Chapter 16 #2
Dane didn’t know when he’d felt colder, more isolated in his life than he did at that moment. The ball of nausea rose with the truth of her words, the familiar words of his own conscience these past years resurrected by the words of Shana’s mother. Would his mother have said the same?
A cloud like dry ice froze his brain, stilled his blood—his fresh new blood. When he looked down at his hand, with the needle pumping fluids and who the hell knew what else into him, he expected his skin to be purple with the soul-numbing cold that was seeping through him and taking hold.
He tried to stay rational, to tell himself he’d slayed all those dragons of guilt, overcome every one of the objections Tillie had cut him with.
Told himself not to let her open old scars, that his mother would never have told him he didn’t deserve Shana, reminding himself that she’d said the opposite.
But that was a lifetime ago, as if in a dream, and her death changed everything, casting doubt on what she’d said.
No matter how hard he tried to hang on to reason, aided and abetted by whatever drugs they’d filled him with, he was losing the battle to the overwhelming pit of guilty irrational emotions.
He took a deep shaky breath and felt this chest crack as if his heart were breaking open, felt the stabbing pain, real and not imagined as if he were having a heart attack, as if his heart were literally breaking.
No words ever spoken had ever made him feel more sick, more filled with dread, than the words Tillie George had just said to him. It was as if she were his deep, long-buried conscience unearthed and come to life to lecture him on what he’d known all along but managed to forget this past year.
“God damn it.” He hadn’t realized he’d said the words aloud until Joe came into the room and raised his brows at him.
“Problem? You okay? You don’t look good.” Joe went to press the nurse call button, but Dane grabbed his wrist with quickness and strength that surprised himself.
Joe looked at him.
“Jesus. Whose blood did they give you? Superman’s?”
“Where’s Shana?”
“I’ll get her. Maybe you should get some rest—”
“Get her.” Dane’s heart thumped, telling him rest was the last thing he would get and yet aware of the fuzziness of his mental state.
The panic in him had taken hold and even as he struggled to push back, could see that what he was feeling was all wrong, he felt it anyway, like he’d awoken to find his worst nightmare was real.
Thirty agonizing minutes ticked by until she appeared in the doorway. Dane told Joe to leave them and close the door.
“You can’t close the door,” Shana said, moving to his bed, her smile in full force, no hesitation even in the face of his unleashed storm.
She bent to kiss him on the lips and he turned his head. He needed to get this out to give full rein to the lightning bolts of hurt and anger lashing through him.
“What is it, Dane? Do you need more pain meds?” Her hand was on the nurse’s buzzer ready to call. He grabbed her arm and pulled it away.
“No. No meds. It’s not the pain bothering me. Your mother and I had a talk.” He licked his lips, too many warring emotions, too many horrors flying through his head with increasing velocity.
“What did she say?” The low flat tenor of Shana’s voice registered somewhere in his head, but he couldn’t tell what it meant, couldn’t figure it out, couldn’t slow down the whirling despair inside him.
“She’s right. I’m no good for you. Too destructive. Every damn time.” The words ripped a hole in his chest and the pain oozed in a tortured sting, seizing his heart. He felt the jagged edges in it, he could swear.
“What the hell are you talking about? I-I don’t know what to say to that.” Her stunned pale face slowed the wild storm in him, but not much.
“Try saying goodbye.”
Her mouth opened and for one horrible beat she lost all color, all speech, all hope.
Love drained from her as if he were the very vampire of darkness sucking the life from her.
He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to weather the wrenching throb of pain in his chest that went through him like a wave, over and over again in a never-ending cascade of gut-wracking pulses.
She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook hi, her face wild with fury.
“What are you saying? What did my mother say to you? I’ll rip her tongue out for—”
“She’s right.”
“She’s dead wrong.” White-hot fury vibrated through her words and she shook him again. He gripped her arms to stop her, meeting her eyes and seeing pain in the glittering green.
Knowing he had caused it made him wince, made him shake his head to settle the storm, anything to stop the ceaseless tide of despair.
“What happened to the man who flew halfway around the world with me because I asked him to? Because I wanted him to see my home before we married, get to know my family better, bond? And now one conversation with my mother and you’ve reversed completely.
Gone back to that black-souled martyr who doesn’t think he deserves to be loved. Who can’t stomach—”
“Stop it, Shana.” His voice sounded more controlled, more himself, although wracking fear still ruled him.
“I can’t.” She was crying now, rivulets of tears running down her face.
He grabbed hold of her and pulled her to him.
He knew how she felt, like everything inside had vanished and where his heart had been, healed and pulsing with life, was now black.
Her tears pounded at him, proving he still felt too much, proving that he couldn’t stop, in spite of the dark cavity of anguish and guilt stealing the light and joy of loving her, making his love seem like an evil thing.
“Don’t tell me you don’t love me, don’t tell me—”
“Damn it, Shana. I love you.”
She stopped and looked at him, swiping tears. He’d never seen her sob. Never felt her pain so acutely. How much worse would it be if she lost him? If he lost her.
If he were the cause of her death?
“Damn it to hell, Dane. Have you gone mad? Tell me it’s the medication getting to you?” She paused, hopeful and wondering, but he was too wrung out to respond, too confused.
“Nothing could be worse than losing you, except if I were the one responsible for your death.”
“I know, Dane. I understand.” She paused, absorbing the reality of what he said. He knew she knew. She’d been there when he’d lost his mother, been responsible for her death. He shuddered.
She put a hand on his face.
“But you would be mistaken if you thought for some insane reason that losing you now, having you throw me aside, toss aside everything we have, toss away our future, would be any less painful.”
Her words surrounded him, but didn’t penetrate. His head was fuzzy and his gut churning. He understood her words, but he couldn’t respond.
“It’s funny. I’d always thought you were the bravest man I ever knew. But I was wrong. You’re not brave at all. You’re afraid. Afraid of experiencing the best of life for fear of experiencing the worst.”
He studied her, couldn’t speak, but these words struck at his heart, bypassing the turmoil in his head and his gut.
He pulled her in again, banded his arms around her as she struggled to free herself, held tight as she pushed at him to let her go.
It was ironic. Because right now, he had no intention of letting her go, if only temporarily.
“It’s not like that. You deserve—”
“Don’t tell me what I goddamn well deserve, you pompous—”
He pulled on her hair and grabbed her chin, making her face him, making her listen to him. He needed to make her understand, needed to hold onto his slipping resolve as he held her, felt her against him, felt her suffering.
“I don’t deserve you and I never will. I’ll never live up to your idealized version of me, I’ll never be entirely whole and I’ll never be able to stop being a danger.
” He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be the death of you.
I don’t want to be the reason your life is cut short and I don’t want to be the dead man responsible for your widowhood. ”
“You’d rather be responsible for breaking my heart purposely while you’re alive?” She paused and actually sneered at him. “So you can watch?”
She yanked herself free from his grasp and then she did something she’d never done before, something Dane had never allowed before, but the meds had slowed his reflexes, so when she lifted her hand, he couldn’t stop her.
She slapped his face. Hard.
Then she stormed to the door. He was too stunned to speak. The sting to the skin of his face was nothing. The sting to his soul proved he still had one, buried under the familiar dark cloud, the one he’d thought he’d banished.
“Shana,” he called as she got to the door. He wanted her back, wanted her to stay.
He wanted to beg her forgiveness. Needed to explain about her mother’s true feelings about him. It was a problem they needed to resolve. He couldn’t come between her and her mother.
She reached for the door handle and when he expected her to throw it open to leave, she didn’t. Instead she fiddled with it and then turned and looked around. When she spotted a nearby chair, she dragged it to the door and propped it under the handle to prevent it from turning.
“What the hell are you doing?” He knew, but he couldn’t be right.