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“First step in self-defense is not to win. Your goal is to escape.” Ilias stood, his large frame hovered over me.
Confused with his words I replied, “But–”
“No fight is ever a fair fight, Davina. Sometimes, your only weapon is your body, so you have to use quick thinking and flee to safety. Nothing more. Even the most skilled fighters make mistakes. But your mistakes can cost you your life.” Ilias stretched his palm for me to take. It was hard and rough yet gentle against my soft touch. Even as our hands differed in appearance, they molded into one without effort. I didn’t want to let go as his touch felt right, nothing seeming out of place. He took my silence for nervousness, and gave my hand a gentle squeeze—one that gripped right through me. “Don’t worry, we’ll take it easy.” Unaffected by our closeness, Ilias let go.
We both took a few steps back.
Ilias transformed, his easy and approachable demeanor changing quickly, and I was left with a side of him I’d only experienced once from the first time I had met him. His smile was gone, and he looked detached from any feelings. Eyes that chilled my body with menace.
It happened so quickly, I could already feel my lungs constricting, my pulse prickling my hands as it ran down to my fingertips, and all it took was to see Ilias in a different way.
To see him in a threatening way.
“You are afraid of me.” His quiet voice trailed off in shock. But as I looked into his now light blue eyes, I saw it’d affected him.
I shook my head, raising my palms up to explain it wasn’t him I was scared of, but oxygen seemed to vanish from my lungs. I wasn’t good at confrontation, and I could never find the right words to explain the reason I made bad decisions was because I couldn’t think straight when my throat was closing in and my eyes ached with unshed tears. That my mind blocked any rational thoughts, or the way my stomach turned, and I’d feel ill and cold sweats would come and go.
“No.” Unable to meet his eyes, my gaze fell to the ground.
“Then what is it, Davina? Please, explain to me so I can help.” Ilias’s feet slid forward, mine took one back. “Look at me.” I complied to his demand. A crease formed between his brows as his lips twisted. “Please.”
“You were right the other day,” I admitted. “I don’t sleep well. The house is too loud at night, and when I do close my eyes, I’m woken by nightmares of blood, pain, and loss. I hardly have the energy to do daily routines or simple tasks. I hate the moment the sun goes down because I know I’ll relive it all over again, but at times, the sunlight isn’t any better. Not when I see small reminders of how I survived when others didn’t.” I chuckled, but there was no humor, only grief for the innocent girl I used to be, the simple life when I’d lived as a waitress. The time when all I’d worried about was to make enough tips for rent, and if I could walk home in the weather. “I know you want to help me. But as you stood there, with a face stripped of emotion, I froze. It’s as if you'd triggered something inside me where I feel like it’s happening all over again, as if I was taken back in time.”
Ilias closed the distance between us while I tried holding the tears that acted on their own. “I can’t get it out of my head, Novak. I’m just stuck in this alternate space in time, where my body is trapped in the present, but my mind and soul were left in the past.”
I felt his warm touch on my cheek bringing me back to reality. His thumb ran under my eyes, and wetness smeared as he stroked it away. I kept my eyes tranced to his as their color did what I searched for, comfort, grounding.
“I can’t believe I missed it,” he said, brushing my hair away from my face. Worry came over me, realizing the beginning of my scar could be seen if he just titled my head slightly to the side. Maybe he already did, but as his eyes continued looking over mine, I doubted he had.
“Missed what?”
“You suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder.”
What?
“I’m sorry, I would’ve approached self-defense in a different way than this if I had known. You hardly know me, and we should work on other things like your sleeping patterns and panic attacks before even starting.”
Panic attacks?
“Wait, Novak.” I pulled back to get a clear look at him. His hand slid slowly off me and went straight to his hair, combing it back and leaving it at the nape of his neck. His biceps jumped with the movements, distracting me, but I managed to continue, “You are not making any sense. Slow down.”
“Really? Because I can see everything so clearly.” Pity filled his irises, and I detested the sight.
“Don’t. Just, don’t look at me that way.”
“I just pushed you so hard,” he murmured.
“Don’t!” I shouted. My palm hit his chest with each sentence spoken. “Don’t treat me differently. Don’t look at me with pity. And don’t ever feel sorry for me. Just don’t, because I don’t have PTSD, nor do I suffer from panic attacks.”
Ilias covered my hand with his. “Don’t be in denial.” My lips thinned as anger swarmed my veins, burning through its path, ready to lash out. “You do, Davina,” he tried again without pity. “You’ve become numb, yet at times you feel too much to the point something as natural as breathing becomes a hurdle. You are scared every minute you are awake, and even in your sleep. You don’t want to think about it, so you suppress it. But no matter how hard you try, it’s always there, mocking you to the point of illness.”
“So, what?” I sneered.
“So, do you want to cope, or keep hiding and living in fear?” He extended his arms, waiting for an answer.
“I just want to sleep.” I closed my eyes, dropping my head backward and letting a loud sigh into the air.
“Then sleep it is.” I could hear the smile in his voice. And I wasn’t wrong.
