Page 22 of Veiled in Brick

The night prior was a lazier one and I had foregone my contacts, opting for my glasses instead. My vision blurry, I reached out around myself in an attempt to find them. I assumed Liam had either removed them for me, or they had fallen off of my face and onto the floor as I slept. I patted my hands out this way and that, and eventually found the thick, black frames neatly deposited on the side table that was situated behind my head.

Upon hearing the odd, almost mewling noise again, I rushed to get my glasses on my face and sat up to witness the world around me. Though still dark, I could make out the layout of his apartment from the lighting in his kitchen to my left—it glowed from the underside of his cabinets, shining off the black marble of the island. The circular kitchen table was directly in front of where I sat, a large clock ticking away hung up on the wall behind it. Silence permeated the room with the exception of the ticking, and I began to wonder if I had dreamed the sound in the first place. I laid myself back against the throw pillow that sat against the armrest, just beginning to close my eyes, when the noise sounded again.

It was louder this time. Clearer. A deep, gravelly, groaning cry that I couldn’t stand to ignore. I sat bolt upright, listening intently once again, and not seconds later, another iteration of it reached my ears. It was so loud this time that I could place that it was coming from Liam’s bedroom beyond the kitchen table, and though I wondered for a moment if it were even my place to be considering if I should be checking in on this man, I stood slowly and began to walk toward the sound that had woken me.

His door was ajar. Liam laid face up in the middle of his bed, his t-shirt along with all of his blankets having been thrown on the ground. The moonlight that shined through his window glinted off of his heavily muscled chest, illuminating the light sheen of sweat that engulfed his body. His breaths were quick and shallow. I froze in his doorway, watching as he approached hyperventilation, unsure of what I should do. Though I knew that I was welcome in his apartment, this was clearly bordering—or, perhaps, was already leaps and bounds beyond—an intrusion of privacy. Liam’s body writhed in agony as he made the same guttural cry, contorting into the fetal position as if to protect himself from an onslaught of an attack. An immediate, subsequent scream was muffled by the pillow that he buried his face in, and the thought of giving him privacy when he looked so tormented was long gone.

I made my way straight to his bedside, crouching down to call out to him quietly, “Liam?” He groaned again, this time his face pinching in what looked like pain. I reached out to touch his shoulder and left it there, his damp, clammy skin beneath my fingertips. “Liam?” His loud breaths quickened even further as he let out yet another anguished moan, and I shook him roughly in an attempt to wake him. “Liam!”

Liam’s eyes shot open, frantic, and I heard him mumble something that sounded like, “Stop, stop.” He sat up quickly then, his legs kicking out to push himself away from me but finding little traction on the sheets beneath him. Before I could even remove my hand from his shoulder, he snapped, “Don’t touch me!”

I held up my hands in defense, feeling my eyes widen from the shock of seeing Liam in such a state. One of his hands laid on his chest as he tried to catch his breath. His dark eyes scanned the room and landed on me, but he said nothing else. His face looked like his mind was in a different world—one that he desperately wanted to escape from, but couldn’t. He continued breathing deeply, in through his nose and out through his mouth.

I tried to apologize, “I’m so sorry—”

He gritted out, “Fuck!”

I wanted to continue apologizing for waking him, but I found myself speechless. Wordless mutterings came out of my mouth, but I ultimately said nothing. I slowly lowered my hands as I realized that they were still held up by my shoulders in shock.

Liam shook his head, asking gruffly, “What are you doing in here?”

“Um,” I hesitated, “I heard you from the couch…I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Liam remained silent, placing his hands behind his neck, hanging his head down between his knees as he continued to breathe methodically in, and out. “Which, you’re not,” I emphasized, feeling my initial worry for him amplify. He kept his gaze singled out on a particular point between his legs, unmoving. “Liam?”

“I’m, ah,” he responded, his voice almost cracking, “I’m fine, Zoey.” He cleared his throat roughly.

“Okay,” I replied softly. “You’re not fine, though—do you want a glass of water or something?”

Nervous flutters bubbled throughout my chest with my offering, and he shook his head rapidly in response.

“Look, this is kind of embarrassing,” he told me quickly. “Can you go?”

I stayed stuck in place, like there was a gravitational pull keeping me to that exact spot. My mind chastised me, ‘The man told you to go, just go!’ I chose not to listen to my mind, however, and I squared my body toward his.

“You really don’t look like you should be alone right now,” I noted, trying to keep my voice as gentle as possible.

Liam looked at me, eyes still holding a strain to them.

“Zoey—”

“Honestly, Liam,” I cut him off, “you’re not gonna be able to make me leave.”

If it had appeared that he legitimately wanted me to give him space, I would have done so. I would have walked right out of his apartment and back to my own to give him the rest of the night and check in with him in the morning, awkward as that may have been. It was clear, though, that his request was the opposite of what he yearned for. He had spoken not with conviction, but with a quiet shame that was, possibly, attempting to give me the option to leave. So, instead, I stood my ground cautiously, awaiting his response.

He sat quietly for a moment, curling himself back up into the position he was in before: back against the wall, head resting against his bent knees. I waited patiently until he leaned his head back, thudding it against the drywall, and turned his eyes to me. His left leg shook anxiously now, bobbing up and down quickly, while the rest of his body remained still. Liam sighed loudly and ran a hand through his damp hair, making it brush back and stick awkwardly behind his ears.

He asked me softly, “You’re really not leaving?” I shook my head and, almost quieter than the sentence before, he said, “I’ll take that water, then.”

I spun on my heel to move swiftly to his kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water from his fridge. I returned no more than a few seconds later, extending my arm with the glass to him, and he grabbed it from me without a word. He downed it all in a matter of two gulps and set it on the nightstand beside him, flickering his eyes to me in a silent thank you before focusing on the empty space between his legs once again.

“You okay?” I questioned, and he shrugged a naked shoulder at me.

He replied grimly, “Prolly fuckin’ not, you can ask my therapist that.”

“You have a therapist?”

I had an inkling that Liam had a darkness to him. I didn’t know what it was, of course, but knowing that he simply seemed to need a friend had drawn me to him initially. He was a happy man, though. A human incarnate of a golden retriever, at best. A cocky ray of sunshine. Though I knew that there was a story behind him that I had yet to uncover, hearing that he needed a therapist for whatever reason was mind-boggling. Liam shook his head at my inquiry.

“Not anymore. Stopped going. Guy was a prick.”

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