Chapter 40
FORTY
Spring feels different this year. In the before, it was a season of anticipation; hoping and praying that something was coming for me that would force my life to finally begin.
No, I hadn’t imagined it would come in the form of a dark-haired man with a penchant for violence and his trigger-happy cousin, but life can be strange that way.
Molly curls her way around my fingers as I sit at the top of the stairs, trying to catch my bearings as the dulled voices carry up from the meeting room.
They’re talking about you.
True, but this time they’re not discussing how my presence is bringing trouble to the organization, they’re deciding if they’ll allow me to help them.
The idea keeps slipping its way into my thoughts, enough that I brought it up to Amy. Our sessions have proven vital to keeping me focused, pushing myself to keep trying to make progress, even when I don't feel like it. Especially then.
It has started as the wisp of an idea about how I could make Noah’s life easier. Considering which skills I might have that would let me contribute to the work he does. Then it kind of snowballed, until the possibility of me working for Mercy emerged.
Not in the…murderous way. For now, killing one man is enough, and he still comes to haunt me in my dreams. The only thing that pulls me back from the nightmares is Noah’s voice whispering in my ear about how strong I was to save myself. That it was a monster whose life I took, not a man’s.
Still, my fingers itch to wrap around Eric’s neck, to watch the light ebb out of those eyes I’d once fawned over.
If there was anyone I could snuff the life out of without feeling too bad about it, it’s him.
Noah promises me that he’s kept Bundy and Eric uncomfortably alive for the day I’m ready to see them.
I don’t want to do it alone. Whenever Bo returns to me, that’s something we will do together.
He deserves it just as much as I do, more if I’m being honest. Maybe I’ll watch, and that would be enough.
Being held hostage with Bo has shown me a side of him I didn’t know existed, and somehow that fearless fighter fits him just as well as the playful lover, the loyal friend.
I think Jesse and I both would love to see Bo flecked with the blood of the men who hurt him.
Blinking away that rising fury, I remind myself that will come in time.
I have no doubt Jesse will bring him back to me.
I’m healing enough through therapy to stitch the edges of myself back to a rough version of myself.
Kind of like a ragdoll. I don’t think that will work for Bo right now.
Maybe his healing comes through blood and pain, and that’s okay too.
I digress. My mind floats around these days, not quite as steady as it was before.
Oh, yes. The idea of me somehow helping the other survivors…
The vast majority of the time, Mercy takes simpler, one-and-done jobs, where a man has used his sway in the world to take advantage of someone else, and these men make sure they get their justice.
But sometimes, the jobs are larger and the survivors are numerous, like they were with mine.
As life starts to seep back into my bones, I want to see them.
I want to be on this journey with them while they pick up the pieces.
That, I could do. I could love the somber reaper of a man that harvests the worst souls among us and try to make my own mark by helping the people that have been hurt. We compliment each other that way, the sun and the moon. Light and Dark.
The Angel and her Shadow, Noah would say.
It’s a tad easier not to spiral over it thanks to the new prescription Amy started me on. It’s not overwhelming, just enough to help temper the anxiety while we work on my nightmares.
Molly bumps her head against my fingers, and I smile for a moment before my eyes catch Jesse’s door.
I miss him. It’s surprising, actually, how much his absence is still felt every day, though it’s been months.
Noah and I have fallen into a rhythm here, him starting to pick back up his work with Mercy now that he sees the progress I’m making.
I have the chance to rediscover what I like and what comes next for me.
Some days, that looks like hiding in bed, waiting for the storm inside my head to pass, but sometimes it’s asking questions about Mercy; the inner workings and how it operates. Trying to decide how I fit.
Sometimes I just paint, and read, and touch because all of it is starting to feel good again.
But it doesn’t quite replace the hole in our lives, the wound with aching edges left by Bo taking off and only made worse when Jesse left to follow him.
We knew he would, of course, there was no stopping him from keeping his distance once he knew where Bo was hiding.
The calls let us know he’s okay and that he’s giving Bo his space.
I ask him when he’s coming home and he tells me he can’t. He’s watching over Bo even if he doesn't realize he’s there. It’s very much on brand for the stalker in Jesse’s soul.
So that’s a bit of an open-ended issue.
The scrape of chairs on the wooden floorboards alerts me and Molly to the end of the meeting and she darts off to watch from her hiding spot behind the Monstera plant she loves.
Noah appears at the bottom of the stairs, looking up as if he knew I’d be waiting here. “You ready?”
I nod, tongue darting out to wet my lips. He watches as I make my way down, placing his hand over where mine rests on the banister once I reach him. “One to ten?”
After harassing Amy for ways he could help me get my PTSD under control, we came up with this easy way for him to gauge where my head’s at. One to ten. ‘Okay’ to ‘about to lose it’.
“Mmm,” I consider, because if I rush my answer he scolds me for not taking it seriously. “Three.”
“Good,” he murmurs, pausing for a slow, languid kiss. “Because they’re ready for you.” He smiles against my lips, and I shiver at the way his tongue flicks along my bottom lip. It holds promise for later, when we have the cabin to ourselves again.
They’re ready for you.
I step off the stairs, ready to lay the foundation for whatever comes next. Purpose, meaning. I’m ready for it, even if it reignites the pain of what’s happened. Even though it will lift the barrier Noah has firmly placed between me and the evil still operating in the world.
It’s not his sheltered peace that I want. It’s to help. To save. I’ll do it for me, and for the parts of Bo he might never get back.
His hand grips mine, squeezing as I knock on the propped-open wooden door.
“I’m ready,” I say, nervous, but that’s okay because sometimes taking the next step isn’t easy.
Sometimes it’s terrifying to put trust back in the universe when it fucks over.
But I’m loved so roughly by the man at my side that it’s a little less scary to try and make my life something I like again.
I’m finding that this path I’m on with Noah is somehow broken and beautiful and full of hope, all at once.
Just like me.