Chapter 15
CARTER
It’s been a week, and I guess it’s time to stop spiraling and call her to explain myself.
I acted like an immature, awkward idiot, and she deserves an honest apology.
I reach for my phone on my bedside table as I go to bed.
The gray room makes everything dull and, honestly, bland.
There’s no color to my world. Not when she’s not here.
Me
Hi sweetness.
Sweetness
Hi Carter.
She answers after a few minutes.
Me
I’m sorry I left the other day.
Sweetness
That’s okay. Thank you for helping me.
We wanted you to stay.
We?
Me
Really ?
Sweetness
Yes.
I suck in air, my lungs burning like I’ve been drowning for days.
Me
I have to fix something. I won’t be around for a few days.
Do you still want to yell at the top of the mountain ?
Sweetness
THE yelling date ? Yes.
Me
Saturday evening, next week ?
Sweetness
Pick me up at seven.
I stare at the floor for five minutes before admitting how I felt for the last three days.
Me
I miss you sweetness, more than you can imagine.
Sweetness
I miss you too.
My heart skips a beat.
She misses me. It’s not over.
I just need to do one more thing and I’ll be ready.
It’s six a.m. I’m an early riser, not that it matters since I haven’t really slept in the last few days, ‘cause I wasn’t sure if I would ever get the chance to hold my girl again after I left like a coward.
Or, correction, after being triggered. Dr. Parks’ words, not mine.
Anyway, I drove out here. Knoxville cemetery.
Back to them. My mom. My sisters. The ones I failed to protect.
I park the bike at the gates and walk the rest of the way.
My boots hit the muddy ground. Some stones are broken, others are brand new and shiny with fresh flowers.
Either way, they’re all buried down there.
Death doesn’t make a distinction when you go under.
Just like we all bleed the same color when we get a cut.
At our core, I guess we’re not all that different.
The air is cold, damp. The only sound around is the crunch of gravel.
Not to say that I like it, but silence has always been fine with me.
And then I find them. Names carved into stone, but it’s not enough.
No stone could ever hold the weight of what they were.
Of what they meant to me. Elisabeth, Emma, and Madeline Cavanaugh.
I stand there for a long time, hands shoved deep into my pockets, staring at the marble.
And then I start to talk.
“Hi,” I try, as if they were here, sitting on the grave, listening to me.
“I…I think about you every day. Of your voices, your smiles, your laughter,” I confess in the silence of the early hour, the sun barely out to illuminate their stone, “I’m sorry.
” I’m stretched too thin, showing myself raw to the people I failed.
“For not protecting you. For being a Goddamn kid who didn’t know what to do.
I’ve carried it all this time like it could somehow change anything.
But it doesn’t, does it?” I rub my chin, shaking my head, ‘cause why on earth would I ask a question I know I won’t get answers for.
The wind blows on my face.
I don’t move.
“I know I can’t change what happened. But…
I wish I could, I…” My throat tightens, and I have to clear it, which never happens to me.
“Forgive me, Mom, I… I tried, I really tried. But I couldn’t, he wouldn’t let me help you.
I had to stay there and…watch.” I glance at the sky.
The sun’s starting to rise, light breaking through the gray clouds.
Finding its way into the darkness. “I loved you, and I still do. I…I hope you know that.” Running a hand on my face, I continue, “I killed him years ago. He didn’t deserve to live after what he did.
I know that’s not enough, but that was all I could think about back then.
” I kneel and wipe dust from the marble, cursing internally for not taking better care of their grave and for not coming to visit them earlier.
It took me thirteen years to be here.
But I guess it’s better late than never.
“I…” I swallow hard. “I love you, Em, Beth, Mom. And I swear to you that I’ll never let anyone I care about go through that again. Ever.” My fists are clenched while the sweet face of Lana flashes in my mind.
“There’s this woman,” I begin, “her name’s Lana.
She reminds me of you. She got this smile that could warm up a block of ice.
She’s sweet and kind, and…” I check that no one's around ‘cause I still got a reputation as a psychopath to hold on to. “She makes pancakes like we used to. I told her about you guys, and I think you would have liked each other just fine.” I nod a few times, ‘cause it’s true. My Lana and my family had a lot in common. They would have liked each other, I’m sure of it. “Perhaps, perhaps she’ll want to keep me, I just...wanted you guys to know that.” I stand and brush off my black jeans.
“I’ll be back and I’ll get you flowers this time,” I mutter.
Daisies, because they were Beth's favorites. I stay there a minute longer, almost hearing Emma’s laugh in the back of my mind.
And then I walk back to the bike, and I ride away, knowing that I won’t fix the past, but I won’t sure as hell fuck up my future.
LANA
So many bruises.
So many pictures.
And the videos, God.
I watched it all.
Forty minutes of footage from ten different nights.
I watched it all while Nancy was holding my hand, fighting back her tears just like I was.
When I came back from our brunch, I decided it was time.
So I slept, and the next day, I called my sister.
She got there after breakfast, and we started from here.
The urge to find the proof and watch them with my bare eyes made my stomach twist. I’m not scared of seeing it because I lived it already.
I’m the one who took those photos and I’m the one who hid a camera to film him beating me.
I had kept it all on a hard drive, in the back of my closet, in a cardboard box named “bank receipt” in case Noah felt curious one day.
I didn’t want anyone finding this without me.
I didn’t want anyone reaping my pain away from me.
I will be the one saving myself.
It’s hard to describe why I’m protective of it.
Of my pain. Maybe it’s stupid. But I always had an idea in the back of my mind.
The toxic thought that no matter how good my proof would be, they’d still be denied by the authorities.
They could end up in the wrong hands and end up in the trash.
Be forgotten the next day. And all my courage, my strength, all of it would have been for nothing.
Like a pile of dried blood swept away by the blow of the wind.
I couldn’t take any chances handing these valuable proofs of my past to anyone. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to.
If anything, my only goal was to build my case.
A case so strong and bulletproof that there was no way Ben could ever turn this against me.
I had seen it on the internet, forums full of women claiming how the justice system had let them down.
How their husbands had brainwashed the judges and policemen, making it look like they were whiny women.
Little girls crying for the wolf while nobody believed them.
Where were the bruises now?
Are you sure he started it?
Did you strike back?
What were you wearing?
Ben was my wolf. Circling me in the dark, teeth out for the kill, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
I knew it because of one thing. A one-second look he had given me last week when Carter pushed him away.
One single look carrying so much threat and violence, my hair had risen on my back.
The same stare he had given me over the years before each beating.
I knew he would come back, and this time, I knew I had to be ready to fight back, or this would be the last time I’d ever get a chance to save myself.
Ben is a proud man. And you know what they say?
Proud man, tiny ego. He won’t let this go easily, not if I don’t strike him back enough so that he falls down on the floor begging me for dear life.
I may not have the strength to throw a punch worth one of a fighter, but I sure as hell have enough strength and courage in me to find a way to make him fold.
And this box, with the small grey hard drive, could be my way out.
My own pain and my own freedom. Life really has a twisted sense of humor.
I still don’t know if I’ll report him, but I want to have the option.
And I need him to know that too. Nancy and I are both sitting on my bed, cross-legged.
I close the laptop after watching the last video where he was choking me on the living room rug after I dared to call him “impatient” for his promotion.
Nancy leans closer, her voice gentle, “You okay?” I nod, shocked by the footage and how cruel and violent he was with me.
Why did I wait for so long to even entertain the idea of filing a complaint?
“I… I feel like I’m watching someone else getting hurt. Like it’s a movie and I really don’t get why she doesn’t go away, why she doesn’t fight back. She’s just…so weak.” My palm presses against my mouth. Am I still this person? Too weak to strike back?