Chapter 34 Jessiah #2
I didn’t know the answer. But I knew it was over. For good. We’d made our decision, we’d let sense win out, although it wasn’t at all my usual style. The truth was, I’d done it for her. Only for her. And now I had to find a way to be okay with that. To be okay without her.
I took a deep breath and let it out again, preparing myself for what was to come.
It was insane to go surfing in the middle of the night, especially in these conditions.
Recklessly—potentially fatally—insane. No one who knew anything about surfing and didn’t have a death wish would do what I was about to.
It wasn’t that I was sick of living—I couldn’t afford to be.
But fuck it, I needed to feel alive. To really live, not just exist. On days like this, when the desperation was overwhelming, I had to prove that I was stronger.
And the only way I could do that was by going toe to toe with death, that motherfucker who’d taken everyone who ever meant anything to me, one way or another.
I’d show him. He could do what he liked, but he wouldn’t get me. Not today.
I came out of my trance, grabbed my board, walked toward the pitch-black expanse in front of me, and ran into the waves.
Despite the wetsuit, I felt the cold as I dove into the water and pulled myself up on my board.
Even in the dark, my movements were all muscle memory—I’d been surfing since I was ten, after all.
I could feel the waves without seeing them, could hear them: the quiet, friendly ones as well as the big, angry ones.
This was a part of me. The part that lay in chains most of the time, while the city brought me to my knees a little more each day.
The part of me that wanted Helena and couldn’t accept that we didn’t stand a chance.
I paddled out into the void, leaving the shore and New York City behind me, along with any thought and feeling. Out here, if I wasn’t fully present, even for a second, they’d be putting me in the ground. Right next to Adam and Dad.
The wave I was aiming for came closer. Paddling hard with it at my back, I braced myself, waiting for the right moment, adrenaline coursing through my body. The wave caught me, and I popped up, and into the drop.
It was huge, and fierce, just how I liked them.
Water whipped my face, almost swiping me from the board, but I stayed upright, riding that fucking wave to the bitter end, defeating it before it defeated me.
I didn’t stop to rest, I kept going, catching one wave after another, defying them, exacting absolutely everything from my body and mind.
More than once, I almost lost my battle with the ocean, its power.
But only almost. And with every victory over the sheer force battering me from every angle, I won back a tiny piece of myself.
But the longer I surfed, the more I felt the fatigue.
My muscles giving in, my concentration failing.
It took all my strength not to lose my footing.
But I didn’t stop. I hadn’t yet reached the limit, and to get what I wanted I had to go beyond it.
To cheat death, I had to get closer to it, so close I could feel it.
Not in some vague way, a mere possibility—but against my skin. In my bones.
The next wave did the trick.
I wanted to turn, but couldn’t get my board around in time and lost contact, hurled into the air before I wiped out.
The impact was hard, the water like concrete.
I hit the surface and went under, dragged down, robbed of any sense of direction by the darkness; I felt the pressure in my lungs, resisted the urge to draw breath.
I should have struggled, but I didn’t move a muscle.
This was exactly what I’d been waiting for.
This moment, the voice in my head, mocking me now.
It’s over. You lost!
Not yet. Not by a long shot.
With that thought, life returned to my body, my spirit.
My board called out to me, and I tugged hard on the leash at my ankle.
I followed the line, broke the water’s surface, took a lifesaving breath, pushed my hair out of my eyes.
I dragged my board toward me on the leash—but of the two of us, it had come off worse: only half of it was left.
The wave must have snapped it clean in two.
It was one of my favorite boards, the only one I’d brought with me back from Australia, and it hurt to see it destroyed. Still, it had been worth it.
With my last ounce of strength I swam back, made it to shore, dragged myself out of the surf.
Every single one of my muscles ached, and I let out a groan as I dropped to my knees on the ice-cold sand.
My heart was pounding frantically to pump my body with oxygen, my chest rising and falling heavily, pain stabbing my lungs—I could hardly breathe.
But I felt freer than I had in a long time.
More alive than ever. All the accusations, the longing, the despair, the fear of never finding anything like happiness—everything was silenced.
All that remained was the quiet, and with it came a peace that I might not have earned, but that I desperately needed if I was going to carry on.
Breathing heavily, I turned onto my back and looked up to the sky, where I couldn’t see a single star. I didn’t have the breath to scream it into the wind, but it was enough to say the words softly. I raised my hand and lifted my middle finger to the pitch-black darkness.
“Fuck you,” I panted grimly.
For today, I had won, and I’d be rewarded with at least half an hour of calm before it all came back. Because, as soon as I was able, I was going to get up, go to my pickup, drive home, and carry on. Keep on carrying on with this life that I didn’t want.
Without Helena.