Chapter Thirty-One
Jules - One week later
“And would you like to speak, or would you prefer it if I held the entire service?”
“He would prefer it if you would speak,” Zander answers the celebrant on my behalf.
He’s done all the heavy lifting over the last week.
I thought I would be stronger than this.
I’ve had so much time to prepare, but when the time actually came, I wasn’t prepared at all.
The house has been a rush of long-lost family members, funeral directors, and neighbours bringing food.
I’ve kept myself tucked away for the most part, hiding out in the bedroom, hoping night would fall and I could just sleep.
My dreams are the only place she lives now.
There hasn’t been a single night since she left that she hasn’t been there, so, naturally, it’s the only place I find myself wanting to be.
I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t want unfamiliar food, and I don’t want to hear “She’s in a better place” anymore.
On the occasions I have socialised, I’ve done what’s expected; smiled along at their stories, even when it’s painful, offered drinks, and said “thank you for coming” as they left.
“And songs, do you have any in particular that you would like us to play?”
“Umm, I don’t–”
“True Colors,” I answer, steady and sure. Zander’s head raises in my direction upon hearing my voice. He looks ready to burst into tears, but he nods his head and smiles softly–
“She would love that.” He reaches across and takes my hand in his.
“Yeah, she would.”
Something pulls me out of my dreams, not instantly; the sound penetrates my subconscious first, before the cold, empty space in bed fully rouses me.
Following the noise leads me to the closed bathroom door; the light is on, and the strangled weeping from behind escapes through the gaps.
My body freezes, and my breath waits. I hold still, anticipating the next noise and hoping that my ears are mistaken– that Zander isn’t on the other side of the door, grieving in solitude.
I can hear the muffled fracture of his composure, and I can feel the burn as he tries to contain it, as if it were my own grief.
The floorboards underneath groan as I take a step closer. Silence.
“Zander?” There’s no noise, no response. “Can I come in?” My fingers are already wrapped around the handle, uncaring of the answer, just driven by the urge to protect him.
“Give me a–” I don’t. I push through the door to find him rushing to get up.
Guilt and tears fight for dominance in his eyes before he eventually slumps back down to rest against the bathtub.
“Or come in, that’s totally fine too,” his voice is completely void of emotion, as is the huff of laughter that follows.
“Couldn’t sleep?” I take a seat beside him, close enough that our thighs rest against one another.
“It’s too quiet… I didn’t realise how noisy the BIPAP was, until it wasn’t.”
“Yeah…” The breathing apparatus that would fill the quiet spaces of the night seemed to have the same effect as white noise; once it was functioning, Zander and I would fall asleep with barely any effort.
Although now I think about it, it was less to do with the noise and more to do with its function.
For as long as it was on, Mom was breathing.
Silence takes over the bathroom, both of us tired in places sleep can’t reach, but too exhausted to be anything else.
“I’m sorry, Jules.”
“For what?”
“I promised to protect you, but this is too big, even for me.” His head dips, resting against his pulled-up knees. “I can’t save you from this, just like I couldn’t save her.”
“She didn’t need saving, Zan. Not this time.”
“But I didn’t even try, I just accepted what she told me. I didn’t push, I didn’t fight, not like you did. She fought so hard for me, and I let her down in return. I couldn’t save her,” he whispers the last part to himself, but I heard it loud and clear.
“You did.”
“Jules, look at where we are. Does this look like I did anything other than take?” With a bitter laugh and shake of his head, he answers his own question.
I can’t watch as he torments himself with all the things he thinks he failed at. I won’t sit by and let him think he wasn’t worthy of her love or his place by my side. I couldn’t save him from his father, all those years ago, but I can save him from this.
“Zander, you did save her.”
“Why aren’t you listening?”
“I am. You’re just not hearing me. You. Saved.
Her.” Zander shakes his head in annoyance, so I continue, “That night, when you called and asked for help, she came like she promised she would…” I remember watching from the top of the stairs.
Mom’s phone ringing. His name. Questions about what was happening.
Mom’s desperate pleas for a response. Silence.
“When you didn’t answer her asking what was wrong, she raced through the door.
I watched the shadows the headlights cast on the ceiling as she backed out of the drive.
And then I waited.” Zander stares at me open-mouthed and wide-eyed.
I can see the pieces starting to fall into place, his thoughts so loud they’re difficult to ignore.
“But… you were there. I– I don’t know what…” I think he knows exactly what I’m about to say, his mind just won’t let him accept it as truth until I’ve confirmed it.
“I need you to promise me one thing,” I turn into him now, grabbing both his hands in mine in a desperate attempt to cling on to all that I have left.
He looks uneasy, eyes flicking down to where our hands are joined before finding me again.
“I need you to tell me you will stay, that what we have is real, and it’s enough for you,” I don’t hide the desperation in my words.
I chose him in every colour, every size, and every season, now I need to know that he will choose me too.
“After everything, you really think I’d rather be anywhere but here, with you?” I offer him a small smile, but the uncertainty still gnaws at me from the chest outwards.
“When Mom reached your house, there was no answer. The house was quiet and dark; she said it reminded her of one of those horror movies, y’know, the ones where you’re screaming at the TV begging them to turn around.
” Zander bobs his head up and down slowly.
His body is rigid, ready to defend himself from the memories.
“She let herself in and followed the noises coming from upstairs. She told me how it felt like the walls were screaming for her to leave, the cold edge in the air trying to warn her what was in that room– your room. You were the first place her eyes landed. Curled up on your side and barely conscious.” His breath stutters, catching on the emotion swelling in his throat.
“She called out to you, begging you to wake up. But you didn’t answer.
Your dad laughed from the other side of the room– he was sitting on your bed with a bottle dangling from his fingers. ”
“What did you do…” He whispers, eyes glazed over, looking straight through me. It stings a little, knowing that he can erase me from his vision when he’s all I ever see.
“Yeah, she asked him what he had done, but she already knew. When she took a step toward you, he shot up from the bed, Mom said he looked like an alpha protecting his meal. She begged him to let her help you, but he wouldn’t move.
You were awake, but barely. She said she knew she needed to call for help; it was too much for her to handle alone, but in her haste to get to you, she left her phone at home.
” I paused long enough to check him over.
He’s listening, but his mind has checked out of the bathroom and taken him back to his childhood home.
His body doesn’t react the way it usually does when the nightmares come, though.
I’d like to think the knowledge that my Mom is right there in the memory with him is enough to keep the panic at bay.
“I asked him to stop…”
“Yeah, you did. Mom turned to leave, making her way to the landline at the top of the stairs, but he followed.”
“So did I… he– he tried to grab her, I think…” I nod my confirmation, “I begged him to leave her alone, to… to come for me instead, but then he–” The memories flooding back steal his breath as his head shakes from side to side, conflicted between what he thought he knew, and what his brain is allowing him to remember.
“He reached his big, dirty hand toward her… I couldn’t let him– I would never let him hurt her…
” Tears stream down his cheeks in steady rivulets, flowing endlessly and dripping into the fold of his waist.
“I know, because you didn’t, Zan.”
“I pushed him.”
“You saved her.”
That’s when he breaks. He purges himself of everything: anger, injustice, grief, torment…
It all comes rushing out in what feels like an endless torrent, his body crumbling under the weight of the truth he desperately sought for so long.
I help lower him to his side, watching his body convulse in anguish as the grief takes the driver’s seat.
I hope with everything we were and everything we could be, that it steers him toward me.
I don’t try to offer my comfort, only my silent presence, even though my body aches to hold onto him.
As his sobs begin to quiet and his mind starts to slow, I can hear the cogs grinding.
The pieces eventually slot into place before he lifts himself from the floor.
We’re sitting face to face with barely a foot separating us, so why does it feel like he’s so far out of reach?
Zander’s face has always spoken a thousand words, and right now, it’s no different.
Dread settles low in my stomach, pushing bile up through my chest. He looks completely detached and unfamiliar; it physically hurts to see him look at me with so much distrust, as though he doesn’t recognise the person bleeding out in front of him.
“You knew all this time…”
And there it is.
“How could– why would you keep that from me?” It’s not the question I was expecting; if anything, I was sure he would ask me why I wouldn’t.
“Isn’t it obvious? Why do I do anything when it comes to you?”
“I thought I knew…”
“Zan, you do. It’s me, Jules. Your Jules,” I shuffle forward, desperately trying to reassure him that I haven’t changed, that I’m still the same boy he traded shoes and Pokémon cards with.
The same person he sought comfort from during the night.
The only person destined to be loved by him, and only him.
“No. The Jules I know wouldn’t keep secrets. He wouldn’t watch me break night after night if there was a chance he could fix it…”
“Zan–” He cuts me off as he pushes up from the floor, making his way toward the door. “You promised…” My voice breaks, mirroring the uneven crack splitting my heart in two.
“So did you.” With that, he leaves me behind. He doesn’t take a piece of me with him this time, though.
He takes everything.
I sit alone in the bathroom, looking at the shampoo bottles I’m yet to get rid of.
I imagine Mom’s gentle smile and warm eyes, the way her face would beam with pride whenever she caught sight of me.
Her whole frame would relax when I entered the room, as if the effort of holding all of her love for me was finally eased, once I was there to receive it.
It’s a feeling I’m more than familiar with; only, the love I’m holding on to has nowhere to go. I tried to cash in on my kindness and claim my karma, only for it to ricochet back ten times harder.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I thought I could save him.”