Chapter 11
Eleven
Emory
Enoch was the only thing on my mind as I tried to go about my daily routine of work, sleep, repeat.
As I tried and failed, again and again, to stop using him as a crutch when I had a nightmare, when I had the itch to feel something good and punish myself afterwards.
Only now, I didn’t have to simply imagine he was there, I could reread the text messages he’d been sending me since we parted ways on Sunday.
I was stalling just like Bradley. Delaying the moment I’d have to own up, have to see his broken face again, have to potentially watch him cry again, or hear him shout at me, cut me deeper than I ever had with his words.
And he’d be right, whatever mean things he said, because I was an idiot.
A selfish fucking idiot who couldn’t move on.
And I was sick for being relieved that he hadn’t moved on either.
That in the years apart he hadn’t buried me for good.
That he still carried the good parts of me that I’d left with him.
By the third day, I felt like I was on a never-ending carousel ride of anxiety. At a weak point, I called my therapist back. I just needed a third-party to tell me to knock it the fuck off and rip the Band-Aid off.
The cold air and the scent of her oil diffuser was making me want to walk right back out, but she had a damn bell on her door, and she walked into her waiting area the second it rang out my entrance.
“Emory,” Sarah said on an exhale, with a smile. “I’m so happy you’re here. Come in.”
I let out a sigh of my own, clutching my keys in my fist, debating turning on my heel. She swept her arm out in a motion for me to step into her office, and I caved.
I am not weak.
I repeated the mantra as I stepped inside, the smell even stronger, and plopped down onto the couch. I grabbed a pillow, hugging it to my chest, and waited for her to sit down opposite me in her armchair.
“So, I take it you’re officially staying in Anchorage?” she asked with a small smile, her legs crossing as she adjusted her position in her seat.
“Sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
I rolled my eyes, not bothering to do it subtly. “It means I’m officially fucked if my past tries to murder me because I’m out of Bradley’s hair. And I still haven’t decided if I’m actually going to stick around for that to happen. I…”
She nodded, her gaze lingering on my face like she always did when she wanted me to keep talking. I swear her eyes always made me spill without my consent.
She nodded again, the hush of her sound machine outside the door filling the silence.
“I’m scared.”
She hummed in sympathy. “I can imagine it would be scary with all the changes that are happening.”
I rolled my eyes again. Why the fuck am I here again?
“No, I’m just a coward who’d rather disappear permanently than apologize.”
“So, you still think you should commit suicide?”
“No more than usual,” I mumbled.
“And what does that mean?”
“It means, I haven’t killed myself yet, and I don’t have any plans to do so in the next hour. But who knows? The day isn’t over yet.”
She chuckled softly and nodded. “Good. Why don’t we talk about what exactly you’re afraid of? Who do you need to apologize to?”
I sighed, leaning back into the couch as I focused on twirling the tassel around my finger. A tense minute of finding some courage passed. “Enoch.”
“And why is that scary?”
I chewed my lip, trying to find the words and push them out of my mouth. It always felt like trying to talk underwater when I met with Sarah. Unnatural. Like I wasn’t supposed to be sharing myself with her, with anyone really.
“Because of what will happen when Enoch finds out what I did.”
She hummed again and I clenched my jaw. Her nonverbal responses made me believe she was mentally rolling her eyes at me. Like she didn’t have any words to give me because I was pathetic.
“You think he’ll judge you?”
I shrugged. “He always says his feelings will never change for me, no matter what. But there has to be a line. Right? Like, there has to be a line that I could cross at some point to stop deserving him. And I know I already crossed that line. He just doesn’t know it.
And when he finds out, it’s going to crush him all over again and I don’t know if I can take the guilt.
If I can take hurting him again. At what point do I just give up?
Is clearing my conscience selfish when being honest might hurt him worse than leaving him to believe the lies? ”
The silence dragged on, and I finally looked up to find her already looking at me. I huffed.
“You’re catastrophizing," she said plainly.
I narrowed my eyes. “It’s not unrealistic to think that he would be upset to know he fell in love with someone who’s committed multiple felonies.”
She tilted her head, like me spilling that fact was intriguing. She reached for her coffee cup on the small table beside her and took a sip.
“You’ve never talked about that before. What I’m hearing you say is that you’re holding a lot of guilt over your past actions. And you’re using that guilt to make assumptions about what other people, specifically Enoch, will think of you.”
She sipped her coffee for a few more silent moments before really digging in. “Enoch’s opinion of you seems to hold a lot of weight for you. Why is that?”
“It’s not that I care. It’s that he cares.
About me. And with what he knows, with everything I’ve never told him, he’s painted this picture of me that isn’t accurate.
I don’t want to disappoint him, I just…I need to take responsibility for my actions and make amends, because as much as he says he already forgives me, it’s not real.
It can’t be. Not when I haven’t actually confessed to everything I’ve done. ”
“Why are you worried about disappointing him if you don’t care?”
I huffed. “I don’t care. I just…I’m selfish and I want to pretend like I’m forgiven. Pretend like I deserve to have him in my life. Pretend like we could be happy together. Pretend like we have a chance at a future.”
“And you don’t deserve him because…?” She took another sip of her coffee, and I tugged on the pillow tassel.
“Keep up, Sarah. You’re well aware that WITSEC is in the business of protecting and relocating criminals. Just because I was going to testify against some other criminals, that doesn’t negate the fact that I too was a criminal.”
She narrowed her eyes like she was trying to sort out some puzzle.
“It’s not that complicated, Sarah. I’m not a good person.
I’ve done some really fucked-up things and I’m an even shittier person because I’ve been willfully dishonest about the shit I’ve done.
My whole identity is a lie, and until now I’ve been fine with keeping my past a secret.
But I can’t continue to lie to him. Not after everything I put him through.
Not knowing how horrible my actions affected him.
Not when he’s giving me forgiveness when I don’t even deserve it. ”
“That seems pretty black and white, then. You made mistakes and now you’re permanently a shitty person? You can never change?”
“Pretty much,” I shrugged.
“Hm. So, Enoch’s never made mistakes?”
She smiled, like she’d caught me in my own web of misguided thinking.
“I wouldn’t classify my wrongdoings as ‘mistakes’,” I deadpanned. “You’re making it sound like I accidentally spilled some coffee on his lap. I committed felonies. My moral compass was nonexistent for a while.”
She pointed her finger at me, with an a-ha expression.
“See, right there. You just said, ‘for a while’. So, you’re saying you have a moral compass now, but you didn’t while you were committing the crimes?”
I shook my head with frustration. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I think for you the scales are black and white. But you’re willing to give everyone else the benefit of the doubt.”
“It’s not a benefit of the doubt. You think that a murderer deserves to be roaming the streets on the loose?”
Her brows rose and I realized I had just implied that I was a murderer. I’d never confessed any crimes to her. I’d never wanted to, even if I had been allowed; it was easier to live the lie I was selling to everyone else if I never talked about the past.
She sighed, setting her coffee down. “Let’s go back to what you said earlier.
You said that you were a bad person for being selfish.
Because you didn’t want to be honest with him.
It’s clear that you do have a moral compass.
You have guilt over your actions. You feel remorse.
And you’re worried about hurting someone that you care about.
Those all point to traits of a good person.
Someone with an intact, functioning moral compass.
You’re empathetic, you’re self-aware and reflective…
I don’t see how any of that makes you a bad person. ”
I opened my mouth to protest, but she held up a finger, silencing me.
“It’s in our nature to want to protect ourselves.
It’s natural to want to hide things that we are ashamed of.
And that does not make you a bad person, Emory.
Look, we could go round and round all day, but until you decide whether or not to be honest with Enoch about your past mistakes, you will never know how he will react. ”
I closed my eyes, letting my head hit the back of the couch.
“So, you’re telling me to just grow a pair and tell him already?”
“Tell him, or don’t tell him. I can’t tell you what to do. But you’re clearly wanting to tell him. So, put yourself out of your own misery and just do it. His reaction is not your responsibility. And I’ll be here to help you get through whatever the aftermath looks like. Negative or positive.”
I groaned. “Fuck. I don’t want it to be over yet though. It’s, like, why can’t I just have a few moments of good? I mean, I know I don’t deserve it, after everything, you know? Well, I guess you don’t. You don’t know what I’ve done. But…”
“Over? As in your relationship or your life?”