something
dishonest
?”

“Because I should have told you. The panic attacks ceased a long time ago. I haven’t experienced any problems in years—no flashbacks, no sleep disorder, no medication or therapy needed. But I also didn’t let myself get close to anyone since Faith died in that car crash.”

“There was nobody all these years?”
 

“There were women. A lot of them really. But even though I tried, I couldn’t let myself get involved with anyone.”

I open my mouth but I stop the words from coming out. I’m not sure what I should and what I shouldn’t say. So I wait for him to carry on.

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head before saying, “I detached myself from everyone in my life. Even from the two closest family members that took the place of my dead parents: my grandma and my great grandma. The only thing that I was able to do was study. Like a maniac. I completed all the required college courses in record time. And then I did my Masters. Slowly, the bad memories subsided, I was able to get off the meds, and stop the therapy. Everything seemed to return to normal. I had my dream job with the coolest radio station in town. I made new friends. I had no issues.” He chews on his lower lip.
 

I look at him. “And then? What triggered this panic attack?”

“There were two before this one. Both this week,” he says gravely.

“Just like that? After a few years of no problems? What do you think prompted them?” I ask, but I’m really scared to hear the answer. I don’t know why, but I have a nagging feeling this has something to do with me.
 

Colin turns his body to mine, and we are facing each other. He moves closer and rests his forehead against mine. And then he says, “You did.”

“What?” My heart pounces in my chest, and all blood drains from my face. Normally, I would have some snarky comeback at ready, but this isn’t the time for any of my signature humorous innuendos.
 

I watch him. I think he’s trying to put on a brave face, but I can read him like an open book: this is
really
hard for him. There is so much pain behind those blue, sexy eyes, and I just realize I only know Colin on the surface.
 

He kisses my nose, and tries to smile but only manages a miserable grimace. “I don’t want to lose you, Natalie. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. Ever.”

END OF BOOK ONE

Bonus Material:
 

Excerpt from Almost Broken Up, book two in the Almost Bad Boys Series.

“And we forget because we must and not because we will.”

Matthew Arnold

Colin

My own scream wakes me up. I jolt upright, panting. In the darkness, my eyes desperately try to decipher where I am. It takes me a moment. A motel room, somewhere along the Interstate 5 in southern Washington. Yesterday I got in the car and just kept driving north. No direction, no plan, no destiny. Driving without purpose was the only thing that let me feel like escaping from the nightmare of the previous evening.
 

And then I start to shake uncontrollably. The sheet is crumpled around me in a heap of a sweaty mess. I grasp fistfuls of it and press it to my face and chest, wiping more sweat from my skin. My heart races, and the memories return: Faith’s dead eyes, opened wide, staring into the nothingness; her face bloodied, blond hair stuck to it; blood dripping in a steady, slow rhythm from her parted lips and onto the pavement. Shards of the dark-green glass from the wine bottle that only moments ago she clutched in her hand, stick out from her bruised, bloodstained hand and face; small pieces of shattered windshield of her car scattered around her small body. The body that I held close just moments before the crash.