Blindsided

I'm at the table of one of my favorite cafés in the city, waiting for Haider to show up when I remember that I dreamt about the accident this morning. The realization startles me a little and even though I still don't remember any details , the fact that I remember enough to recognize the scene is unsettling. It's been years since that night and I only remember bits and pieces. Most of what I know was told to me by somebody else; Emma, Haider, the cops. It seems like everyone knows more about one of the most important nights of my life than I do.

I blow out a breath and watch the rainy city as it bustles on through the big glass window beside me. Haider's late, but that's not unusual. At least, I think it's not. He's the captain of the police force in this district, which means he's always really busy. I don't mind, I love spending time with him because he's the closest I come to spending time with my dad. My dad and Haider were best friends before everything went to hell in a handbasket. They'd worked their way through the academy together and were partners until dad got a promotion to captain. They stayed close for the remainder of dad's life but he wasn't even captain for a year before the accident. Haider took over his position a few weeks later. That's when the lunch dates started. He thought I'd be upset or think he was being opportunistic about dad's death. I didn't think that. To be fair, I didn't think much of anything at the time.

I've been much better since then, but those initial days are a blur of panic attacks, wandering around aimlessly, not remembering how I got to wherever it is I woke up in the morning. That's actually how I found this café. I stumbled on here one morning not knowing where I was and the waitress working the early shift just about burst a vein at my helplessness. I found the place charming with it's vintage look and the relaxed atmosphere. I guess it just made feel safe in a way that I'd taken for granted up until that point.

The legs of the chair opposite me drag against the tiles floor as Haider pulls it out. Shrugging off his coat and shakes his hair out as I watch. His dark brown hair is soaked through from the rain and looks like ink spilling across his forehead. He glances over at me with eyes that are just as dark but bright with kindness and smiles that familiar smile that warms a dark, cold place inside me. "Hey, sweetie. How've you been?" he asks.

"Hi, I've been doing good." I can tell he doesn't buy it. I wonder if Emma told him about the nightmares that have been getting worse recently. "How's things at the precinct?" it's a lame attempt at diversion. We both know it but he takes mercy on my poor socially awkward soul and smiles before launching into a lively story about a kitchen mishap involving three of his detectives, a microwave, and some type of fish soup. His animated hand gestures and soothing baritone make it hard for me to not get caught up in his story and I find myself relaxing for the first time in a week. This is why I love spending time with Haider, he always makes me feel at ease. I think it might be the dad in him that can sense a kid who needs a good laugh.

Were halfway through lunch, both of us munching happily on hamburgers and fries. He's been telling me more outrageous stories about the precinct and it always surprises me that the people entrusted with our safety can be so silly and childish. He's asked about my work too, I know he mostly does it to be sure I'm coping. But I happily tell him all the details of the stories I'm currently working on writing and the investigations I'm in the middle of. I even tease him about sharing confidential details about cases just to help out an journalist old friend and he gives me his unimpressed dad face.

I'm just dipping a french fry in my chocolate milkshake when Haider clears his throat in that sort of uncomfortable way he does that reminds me of the time he caught me making out with a boy. I look up immediately on my guard, he's not looking at me. He's watching the waitress as she weaves through the tables, her white apron smeared with mustard and her red hair a little wild in its ponytail. He's chewing his lip in what I know is his 'deep in thought' face.

Instantly, I start thinking of worst case scenarios. Is he about to tell me he's moving away and we'll never see each other again. Did he find out he has a terminal illness, did they finally find the guy responsible for my family's accident? No, I think, that last one probably isn't what's got him so tied up in knots. They closed that case years ago,. Apparently, having a mentally unstable child as the only witness who says it wasn't an accident isn't enough to keep a case open or expend valuable police resources chasing whims. Before my mind spirals, I ask "what's wrong?"

His reaction does nothing to soothe my nerves. In fact, his face closes off even more and he looks almost like he's in actual physical pain from what he's about to tell me. Maybe my terminal illness theory isn't that far off after all. I reach across the table and place my hand over his, and he visibly startles at the contact. "What's going on, Haider?"

He exhales a huge breath, his shoulders deflating. He suddenly looks so much older, warier. I remember dad looking exactly this way right before his death. He always said the job took a lot out of him, added years to his life. He enjoyed it far too much to walk away though. It was his life's work and he was more proud than anything else. Even if he'd looked as though he'd aged twenty years in the space of a few months. Haider definitely has that same exhaustion written into the lines of his face. His forehead creases with the weight of problems I'm not sure I could comprehend, and the lines around his eyes crinkle just a little deeper than they used to. I don't know why I didn't notice before but even his raven hair is streaked through with grey at both his temples. He looks older, more troubled and it breaks my heart a little. He's now older than dad will ever be but the reminder of his age also, serves as a reminder of his mortality. I won't always have Haider and that's a sobering thought.

He gives another sigh and says ; "I know you've been having a hard time recently sweetie." I'm about to deny it before I think better of it. He probably asked Emma before broaching the subject with me. It's a little irritating to be treated like something so fragile but I understand that it comes from a good place. They both care so much about me, it's not their fault I'm insane. He gives me a look that I know means he's not about to listen to any of my excuses and I promptly shut up. "The last thing I want to do is add on or make this more difficult for you." My mind whirls a thousand miles a minute and something in my chest squeezes painfully tight at his words.

"I'm not as breakable as you seem to think, Haider." It comes out with a little more bite than I intend, "I won't crumble if you give me a little bad news."

"I know that, and I'm not trying to imply that I think you're weak," he raises his hands in a placating gesture that has the exact opposite effect on me. He seems to realize it too, and puts his hands down. "It's just," he hesitates and that pause has my danger sensors beeping at deafening levels, my brain screams with a million possibilities."You've just been doing so well these last few years, and you're in a good place right now, nightmares aside. I really just don't want to mess that up."

"How could you possibly mess that up?"

I know whatever's going to come out of his mouth next is going to send my world careening off its axis. Dread uncoils deep in my gut. My hearts racing again, so fast I'm not even sure I can make out individual beats but I'm convinced he can hear it all the way across the table. My ears are ringing, and that's the only reason I'm sure I've misheard what he says next. I could've sworn he said-

"Dastan's coming back to the city."