**Chapter 7**

***Aria's POV***

My mom dropped me off at the Brew, promising to be back in half an hour or she could be back right away if I called her. I gave her a smile, assuring her that I would be fine and that she needn't worry.

I braced myself as I moved towards the entrance, already able to feel eyes on me. I squared my shoulders and took a deep, bracing breath before going inside. The line wasn't too long, so I only had to wait a few minutes before getting my mocha. I found a couch over by one of the corners which was empty and let me keep an eye not only on the coffee counter but also on the door. After a few moments, Ezra came over to me, sitting down in the chair next to my couch.

"I see you're out and about today." He began, eyes wandering over my face. "You look better."

My hand instinctively fluttered up, hovering over the make-up disguised bruises on my throat. Maybe that cover up worked better than I had thought it did.

"Did I ever thank you for saving my life?" I questioned, lowering my hand to fiddle with my mug and directing the conversation away from my injuries.

"Verbally, yes. I'm still waiting for the thank you card though." He teased with a slight laugh.

I smiled, glad to hear that he was able to joke about what had happened now as well. "Still trying to find the right one. I'm thinking something with kittens."

He laughed lightly before his face turned serious and the previous levity disappeared. "I know this is an overly simplistic question. I was only down there for a few minutes and you were down there for a lot longer. But. Are you okay?"

My smile slipped off my face, though I was quick to replace it, I could only muster a watery attempt. This was how I didn't want this conversation to go, that everyone would be caught up in my imprisonment and that's all they would focus on. How did anyone expect me to push away from this when that's what they brought up?
"I'll be fine." I replied, not wanting to get upset with Ezra. He had been my emotional support for so long and I knew that he was just trying to take care of me. But at the same time I didn't want everyone to treat me like a porcelain doll. I shivered unconsciously at the thought.

"Just make sure to check in with yourself." He suggested. "You have an advantage here over most people in that you can write about this."

I stiffened at the suggestion, immediately shutting it down in my mind before any other memories could rise up and fill me.

"I won't be doing that." I said, turning slightly away from him, looking around the room to check on where everyone was in relation to me.

"Not for public consumption. Just to write it down for you." He backtracked quickly, not wanting me to get the wrong idea about his suggestion.

"I've thought about it and I don't want to do that. I don't want to own it. I don't want to memorialize it. I don't want to think about it being in some diary. I want to forget about it. I want a solid wall between before and after." I snapped back, unable to stop my reaction. I knew that he was just trying to be helpful, but he didn't understand what he was suggesting. I knew it stemmed from him not knowing what had happened. But when it came down to it, he didn't understand. He couldn't understand.

"Well, if you're sure." He said hesitantly.

"I am sure." I immediately responded.

He gave a sigh when I looked away again, keeping an eye on the door. I was itching to get out of here, my nerves shredding from the overwhelming conversations that were bubbling up from around the room. The conversation I had with Ezra was setting me on edge as well. It hadn't even been twenty minutes, but I was anxiously hoping my mom would walk through the door. I was so fixated on watching the door that I didn't see Ezra reaching out to me.

A hand grabbed my knee and a scream tore through my throat as I dropped my mug against the floor and pulled backwards. My eyes had closed at the touch, afraid of the strike that would come from making a sound. But when no pain came, I peeked my eyes open. Ezra sat in front of me, his hand retracted and an expression of regret and fear clear on his face. There was no sound in the coffee shop, as everyone had seen my overreaction and they were all watching me. I couldn't say a word, all sound locked in my throat. I grabbed my purse and ran for the door, ignoring Ezra's devastated face, the mess of mocha on the ground, and the stares of all the patrons. My chest tightened and tears were burning at my eyes by the time that I made it out of the door and made a run for the car. I threw the door open and managed to get the door closed before the sobs tore from my chest.

I wrapped my arms around my torso, feeling as though I was freezing even though it was warm today and I was wearing a sweater. Dropping my purse on the floor in front of me, I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face against the coarse fabric of my jeans.

Eventually, the door opened and my mother found me curled in a ball on the front seat of her car, bawling my eyes out and gasping for air. She climbed in, holding me as best as she could given the gap between the two seats. I calmed down after a few minutes of her holding me and rubbing my back. I cranked the heater on the way home and ignored the strange look she gave me, instead turning the vents so that they blew on me and not her. The car ride was silent and felt incredibly long, but she didn't ask what had happened and I didn't offer an explanation.

I took a shower as soon as we got back to the house, needing to feel the heat encase my body. I broke down crying again while standing beneath the scalding hot spray, feeling for all the world broken, sinking down to the bottom of the tub and wrapping my arms around my knees. It wasn't until the water had started to cool that I turned off the faucet and dressed in my pajama pants, tank top, and hoodie. I padded back into my room, not bothering to apply the concealer and pulled on my fuzzy socks before climbing under the covers.

I stayed curled under my comforter for a while, not doing anything just trying to get heat back into my freezing body. I finally got out from under the covers after about half an hour, moving over to the window to go back to sketching. I scrapped the last sketch that I had done, annoyed at the dark mark marring the page, so I flipped over to a new page and picked a different tree out in the yard to sketch today. My mind began to wander as I drew, slipping to my friends and how I hadn't spoken to them since the hospital. I kept working on the sketch and didn't realize that I was crying until a tear dropped onto the sketch pad, landing on one of the lines and spreading the graphite to the edges of the splash-mark. I kept drawing and kept crying, watching as the tear drops fell on the tree, making it look like rain was washing it away. I finished the tree that I wanted to draw and pulled back to look at it. It wasn't perfect, but it seemed pretty enough.

**End Chapter**