“So, pizza, huh? And what do you like on your pizza?” I ask.
She brings a hand up to cover a soft smile, and I wish she wouldn’t. That smile melts me every time. It doesn’t matter if she wants to cover the pizza in pineapple. All that matters to me is seeing her happy and that, for once in many years, some of the weight of my burden lifts.
Seven
Avalee
The city lights weave in and out overhead as Ruin drives us to the Big Slice. I take slow breaths to steady my nerves and calm the excitement radiating in my chest and core. We chat, mostly about how much pizza we have ever eaten in one sitting and laugh, a lot. He has the ability to make me forget, briefly, why I half want to throw myself all in and half want to run screaming in the other direction.
Do I think he would ever hurt me? Not even a little. But the fear and uncertainty of trusting someone again twist my stomach into knots that will only grow more uncomfortable if I continue to let myself think on it. Trust isn’t something that is just given or made, even if there is history there, and we have history.
It felt so easy to agree to this date, even though, internally, I was a little reluctant. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, noting how a small wrinkle in the corner of his own eye forms when he smiles completely. And how his biceps and forearms have big mounds of bulging muscle, the undersides covered in beautiful symbols and patterns of black ink. Or how his smooth chin curves in slightly, the tiniest of dimples at its center.
When we were kids, I had a crush on him for what felt like forever. But he always treated me more like a little sister than anything else. Friendzoned, it seemed. Now, I’m sitting beside him chatting about pizza toppings as we head out for our first date. Funny how life has a way of messing with your heart and head.
He parks the car a second time, and I eye the restaurant before us. A chubby little cartoonish statue stands welcome at the door, holding a pizza on the fingertip of one hand and a neon “Open” sign in the other.
“Oh my, they still have him!” I whisper, excitement and surprise churning together in my chest. My friends and I used to pose in stupid ways next to the statue, trying to take the funniest selfies imaginable. The paint of his outfit is faded and chipped now, but the storefront is pretty much exactly as I remember it.
“Fan of the Big Slice?” Ruin asks.
The Big Slice is a “big deal,” or so the locals think. It won some awards and was featured in magazines and on Food Empires TV, but I haven’t been here since… My mind wanders toward a dangerous memory. I try to replace it with happier moments, talking late into the night on three-way calls with Ellie and July. It’s been a few days since I’ve talked to them. I make a mental note to invite them over for pizza and wine the next time I can fit it into my schedule. Both of my best friends know all about Ruin at work, but I haven't divulged just how far back our history goes. I’ve been trying to keep our budding new relationship to myself, but I won’t be able to for much longer.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it.
“I used to come here all the time, but I haven’t been back since before I moved away,” I say, not lying but not sharing the entire story either.
“Well, let’s go change that, huh?”
I call on what little bit of confidence I have stored away and nod in agreement. Ruin jumps out of the driver’s seat, closes his door, and stalks around the car to my side—ever the gentleman. I take the warm hand that he offers, and he helps me out of the vehicle. My foot catches on the passenger’s seat’s adjuster and I start to fall, but Ruin catches me.
Embarrassed and redder than the fire hydrant on the curb, I find myself pressed against his hard chest, the soft lub-dub of his heart echoing in my head.
“Are you okay?” he asks, still clutching me in his arms. But now, he’s quickly glancing me over, and my ears are no longer filled with the soft rhythm of his heart.
I scramble to right myself, pulling my purse up on my shoulder and squeezing the soft leather for reassurance. “I am. Thank you.”
He places one hand on the small of my back, and we walk side by side into the pizza joint. It’s not as busy as I would have expected this time of day, but with my nerves doing the Macarena, it’s probably for the best. They have remodeled the inside, shedding the classic red, white, and black checkered patterns for a cleaner, more modern vibe. My heart squeezes in my chest as I take in the changes all around me. The outside may still look the same, but the inside might as well have been an entirely different place. I follow Ruin to a booth and slide into the seat with my back against the wall and my face toward the door. Ruin takes the seat across from me and picks up the menu from a little metal holder containing a Parmesan cheese shaker and one with spicy red pepper flakes.
Why did I have to trip?I mean, how clichéd can I get, I wonder, beating myself up internally. But Ruin hasn’t said a thing about it since. The waiter comes to take our drink and food orders and leaves us with a stack of napkins.
“I’m glad you agreed to come out to dinner with me, Avalee. I still can’t believe you’re here.”
“Yeah. I don’t really get out much these days,” I say, tucking my hands in my lap. I think about my therapist and what she would say if she were here.Relax. Breathe. Look around you. What can you see, feel, smell?It helps with the PTSD, but I need something else to help with the feelings ignited the moment I reconnected with the man across from me.
“Me too,” I say, and I mean it.
“But I have to ask something. Something I’m afraid to ask,” he starts, but he stops as the waiter sets our condensation-drenched cups before us with a pair of matching straws.
“Be right back with your pizzas,” the boy chimes and turns to greet another table that just took their seats.
“Okay,” I say, my hands clenching so tight a dull ache forms in my knuckles.What does he want to know? Does he know about what happened? No. Impossible. Nobody here knows about that, I don’t think.My mind spins, and I have to find something solid to focus on before I spiral out.
“Well…are you okay? I know I already asked, but really? You seem a little scared of something.” His voice drops with each question, and his stormy eyes take on a thoughtful, faraway look.
No, he doesn’t know, but I am clearly not hiding my anxieties either.
I take a deep breath and try to find the words to begin. I’ve only retold the story of my abduction and assault four times to five different people: Jax and Cobi Mayson when they rescued me, my lawyer, my mother, and my therapist. My father learned everything he needed to know about it from my mother, but we never talked about it ourselves. My father has never looked at me the same since. Will Ruin look at me differently too?
