He doesn’t say anything, just rests his elbows on his spread knees.
Balancing my butt on my heels, I blow out a breath and start kneading his shoulder muscles. It feels like pressing my knuckles into a boulder.
“Jesus,” I mutter, pressing harder. He groans deeply, his head dropping low between his shoulders as I dig at the knots polluting his muscles.
We don’t speak. Not for a little while. My hands grow tired, but I don’t complain, nor do I stop. Slowly, he relaxes beneath my touch, his muscles beginning to loosen beneath my persistent fingers.
“Tell me,” I whisper, attacking a particularly brutal knot that pulls a groan from deep in his chest.
He doesn’t respond right away, and I can feel the internal battle from outside his flesh and bones.
“I lost a young girl today,” he confesses, his voice hoarse and uneven.
I swallow, sadness spearing deep in my chest. He pauses, and I don’t speak. Letting him find the words at his own pace.
“She was very traumatized and wouldn’t stop screaming. I wasn’t in the building yet, I was still working my way in when I heard the gunshot go off.” He pauses, taking a moment to collect himself. “I heard the conversation before I killed them. She was fighting them tooth and nail. It didn’t matter how much they threatened to kill her, she fought anyways.”
His hands fist, and every muscle I worked hard to relax stiffens again as Zade fights against his own demons. I pinch my eyes shut, berating myself for what I’m about to do. But if I don’t… it would be unforgivable. I would hate myself.
Sighing softly, I sit on my butt and wrap myself around him like a koala on a tree. Legs and arms around his torso and my head resting against his broad back.
He doesn’t move, a stone pillar amongst the wreckage of his mind, just like the ruins in Greece.
“Dying isn’t the worst thing that happened to her. It’s just the worst thing that happened to you and her family,” I whisper. I feel the shift of his head, his eyes peering over his shoulder at me. But I don’t meet his gaze.
“The life she would’ve had to live would’ve been far more painful than where she is now.”
“You think it’s a good thing she died?” he asks, his tone flattening.
“Of course not,” I placate, squeezing him tighter. “Being stolen from her life. Her family and friends. And then being put into an incredibly horrendous and fucked up situation. It’s the worst thing that could’ve happened to her.” My voice breaks on the last few words, and it takes a minute to put myself back together.
“But dying? Dying is not, Zade. She was screaming because she was fighting against the life that she was being forced to endure the only way she knew how. It wasn’t his right to end her life. But he did it anyways, and I… I hope he suffers for it. But after what they did to her, I know that she is more at peace now than she would’ve been alive.”
He stays silent, and I’m not sure if I’ve made him feel worse or better. But I told him what I believe to be true. Sometimes people just aren’t meant to live through that trauma. A shell of who they could’ve been. Broken and fighting every day not to die.
I think if she had lived, she could’ve learned to be happy again. I think everyone who suffers from internal demons can find that. We're all capable. But sometimes, unseen forces take it out of everyone’s hands, and maybe that just means they were meant to find their happiness in the afterlife instead.
I unwrap myself from Zade and move away. His head drops, and he looks almost disappointed. He stands, and aims for the door, but he doesn’t make it two steps before I’m snatching his hand and tugging him back.
He looks back at me, silent and confused.
“I still hate you,” I mumble, and the lie tastes chalky on my tongue. “But I want you to lay down with me, Zade.”
I peel back the covers, indicating for him to get in. It takes tremendous effort to look away from him as he kicks off his boots and climbs in next to me. He makes it a point to stay on top of the duvet, part of me resenting him a little for that.
I’m nervous. Up until now, every encounter Zade and I have had was forced upon me. And now that I’ve made the decision for him to be here, I don’t know what to do.
“Why were you on my balcony?” I blurt. He chuckles, facing me and urging me to do the same. Stiffly, I roll to my side and try not to faint from the intensity of this man.
“I wanted to watch you,” he confesses. And then he tacks on with dry amusement, “In peace.”