Pressing my hand against the wall to hold myself up, I take a deep breath and try to steady my nerves. I have no idea how to approach him, how to help him. Aaron has always been happy, smiling, joking. This side, this beastly side, is all new to me, and after a year of dating this man, I’m seriously puzzled.
A part of me wants to leave, to nurse my shattered nerves and wait for sunrise to bring another day, but the part of me that loves him, that would do anything for him, is calling for me to follow in his tumultuous footsteps.
Once again, gathering my wits, I dodge tossed furniture and make my way to Aaron’s bedroom, where we’ve spent many nights together and many lazy mornings. This room holds precious memories for me, so I hope and pray he isn’t destroying it like his living room.
Leaning forward, I put my ear against the door and listen for him. I don’t hear anything so I take my chances and open the door. The lights are off, but the moonlight pours through his uncovered windows and I see him sitting on the floor in the corner, his head in his hands, his knees bent to his chest.
In a matter of seconds, my heart stutters and every bone in my body aches for the man hunched over in the corner. Quietly, I shut the door and start toward him. Sensing my presence, he lifts his head, and I’m met with aged, wary eyes. The brightness I’m accustomed to is nowhere to be found. Who is this man?
I don’t say anything this time. Instead, I slowly walk toward him, not wanting to scare him away, and sit down so my body is facing his. I place my hand on his cheek, feeling the scruff of his jaw on my palm and turn his face so he’s forced to look me in the eyes.
Hollow, empty, a bland expression. Once again, my heart breaks. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” he whispers, reeking of booze and trying to pull away, but I don’t allow him.
This might not be the best time to talk to him given his alcohol-addled brain, but I can’t continue to let him be destructive. I will never forgive myself if he hurts himself.
“Aaron, talk to me. Don’t shut me out. What’s going on?”
He lowers his head and dangles his hands between his legs, utter defeat in the slouch of his shoulders. “You should leave, Amelia. You’re not going to like what you hear next.”
“Try me,” I challenge. No matter what he says, I’m not leaving.
Lifting his head, he leans it against the wall and stares blankly at me. “You’re going to stay?” He sardonically laughs. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Stop trying to scare me off, Aaron.”
“I’m not trying to scare you off, Amelia.” His voice has a slight slur in it but other than that, he’s quite clear. “I’m trying to avoid the inevitable.”
“And what would that be?”
“Breaking up with you.”
The air stands still, stagnant in its musty torment as I try to comprehend what he’s saying. Break up with me? Where did that come from? I think back to everything that’s happened the past few days, I try to pick apart why he would be acting so vile, so unlike the man I love.
But nothing is coming to mind.
We’ve spent the last few nights at each other’s places. We’ve gone on dates, cooked dinner together, spent every morning wrapped in each other’s arms while he whispered in my ear how much he loves me. To say I’m confused is an understatement.
Trying not to turn into an emotional basket case, I take a deep breath and ask, “Why are you breaking up with me?”
“Don’t you see?” he asks, waving around his room that has yet to be destroyed. “You could have so much better, Amelia. You could be with someone in college, someone with a future, someone with a loving family, or at least one parent who cares about him.” He runs a hand down his face and mutters under his breath so I almost don’t hear him, “Someone who can give you stairs.”
Stairs? What is he talking about?
“I don’t want anything or anyone but you, Aaron.” Where is this coming from? And what about his parents? I’ve met his mom once and she seemed nice, so . . .
Standing abruptly, knocking me back, he starts crossing the room, his hands twitching at his sides. When he glances in my direction, all I see is darkness. He’s lost, and I’m not sure I can do anything to aid him.
“You don’t want me,” he roars as he shoves his nightstand across the room, shattering his lamp. I tuck myself in the corner with my knees pulled into my chest. “No one fucking wants me, besides the one woman who doesn’t deserve me.” Turning swiftly around, he cocks his arm back and jams it through the wall, leaving a gaping hole before he storms into his living room where I hear him clink some bottles together and then collapse onto the floor.
Muscles frozen in place, despair gnaws at my gut as I wait for more movement in the other room.
What woman is he talking about? I try to piece together what he’s said. Parents not caring, no one wants him besides a woman who doesn’t deserve him, a loving family and . . . stairs?
I push my hair back and think. Is he talking about his mom? It’s the only thing I come up with, but why would he be so angry about her?
Standing on shaky legs, I dodge the broken pieces of his lamp and peek into the living room. Lying on the ground, his large body splayed across the floor, is a mumbling Aaron. His eyes are closed, his hand gripping an empty bottle, and the tension in his body easing with each breath he takes.
I stay still, watching him until I’m convinced he’s completely passed out. Able to breathe a little lighter, I start cleaning up, starting with the bottles that have been rolling around his floor. Twelve beers and a bottle of whiskey. I pray the bottle wasn’t full when he started drinking it. Guessing how much he’s really had, this is going to be a very long night. Despite what he said, I’m not leaving him.
He wants to break up with me? I don’t buy it. Something hit him hard tonight, and he’s trying to keep me as far away from it as possible, as far away from him. Too bad it’s not that easy to get rid of me.
I take off his work boots and try to make him as comfortable as possible before I head into his room to clean up the mess in there. I have never seen anyone this drunk, and I would be lying if I didn’t say it terrifies me. More so, seeing the man I love so miserable.
I’m in his room, trying to make his bed in case I’m somehow able to move him into it, when his phone starts ringing. I search the floor and find it in the corner under one of his shirts.
His mom.
I shouldn’t answer this. I really shouldn’t, and yet, curiosity wins out.
“Hello,” I say quietly.
She must not hear me over her crying because she says, “Aaron baby, I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me.”
I really shouldn’t have answered this. Feeling awkward, I say, “Mrs. Walters, it’s Amelia.”
Her crying stops and her voice clears. “Amelia? Oh, where’s Aaron?”
“Uh, he’s kind of passed out.”
“Was he drinking?” The heartache I heard when she answered the phone is no longer there and instead anger ensues.
“Yes, ma’am. It seems like he’s had a lot to drink.”