Hell Night always goes on for hours.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
RELLA
IT’S BEEN A WEEK SINCE I told Aziah I was pregnant and then miscarried. Seven days since I’ve seen him. Every second of every day has been torture. I miss him terribly. I miss him more now than I did when I was taken away from Sweet Haven. Trouble says he’ll be fine, he just needs so
me time, but I still worry, because I know he’s blaming himself.
It hurt when he walked out of Trouble’s office without looking at me. I needed him to look at me. I needed that connection.
Twenty-four years ago, when I heard Dr. Manor saying I had miscarried, I didn’t know what he meant at first. Then he mentioned a baby and how my body expelled it. Those words tore my world apart. I was only ten and having a child that young would have been a horrifying experience, especially because of where we lived, but I still mourned the loss. I grieved for the tiny life that was a part of Aziah.
Using my upper arm, I wipe away the lingering tears on my cheeks. I’ve cried and slept a lot over the last few days. My nightmares are worse. It’s Trouble who’s been waking me up from them. I miss seeing Aziah’s face hovering over mine. He’s only lain with me three times, but I already miss his presence beside me. I miss waking up and finding him sitting in the chair a few feet away. I miss the comfort and safety I feel when he’s around. I miss his dark, bottomless eyes and the way he watches me. I miss everything about him.
I look down and shame slams into me at the blood on my thighs. I promised Aziah I would tell him the next time I felt the need to cut myself. I broke that promise. Partly to punish him for leaving me, and partly because I just didn’t want him to know I’d sunk so low again. I hate myself for giving in to the need, but seeing Aziah walk away when I wanted his strong comforting arms around me broke something inside of me.
I grab the bottle of peroxide and cotton balls from the floor beside me and clean the four two-inch wounds on my thighs. After, I get dressed in a pair of black jeans and a dark blue long-sleeved shirt. Leaving my bedroom, I go downstairs in search of my brother. I find him in the kitchen with Remi.
“Hey,” Remi says with a smile. “I was just getting ready to come let you know dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, but I’m not really hungry right now. I’ll grab some leftovers later.”
“You need to eat more, Rella. You’ve lost weight recently,” Trouble says with concern.
I smile sadly at him. “The effects of my heavy periods.”
It’s a lie, and we both know it. Food has been the last thing on my mind, and besides, my appetite has turned to dust since Aziah left.
“I’m going over there,” I inform him and wait for his protest. It comes just as I expected.
He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I stubbornly set my jaw. “Well, that’s just too darn bad, because I’m going anyway.”
He walks over to me and pauses before he slowly lifts his hands to my shoulders. I stiffen at the contact, but I don’t pull away. It’s gotten easier having Trouble touch me. It still sends anxious jitters racing through me, but they quickly fade away.
“He needs more time. He’ll come over when he’s ready.”
“I’ve given him time, Trouble. I need him, and I need to know he’s okay. I know he’s over there blaming himself. I’ve seen the scars on his hands. He’s had enough time, and I’m scared of what he’ll do if he’s given more.” I pull in a deep breath and slowly cup his cheek. “You once told me that he and I are supposed to help heal each other. That’s what I want to do. I know he needs me too.”
His expression turns sad and regretful. “If you go there, what you find is going to hurt you. He’s not in a good place right now.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat and nod. “I know, but I have to go.”
“Okay.” He jerks his chin up. “But I’m going to go with you.”
I shake my head. “No,” I respond. “I need to go alone.”
“Rella—”
“Please, Trouble.” My voice cracks. “This is something I need to do on my own. This is his and my story. I love you, but this is something he and I need to get through on our own.”
His eyes narrow for a moment. “Just take your cell phone with you. Call me,” he frowns, “if it’s bad.”
With a nod, I go out to the living room and slip on my shoes, stuffing my phone in my back pocket. Aziah’s house is closer to the edge of town, about a fifteen-minute walk. By the time I’m standing in front of his house, my long-sleeved shirt is sticking to me and the underside of my hair is damp with sweat. I never got my driver’s license because there wasn’t a need to. I never left Deanna and Mick’s house. I could have gotten Trouble to drop me off, but I wanted the time to think while I walked.
I’ve only ever been in Aziah’s house twice, both times when we were kids. His dad wasn’t home either time, and Aziah didn’t want to bring anyone home while he was. I didn’t blame him.