Chapter 13 #3
I blink hard and nod, something heavy aching at the bottom of my stomach. “Y-you’re right,” I whisper. “Just a room…”
A hollow carcass. Nothing more.
“You wanna mess it up, too?” he asks as he squeezes my hand for support, mischievous excitement in his voice.
Mess it up? It feels like that wouldn’t be enough. Like nothing short of pure annihilation could ever give me any semblance of peace. Sucking in my bottom lip against my teeth, I nervously shift on my feet, unsure how to even verbalize what I’m feeling.
“I wish I could…wish I could take a sledgehammer to this fucking room,” I whisper, my voice trembling at the end.
Not even with sadness, but with renewed rage.
Rus’s eyes are on me, but I don’t meet them.
His warm hand still holds mine tight. “This bed, and the…all the rest of it…I wish I could grind it to dust. I wish I—” I have to pause and take a deep breath, to stop it all from bubbling up.
It’s near impossible because I feel so much.
My jaw aches from how hard I clench my teeth together.
“Fuck, I wish I could light this fucking room on fire. Burn away her damn scent, burn away everything that happened here, but…”
Finally, a little something eases within me. Not that I feel better, not really, but I exhale deeply, and with Rus’s skin against mine, I convince myself that I can push through it.
“But I can’t do that,” I say coldly. “Not without tanking the property value of this place. Then I’d never be able to sell it. This… What we did will have to do. It…it’s enough. It’s not burning it all to ashes, but it has to be enough,” I conclude, finally facing Rus in the end.
His expression gives me pause.
Raising my brows, I stare at him, something about it striking and raw and…dark. Rus almost looks angry. No, furious. At me? Or at her? I can’t read him, because I’ve never seen such intense emotion on his face before.
Right when I’m about to speak up, his brown eyes dart to the bed, then back at me, and the muscles in his neck visibly tense, like he’s just decided on something.
Rus turns to line our bodies, drawing both of my hands together with his as he raises and presses them against my chest. He leans in. “Hold the door open for me, will ya?”
I blink. What? I can’t even react, and Rus is already moving. Making a few confused steps away from him, I watch as he snatches the musty duvet off the bed and throws it to the side. Then the pillows. Then he starts grabbing at the mattress, and I realize he’s trying to lift it up.
“Russell, what—”
“Careful,” he says with a quick glance over his shoulder, smiling faintly even as his voice is steely with determination. “Go on. I can handle it, just help me through the doors, okay?”
I open my mouth to ask him what he’s doing. Even though I know. I want to tell him he should stop, that this isn’t necessary, that this is too much, but I just…go and hold the door open for him as Russell lifts the mattress like it’s nothing and struggles only for a moment to get it through.
My cheeks flush with emotion, and I can feel my eyes sting with tears again, no matter how hard I try to hold it together. He’s… He keeps doing these things for me, these incredible things, and I don’t understand why.
With a quick shiver, I snap myself out of it once I hear him grunting by the main door.
I dash there to help him and hold it open, moving on autopilot.
Once we’re outside, I follow him slowly, a part of me still in disbelief.
Rus throws the mattress onto the driveway, a few feet from the house, sending snow out from under it everywhere.
He pants a few times, stretches his back, and looks at me.
I must look dazed. He comes to me with that attentive, careful expression again and holds my hands with a smile.
“Rus, you—” I manage to say before he silences me with a kiss.
Tender, long kiss. When he pulls away, something cold slides into my palm.
I look down to see a large pocketknife. The silver handle reflects light against the snow.
I draw my brows together, lips parting.
“You gotta promise to be careful, okay? Sliced fingers aren’t exactly fun, trust me,” he says, smirking faintly as he shows me an old scar across his index finger.
I react with another dazed blink and a nod, I think.
Rus moves his hand to hold my chin gently.
“You do what you need to do. Let it all out. All you need to let out. I’m going to drag the frame out as well, then look for some kerosene.
Everybody’s got some lying around, so we should be good. ”
Even more heat—overwhelming, intense, insanely powerful heat—rushes through me as the realization settles. I gasp out a breath, leaving my mouth open while tears fill my eyes, but Russell just caresses my cheek and plants a kiss on my forehead, whispering a soft, “You can do it.”
I’m left outside alone, staring at the mattress.
It just lies there in the snow. The bright, clean snow.
But that thing isn’t clean. Not really. I can see all the invisible stains when I look at it.
My chest tightens painfully once the memories flood in.
Broken fragments of words and images and feelings.
Terrible feelings. Her scent drifts toward me with the wind, still soaked into the fabric, still there, and I…
I want to run away. I want to run from it, crying and cowering like I always have, but instead I focus on the hard, cold knife in my balled fist.
I look down at it, huffing out a breath that makes the air white. Slowly, with my other trembling hand, I pull out the blade, seeing my reflection in the metal. My blue eyes peer at me, telling me to fight, while Rus’s words echo in my mind.
I wrap my fingers around the handle, my jaw tight.
Do it, Rus’s voice urges me, and I surrender to it.
I walk up to the mattress, stopping with the tips of my feet inches away, like it could reach out for me and pull me down otherwise.
The courage and anger in me ebb and flow.
My muscles tense, ready to strike, to do something, but then it all leaves me and I’m left feeling like a little kid, scared and unsure.
A pathetic part of me wishes Rus were here with me, guiding my hand. How could I ever do this alone? I could barely even go into the house without him.
That’s when I glance to the side and see him walking out with a bunch of planks and bits of wood he’s stubbornly carrying—clearly struggling to hold it all—heading toward me.
He says nothing. Doesn’t reprimand me for just standing here like an idiot.
All he does is give me a careful look as he throws the pieces of the bed frame on the ground by the mattress.
He seems a little out of breath. I suppose the frame wasn’t easy to break apart.
No matter how freaked out I am right now, I can’t help but smile. All he’s doing for me, it’s so damn…
Rus notices and raises his brows questioningly. “You okay? Take your time, hm?” he assures me, voice as smooth as silk. “Do you want me to stay or…?”
I glance down and nervously shift around in my jacket. “I…I don’t know.”
“It’s alright. I’ll go find the kerosene,” Rus says, and on his way back, he brushes his hand gently against mine.
Closing my eyes tight, I take a few controlled breaths through my nose. I’m not sure if it’s nerves or the cold that’s getting to me and sending the shivers across my body. Either way, I have to act. I have to finish this.
I open my eyes and kneel against the mattress, gripping the knife so hard I know it’ll leave indents in my palm. I hear myself panting like a cornered animal. An animal ready to fight. Short, sharp breaths. I brace one hand on the mattress, shifting my weight forward to steady myself.
Her scent comes to me again, and with it the sensation of kneeling on the bed, crawling over her to get in position.
The memory rips through me like lightning, and I strike. Acting on a primal impulse, I drive my arm down with a choked wail, stabbing the blade into the mattress with all my strength.
My heart pounds in my ears. I don’t even know if I’m the one controlling what my body’s doing when I yank downward, tearing through layers of fabric. I stare at the gash I created, yellowed padding with dust and dirt and metal springs revealed underneath.
It’s so fucking stupid, but that feels exactly like how I felt. How I ended up.
Choking out something between a cry and a grunt, I rub the tears out of my eyes with my sleeve and raise the knife into the air again before I lose my courage; before I can break apart and crumble.
I slash at the mattress. Again, and again.
I run the blade through it, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in my ears. Soon, what I’m doing has no rhyme or reason. I just stab and pierce and slash, breathless, grunting, crying. The cold air burns on my cheeks and inside my lungs, but I keep going.
I imagine her there. I imagine myself, too, but I continue wrecking it until there’s loose padding swirling in the air, sticking to my face, and every inch of the mattress is riddled with deep, uneven, overlapping lacerations.
Rusted, bent springs poke out randomly. I think I’ve caught the knife on some of them.
Finally, like I’ve woken up from some trance, I sharply draw air into my lungs in an attempt to get a grip on myself. I study the carnage in front of me, my entire body running hot, my heart aching but…lighter.
I gasp out in surprise when arms embrace me from behind. Russell.
The comforting scent of almonds is like an instant sedative.
His soft hushes reverberate in my ears, and I just relax into his chest. Safe.
I let him wrap his hand around my wrist. Gently, he slides it over to my hand and, without having to be asked, I finally release the painful, convulsive grasp I’ve had on the knife this entire time.
“You did so good,” I hear him say. My eyes won’t stay focused as I stare at the destroyed mattress.
Still, I nod. There is nothing more to do.
Nothing more to say. “Do you feel better? Ah—” I blink and turn my head when Rus tenses.
He’s brushing over a small cut on my hand.
“You hurt yourself,” he mutters, turning it to check for other wounds.
“M-Must’ve been the sp-springs,” I manage to stutter out.
I’m still a quivering mess, but when I look past all that, there is a kind of relief rising from somewhere deep, deep in my core.
Does Russell feel it too? As he places a comforting kiss on the side of my neck while cupping my hands in his, I think he does.
“One more step. If you’re ready. If that is how you want to end it,” he says.
I nod, letting him guide me to my feet. I feel exhausted. Like I’ve stabbed a thousand mattresses to death, not just one, but I can do this.
I have to finish it.
Rus is bending down for a small jerrycan of kerosene when I turn around. Straightening his arm out, he hands it to me, then swiftly pulls a metal flip lighter out of his pocket. He shows it to me with a determined smile, his gaze firm and fiery.
“A-Are you sure?” I ask him, glancing around. The snow will most certainly prevent the fire from getting out of control, but we’re talking about a huge pile. The mattress, a ton of broken wood, even her blanket and pillows are there.
Rus steps in, eyes fixed on me. His hand, still so warm and big and comforting, squeezes mine over the jerrycan’s handle.
“If this is what you want, I think you should do it. It’s safe—we’re far enough from the house and the snow ain’t gonna catch on fire.
Don’t think about anything else. Is this what you want?
” he asks again, still so damn thoughtful and supportive, and I…
I just clench my teeth, nodding sharply as tears run down my cheeks.
Yeah, I want it. Fuck, I want nothing more than to burn it all to the ground. The mere idea makes me want to throw up from relief.
So I do it. No more fear. No more doubt.
With Rus next to me, I pour the kerosene onto the mattress.
I walk around it, making sure to cover it all, and the wood as well.
I kick her blanket on top, drizzling some extra fluid over, before I drop the jerrycan to the side.
Drawing in deep, slow breaths to keep myself steady, I take hold of the lighter Rus is handing me.
His pheromones filter in with the crisp winter air, smoothing away the edges of my fear.
What she did… While this can’t change or erase it, I won’t let it hold power over me anymore.
I open the lighter and flick it to life.
I’m going to get help, and I’m going to get through this.
Leaning forward, I touch the flame to the glistening surface of the mattress, and it all goes up in a wave of heat. The red glow spreads across the shredded fabric, fanning out so quickly I have to jump away. Rus is right behind me to hold on to me, his hands gently squeezing my shoulders.
We silently watch the flames engulf everything—wood and cloth and bitter memories—and rise high into the air.
It’s warm. Warm and soft and peaceful, in stark contrast to what I just did, what I just felt.
I take in the sight, the sound of the crackling fire as it purifies it all.
The thick smell of smoke erases the scent of her pheromones… until there’s nothing left.
As the column of dark smoke rises and disappears into the sky, my heartbeat slows. My chest lightens.
She’ll never be able to take this, or anything else, away from me again.
“Thank you, Russell,” I say after what feels like hours of us just standing in front of the funeral pyre of my darkest moments, hoping to convey the deep, life-changing gratitude I feel, even if I don’t think I’ll ever be capable of truly putting it into words.
Rus sniffles before pulling me in for a kiss that says it all. The warm glow of the flames makes his lips taste toasty and soothing.
“I’m goin’ to miss you,” he whispers after we pull apart.
My heart might as well actually shatter hearing those words.
The pain paralyzes me, drawing all the comforting heat out of my body.
Gulping, I rest my forehead against his and close my eyes, determined to ignore the harsh reality for a little while longer.
If I do that, if I don’t look at him, I don’t have to think about what’s inevitably happening later today.
I don’t have to say it back.
Rus knows it too.
We stand there together for a while. Silent, still, soaking in the last moments of the closeness and comfort until we’ll be forced to part.
It’s not fair…how much it hurts. And it isn’t rational or realistic, but it hurts all the same.