“Baby,” he whispers as I fall limp in his hold. “Talk to me.”
Staring over his shoulder, I cast a glance to Faith and nod.
“Thank God,” she breathes out. She hastily steps forward before stopping. Normally, this is the part when she grabs me, hugging me tight like Finn is.
Finn knew what I needed.
Just like Faith knows.
I’ve had attacks in front of others before.
Georgia, who called my parents and did her best to console me. Luckily, with us being friends for so long, she was aware.
My parents, who know how to handle me.
And an ex, who lost his shit and told me I was crazy. He’s most likely the one who gave me anxiety about my issues coming to light.
I don’t want to be crazy. I don’t want to be afraid of the dark anymore.
I cry into Finn’s shoulder, soaking his shirt, but he doesn’t flinch. Faith sits next to me and rubs my shoulder in tiny circles.
I should feel stupid. I normally do.
Stupid, crazy, and frightened.
But at this moment, I don’t.
I feel loved. Understood. Safe.
The only sounds in the room are my sobs as I break down and Faith saying, “It’ll be okay.”
I’m unsure of how much time passes as we sit like this—me clinging on to Finn like he’s my lifeline and Faith sitting beside me, comforting me, like always. They both allow me to release the fear I’m experiencing while they shelter me from panicking further. My crying calms, and hiccups replace the tears.
The humiliation I had ceases as I realize the people around me won’t judge me. They love me—every quirk, flaw, and fear. When I pull away from Finn, his focus doesn’t leave my face. His wide eyes study me, inspecting every inch of me as if he’s searching for answers he’s too scared to ask.
“Grace, honey.” My sister’s words come out slow and cautious.
I flick away tears with my hand and look over at her.
She clasps her hand over mine—a silent question, asking if I’m okay.
“I’m good now,” I croak out. “I’m good now.”
Finn, who seemed almost speechless, finally says, “Is there anything I can do?”
“No.” I sniffle. “You guys being here is all I need.”
These types of situations aren’t easy.
Dating someone like me is difficult.
I’m more than what’s on the outside. My webs are weaved thick to keep things hidden.
I can’t sleep alone at night.
I’m practically afraid of the dark.
I don’t trust people.
I’m a hot mess, but I mask it well.
“Do you want me to stay?” Faith asks.
I shake my head. “No. I’m okay.”
Finn is here.
Faith squeezes my hand. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.” I gulp and look at Finn. “I just want to go to bed and sleep this off.”
“All right,” Finn says.
Faith stands at the same time Finn helps me up from the couch. She hugs me tight, kisses me on the cheek, and tells me to call her if I need anything.
I wait until she leaves, surprised my body isn’t trembling.
Will Finn ask questions now that we’re alone?
“Can you just take me to bed, and we’ll talk tomorrow?” I ask before he gets a chance to interrogate me on my freak-out.
Finn nods. “Of course.”
As he walks us to the bedroom, I’m squeezing his hand so tight that I’m surprised I don’t cut off circulation. He flips on the light as if knowing that’s what I need and tightly tucks me into bed. Without a word and without bothering to turn off the light, he slips into bed beside me and drags me to his chest.
“I got you,” he whispers into my ear. “I’m here.”
I shut my eyes, positive I’ll be fighting sleep all night.
I’m wrong.
Being in Finn’s arms is the relaxant I need.
I fall asleep moments later.
The next day, I call off of work, go back to sleep, and don’t wake up until I’m no longer exhausted.
Last night mentally drained me.
That stress isn’t good for me or the baby.
I wanted to break down and cry again when Finn told me he called in too. Knowing my sister, she told Brian about last night. He’d have no issue with giving Finn time off to be with me. I’m grateful Faith found someone who understands the trauma we went through. Throughout their relationship, he’s always been her helping hand. Her savior.
I’m sipping on the fruit smoothie Finn made me and lounging on the couch. The news plays on the TV, but I’m numb to whatever the anchor is saying. All my brain is processing is how I’ll need to explain myself to Finn. After what happened last night, it can’t be pushed underneath the rug. I wanted to hide it from him for as long as I could, but I know it’s finally time. Like Brian is for Faith, Finn can be my savior.
Finn sits next to me. His smoothie is greener than mine. He makes fun of my smoothies and how I only add four spinach leaves but refer to them as green smoothies sometimes.
“It’s better than eating a cheeseburger,” is my argument.
So throw in all the fruits and give me something yummy.
“Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m here,” Finn tells me.
My thoughts rush back to when Faith told me she confided in Brian about what had happened to us. She drank nearly a bottle of wine to prepare herself and cried the entire time. He held her, and in the end, she said it was the best thing she’d ever done. She no longer had to hide behind her fears, as we’d done for years. Now, she’s happily married with a daughter, and she can sleep without a night-light. No more nightmares. No more flashbacks. I want that too.
In order to get that, I have to put on my big-girl panties like Faith did and open myself up. Unfortunately, I can’t chug a bottle of wine. A smoothie it is. Maybe I should throw a Kit Kat in with it—you know, for stress-relief purposes.
I sit cross-legged—my favorite position for talking about uncomfortable situations. It’s almost like I’m in my own anxiety ball.
This needs to be done.
I trust Finn enough to confide in him.
I love him.
Snagging the remote from the coffee table, I turn off the TV. Shifting to face him, I blow out a raspy breath. Noticing the change in mood, Finn settles his smoothie on the end table next to him and provides me with his full attention.
Before I bare myself to him, I take in the sight of him. His eyes are tired. The few times I woke up last night, Finn was awake. Exhaustion registered on his face when he kissed me good morning and helped me into the shower. Last night seemed to mentally suck him dry as well.
I hug myself, and though it’s a struggle, I meet Finn’s eyes. Other than the police and my parents, Georgia is the only person I’ve revealed my skeletons to. Lola knows bits and pieces, but not the entire story.
“When I was thirteen, two men broke into our house,” I start, wetting my lips. “My parents were at some charity event that Faith and I had begged them to stay home from. The guys were family members of a criminal my father had given a harsh but deserving sentence to. The men came for retribution—to pay my father back for not giving their brother only a slap on the wrist.” My body suddenly feels ten times heavier. “I was in my bedroom upstairs when Faith screamed. I ran out and looked over the stairwell, seeing them pinning Faith down. They told her she was going to pay for what my father had done. In fear, I ran to my parents’ bedroom and grabbed the gun from my father’s nightstand. I sprinted down the stairs … and they were …” I gulp, and the tears I begged to stay away appear. “They were about to rape her. I yelled for them to stop or I’d blow their heads off. The man laughed and lunged for the gun, so I shot him.”