For a split second, time freezes and I realize what I’ve triggered. But it’s too late. He moves blindingly fast.
He spins around and his elbow slams like a cannonball in my chest. I fly across the library—something heavy wrenching my left side, the room a blur, a ripping, tearing sound—and hit the bookshelves against the wall. Sharp pain cuts across my back and a gut-wrenching agony radiates from my left arm. Books crash around me, their thuds drowned by a piercing scream. My own. Through the pages and blinding pain, I see Aiden’s hand gripping my arm. From his crushing hold, I’m dangling above the floor.
His eyes are locked somewhere behind me, wild and distant. He jerks his head side to side like a horse against a tether. His breathing is fast and shallow. His face twists in anguish and his neck and shoulders strain against an invisible bridle bit. A feral roar rips through his teeth.
“Aiden!” I scream, but my voice shatters from his strength. “Aiden! Please! Come back to me…you’re here, you’re home,” I plead, but he is beyond reach. The pain in my arm becomes bewildering, and I start thrashing to get out of his grip.
Benson bolts into the library, Cora on his heels.
“Benson!” I cry out. “Please, help him! I can’t…I can’t get him to answer!”
“Elisa, don’t move! Stay very still! Close your eyes!” Benson orders urgently. “Come on, kid. Close your eyes for me.”
I can’t close them. Aiden’s anguish is so primal that it’s piercing me deeper than his grip.
“Elisa—Isa, close your eyes,” Benson repeats more loudly while stalking Aiden from behind. In that moment I know what Benson will do. The only way he can release me is if he wraps his arms around Aiden to pull him off. That will trigger another flashback and Benson doesn’t want me to see it.
“Isa, please!” Cora urges as she reaches me.
I look at Aiden.
“I love you,” I say and shut my eyes.
“Cora, on three,” Benson shouts. “One. Two. Three.”
I know Benson has wrapped his arms around Aiden because a guttural groan rips through someone’s chest. Roars explode and something clamors with an ear-splitting sound to the ground. Aiden’s grip loosens and I drop. I fling my eyes open.
Aiden and Benson are locked in a brutal battle, too fast for me to follow. The sounds ripping through them are primal. Two lions in close combat. The reason for Benson’s daunting size is obvious. Aiden in battle is formidable. He moves with lethal grace, as if his mind rehearses the blows before delivering them. His eyes are away. A veritable Achilles with his memory as the heel.
“Get her out of here,” Benson heaves. Only now do I notice I’m in Cora’s arms. Suddenly, it occurs to me what Benson is doing. He’s buying time for me to get out.
“No!” I thrash. “No, don’t hurt him! Don’t hurt him. Please, Benson! Help him. Help him. It’s my fault.” I scream myself hoarse but Cora drags me over the books, chanting words I can’t hear, until we’re outside the library.
The door slams shut behind me and locks. The shattering and clamor inside get louder. I fight Cora’s hold and rattle the knob but it doesn’t give. I call Aiden’s name and slam myself against the door over and over again, kicking it with all my strength.
“Aiden! Aiden! I love you. Please, let me in! Let me in! Let me in!”
The door stands locked, unforgiving. I can’t stop because if I stop, I will have given up on him. Aiden. Aiden. Aiden. I don’t know how long I slam against the door but eventually, my body breaks and slumps to the floor. Cora drags me away.
“Shush, darling. He’ll be okay, dear. Let’s just go to my apartment.” Her words start to have meaning. She props her shoulder under my arm and lifts me. We walk slowly, Cora’s frame an anchor that keeps me from drifting. I see the terrarium of my graduation flowers though my tears as we pass the living room.
Chapter Forty-Seven
My All
Have you ever wondered how many heartbeats are in an hour? Before you multiply the number of beats per minute by sixty, let me stop you. That’s not the right formula. The first question is what kind of hour. There are hours when your heart beats a lifetime. Hours when you’re so alive that you’re not sure if you’re living this life or the next. I’ve had hours like that in Aiden’s arms.
Then, there are hours when your heart seems not to beat at all. Hours when the only reason you know you’re still alive is a bodiless pain that negates the option of afterlife. This is one of those hours.
Such hours don’t tell you how long they last. So here, on Cora’s couch, I can’t say whether it’s been minutes or days. Her soft hands change ice pack after ice pack on my arm. Her voice becomes words, words become sentences, and sentences become hope. He’ll be fine, dear. It’s not your fault.
I listen to her voice, twisting the hem of my new claret dress—Aiden ripped the left side to shreds—and reading Byron’s next lines:
“A mind at peace with all below,