The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

Chapter 27

“Neither of them was raped and beaten by their father for fourteen years while their mother turned a blind eye.” The harsh biting tone that evicts the words from my mouth lands heavily between us. Lashing out viciously because of how raw the pain is making me, how his admission he’s leaving me has hit my heart like a blunt dagger. He stiffens at my words but catches himself and sighs.

Arrick smooths a finger down my cheek as a stray tear manages to escape without permission, ignoring my outburst as something I do when I’m in pain, because he’s seen it all before. I bite down on my bottom lip, trying hard to curb the urge to push him away. I don’t want his hands on me if all he is going to do is let me down again.

“Don’t let that bastard take your life, Mimmo, don’t let what he did ruin any chance of a future. You’re stronger than this. You always were, and this is just a bump in the road.” Arrick’s tone remains unchanged; he knows every sordid detail about my past, he was the one to hold my hand in therapy when it got tough, and he’s the one who distracted me through years of healing. I keep trying to remind myself of how much he has done for me as the rage bubbles and twists deep down, that insecure, scared, little fiery demon that I possess, who just wants to wipe away the sorrow and replace it with anger. Trying to give myself reasons not to jump to rage with him, but it’s hell on earth when all I have is the overwhelming pang of loneliness. He’s abandoning me after years of being my rock. Content © copyrighted by NôvelDrama.Org.

“Say I do what you ask? Say I go to therapy again? I play nice and stay home and do what you say. How long do I have to stay out here?” I lift my chin to him with big eyes, swallowing down the growing tide of bitterness, my throat beginning to burn with the effort of not losing my shit. A frown hits his brow as he slides back down with me onto the seat, pulling me with him to face him again and sighing heavily. My body heavy and numb and so very torn as to how to behave, I just feel like my emotions are all over the place and my control is slipping by the second.

“Why are you being this way? This is where you belong, where you’re safe and I don’t get why you don’t want to be here.” He tries for calm and mature again but I bite back with whiny, irritating, childish,

and insecure.

Way to go Sophie of old.

“Why don’t you want to be here?” I throw it back at him, a fiery spark inside of me hitting out as my inner stubborn and irrational self, ignites. I’m hemmed in and caught against the wall, biting back in the only way I know how. That girl, who saved me from cruel insanity at the hands of my sperm donor, pushes her tough face and prickly attitude out front to shield me. I’m becoming defensive and argumentative, despite telling myself that I’m being dumb and that he doesn’t deserve this side of me, ever.

“I do want to be here, but I live in the city because I work there. I need to be there, Sophs, and I can’t just drop everything. I’ll come back and forth.” He shrugs patiently.

“Jake works in the city, and so does your dad, but they both live here.” I point out snootily, willing him to see that I need him to stay with me. Brimming with simmering anger and heartbreak all at once; my heart beats faster and breath hitches as panic creeps through me alarmingly. I pull myself out of his embrace and pick at the hem of his hoody, which is still on my body like a warm hug, turn away and stare across my room to find a point of focus, to calm myself from an all-out breakdown of epic proportions.

“They fly to work like twice a week at most; I don’t like flying and would have to do it daily. I also train to fight in the city so it wouldn’t work. Sophs, this isn’t about me needing to be here, this is about you needing to be here until you’re emotionally stronger.” He tries to angle his body to meet my eye, leaning in and forward to look at me, but I only move further around to avoid him. Like a stubborn willful brat. So many warring emotions going off inside, like a silent firework display, and I’m poised on the edge of a full-on explosion. I feel like I can’t breathe, that deep growling ache is now a chest-crushing weight.

“I’m fine, so what? I like to party. I like to get drunk and hang out with people in clubs and bars. All of you did it, Leila was the absolute worst at it, and no one gave her this hard a time.” I move out of his reach, pacing to my vanity and shoving cuddly toys and childish trinkets aside before slumping down to look at myself in the mirror, free from makeup, fresh-faced and clean from using Arrick’s shower this morning, looking about fifteen years old once more. I rifle through the makeup on the top and pull out a mascara to at least bring some age to my face.

That all-consuming feeling is turning black in my soul. I’m losing the ability to control it, and where heartbreak was, anger is now devouring instead. I spent so many years turning my rage into healthier avenues of outlet and learning not to impulsively let it jump out front when I’m hurting, but the last months in the city seem to have undone all of that, and like a knee-jerk uppercut reaction, anger is reigning supreme. Fury at him, the guy who has never deserved it, yet dealt with it so many times in the past.

“Sophs, I’m trying to get through to you, trying to make you see that we all did dumb ass things and it wasn’t the way to handle it, hence why none of us does it anymore. You’re lashing out at the wrong people and hurting yourself in the process.” Arrick is behind me once more, leaning on the back of my chair and watching me apply a liberal coat of mascara expertly; his eyes on what I’m doing intensely. I resist the urge to glare at him in the mirror and try my best to avoid looking at him at all. Loving him more than life, and yet hating him more than anything right now. Body aching with the effort of just breathing, and he’s looking at me so expectantly; like somehow spending five minutes with me would have fucking fixed everything.

“Maybe I need to get it out of my system, the same way you all did. Stop treating me like a kid and give me some benefit of the doubt for a change.” I slide up past him and pull off his hoody coolly, in a bid to appear nonchalant, revealing the strappy top from the night before, open at the back and held together with dangerously thin straps. It’s low at the front and I’m braless. Moving to my cupboard I rifle through to find a skimpy vest top emblazoned with an old punk rock logo that’s currently trending again.

Focusing on clothes is the only thing I can do to stop that boiling pot inside from blowing its lid. Bringing me to a simmer instead of a rolling boil. Clothes have always been a weakness that soothes and reels my focus in. I have never understood why I get so much joy from them.

I turn my back to Arrick as I haul my top off over my head and pull on the new one, brushing out my long hair with fingertips and reeling myself back into rebellious mode. That mask of indifference sliding on and ‘City Sophie’, who needs only herself, pushing in place. I’ve never had any qualms about changing in front of him, I trust him and know he isn’t the type to ‘perve’ on me or try to get an eyeful.

“You know, you used to listen to me? I used to be the only one who seemed to get through to you and I loved that I could. I loved that we had that bond. What’s happening to us, Mimmo?” Arrick hasn’t moved from the chair by the dressing table, instead, he’s leaning heavily on it and regarding me sort of wistfully, unfazed by my half naked change of clothes a moment ago. His voice is soft, his face seems sad and I hate that he’s making me feel guilty again. That pang of something going off inside of me just draws out that rage once more.

I’m not the one bailing on a friend in need. He is!