Chapter 21 Our Story Cara
EMMETT HAS ALWAYS TOLD ME that the quiet confidence he exudes comes from the pride he feels at being with me.
That at my side, he feels capable of conquering anything.
Unstoppable. But as he slings the bags over his shoulder in our garage, tows me behind him and into the house, as he lets go of my hand and moves about like life as we know it isn’t suffocating us, I’m not sure that’s true.
Being with me, right here, right now, can’t possibly be bringing him anything but fear and heartache.
And yet he looks like he doesn’t have a worry in the world as he tucks our things into the closet while my hands start to tremble again.
“I’ll make you a tea.” His hand fits itself into the curve of my back, his lips warm on my cheek as he passes me by, heading for the kitchen.
Tentative steps carry me forward, toward the glow of the twinkling lights in the living room. They steal the rain-soaked darkness, followed by the breath from my lungs, when I step into a space that feels every bit like home.
Yesterday, I came home to Santa’s workshop in our living room; Emmett’s attempt at luring me into the Christmas spirit, making me feel like me again.
Today, beyond the ornaments, the Christmas tree I had no hand in decorating, the mistletoe strung every five feet like some sort of minefield I have to maneuver through gracefully and strategically if I ever want to come up for air again… is our story.
Photo upon photo, strung up across the living room from one beam to the next, strings of lights hanging between them like icicles, illuminating the tiny messages dangling below each one.
Heat overwhelms me, pooling in my cheeks as blood pounds in my ears.
I step closer, up to the first photo: me in a red dress, laughing into a glass of red wine, another glass dangling from my fingertips, this one filled with Skittles and M all I saw was my whole world standing in our kitchen. We moved in five weeks later.
“This too. Another one of you crying. Know why you’re crying here, in your wedding dress?
Not ’cause we just got married. Nah. You’re crying because my best friend is proposing to yours, and nothing made you happier than being able to give them that.
Most people wouldn’t dream of letting someone else propose at their wedding.
Not you, Care. All that matters to you, really, is that the people you love are happy. ”
He grabs another picture, his hand quivering when he shows it to me.
“And this. This was the night we met my parents. Five minutes before this, my mom made some snarky comment about how I abandoned my family for a hobby. You wrinkled your nose and said, What an odd thing to say about your son chasing his dreams and succeeding, when most people don’t even have the courage to dream.
Nobody has ever stood up to my mom for me before, but you did, because you always fight for your people.
Don’t you, Care? Always fighting for the people you love.
So why aren’t you fighting for yourself right now? ”
“I… I…” I swipe angrily at my tears, stomping a foot.
“That’s not fair! I fought! I fought so fucking hard, Emmett, and I’m so fucking tired!
” Pain sears through my chest, and I clutch at my heart as I break myself wide open against my will, showing him everything.
The sacrifices I’ve made, the strength turned to weakness, all the blood I’ve bled fighting like hell just to hang on.
Pieces of myself I’ll never get back. Doesn’t he understand?
With flooded eyes, my fists find his shirt, hanging on for dear life as I sob.
“I’m so fucking tired of fighting, Emmett.
I’m tired of being strong. I don’t want to be brave anymore.
Haven’t I been brave enough? Strong enough?
Haven’t I fought long enough?” I hang my head as my cries wrack my body, shaking every inch of me to my core.
“Please, Emmett. I’m so tired. I can’t do it anymore. ”
Strong arms wind around me, hauling me into a home I’ve never wanted to leave. His fingers tangle in my hair as he holds me close, my face tucked into his neck, soaking his warm skin as I clutch at his shoulders and cry, feeling the way he shakes right along with me.
“I know, baby. I know. So let me do it for you. Let me be the strong one. Let me be brave. Let me fight, Cara. I’ll fight for you every damn day, until I take my last breath, and after that? After that I’ll find a way to keep fighting. You’re not alone, Cara.”
“Then why does it feel like it? Because it does. It feels like I’ve been shoved on a goddamn raft and forced out to sea to fend for myself.
I can’t keep my fucking head above water anymore, Emmett.
” I shove away from him, struggling to breathe through the cries that seize my throat, strangling me.
“Look at me. Look at me. I’m fucking drowning.
” I spin away from him, gripping my hair in my fists the way I wish I could hang on to my sanity right now.
Because the way he’s looking at me? Like he’s at my funeral, staring down at my corpse, at a woman who will never exist again in this lifetime? I can’t be responsible for that look.