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When I’m standing outside, and the fresh air hits my nose, I suck in a big gulp of oxygen.
I will myself to be normal.
I inhale, and then I exhale.
Continuing this breathing pattern, I remember what he said to me as a small boy when I needed to control my anger.
Pretend you are blowing out candles.
He taught me to control myself. How to act normal. And despite not wanting to think of him, I need to right now because my rage is barely contained.
Time passes, and after a few minutes, I feel her hand on my shoulder.
I know it’s her because when she steps closer, I can smell the faint fragrance of her perfume.
It smells like crisp summer days. Fields of lavender. I want to turn around and dip my nose into her neck, linger in her aroma. Again, another thing I never wanted before her. Not true.
There was another . . .
“Are you okay?” Her soft voice is a calming melody in the silence of the morning.
I don’t answer her right away.
Instead, I take another deep inhale, and when I feel like I’ve calmed enough, I turn my head over my shoulder. I look down at where Layla’s standing. I tower over her when she’s wearing her flats.
“I’m okay.” I know I need to say more, but I feel strange right now, open.
It feels like I’ve been eviscerated, and it’s bleeding out all over the floor.
I need to get my bearings before I say anything, and luckily for me, she must understand because she just stands there, staring up at me with her big blue eyes, telling me without words that she’ll listen when I’m ready to speak.
Again, this incredible connection; I feel like I know what she’s thinking, but how could I possibly? I don’t even know her, but I welcome the silence.
When my blood starts to simmer at a normal clip again, I lead us back to the table.
The mess of my outburst long since clean.
A new plate is in front of me. Layla’s plate also is perfect.
“I’m sorry for my outburst.” I let out a sigh. “My entire career rests on the success of this place. I want to retire to travel, or at the very least have the ability to only accept jobs I’m truly passionate about. This project will more than secure my future and allow me to do that.” I reach for the glass in front of me, take a swig, and then place it back down on the table. “I’m tired, Layla.”
Her hand reaches across the table, and I allow her to take mine in hers. She gives me a little squeeze.
“I understand. I mean, I don’t understand what you’re going through, but I understand being tired. I can’t imagine the responsibility you’re under, but if you ever want to talk about it off the record . . .” Her lips tip up into a smile, one that is meant to reassure.
“For as long as I can remember, this has been my dream. This is how I envisioned peace.”
“Will you live here once it’s done?” she asks me, and I stare down at where our hands are still connected.
“At first, I’ll take a little vacation, and then yes, that’s the idea. Why I built my own version of paradise.”
“And then?” She drops my hand, and I miss the feel of her. I want to take it back in mine, but instead, I answer the best I can.
“Live in peace, I hope.”
She looks at me like she understands, and maybe a part of her does. Maybe because of her job, she understands why I would want to calm down and not work so hard.
But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about shutting out the monsters and being peaceful for once.
I know it’s a pipe dream, that you can’t shut up the monsters that are already inside you, but I’m hoping that here, behind the gates, I’ll be able to.
“Is there anything else bothering you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. By the way she’s watching me, I can tell she’s trying to ascertain the truth to my words.
I’m not going to lie. I’m concerned about how she’s acting.
Needing to change the subject, I lean back casually and decide to turn the topic away from me and onto her.
“So, I obviously know you work for Concept and Space magazine, but tell me how you got that job?”
Her cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink, and something tells me this isn’t the kind of question she wants to answer.
“I applied,” she answers with a shrug. “I got it.”
There’s more to this story than she’s letting on.
“Not buying it. Talk. You already know my deal.”
She inclines her head, sucking her cheeks in. The look basically says are you kidding me. “It’s my job to know your deal.”
