Chapter 11 #3
“It’ll take them a while to repair the phone lines and sort all the other stuff.
Your car’s still stuck. I think the best course of action would be for me to go to one of the neighbors.
This young couple livin’ not far from here has a satellite phone.
The husband is really protective of his wife and their kid, so he’s got it for emergencies. I can use it to call in a tow truck.”
Turns out Rus already has an entire plan worked out about how to get me out of here and everything.
I shake my head at the stupid, childish disappointment I feel. Why? This is what I wanted, isn’t it? This is how it was always going to end. My life is out there.
And it’s not like I can stay here. Not like I want to.
“Okay,” I say with a nod and put a bite of food in my mouth. It has a bitter aftertaste.
We eat in silence for a while, but I grow more and more uneasy the longer I sense Rus’s thoughtful eyes on me. It makes my stomach clench and my throat close up with each breath, so I nervously cough before glancing up at him.
This isolated universe of care and tenderness will get shattered soon enough. So, for some reason, I feel an irrational urge to take advantage of the safety of it while I can.
I’ve already trauma-dumped plenty to him, so what’s a little more?
It’s probably because of how easy it feels to open up to Rus. And I know that once I leave, I won’t have that anymore.
The words come out of my mouth without a second thought, quiet but firm.
“A few months ago, my boyfriend of three years and I broke up. Guess you could say I broke up with him…after finding him with another alpha in our bed,” I mutter.
Rus raises his brows sharply, but they quickly fall back down into that concerned, pained expression that looks so sweet on him.
“His excuse was that he didn’t feel fulfilled as an omega in our relationship.
That I wasn’t…alpha enough. Among other things. You can imagine what those were…”
“I’m so sorry, Wren.”
I close my eyes and shake my head, jaw tensing. “Then I got the news about my mother’s death. And I…”
That horrible sensation wraps around me again, putting a wall between me and the words on my tongue. I frown, rubbing my forehead, before taking a deep, controlled breath. I want to keep talking. I want to. It’s something I have to do.
Whisper. At least whisper. That works. Sometimes.
Rus watches me, as patient as ever. I remind myself that I’m safe. That he is safe, and that somehow makes it a tiny bit easier.
“I was happy at first. When I heard she was dead, I…I felt vindicated. For a little while, anyway.” Even though each word seems to take me ages to squeeze out, he waits.
“But then, it turned into feeling…hollow. So hollow and horribly empty and…furious at myself for never getting justice. For letting her get away with it. All those years she spent living in peace while I struggled because of what she did. Even if she was sick in the head, even if she might’ve believed it wasn’t wrong, it… ”
My heart palpitates so much that I have to press my hand over my chest. I can’t handle looking at Rus right now, so I stare at the table between us.
I fight—fight with myself, with my brain, my body—to keep talking, no matter how quiet. “I know turning to drugs was my choice. I did that. But…but…what she did will never go away, even when she’s not here, and I…I’ll never be okay.”
Her death didn’t magically heal me or fix me. I knew it wouldn’t, but I still foolishly thought I would wake up one day and be—
Startled at Rus’s touch, I finally meet his eyes again and feel something inside me release. His hand gently brushes over mine with a soft smile before he reaches out and pushes my hair behind my ear.
“You will be okay, Wren.”
I snort, wanting to face away, but he holds my cheek to stop me. People have said that to me before. I said that shit to myself, year after year, always hoping…
“You will find peace. I know you will,” Rus says with a determination in his voice that makes my heart expand like a balloon. But that’s foolish. We’re strangers. “Just reach forward to it and it will come.”
The day I tried to take those pills, all he got was a small taste of how pathetic I can be. He feels pity now, as any compassionate person would. A few more fuckups, a couple more ugly breakdowns, and he’d probably start feeling the same resentment and disgust Felix had.
“Wren, listen to me,” Rus says, looking at me intensely.
His hand moves down to hold mine again, squeezing it.
“There were times after I returned from the service when I felt…different. Or like the world around me was. I couldn’t recognize it or myself, and couldn’t find that comfortable spot where I felt like I belonged.
But nothing ever really changed. It all came down to how I perceived it. ”
Rus pauses with a quiet huff, as if he’s trying to think of something. Then his eyes flash with an idea, right before they become soft and tender again. He tilts his head slightly, smiling at me.
“There was this guy in my unit, yeah? He always gave advice to everyone because he had gone through…a lot, but somehow always kept it together. ‘Remind yourself you’re not at war anymore,’ he’d say.
‘Stop and look around. Remind yourself that there’s no danger.
Only a life to live. And life is exactly the way you decide to perceive it.
You all have that choice.’ Some of the soldiers struggled just to be after coming back.
They struggled hard to find a reason to keep goin’.
And one time I heard him say something that really stuck with me, even though I never dealt with those thoughts myself.
He said, ‘One needs a good reason to choose death, but to live doesn’t need any reason at all. That’s the beauty of it.’”
Tears well up in my eyes. I suck in my lip, holding it between my teeth to hide the quiver.
“I want to believe that,” I whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear. “I…I do.” But how could I, after the things I’ve seen and gone through? After having my face pressed into the grime of rock bottom, how could I ever be free of that stain?
With a memory jolting through me, I screw my eyes shut, as if that’s going to make me stop seeing the image.
“I-I saw him, you know? I…found him,” I blurt, nearly slurring my words because of how fast they come out.
I need to get this out before my brain takes my voice away again.
“M-my dad. When I was nine, I found him. He hu-hung himself in the attic.” My breathing slips out of control when I say that.
Even as Rus squeezes me tighter and makes a gentle ‘shhhh,’ the pain and fear slosh through me.
That was the first crack, I think. The opening blow.
After that, it all just kept getting worse and worse. It was only a matter of time before I would shatter.
“I’ll never know why he did it,” I whimper into his warm embrace.
It makes me feel so safe, the safest I’ve felt in forever, that I somehow have the courage to voice thoughts I never imagined would leave my mouth.
“But I’ve always wondered if I’ll end up the same. Al-always felt l-like I was bound to.”
The same questions come to me over and over and over again… Was it because of her? Was she a monster from the start? Did he know? Or was he just sick and tired and didn’t see a way out?
Why? Why would he leave me behind? Did he not care for me at all, or was he simply beyond saving like I am?
“I see his f-face almost every day. It pops up in my mind randomly, to this day, I—”
Rus pulls me in tighter before wiping away my tears with his thumb.
I rest my face in his large hand and sniffle, trying to compose myself.
When I finally calm down enough to open my eyes, Rus leans in with a gentle kiss.
He plants one on my cheek first, then stares at my lips as if to ask for permission.
I accept, relishing this feeling for as long as I can.
“You’re still here,” he whispers, clutching me tight. “You deserve to be here.”
I wish I could stay here with you.
The thought pushes against my tongue with force, nearly spilling out. I blink, staring at Rus’s handsome face as it echoes in my head, undeniable and strong.
But that’s ridiculous. What a stupid, childish idea.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. Rus lets go of me, holding that understanding, soft expression. “I’m such a fucking mess,” I say with a bitter laugh. How many times have I broken down in front of him?
“There’s nothin’ to be sorry for, sugar.” He keeps calling me that. It didn’t even register before, and people call each other that around here all the time, but it still makes my fucking heart all stupid. “You ain’t a mess. You’re just human, okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s a good enough excuse.”
I don’t want to talk anymore, so I turn my face toward the window again. For the first time in days, the snowfall has stopped, and warm sunlight pours through gaps in the gray clouds.