Chapter 19 #2
I draw my knees up to my chest and scratch at my shaggy hair, running my palm down the back of my neck. We’re friends, in a way—I think—and that’s what friends do sometimes during life’s shitty, heartbreaking moments.
Right ?
I glance down at Cora, who is leaning against the bench beside me, her eyes closed and her lips pressed together as if she’s replaying how they felt against mine.
I let my fingers dance their way over to her hand and I lace them through hers, grateful she doesn’t pull away from me.
Her hand squeezes mine as I look back to Blizzard, so peaceful and loved, and say, “It’s nothing to be sorry about. ”
I offer to drive Cora back home as the snow starts to fall.
It’s Martin Luther King Day, so she didn’t have to work today. She was grading papers at her parents’ house when Blizzard had a prolonged seizure she wasn’t able to recover from.
I asked her before we left the hospital, just to be certain, “Are you sure you don’t want to go with your parents? I don’t want you to be alone when you’re so upset.”
Cora shook her head. “I won’t be alone,” she said .
I took that to mean she wanted me to stay with her a while, so when we pull into her driveway, I follow her inside.
The snow is falling hard now, having only been coming down in soft flurries when we pulled out of the parking lot.
Fat snowflakes blanket our hair and jackets as we make our way up the snowy pathway to her front door.
I pause in my tracks before going inside, glancing up at the sky, blinking at the sheet of white raining down on my face. I can’t help a smile from breaking through my somber haze. “It’s a blizzard.”
Cora falters on her porch step, twisting around to look at me with the widest, most enchanted eyes I’ve ever seen.
She steps down to join me on the walkway, holding out her arms and looking up with me.
“Oh, my God. Do you think…?” Her voice trails off and she starts to laugh.
She laughs . Delirious laughter pours out of her as she spins around in circles, her nose pointed towards the heavens. “It’s her, Dean. She’s saying goodbye.”
I think my goddamn heart might explode.
I suck in my emotions, blowing them back out into the chilly air. I’m not sure what’s got me more choked up—Blizzard’s parting gift to us or watching the way Cora is floating around and around in clumsy circles, sheathed in white, looking utterly enraptured and lost in the moment.
Healing .
She looks like healing.
We find our way inside and strip out of our soggy winter wear, collapsing onto the couch, mentally and emotionally drained. Blizzard always used to sit right between us on the couch— always . It became a running joke that she was trying to prevent us from killing each other.
Now I wonder if she was trying to tell us something.
I shake the thoughts away and lean my head back against the cushions, my eyes closing on instinct as the long, tiring day takes its toll. I almost completely pass out when I feel a hand squeezing my knee.
“Go lie down. You look exhausted.”
I make a ‘hmmph’ sound which is code for, ‘that sounds great, but I don’t want to move’ .
Cora seems to decipher the noise and starts tugging on my legs, stretching them out until I’m sprawled out, taking up the full length of the sofa.
Fleece envelops me and I tuck the blanket around me, noting the faint aroma of daffodils as I tug it up to my chin.
I start to drift away when I feel her lips against my cheek, just as light as before. A tickle, a whisper, a fleeting kiss.
Healing .
She feels like healing.
A scream forces me upright on the couch, disoriented and bleary-eyed, as I try to figure out where the fuck I am.
Mint walls, a coral couch, a shag rug beneath my feet.
Daffodils.
Cora .
I’m on Cora’s couch.
Cora is screaming.
I jump to my feet and sprint down the hallway to her dimly lit bedroom, where I find her tossing and turning, kicking at the covers, gripping the bed post between both fists behind her head.
She screams again. “ No ! Please, no…”
Her eyes are closed, squeezed tight, but I know she can see.
She sees all the same horrors I see when I close my eyes at night.
I rush to her bedside and cautiously slide myself onto the mattress, careful not to startle her. “Cora… Corabelle, you’re dreaming.” I slip my arm around her waist and pull her close, whispering into her ear, “Come back to me.”
She’s still writhing on the bed, her expression pained and terrified, so I try again.
“Cora…”
She whacks me across the jaw.
“Fuck,” I mutter, massaging the side of my face as Cora whips herself into a sitting position.
Cora’s eyes fly open, her chest heaving with strained breaths. “Dean? Dean… oh, my God…” She grabs my face between her hands and starts peppering kisses along my tingling jawline. “I’m so sorry. I was dreaming. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. You’re safe.”
Cora slings her arms around my neck, pulling me as close as she possibly can, and sobs against my shoulder. “Are you real?” she cries, tilting her head until her warm lips are pressed to the side of my neck.
I freeze for a moment, a shiver sweeping through me.
I’m unsure of what to do or say or how to console her, but instinct takes over, and I lower her back onto the bed, cradling her in my arms as I situate myself beside her.
“I’m real. You’re real. Everything’s okay, Corabelle. It was just a dream. ”
Her arms are still linked around my neck and her tears are still flowing. “I feel like I need to keep touching you… it was so vivid…” Cora slides her hands up and down my back, then over my chest, much like she had done the first time I released her from her chains. “Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. “I’m fine.”
“God, Dean… I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot.”
Her face is cupped between my palms in an instant as I force her eyes on mine. “You are not an idiot. You’re the strongest fuckin’ person I know.”
Cora’s chin quivers as I swipe her stray tears away with my thumbs. “I’m not strong. I’m falling apart.”
“You’re strong as hell. You amaze me.” How can she not see what I see? How can she not know? “Don’t you ever say that again, you hear me?”
She sniffs, still trembling, still misty-eyed and vulnerable.
“I feel like it was all my fault. On top of all the flashbacks and nightmares and madness, I have this coil of guilt in the pit of my stomach. You shouldn’t have been there, Dean.
” Cora sucks in a fractured breath, her leg sliding up over mine.
“I shouldn’t have called you that night… ”
I frown, thrown by her admission. Rattled by the absurdity of it. “That’s crazy talk. I was the one who set it in motion. That bastard asked if you were my girl and I should have fucking lied. I should have said, ‘Hell fucking yes, she’s my girl’ because I’d be lucky as shit to have you.”
She stares at me with the most astonished look swirling in her emerald eyes, and her lips part, her gaze slipping to my mouth for the tiniest second.
“Cora, listen to me,” I say, still holding her face in my hands, still clinging to her like it’s the very last time.
“Those were the worst three weeks of my entire goddamn life and they will haunt me forever.” I swallow.
“But I’m glad I was there. And I’d do it all again, a thousand times over, just to keep you from going through that shit alone. I’m glad I was there with you.”
A gasp-like whimper escapes her. I’ve never seen her look at me like this before.
I close my eyes, dropping my forehead to hers.
“And don’t ask me what that means, Corabelle, because I don’t have a goddamn clue.
All I know is that I’d kill that son-of-a-bitch over and over again just to keep you safe—hell, I’d kill a hundred men if I thought that would chase away your nightmares and bring you peace.
And I know how fucked that sounds, trust me, I know , but I can’t let you go another minute feeling guilty or responsible or weak . You’re a warrior. ”
Jesus Christ, I’m spouting out these raw, unfiltered truths like I’m delirious, drugged—out of my mind drunk .
But I’ve never felt more sober or clear-headed.
Or terrified .
Cora is gaping at me, speechless.
“Ah, shit… say something, Cora.” Our foreheads are still melded together, our noses touching. I feel her peppermint breath against my mouth as I close my eyes, waiting for her to tell me that I’m the idiot.
Cora is silent for a long time. The woman who has always been quick to bite back, sling her insults at me, use her words as ammo, is uncharacteristically quiet.
Her hands are on my chest, one right atop my heart, and they fist the material of my shirt as her leg entwines with mine.
Our bodies are close, too close, our groins almost touching, and my hands are cupping her jaw like she is something to be cherished.
Why isn’t she talking?
Cora finally intakes a long, unsteady breath, then inches down the bed until her face is smooshed against the front of my chest. “Sing to me.”
For a moment, I’m brought back to that basement.
I travel back to those dark November nights when I could hardly see her through the black hole between us.
It killed me that I couldn’t touch her. I couldn’t reach out and grab her or hold her in my arms, bring her comfort, or whisper into her ear that it was going to be okay.
My voice was all she had.
I sing Hey Jude as I cradle the back of her head with one hand, feeling her tiny hairs tickle my chin with every breathy note.
We fall asleep curled up together, clinging to one another, heartbeats aligned, but this time there are no sleeping pills.
There is no alcohol. There are no vices or excuses or things to blame except ourselves and the confusing feelings that have burrowed inside our hearts.
And while there are still so many questions swimming around my brain, I finally feel like I have an answer to one of them.
I know what I have to do.