Running in Place (Mending Hearts) (18 page)

Pressing the “End Call” button with my thumb, I start to set the phone down on the kitchen table, when I begin to hear them again. The longer I’m alone in this house, the louder they become and the more I feel as though I’m losing my mind. I’ve been here for five days now and I can’t seem to escape them anymore.

“You’re a worthless excuse for a daughter. I wish I’d never had you.”

Frantically, my eyes dart around the room for her. She’s here. I know it. I can smell the stench of alcohol in the air. Whipping around, I search for any trace of her, my entire body shaking and the knot in my throat unbearable. Tears fill my eyes as they anxiously race around the kitchen, finally landing on the cabinet where she used to store her liquor.

Memories flood my mind, the immobilizing terror that I would feel every time she approached it. The prayers I would send to no one in particular, just hoping that she wouldn’t open that fucking cabinet for just
one
night. Prayers that fell on deaf ears.

Slowly I make my way to the white doors, crouching down in front of them.

“You killed him and I will make damn sure you spend the rest of your life paying for that. I’ll never again know true happiness because you fucking exist.”

Shaking my head to try to clear her voice from my mind, I set my trembling fingers on the silver knobs and yank the doors open. Nothing.

A sigh of relief escapes my lips as I close them. Rising, I turn to take a step towards the sink when another memory strikes.

“Mama, don’t please.” I cry out loud as she approaches me with the scissors.

“I have to, Tatum. Your beauty does not match the vile, revolting child that you really are on the inside. Everyone should see you for who you are.” I try to run, but she grabs my long dark hair as I pass by her, swiping the blades so close to my neck that I can feel the cool metal against my skin. Laughing she chunks my tresses into the sink. “You’re an ugly person, Tatum. Inside…and out, now.”

“God, Daddy. Please help me,” I say out loud, lifting my shaking hands to my forehead, threading sections of hair through my fingers. “Please, Daddy, I need you.” After a while, calmness spreads throughout my body. I’m no longer shaking, but the voices are still there.

Turning the faucet on, I splash water on my face repeatedly, trying to drown out them out along with the memories. After wiping my face dry with a dishtowel, I hear the crackling of gravel as Noah’s Jeep pulls up into the driveway.

Breathing in deeply, I try to regain my composure as I walk to the door, straightening my shirt and running my fingers through my hair before I reach for the knob. Hearing steps in front of the house, I barely crack the door and poke my head out to make sure it’s really him. With all the crazy shit going on in this house I can’t be too sure, but much to my relief, there he is standing on my porch in his classic white t-shirt, work jeans and boots, his fist raised about to knock.

And just like that, the voices are gone and my head is clear.

I release a comforted breath and feel the corners of my mouth slightly lift at the sight of him.

“What are you smiling at?” Noah asks, seemingly nervous. Opening the door wider, I gesture for him to enter my house of horrors. The sight of his disheveled hair makes me grin even more.

“Your hair, it’s nice to see it like that. I don’t know why, but it makes me smile.” I clear my throat. His nerves must be contagious, because suddenly I feel that hummingbird feeling in my chest.

With him now inside, I close the door and head towards the kitchen, checking over my shoulder to make sure he’s following me. “Want something to eat?”

Once I see he’s fallen into step, I turn back around and round the corner, making sure to avoid looking at the sink. The memory still lingering on the hinges of my mind, I try to push it as far away as I can. “I don’t have much, but I did manage to make it to the store over the weekend.”

“No, I’m good. Thanks, though.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks onto the balls of his feet.

Thinking about our last night together, I feel the frustration mounting within myself. I should kick my own ass for kissing him. Everything seems so edgy between us now, and I hate it. Running my fingers through my hair, I twist it at the nape of my neck and bring it over my shoulder.

“Well, what’s up? What couldn’t wait until tonight?”

His eyes widen. “Tonight? What’s tonight?”

“I picked up Sadie’s shift.”

He grinds his teeth together as he leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “I told you to take the entire week off, Tate. You don’t need to work right now. You need to concentrate on healing.”

I know.

“No, I don’t. I’m sick and tired of being cooped up in this depressing house. I need to get out, to stay busy. I feel as if I’m losing it, honestly.” My hands are still trembling, and I’m not sure if it’s the sudden anxiety from being around Noah or the fact that I’m losing my mind. His eyes break from mine and land on them as they continue to shake like a leaf. Pressing himself off the wall, he takes a small, timid step towards me.

I want to tell him to stop. To stay where he is. To tell him to leave this house and forget about me. That I could ruin his perfect life by just being near him.

But I don’t.

I let him continue taking those steps until he’s right in front of me and even breathe out a sigh of contentment when he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his frame. The tears fall as he lightly traces my back with his fingers, and with each touch, my uneasiness lessens. I know it’s selfish, but I would give anything to stay in this moment forever.

Circling my arms around his waist, I press my forehead against his chest and watch the droplets as they plummet from my face towards his boots, dark spots forming as they strike. After a couple of seconds, I replace my forehead with my chin, daring to look into his muddy brown eyes, full of their usual intensity as he studies me, peering into my soul. In them, I find complete solace and protection, and the sudden desire to share things with him that I swore I’d never share with another living person.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Noah. I feel like I’m going fucking crazy. Ever since Friday, I can’t stop them.
The voices.
My mother’s leading their charge to my insanity.” My throat closes almost completely shut. “I hate this house. I hate being here, alone. So many memories…” I trail off, my strength fading, no longer able to keep from bawling.

I close my eyes as the warm moisture cascades down my cheeks and runs down my neck. Unwrapping his arms, he moves his hands to my face, wiping the tears away, but it’s useless. They’re replaced instantly.

“Tate, open your eyes. Look at me, baby.” I keep them closed, not ready to face the wary expression in front of me.

“Let me in, Tate. Open your eyes.” The heartache in his tone and the tremble of his voice prompts me to open them immediately. As soon as our eyes catch, a breath hitches in my throat. His eyes shining, he gently wraps his fingers around my shoulders, pressing his thumbs softly into my flesh as he speaks.

“You’re not alone. I’m right here.” A slight smile of relief breaks through the tears on my face.

I watch his mouth tip up in response. “Now, tell the voices to shut the fuck up because it’s my turn.”

A surprised giggle bubbles up from deep inside my chest. I cover my mouth with my hands, but I can’t contain it.

A satisfied grin displays on his face, but soon rescinds. With his brown eyes holding mine, the potent sincerity so overwhelming,
I step out of his grasp and break his stare, sniffling and wiping my face free from the tears.

“I’m worried about you, Tate. Between what happened on Friday and now with what I read in your journal, I need to know that you’re okay. You can’t keep this shit bottled up. You have to talk about it. I know that Trace wasn’t there for you when you needed him to be, but please believe me when I say that
I’m
here now.”

I bring my eyes back to his. “I’m fine, Noah. Please don’t waste your time worrying about me. I’m handling it. Not well, but I am, just in my own way.”

His jaw sets as he narrows his eyes. “Well, I
do
worry about you, Tate. You think you’re handling it, but you’re not. You pretend you’re fine, plastering that fucking fake smile on your face, but I see through it.”

Squeezing my shoulders tighter, he adds, “Talk to me, please. If not me, promise me you’ll at least talk to
someone
because if you don’t let it out, eventually you’ll suffocate your soul.”

His statement steals my breath
because I feel it
. I sense the crippling of my soul with each day that passes, the effect on my heart so painful there’s a constant ache in my chest.

“What do you want to talk about?” I ask, my voice timid.

“Journals,” he says. “You said journals. How many do you have?”

I hesitate before I answer, the admission almost as embarrassing as it is painful. “One written every year of my life since I was six? Well, the first one is gone, so sixteen?” The memory of the loss burns through my mind, causing my heart to ache even more. Reaching up, I rub my hand across the flat of my chest before continuing. “The first few are more like books of letters bound together, but I still count them.”

“All letters to your father?”

“Yes. Would you like to see them?”

He seems to be unsure of how to answer. But a few seconds later he cocks his head to the side as he asks, “Would you like to show them to me?”

I take in a deep breath as I think about what he’s asking me. I know Noah, and I know that his question is not just about the journals themselves. He’s asking me to let him in, completely. To trust him with my secrets, oblivious to the fact that he’s already been granted an all-access pass.

My answer is a simple nod as I take his hand and lead him up the stairs to my room. Slowing by my closet, I release him and place my fingers on the knob, and after another long, freeing exhale, I slowly open the door. Sixteen journals lay stacked on the floor, the most recent on top. Noah steps forward and crouches down, and then after reaching forward, he runs his fingers gently over their bindings.

His touch still lingering, he sighs deeply before pushing off his heels to stand and turns to face me. “Why? Why do you write to
him
? Why not just write how you feel, to yourself?”

Tears once again surface. “Because, he’s all I have.”

“
Had
. He’s gone, Tate. You have to let him go.” Exhaling deeply, he tightens his gaze and continues. “Keeping someone’s memory is one thing, but this, this is completely different. This is coping by pretending he’s still alive and using him to deal with your past. At some point, you have to face it on your
own
, so you can heal.”

My mouth clamps shut, feeling as though I’ve just been slapped in the face with his judgment. Fire spreads across my face as the heat from the fury runs through my veins.

“Screw you, Noah. You don’t know what I went through.
You think reading one of my fucking journals gives you any insight to the hell that I lived through?” I bite.

“I dealt with it the only way that I knew how, that’s how I fucking survived. I was alone,” I gasp for breath as the reality of this conversation sucks the air from my lungs, “He was the only person I had to talk to. He was there for me when no one else was.” My fists are clenched so tightly I can feel the blood starting to seep as my nails make their mark.

Noah simply shakes his head. “No. He
wasn’t
Tatum. He wasn’t there and he wasn’t the reason you survived.
You
were. You lived through the fucked up shit that happened to you. You had the strength to do that, don’t you realize how strong you are? How much I admire that strength?” He steps forward, reaching for my hand. Yanking my arm back, I retreat into the bathroom directly behind me.

“No! I don’t want to hear anymore!” I yell before I close the door behind me.

Crashing to the floor, I protectively draw my knees up to my chest and begin to rock back and forth, something I used to do during the long nights spent hiding from her. I cover my ears with my hands and intertwine my fingers with the hair around them, pulling as hard as I can — the pain both familiar and welcome. The ache in my chest makes it impossible to breathe.

Sobbing, I retreat into my mind. I go to my safe place, where there’s no pain, no anger, no heartache. I have no idea how long I’m there, but eventually, I’m pulled out of it by two familiar arms as they lift me from the floor. Still crying, he lays me gently on the bed before it dips with his weight as he lies beside me, cradling me tightly against his chest. Several minutes pass before he finally speaks.

“I’m sorry, Tate,” he says on a long exhale as he runs his hand down the back of my hair. “I’m going about this all wrong. It’s just, I’m not usually one to let myself care about anyone, but I
do
care about you. So much that it kills me to see you hurting. I want to help you, and I know in the back of my mind I’m running out of time. I don’t have the luxury of breaking it to you gently.”