7. Ian
7
IAN
As I take my seat, I allow myself to feel like shit for raising my voice at her.
She didn't deserve it.
But I was already on edge from all that's been happening tonight, and seeing her analyzing me just pushed me to the brink.
It doesn't help that she is spot on.
Have I really been trying to kill myself?
Is my guilt that deep-rooted?
Richard has been saying the same thing all these years, but I've refused to believe him.
Why?
I don't know. But I guess I've been avoiding looking further into myself since I lost Justin.
Just thinking about him not being in the world brings me so much pain. Now imagine if I allow myself to think about how he died, the hand I had in it, it will cripple me.
There's a fresh silence in the room, and I raise my head to look at Sarah, where she's seated. I still don't know how she found out I was in the hospital or why she bothered to come. Surely, she would be angry that I left her yet again without a goodbye, but somehow she came anyway.
She's too good for me. I don't deserve her one bit. Yet here she is in this room, willing to stick by me. For however long, I don't know. But if she's here, offering her time to me, shouldn't I just take what she's offering now and forever cherish it when our time is finally up?
She notices me looking at her, and she reddens under my gaze. Her skin color now matches the fire that's her hair.
You don't deserve her, Ian.
Yeah, I know.
“Why are you here?” She speaks gently into the quiet room. Our eyes meet at her words, and I want so badly to tell her the truth.
But would she believe me?
Do I even believe the billions I'm told I now have but can't access for a while?
One thing is certain, though: if all pans out, I may be in town for a while.
“Job search.” I blurt out the first sensible thing that comes to my head. “I'm here to search for jobs.”
Her brows go up at my words. Her lips purse together as she digests my words. Her mouth opens as if she wants to speak, but she stops herself almost as quickly as her mouth opens. Then she nods. The action shows she's taken my word for it, but the expression on her face says otherwise.
The medication I was given at the hospital finally starts to kick in, and I feel my eyelids drooping.
A yawn escapes me, drawing her attention to me.
“I'm beat. Should I walk you out?”
She shakes her head and waves for me to get on the bed properly. “Don't worry about me. I can find my way out. This is my town.”
I don't have much strength to argue, so I just nod at her words and crawl up the bed until I'm properly situated before I offer her a grateful smile.
“I'm really glad we got to meet again,” I say, knowing the chances of me seeing her here when I wake up are slim.
I was just being delusional, thinking there could ever be more to us.
“Yeah, me too,” she responds back with a smile of her own.
As my eyes close in finality for the night, I hold onto my last image of her, hoping to God that she's still around when I wake up again.
Sarah is gone when I wake up. I notice immediately as I open my eyes and find myself in an empty room that the seat she was previously occupying is empty.
Can't say I didn't see that coming.
Of course, she left. Who am I kidding? She deserves so much better than I'll ever be able to give her.
I force myself out of bed after a few minutes of wallowing and enter the bathroom, where I take a much-needed warm bath, careful not to reopen any wounds on my face.
When I'm done, I look at myself in the mirror. Some of the swelling has reduced, but you can still tell that I was in a fight. Ironically, my lips aren't affected at all, and I can't help but think of what good that will do to me.
I'd rather have busted lips and not have to speak to anyone for weeks. The only person I would have wanted to speak with left.
I wrap my towel round my waist and go back into the room, going straight for my bag. I drop my towel when I find shorts to wear, and the room’s door opens at that moment.
A startled sound escapes me as I turn to see who has entered without knocking. It's Sarah.
She blushes hard as soon as my eyes land on her. Her eyes quickly leave mine, but it takes only a few seconds before they are back exploring my body.
My dick jerks between my legs when her eyes reach it. She gasps softly as the thing starts to harden right before her eyes.
The way I see this: I can let her continue staring long enough until I can no longer take it and drag her in to tend to the bear she's poked awake, or I can just turn around and get back to what I was doing before she entered.
I choose the latter.
Turning around, I pick up the shorts I intended to wear and bend my ass to put them on, knowing full well I'm giving her a show.
When I'm done, I turn back to her, and she's still rooted in the same spot.
Clearing my throat, I jolt her out of the filthy thoughts her mind is no doubt conjuring right now.
“Good morning,” I say.
She blushes harder at my words. Her hand leaves the door as she steps properly into the room and then closes the door behind her.
“Hi. I brought you food,” she says, offering me a cup of coffee and some toast.
Judging by the clothes she has on, I'm fifty percent sure she didn't go home last night. Wanting to be certain, though, I ask her. “You stayed?”
“Yeah, I, um, I couldn't leave you alone.” She says a little too fast, leaving me feeling uneasy.
I nod regardless, stretching my hand to receive the food she's offering me before I sit my ass in the now familiar spot on the edge of the bed.
“Thanks,” I say, tipping the items in my hand in clarity.
“No, don't thank me. This is all the motel's. I just happened to be the delivery lady,” she speaks jokingly, and I let out a chuckle to humor her.
I can sense there's something on her mind as she sits. While we've been apart for years, there are a few things about her that haven't changed. One of them is trying to be funny when she's nervous.
I take a few bites of the bread, very conscious of her eyes following my every movement before I wash it down with the coffee.
“What's on your mind?” I ask her.
She's surprised by my words but makes no attempt to deny it. Her upper teeth pull her lower lips into her mouth, and she sucks the flesh gently before she releases it and then faces me head-on.
“How's Justin?”
Talk about being knocked in the face.
The small bite of bread that I just took turns sour in my mouth, and my interest in the food instantly dies. I get up from the bed and close the distance between me and the small table in the room. I place the remaining toast down, drink the rest of my coffee in three gulps, and then slam the cup on the table a little too hard.
I must have spoken in my dreams again. I remember dreaming about him, but most of my dreams don't stay on my mind when I'm awake, so I usually don't remember them until I share the same room with someone, and they start to ask questions.
“I don't want to talk about it,” I say, hoping she'll leave it at that.
She doesn't, and I can't say I'm surprised.
“Aren't you tired?” she snaps, getting on her feet.
Why do I sense an argument coming?
I pretend not to hear her, but she won't let me be. Walking up to me, she grabs me by the arm, forcing me to face her.
“I'm talking to you, Ian.”
“And I told you I don't want to talk.”
“Well, too bad because you're going to have to.”
Sighing, I give in to her. She won't have it any other way.
“Of what?” I respond to her earlier question.
“What?” she yells out in confusion.
Rolling my eyes, I clarify. “You asked if I’m tired,” I explain. It takes a few seconds for my words to click. Once it does, the confusion in her eyes is instantly replaced with the earlier anger.
Here we go…
“Of course, I said that. Aren't you tired of keeping it all in? Your pain, your struggles, everything! How much longer will you continue like this? Huh? Until it ruins you forever, and you're left alone entirely? Because I'm looking around you right now, and I’m the only one here, and I don't even have to take a guess as to why!”
Her words hit a nerve in me. It's like being slapped hard in the face.
Taking a step away from her, I put some space between us. Of all the years I've known her, I don't think she has once said anything that hurt me this much.
Is this why I am alone?
Everyone left because I am uptight?
Justin didn't leave, though. Not with a choice, anyway. In fact, when he was alive, you'd easily mistake us for best friends and not brothers. And we weren't even brothers by blood. We were brothers by circumstances. However, I can't imagine how my life would have turned out if I never got to know him or had him as a brother.
“He's dead,” I wring out, my legs suddenly feeling shaky under me. I go to sit back down, and she's beside me, her arms around me in comfort.
“I'm so sorry,” she whispers.
“It was my fault,” I say what I've never told anyone before. Although I've acted or indirectly showed it in my actions, I’ve never said the words aloud.
“I doubt that's true. You loved him,” she says the same thing everyone has been saying till this point.
Shrugging, I tell her how it all happened.
“Three years ago, he came to visit me at my apartment. It was my day off, but I got called in, and you know how I am with work…” I trail off.
“You love your job, there's no shame in that,” she tries to pacify me.
“Wait until I finish.”
“There's nothing you'll say that’ll make me believe his death was your fault,” she insists.
Her faith in me would be so encouraging in a different situation.
“I left him to go to work, not knowing that gas was leaking in my kitchen.”
“Oh God,” she whimpers, tears running down her face now.
I distantly feel tears rolling down my cheek, too.
“He slept through the leak for most of the day until he decided he was hungry and attempted to cook.”
“Ian, I'm so sorry.” She's crying so hard now.
Although tears are rolling down my cheeks, I can't seem to stop talking. The dam has finally been opened, and there's no stopping it now.
“Of course, we got called in to put out the fire, but by the time we got there, the damage had been done. I can still remember being held down by four men so I didn't go into the fire. I wanted to save him, I could have saved him, but they didn't allow me to. And as much as I wish I could blame them, I know none of this would have happened if I had paid more attention to the appliances in my home. Justin died because of me.”