Drag Me Down

Chapter 2

Get away." I whispered, trying to pull my arm away. I slid into my car, but he caught the door before it closed.

"Christine, you can't drive home like this."

"Leave me." I demanded, lifting my tear-filled eyes to meet his.

"No." He wouldn't go.

"I hate you!" I nearly shrieked, my voice breaking as fresh tears gushed out. He flinched and if I wasn't paying attention, I wouldn't have seen the brief closing of his eyes.

"Doesn't make a difference. Move over."

I slid to the passenger seat, giving up. I couldn't gain my composure, the tears wouldn't stop. I missed my dad. My heart felt broken and empty. Memories ran through my mind. My dad teaching me how to drive, taking me hunting. Going with my to visit the zoo. Trace pulled in the parking lot of my apartment. I didn't protest as he walked with me to the door.

"Thanks." I whispered, opening the door. His piercing blue eyes stopped me.

"Wait," he said gently. "Talk to me."

"You? Talk to you?" I let out a breath of disbelief.

"I know how it feels. I'm so sorry." Meeting his eyes, I could see the truth in them. They held for me to trust him.

"My dad." I managed to say.

"I know. Your sister told me on the phone the day you passed out."

"I haven't been able to cry. I haven't even felt. Until now." I admitted, without thinking. Why was I saying this?

I walked inside, and he followed me at a comfortable distance.

"You can sit." I told him, getting a slight control on my tears.

He sat on the small couch, as I finally got a handle on my emotions.

"Sometimes it's best to just let it out." His voice was understanding, comforting even. I dropped onto the couch, a safe distance from him.

"I haven't been able to. Not until now," my voice was gaining some more strength. "A bicycle I saw, it brought back memories. Then I could feel." I was saying too much, but he didn't seem to mind.

"I understand, I've been there myself. A close friend. If you want to talk to me, I'm here. I know you don't like me. But if you want to talk...go ahead." He was offering to listen to me?

"I've said too much already. I just need to do something. I can't go to sleep." I was a crybaby. An i***t. But I hurt more than I ever knew was possible.

"You know what helped me?" Trace asked gently. "I would cook with my mom, late into the night."

I never expected that from him.

"Really?" My voice was quiet, but steady.

"Yeah. Wanna try it?" I couldn't. This had to be a trick. He acted this way toward other people, not me. Never me.

"I probably should just sleep. I'll be fine." I assured him. His eyes looked unsure, but he nodded.

"I'll see you later." He stood to leave.

"You have my number from work, if you need any company."

"Thank you." I let him out of my apartment, walked to my bed, and couldn't remember anything more.

The next morning I was up bright and early. I felt refreshed after my crying spell last night. I felt so much better. Part of me wondered about Trace. That was so unexpected. Not to be trusted. But the way his eyes spoke. They told the truth. Getting ready for work, I remembered my cat. She'd been neglected. Feeling guilty, I fed her and cleaned her area up. This morning I decided on tea instead of coffee. I needed a change. My outfit was different from normal. In the mirror, my eyes looked clear and at peace.

Arriving at work, Trace's mustang pulled in just before me. We walked toward the door, getting there at the same time. I wasn't sure what to think of him anymore. One night didn't change anything...right? He offered the slightest smile as he held the door for me. I studied him carefully before thanking him. We walked to our office in silence. Something had been on my mind.

"Is anyone covering the story about my dads death?" I asked straight forwardly. Trace looked surprised, his eyes looking cautious.

"I'm fairly certain Carlee is covering that story." He answered after a second.

"Couldn't do the job yourself?" I wondered aloud. Trace was always asked to cover stories before Carlee was asked. He hesitated.

"It would've been difficult, Cutie." I glared. So I was right. Nothing had changed.

"Alright." I briskly walked to my desk and started away with my assignment.

"Why must you call me something that you despise?" I asked, knowing I should've been less sparky. He looked up, surprised.

"It seemed fitting."

"Right. Because you despise me."

"No. See, you are wrong about things sometimes. That's not it at all."

I gave a short laugh.

"You expect me to believe you don't hate me?"

"You might not believe it. But it's the truth." His voice sounded close. I looked up from my seat behind my desk. He was standing in front of it, leaning forward with his hands on the desk.

"I know you hate me," he said softly. "But that doesn't mean I feel the same way about you." I was speechless. What was he saying? He didn't hate me after all? It was then that I noticed our close proximity. When I lifted my face, his was under a foot away.

"How do you feel?" I asked, unsure of why I was so breathless. My heart's rhythm had picked up. His eyes dropped from mine, to skim over my face. I could feel my cheeks heat. He'd somehow drew closer. His eyes stopped at my lips, hesitated for a beat, then lifted back to my eyes. He leaned slightly closer. My heart was going to beat out of my chest. A tingle of anticipation in my stomach.

"Trace!"

We jerked apart. My boss was coming in the doorway. She looked between us, a confused look on her face.

"Oh...um. Trace, you're needed at the front." Eyebrow raised, she silently left the room. Trace turned and followed, however not before I saw a glimpse of disappointment in his eyes.

Woah. What had happened? I could think straight. I didn't even know what I had felt. What was that supposed to mean? What was he saying? I moved quickly back to my work, but the questions lingered in my mind. As the day continued, I wondered what Carlee's article would say. She was the last resort writer on our team. I knew why the boss hadn't asked me to write about my dad's death. I was glad she hadn't asked.