Crash (A Billionaire Contract Romance)

Letting Loose

Finally done polishing the last of the silverware, my closing tasks complete I’m excited to leave, I’ve been meaning to go explore Boston. The weather is perfect tonight so I’m going to a park Tara told me about on Corey Hill, close to Beacon Street. She said it’s out of the way, quiet, but breathtaking, incredible views of Boston, surrounded by Oak trees. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.

“Hey girl, are you done already?” Tara walks over still looking refreshed even after working 8 hours already.

“I am, I think I’m going to check that park out!”

“Stay for sunset it’ll be worth it. So, it's Jamie’s birthday tomorrow. Were all going out after work to celebrate. Will you come?” I don’t want to go out, I could use a couple of drinks, but being in a crowded bar, being close to other people, men who could take advantage at any time, my hands shake. Memories of hands pressing me against the wall, tears running down my cheeks take over, my breathing comes in short bursts. I’ve had panic attacks since I was young, they only got worse after.

Pulling in a breath I force myself to hold it in only letting it out after I count to five. I do that a few more times, not opening my eyes until I feel steady enough to deal with the fallout.

“Aria, sweetie are you okay?” Her green eyes are big with concern.

“G-good, sorry.”

“What just happened, you looked like you were going to faint!”

“I just need to eat something, I’ll grab something on my way to the park!”

“You better find something as soon as you leave here, did you drive? Maybe we should call someone to come get you.”

“No way, I’m fine I swear. There’s this sandwich place around the corner, I’m headed there now.”

“Promise?” I nod in acknowledgment. She seems to accept my lie, easily enough. “Okay, are you going to meet us tonight?”

“What time and where?” I don’t like that I just had a panic attack over something that should be simple, fun even. I came here to start over, so I’m pushing myself to go to the bar have a drink. Get to know my coworkers. Then leave at a reasonable time. I’ll prove to myself I can do this.

She tells me as she gets called away to a table they just sat in her section. I grab a sandwich from the shop and spend the rest evening overlooking Boston, keeping my mind off everything I ran from, focusing on all I’ll accomplish tonight and the years to come.

***

Rummaging through my drawers and closet, I throw all my clothes onto my bed or the floor. I can't find anything to wear. I don’t go out. I’ve never really gone out, Brian never allowed me to unless it was something he wanted to do.

Even then he didn’t let me wear anything that was even slightly provocative. It didn’t matter how the clothes me feel it only ever mattered how they made him feel. And mostly they made him feel angry.

I sent Tara a text to let her know I would be a little late meeting them, buying myself more time. I regret ever saying yes to this.

I settle on a sheer cream top with a black sports bra on underneath, with black high wasted skinny jeans and my only pair of Black Heels. I throw my hair up into a messy bun, using the minimal amount of makeup I own, I determine this is the best I’m going to get.

I make sure I have my Taser and pepper spray before heading out, when I put the name of the club into maps earlier I saw it was close enough to walk. Saving me from having to get an Uber.

I reach the club in no time. Sooner than I’m mentally prepared for. I can feel myself on the verge of a panic attack, terrible memories are so close to the surface, bubbling over and causing chaos and terror. There’s an alleyway on the side of the building veering at the last second, I walk midway, pressing my back to the cold dirty brick. I keep my eyes to the opening, my Taser gripped in my hand, just in case.

This was a bad idea; it was stupid of me to think I was strong enough to take such a huge step. I try to control my breathing my freehand is grabbing my other arm, digging my nails into my skin, there might be blood there later, right now I just need the pain to center me, keep my mind off of all the memories trying to take over.

I stand there breathing in and out for at least ten minutes. Looking to the sky like it might have answers. Somewhere along the way, my mind wanders to Grandma. She was beautiful, strong-willed, brave. She was always working, Grandpa was the breadwinner, he wouldn’t have it any other way, but it wasn’t enough to get them by. Grandma always worked at least part-time. She would do anything, she could get, bagging groceries, doing office work, cleaning after hours.

After grandpa passed, she worked harder and longer hours, he had a life insurance policy that she used to pay off the rest of the house and any other bills they had. She saved what was left, but it wasn’t much.

She often came home bone-weary, working more than she should have at 75. Yet, it never stopped her from coming to get me. Nope, she was always there seeming to sense when I really needed her.

The worst nights were when Dad drank to the point of oblivion. Once he blacks out he becomes angry, irrational, he hates himself, his life. That of course bleeds into me.

I was the reason Mom left him. She couldn’t take the crying and whining. I always needed something, could never let her be. “You’re the reason she started using, the reason I turned to the bottle. She wouldn’t have left if you weren’t here.”

Sometimes he was so close, his nose was touching mine, spit would fly into my mouth making me gag. Sometimes he threw things, water, food, lamps, remotes, he didn’t discriminate.

On really bad nights he’d make me scrub the house till my fingers bled. My penance for ruining his life. The good days were when he passed out early, even when he threw up or pissed himself I would take that over him being in one of his moods any day.

I wouldn’t call grandma to come to get me, knowing she worked too much, she was old, eating too many snacks, her being diabetic was almost expected. I never wanted to bother her or make her life any harder.

So I tried my best to keep what happened at home away from her, scared to stress her out, or make her feel any sort of obligation, more so than she already felt.

When my grandparents looked at my dad I could see the self-condemnation, you could see their questions of where did they go wrong written in their eyes. I don’t know why he’s so evil when they were both so sweet but I know it wasn’t their fault and I hated them even for a second thought as much.

I’d change the topic and became a pro at dodging any questions she asked. Eventually, it just became an unspoken deal, anything that happened at home stayed there. At grandmas the rest of the world faded away, there I got to be a kid, loved, fed, and happy.

She showed up in the depths of my despair, turning what was terrible into something beautiful and freeing. She was my guardian angel in my personal Hell.

We would find our smiles when neither of us felt like we had it in us. Turn the radio on, grab some flour, dance around, bake some food, talk about school, shows, Grandma's old stories of her life, my dad’s. The kitchen would look like a video you see when the kids get into baby powder. Grandma always said a messy kitchen means you’re in a loving home.

I can feel her arms around me now, hear her voice telling me I’ll be okay. A breeze pushes through the strands of my hair like her fingers would. My breathing evens, my chest loosens my eyes water.

I miss her, I miss her so much. “I love you, Grandma, I hope you’re up there giving Grandpa Hell. Make sure he isn’t spending too much time underneath a hood.” I can almost hear her laugh. “Gram, how do I do this? I thought getting away from the memories, putting hundreds of miles between Dad, Brain, and I, I thought it would help. So why can’t I walk into a bar like a normal 24-year-old? When does it get better?”

The breeze runs its fingers through my hair once more, reassuring me. In through my nose, out through my mouth.

A horn honks down the alley, the music sounds like it’s trying to break through the brick wall behind me. It won’t ever get better if I stay here hiding in the shadows. I need to do this. My coworkers are in there, although I’m not close with any of them they all wouldn’t let something happen to me. Even if someone tries something I have my taser and my pepper spray.

Plus I’ve learned some self-defensive over the years.

“I can do this.” Pulling in a deep breath, I stand taller. I will do this.

I spot Josh first, he’s too tall to miss. This place is packed with bodies, the lights low, and the music loud. There are three bars I’ve spotted so far. Two to the sides and one at the back. A staircase sits on either side of the bar leading up to a loft-like platform. Security stands at the bottom of the staircases, a clipboard in hand.

Josh, Tara, and Jamie are standing in the middle of the back bar, with a few of our other co-workers, currently throwing back a shot.

“Aria! You made it!” Tara’s tipsy for sure, stumbling slightly as she throws her arms around my shoulders. Wearing a red dress with red heels and red lipstick. With her red hair curled, she looks like Jessica Rabbit. “Girl, I was nervous you weren’t going to show!”

She places a big sloppy kiss on my cheek. Laughing I shrug out of her hold. Walking towards the bar to get a drink and maybe try and calm my nerves a little. Tara and I are fast becoming closer than co-worker friends into the actual friend category something I’m not okay with. It comes with too much pressure. Too many wounds I would have to open up that I’m not willing to.

But I’m also not okay being rude or mean to anyone, especially a coworker I need to see and be around a lot. I’m not really sure what to do about her.

“Sorry, I couldn’t find anything to wear,” I shout behind me as she follows.

“Next time come over to my place, I have so much that would look aaaaammazing on you! Come on let’s do a shot!” She knocks into my shoulder trying to get to the bar before I can. She squeezes herself through the bodies to get the bartenders attention.

“Wait, Tara! Tara! I do not want a shot!” My voice is lost in the music, too many people fighting for their spot at the bar for me to squeeze in next to her. I laugh to myself; I’ve made it in here, I’m okay so far. I don’t drink often my dad is a huge example of why not. But I’m also aware that there’s a difference between having a problem vs drinking every now and again. If I have one shot, follow it with water I will be fine. She breaks out of the crowd, two bottles wrapped in her fingers and the bottom of two plastic cups in her other hand. She hands me one of each, knocking our plastic “shots” against one another we toss our heads back, letting the whiskey burn down our throats. “Jameson huh?”

“f**k yeah girl, Jamo first, everything else tastes great after.” She’s not kidding, I’m not a huge beer fan but I chug a quarter of the bottle, I have to get rid of some of the burns, feeling my insides warm already. Uh oh. I’ll need to get some water in me as soon as possible.

But damn if I’m not a little bit proud of myself. Maybe things really can get better.