There’s a knock on the door and I jump. My father’s voice comes through the door.
“Mara? Mara, are you okay?”
There’s that question again – Are you okay? Why do people always seem to ask me that when I am most definitely not okay? I take a deep breath and sit up in bed.
“I’m fine, Dad. Just want to be on my own.”
“Okay,” he says through the door. It takes a few seconds before I hear his quiet footsteps pad back down the hallway. My throat closes and I blink back the tears that are gathering in my eyes.
I grab my phone and dial Dominic’s number. The phone rings and rings until it goes to voicemail, and I hang up. I put my phone down for a few moments before trying him again.
Voicemail again.
I sigh, staring at the blank screen before sitting up. I turn to the back door of my room and take a deep breath before standing up.
I slip on my jacket and go outside. The sun is starting to go down and there’s a cool breeze in the air. I let my feet take me toward Dominic’s house. As I get closer, my heart starts beating harder and I wonder what I’m going to say to him. Last time I saw him, I saw pain and betrayal in his eyes before he got into Ethan’s truck. Since then, I’ve been on a wild roller coaster ride. All I want is to have his arms around me and feel the comfort that I’ve had for the past few weeks.
I walk quickly through the forest as the last light of the afternoon filters through the trees. The path is carpeted in old pine needles, and I step over tree roots and rocks on my way to his house. The air smells fresh, and I take deep, cleansing breaths as I make my way toward his house.
With each step, I feel more comfortable. Everything will work out.
I know I don’t want to be with Vincent. I saw the look in his eyes when his carefully crafted mask dropped, and I still have the marks on my wrist where he grabbed me. I saw the insistence with which my mother tried to push us together.
I’m not sure if she’ll agree to finish the contract with Dominic. I’m not sure if Dominic wants to see me, or if he wants anything to do with me. All I know is that I have to talk to him. I have to tell him how I feel about him. I have to show him that he matters to me – that I’m not like my mother.
He has to understand that! He will, won’t he?
With every step, my confidence grows. Soon, a smile is playing on my lips as I think of kissing him. I can almost feel his arms around me and the way that our bodies melt together. I can feel the happiness growing in my chest as I get closer to him.
When I round the last corner, that happiness starts to fade. I frown as the trees thin and his small log house comes into view. I sweep my eyes over his front yard and my heart drops.
There are splinters of wood everywhere. The remnants of a table or a nightstand are all over the grass. There’s a leg near the edge of the tree-line, but the rest of the table is unrecognizable. I take a few hesitant steps forward and my heart starts thumping.
Whatever it was, it’s completely destroyed now. He must have smashed it over and over and over to get it to break this much. I pick up a piece of wood and turn it around in my hand, glancing toward the house. I look over at the workshop and see the door open.
I take a few slow steps as my heart hammers against my ribcage. With a deep breath, I peer inside the workshop and let out a sigh when I see it empty.
“Dominic?” I call out softly. I step inside and look around once more. “Dominic?”
I do a slow lap of the room, checking under the benches. I shake my head. Why would he be under there? When I’m sure the workshop is empty, I step back outside and close the door quietly behind me.
My breath is shallow as I tip-toe toward the house. The curtains are drawn, and I try to peek in the tiny opening between the edge of the window and the curtain. I can see a sliver of the room, but no sign of Dominic. My heart is racing now, and my palms are starting to sweat. I turn around and look at the destruction in the front yard one more time. What drove him to do this? Was it just seeing my mother upset at the hotel? Surely that wouldn’t drive him this crazy.
I turn back toward the door and walk up to it. I ball up my fist and lift it up, taking one last deep breath as I try to slow down my racing heartbeat. I close my eyes and knock.
I hold my breath as I wait for his heavy footsteps.
Nothing.
I’m greeted with complete silence. I take another deep breath and knock again, a bit louder this time. “Dominic?” I call out. I wait again, counting the seconds of silence that follow.
Finally, I shake my shoulders and take a deep breath. I put my hand on the doorknob and turn it slowly, hoping to find it locked. If it’s locked, I can turn around and go home. I can try to forget the smashed nightstand. I can call Dominic again later. I can figure out what’s going on.
But it’s not locked.
The doorknob turns in my hand, and I push the door open.
That’s when I see him. He’s collapsed on the sofa with crushed beer cans all around him. My hand flies up to my face in horror as I look at the state he’s in. I take a step inside and hesitate, afraid to breathe.
Should I try to wake him? I glance behind me at the smashed table and my heart sinks.
Is this the man that I know? Is this the man that I’ve been falling for?
He would come home and destroy something in a fit of rage and then drink himself to sleep?
The happiness I felt on the walk over is completely gone. I don’t know what to think, or how to feel, or what to do. I take a step toward him and accidentally kick a can. It spins on the floor toward him and knocks against his foot. My eyes widen and I wait for him to wake up, but he doesn’t even stir. I watch him for a few moments as my chest squeezes.
I still care about him. I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t understand why he got upset and then drank himself to sleep, but I still want to be there for him.
Dominic’s head is at an unnatural angle, so I grab a cushion from the couch and prop his head up. It’s heavy, and he doesn’t wake up as I move him. I grab a blanket from the end of the bed and cover him before laying a soft kiss on his temple. He stinks of beer and he starts snoring. I stroke my finger along his cheek, scratching his stubble and imagining him groaning in satisfaction.
My heart sinks as I walk back toward the door. I glance from the destruction in the front yard to the mess in the house, and I feel like crying. I take a deep breath and close the door before making the long, painful walk back toward the hotel.
My father’s voice rings in my ears: Are you okay?
No, Dad. I’m definitely not okay. Not even close.