Chapter 34

“Home sweet home,” I grumble as I slam the front door closed. I let everything in my arms drop to the floor and slowly make my way to the couch to lie down.

The utter exhaustion that runs through my veins is enough to face plant down on the soft material without a second thought. After this horrid day, the last thing I want in my life is to be awake for another minute.

I can tell I’m on the verge of a total mental breakdown or even just a complete rampage meltdown. It’s been a few years since my last one, and even Ryan breaking my heart didn’t bring out those demons.

But today? Today and the past several days, and all the triggers that have attacked me? Yeah, those are where I’m about to lose my shit.

“This is nuts,” I think to myself as lay unmoving on the couch. “Why is this getting to me? I haven’t been like this in years.”

There are so many answers to that rhetorical question that I can’t even imagine the list. The trigger after trigger, the nightmares, the morning sickness, and on top of everything else in my brain?

I’m just not strong enough to deal with this on my own.

But bringing Annie or Lily in would be too difficult, seeing as they don’t know about why I’m losing my shit.

I could talk to my parents and ask for their advice?

But they still don’t know the full extent of what caused the initial trauma in the first place!

I could see a shrink?

But how would I keep it from Ryan during our divorce?

I groan into the soft fabric, smushing my face, knowing that the answers I have been searching for so desperately aren’t going to come to me.

I’m on my own with all of this it seems.

A pounding on the front door makes me jump in fear, sitting up almost immediately like I’m about to be caught doing something wrong. Who the hell could possibly be at my door right now?

I lean to try seeing out my windows without causing too much movement, hoping to get a glimpse of the person who stands on the other side of the wall.

But I can’t see anything. In fact, it’s almost as if no one is even here.

Should I open the door and see if it was a prank? Or even just ignore the noise altogether and stay on my couch as a miserable excuse for a human?

“Esme, I know you’re in there!” Derek calls out, shocking my system with surprise. Derek? What does he want?

“If you don’t open your door, I’m going to the super!”

Another groan exits my throat, and I lethargically pull myself off the couch to get the door.

How many times must I tell him off before he realizes I’m not going to tell him what happened with me? His constant pushing is honestly making me want to see and talk to him less.

I swing open the door in one swift motion, glaring up at the tall man.

Derek seems a lot more relaxed in his casual outfit: a white T-shirt, jeans, and what looks to be running sneakers. When did he have time to change and look sharper than he did at work?

“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying,” I deadpan, trying to close the door on the man. Unfortunately, he stops me from completing the movement.

“Go away, Derek.”

My boss does quite the opposite, pushing his way into my apartment without another word. I stare out the door, wondering for a moment if I’m awake or if this is a horrid nightmare, and I’ve finally managed to sleep.

I close the door and turn back to the man in my kitchen. He’s got his arms crossed as he leans against the marble countertops. Am I supposed to be afraid of him right now?

“I’m not playing this game any longer. I’m making you dinner, and the only thing I want from you is to find the courage and strength to open up about whatever it is that you’re struggling through.”

Rolling my eyes, I respond, “Haven’t we done this enough? Back and forth, round and round, and still, you continue to start back at the beginning of this nonsense each time you trudge yourself into my space to talk to me.”

“I’m trying to make your life easier, Esme! You insist and try to make me think you’re nothing significant. What is so goddamn terrible that you can’t conceive the thought of being honest with me?”

Fed up with this bullshit, I stomp up to my boss, getting into his personal space. “That’s enough!” I scream up at him. “All you’re trying to do is fix someone you presume is broken!”

He glares his eyes down at me. “And you’re going to tell me that you’re not?”

Fists clench, and I do something unlike me. I shove Derek back, even though he’s already leaned up against the counter. He seems startled by my sudden moves, quickly considering that I’ve reached a violent stage.

He grabs my wrists before I can get them back down at my sides. The tightness of his grip brings panic to my chest, and I struggle against his grip.

“Let me go, Derek!” I whine.

He pulls me closer, and now we’re touching skin to skin. My chest bumps against his hard abs, and not only does fear of being exposed to this man surface, but the physical contact causes me to shudder.

“You can’t push me away any longer. I’m not leaving.”

“Let me go!” I demand, trying to get away from him.

Flashes of the past appear before my eyes, and the panic in my voice starts building more.

“Esme? What is it?”

I realize he’s asking me this because my breathing is coming fast, strangled against my vocal cords like a sickness.

No, no, no! Anything but a panic attack right now.

I can’t keep myself standing, the energy being taken up by my heavy breathing. Derek seems to notice this, and we slowly make our way down to the floor, and he releases my wrists.

“Esme, it’s going to be okay. Take deep breaths. Listen to the sound of my voice, hear what I’m telling you. You’re safe, and no one can hurt you.”

But I can’t stop the excessive breathing. It’s been over a decade since my last panic attack. I’ve forgotten the proper steps to controlling myself, and tears begin to stream down my cheeks.

Instead of using words, Derek grabs me and holds me tight, hugging me and shushing me as though I’m one of his daughters having a tantrum.

I let it all out. The pain. The anxieties. The fears.

I scream into Derek’s chest with so much conviction that I half expect China to report an earthquake the size of Texas.

Man. This is utterly embarrassing.

Derek doesn’t try to do anything further. Holding me in his arms, however, brings a comfort I haven’t felt in what feels like a long time. The strength and caring behind that hug and his quiet shushing keeps me from moving.

When I’ve worn myself out, unable to move from physical and mental exhaustion, Derek finally lets me go. He carefully leans me against my cabinets, standing back up to move to another part of the room. It’s not long before he’s returned with two pillows, a blanket, and a bottle of water.

I look from his face to the objects he holds out to me. His expression seems blank. Is this by design—so that I don’t worry about his mind?

Derek puts one pillow on the ground, telling me to sit on it to keep me comfortable. Then he adds another behind my head. The blanket is slowly and carefully draped over my body and he hands me the bottle of water without another word.

Speechless and somewhat curious by his intentions, I do what he says, drinking some of the water as he stands back up and heads to my fridge.

To my utter surprise, Derek starts pulling things out and tossing them on my counter. What is he doing right now? Robbing me?

It takes about five minutes of him gathering things to realize he’s going to cook in my kitchen.

But I don’t move off the ground, still struggling not to pass out from lack of oxygen and fear.

“I’m not going to make large assumptions,” Derek states after nearly ten minutes of silence. “But after thinking it through for the past several days, I’ve come to the conclusion you’re dealing with some resurfaced trauma.”

My head whirls up to him, surprise impossible to hide.

He starts cutting up some vegetables, not watching me from my spot.

“I’m not sure if I’d have figured it out if you hadn’t dealt with…that bastard.” He seems to let his voice quiet down with the remembrance of my assault. “You were showing clear signs of past trauma to me.”

I sigh, knowing there’s no going around it now.

“I’ve seen first-hand how trauma can completely destroy someone.” He pushes the veggies aside and grabs the chicken I’d bought a few days ago. “And no one, especially you, deserves to treated that way.”

He comes back over to me, squatting down at me with those big, beautiful eyes. “Because if someone did this to one of my girls, I’d be significantly weaker than you have been. I’d do everything to bring smiles to their faces, wipe away the tears, and let the girls hold me when they need it.”

I breathe out the tiniest laugh, watching his eyes. “I’m not your girls,” I whisper.

Derek shakes his head. “You’re my employee, you’re my neighbor, you’re my friend. No matter what you believe going on in your mind, I’ve been in your corner since the beginning.”

I wipe at a rogue tear sliding down my face, ashamed.

“You’re allowed to break down and feel your feelings,” Derek insists. “Take a few days off work. Catch up on sleep. Hell, just be with yourself to find a way to heal.”

More tears escape, and I shake my head slowly. “It’s not that easy.”

“You are so strong, Esme. Do you know how much I admire your strength? Your ability to solve a problem or offer your help. That’s an admirable set of qualities.”

I shake my head harder and finally let my face fall into my hands.

The sobs that follow break even my own heart.

“It’s been so long!” I state, my voice somewhat muffled from my hands. “I don’t want it anymore, I never wanted it!”

“But that doesn’t mean trauma isn’t still looming with any turn. We store trauma in the body differently than everyone else, and the slightest triggers bring everything back to the surface.”

I cry harder into my hands.

Derek, for his part, doesn’t keep going. Instead, I can feel his presence next to me as he pulls his arm over me and brings him to his chest again.

“I wish I could fix this for you, Esme. It kills me watching you suffer in silence.”

“I just want to be normal!”

He squeezes my shoulder tighter.

“Trauma keeps us from having the normal life we expected. But that doesn’t mean we aren’t able to go on.”

I pull my hands away and face my boss, disheveled. “It’s been over a decade,” I insist. “I thought things were better now. I haven’t felt like this in so long.”

He shakes his head, and though he acts confident, I can see the fear and what seems to be broken hiding behind those eyes.