Daña

Chapter 7 - A Habit of Falling and an Earthquake

Hey, guys! I just wanted to thank you again for giving my first fiction story a chance and I hope you enjoy it!

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When we pulled into the driveway and parked, we both sat there for a moment not knowing what to do next. I mean, obviously, it would be for us to get out of the jeep, but what would we do when we got into the house? I thought he expected me to spend time with him, but I had no idea what he would want us to do. Frankly, I was sure he didn't have any clue either.

"Would you like help down?" Arthur broke the silence.

My gaze snapped to him across the car. He looked at ease enough, but he kept rubbing his hands over his thighs and knees. Was he as nervous as I was? Not possible, but still. I looked down at my hands in my lap. "Yeah, that'd be wonderful," I answered meekly. Nice job going out of the comfort zone there, sport. I rolled my eyes at myself. Great, I was quoting The Great Gatbsy at myself now.

I didn't have time to verbally berate myself more because the car door beside me, nearly dumping me three and a half feet down to the ground. I let out a squeak as I lost my balance and very ungracefully tipped out of my seat.

All of the breath whooshed out of my lungs and I stared up at him with my mouth agape. He caught me in his arms with ease. The tingles I experienced from his touch were even more obvious now than they were before at the school. I couldn't move or speak as he held me to his chest.

He didn't let me go for a while. He looked down at me with an unreadable expression swirling in his eyes. For a moment I thought he might actually carry me inside, which I may or may not have minded despite the warning bells. But he did let me down eventually.

He still didn't let me go, though. His hands were planted on my waist while mine were loosely on his chest. 

"We shouldn't make falling a habit," he said. "I don't know if my nerves could handle it no matter how fast I am." He smiled down at me, his hands still firmly in place.

I smiled shyly back at him. I kinda liked standing there with him. He seemed kind and genuine - something I'd never really experienced out of a man before.

But what if he doesn't let me go when I ask? What if he pins me to the Jeep? How would I escape? What if he has his way with me out here? No one is around. No one would ever know. Except for me.

I shook my head and stopped those thoughts as soon as I realized they were there. But the damage was already done.

I moved my hands away from his chest and placed them over top of his hands on my waist. "I-" I hesitated. What if I made him mad? I continued anyway.

"I don't think... I can stand like this with you right now," I mumble. I didn't have the heart to look at his face. I stared at my feet and hoped the slap wouldn't come. My face even contorted in a preparatory wince.

"Of course, I understand," he said, taking a step back away from me.

That step was supposed to calm me down, but now I could only feel the air getting thicker. I didn't understand what was going on. I felt the panic from before return with a much greater force than I had expected.

Arthur didn't stop looking at me. When he got a good look at my face, he tried come closer to me. "Mía, what's wrong?"

I flinched away and took a step back at his sudden movement.

He stopped immediately and took several steps away from me. When I looked back up at him, he had such a pained expression on his face, like I broke his heart. 

"I'm sorry," I say quickly. I take a small step forward toward him with my arms wrapped around my torso. That step felt like a mile.

He didn't move an inch, though it looked like he wanted to. His eyes were glowing, both of his hands were in his hair tugging at it, and his breathing was rather deep, but steady.

He needs you that voice said. I tried to take another step forward, but that voice couldn't convince my body to move. My instincts were in charge now, like a self defense mode.

"I don't want you to think that I'd ever hurt you." His voice broke through my struggling subconscious. He was giving me a look that was pleading with me to believe him.

I couldn't look him in the face anymore, so I looked over his left shoulder instead. I didn't know how to respond how he wanted. I didn't really think he was going to hurt me; that flinch was out of habit. But I also don't know that he won't ever hurt me. I've been wrong about many things and I wouldn't be able to stand myself if I was wrong about this. It's been less than 12 hours since I'd met this boy and I need more time to think and adjust. I can't go jumping into these feelings of romance like the cliche teenagers in the books and movies I love so much. 

I looked down at my feet again. "I don't think that you'll hurt me," I started. He pulled his hands away from his hair and let them hang at his sides. "But I don't know that you won't."

When I dared to look up to gauge his reaction, his right hand came to rest over his mouth like he was aggravated. I took another small step back. 

"Don't be angry at me." I buried my face in my hands. I could feel tears burning in my eyes. 

"Mía, no," he rushed to say, "it's not like that. I'm not angry with you." He paused and sighed. If I were looking at him, I bet his hands would be in his hair again. "I would never be angry with you over something like this."

I started to rub my face in my hands. I was so ashamed of my behavior. I can't decide what I want; it's infuriating! Why can't I believe him? I want to.

"I just-" The tears couldn't be held back anymore. I pulled my hands away a few inches from my face and just stared at them taking long quivering breaths through my tears. I was trembling, but it wasn't a small, barely noticeable tremor. It was like an earthquake was raging through my muscles; I couldn't hold still.

I stared at my hands with malice. I hated these hands. I hated my body. I hated the scars and the bruises my abusers put on it. I hated these feelings that were plaguing me. I hated these defensive mechanisms I've learned over years of abuse. I hated that I was in constant conflict with the need to hide my feelings and act normal on the outside and the need to redefine what it means to be normal.

I wanted the life I had in my dream. I wanted my actions and thoughts to not be influenced by my father and my bad experiences. I wanted to be...

I hadn't realized that my long breaths had turned short and shallow. I was sobbing now. My hands were in my hair and ripping strands out at my scalp. My knees buckled under me and I couldn't support my own weight anymore. I fell, but my body never hit the ground.

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Thank you so much!