Finding Me (The Bad Boy Series) (21 page)

Then I hear a sound that breaks me over and over again. Screeching tires against damp asphalt breaks through the deep silence surrounding me. The sound of crunching metal comes shortly after. Pain jolts through my chest, slicing me open and exposing my battered heart.

I can’t see. I can only hear the sounds that kill me slowly. My heart pounds in my ears, my breathing harsh from the hard rise and fall from my chest. I try to inhale deeply, begging my lungs to cooperate. But when I do, I am hit immediately with the smell of burning rubber. It consumes me, suffocates me, and punctures my bleeding heart.

I am numb. Every part of my body is cold, numb, and weak. My chest is painful, reminding me of hurt yet to come. They haven’t arrived yet, my demons haven’t come to kill me. But I know they are coming, I can feel them.

I blink quickly, as if trying to erase the darkness that has taken over. I suddenly can hear voices, but they are distant and unrecognizable, and I wonder if it's from the haunting creatures I know will come. But the voices are become more and more distant as the minutes roll by. I am trapped in perpetual darkness, the light within me slowly bleeding, blending into the hell I am unable to escape.

They are here. The demons that only lurk within my nightmares, but play within my reality. They are here. I can feel them, so much closer than before, and all the more frightening. I can’t breathe, the darkness is seeping, and poisoning everything inside of me.

“Turn off the ventilator.” 

I am immobile. The words that killed me when I was ten repeat in my mind, ingrained within every atom I possess.

My hand quickly grasps my neck as I feel the restriction against my wind pipe. They have hold of me again, forcing me to feel. Forcing me to remember everything. The phone call, the hospital, my father’s still and lifeless body. I am bare, stripped right down to the timid ten year old girl who was faced with the brutality of what life has to offer.

I am darkness.

"How was your session, baby girl?"

"Hmm?"

Tate was sitting on the floor next to my bed. My nose was pushed into a book about psychology, but I couldn't remember a single thing I just read. I couldn't concentrate on anything. The nightmare from the night before was torturing me, reminding me that I was still healing.

"How was your session?" Tate repeated.

"Better," I said.

It actually was better. I was slowly coming to terms with the idea that my father's death wasn't my fault, I shouldn't feel guilty because I wasn't in the car with him. I still had my fears, my anxieties, and, lately, my nightmares. My nightmares had come back full force the day I left Logan in the parking lot of the bar. They were strong and painful, and right now Tate was losing sleep because he was sleeping by my side to make sure I was okay.

Dex had called a couple of days ago, checking in on me. He had been really nice about my 'departure' from my first shift. He said, "Sometimes the things we are running from, catch up." He told me to take some time off, and re-group, that I still had a job to go to if I wanted it.

Things were starting to change. I had switched my major to Psychology with a minor in Music. I loved my music classes, but I really wanted to help people through music, people who suffered with PTSD. But what had changed the most ... was Logan. Tate told me he'd moved out of the campus dorms and into his own apartment.

Since the day at the bar, he had closed off from everyone, including Tate. He was hurting, he was hurting because of me. But what could I give him? Days where I reminded him exactly why I was the way I am? Nights where I couldn’t breathe without inhaling the smell of burnt rubber and flesh? Would I be forever stuck in the hell I carried around with me every day? Would I have to watch through my own nightmares as I'm slowly killed in my sleep? I would not subject someone to the brutality of my own demons.

Tate’s phone suddenly chimed, he smiled and chuckled before placing his phone back into his pocket.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“Low. She's on her way over,” he said as he stood up.

Suddenly the book I couldn’t really concentrate on was ripped from my hands. I looked up at my brother questioningly. What the hell was he doing?

“Don’t look at me like that, baby girl. Get in the shower and get some clothes on. We're going out.” He smiled.

I couldn't going anywhere, I had an essay to get done for tomorrow’s class.

“I can’t, Tate. I have to get this finished,” I mumbled.

“You mean that blank piece of paper you've been staring at for the past three hours?” He smirked, raising his right brow at me.

“Don’t be a penis, brother.” I smiled.

“Don’t say penis, it makes me cringe,” he said, scrunching his face and shaking his head.

We both laughed, a genuine laugh. Only my brother could pull me out of the thick clouds that hung over me constantly. Our laughing soon seized and I was staring at the duvet of my bed, where I sat. He was in my head again, Logan. When I’m not thinking about my nightmares, he's constantly there. Reminding me of what I had done.

“Come on, baby girl. A shower will do you good,” he whispered, grabbing my hand and pulling me up from the bed.

“Where are we going?” I asked as I pulled my hand from his and walked into the bathroom.

“Just for a walk. A shower and some fresh air will be good for you.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

I stepped in the shower and let the heat of the water engulf me. I couldn’t feel the heat, I'm a different kind of cold, a cold seeped within my bones. As the water droplets fell against my face, I thought back to Logan. The time when we were in this shower together, him telling me that he couldn’t kiss me. I closed my eyes, trying to rid my mind of the memory. I couldn’t think about it, it hurt too much. My heart ached for him, but also broke for him too.

I took my time washing my hair and lathering up my body, anything to stop my mind running back to Logan, to his touch, to his smile. It’s not working. He was all I thought about and I couldn’t stop it from happening.

Turning off the shower, I got out and toweled off. Taking time to dry my hair and body, before throwing on some jeans and a baggy shirt. As I pulled the shirt over my head, I got hit with a scent that
could make my heart hammer. It smelled like Logan. Pulling the shirt on completely, over my body, I inspected it. As my eyes roamed the shirt, I groaned. It was one of Logan’s. I wanted desperately to take it off, but my body wouldn’t respond to my commands. I couldn’t bring myself to take it off.

“Come on, sis. You’re killing me out here!” Tate said from the other side of the door.

“I’m coming! Keep your hair on.” I laughed at my brother.

Grabbing a hair tie from the sink, I threw my hair up into a messy bun before walking out of the bathroom and into my room. Tate sat on my bed with his nose in my psych book when I walked in, his face scrunched up and looking confused.

“You having fun there, brother?” I chuckled before walking over and taking the book from his hands.

“That book makes me feel stupid.” He laughed, standing from my bed and throwing his arm over my shoulder.

“No, Tate. You are just stupid.” I giggled.

Tate rolled his eyes before swiftly bending down, and threw me over his shoulder. I squealed as he made his way to my door while I laughed, hanging over his shoulder.

“Tate, put me down!”

But, before we reach the door, it opened. I was suddenly swung back down and placed onto my feet. The rooms spun slightly as I got my bearings. Then, I was completely immobile.

“Are you fucking shitting me?!”

I turned around and my eyes quickly landed on Logan. He was here, in my dorm with Low in tow. What the hell? I took him in. From his Converse, to his sweat pants, to his tight white shirt and, finally, his face. He looked tired, and thoroughly pissed off. Oh god.

“What the hell is going on?!” he shouted, presumably at Tate and Low. I had no freaking idea either.

“Tate?” I questioned, crossing my arms and facing him.

My brother looked at me with sympathetic eyes; it’s then I realized that this was planned. Low had brought Logan here, presumably without him knowing I was here, while Tate distracted me. Son-of-a-bitch!

Silence hit the room and from the look on Tate’s face, he wasn't going to explain. Logan looked as though he's about to kill my brother. More than likely Low too. He wouldn’t look at me. His gaze never once locked on mine. My god, I really hurt him.

“Ugh! I’ll explain, shall I? Tate, get your ass over here,” Low said, pulling my brother by his wrist towards the door. “This is our intervention. You two are not to leave this room until you work out your shit! We're fucking tired of wondering how you'll react to certain things! And Jesus, I’m tired of fucking dealing with the mess you guys make.”

Well, shit. I might actually kill my best friend and my brother right now. I couldn’t believe they would do this. I looked at my brother, who's completely quiet.

“Fuck this, I’m out!” Logan burst out, turning to leave.

My heart suddenly picked up speed and I was about to all but throw myself at him, just to make him stay. I knew I had no right, but the pull I had to him right this second was overpowering any rational thought. My chest ached with each second that passed. I wanted him to stay. To stay with me.

“Don’t,” Tate rumbled.

My head snapped back to my brother when I heard the threat in his voice. He finally spoke, finally gave some indication on how he felt in this situation. I loved him, but I still wanted to kill him.

“Tate, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” Logan shouted.

“What’s wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with me? I have had to sit back and watch as both of you tear each other apart! My best friend and my fucking sister. How the hell do you expect me to carry on doing that? You two will sit in here until you can work out your shit. I’m not fucking around! You either decide it’s completely over, or you actually realize you two were made for each other, in every single way,” Tate said, and as he whispered the last sentence.

I was completely stunned. Made for each other in every single way? There has never been any confusion over my feelings for Logan. I love him, but I love him enough to let him go, and not to be caught up in my shit. But now I didn’t know if we could ever go there. We hurt each other too much. It’s not possible.

Logan was silent. He stared my brother down, and when he realized he wouldn't win this battle, he looked towards me. His gaze finally locked onto mine for the first time in two weeks. God, how I missed those eyes. We stared for what seemed like minutes, but probably was only seconds. I didn’t register my best friend and my brother leaving the room, nor did I register the door locking behind them. All I saw, and all I felt, was him. Everywhere.

Minutes passed with so many unspoken words, I didn’t know where to look. I felt his eyes on me, penetrating me, making me feel completely stripped bare with just his stare. What do I say? What do I say to the man I've broken, time and time again? “Sorry” would never be enough. Nothing would ever be enough.

“How’s the new apartment?” I asked. It’s the most stupid thing I could possibly have said, but I couldn’t stop. I started rambling. “Tate showed me the pictures, it looks stunning and I bet it’s only a couple of minutes’ walk to campus …”

I stopped rambling when I heard a small laugh leave Logan’s lips. But as soon as it appeared, it stopped. I really have hurt him, and it tore at every piece of my broken heart.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

I didn’t know exactly what I was apologizing for. For rambling? For hurting him over and over again? I didn’t know, but I knew it would never be enough for him to forgive me.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

I stopped talking, letting the silence take hold of the room. I don’t know what else to say. Then he suddenly spoke, and I think I fell a little harder just from the sound of his voice.

“I know you are,” he whispered back, looking down at the floor. “But I don’t think sorry is going to mend my broken heart.”

Tears. I could feel them building just from the emotion-filled husk of his voice.
think I can fix this, because for the first time I really want to fix this. I really want him to understand that I can’t keep running, I can’t keep hurting him anymore.
I love him too much to let him go. I made a mistake and now I am paying for it.

“I don’t know what to say, Logan.” My body suddenly felt exhausted. I slowly lowered myself onto the bed, on the edge.

“How about the truth?” he asked me.

I watched as he slowly made his way to Low’s bed, lowering himself and sitting with his back against the wall. The way he always does.

“About what?” I asked. I cringed; I knew what he wanted to know, but I couldn’t say it.

“How about, do you love me? In any capacity at all. Do you love me?”

“Yes.” My answer was instant, and for a split second, I didn’t know if the word had actually come out.

“Are you still in love with him?” he asked, clearly referring to Angel.

“It wasn’t love,” I whispered. I don’t think it ever was. “It was infatuation. It was my own infatuation of trying to be someone else. It was never love.”