Chapter 24
JANE
PLAYLIST: NEVER LET ME GO – FLORENCE + THE MACHINE
Iwatch her get triggered, and while it is hard for me to regulate myself, this is the window. For her.
“Tell me what happened with your brother,” I say as I grasp her face. She needs to push through this, or she might never.
She wants to pull back, push me away, but I won’t let her.
“Tell me. Say it, right now.”
She is retreating, evading. Her eyelids twitch, and she shakes uncontrollably.
“Say it out loud,” I order her. “NOW!”
One wild gaze, before she shouts at me.
“I KILLED HIM! I was mad at him because he ripped off my barbie’s head, and I told him to vanish himself so I don’t have to see his face ever again.
He hid. We didn’t find him for days. He suffocated in our underground storage.
He didn’t know better, he took me literally, he was autistic, a severe form—he, he just did exactly what I told him—“
And suddenly, all the pieces come together. The reason she knew how to deal with me, and also why she thinks El killed herself because of what Amelie said.
“How old were you when your brother died?”
“Seven,” she says.
“Seven,” I repeat. “You were a child. None of it is your fault. You were a child. You didn’t know better. Just like your brother didn’t know better.”
She looks at me in total bewilderment.
“But I told him—“
“You were a child. You were not meant to take on your parents’ job to take care of your autistic brother. You were a child yourself. You needed protection. You needed guidance.”
The tears flood down like a waterfall over her cheeks.
“My father,” she says. “He—he told me—“
I pull her into me and say, “Your father should have told you this: It is not your fault. You are a child. You didn’t know better.
It is my fault that I didn’t watch you, that I wasn’t there.
I am so sorry that you feel responsible for something you are not.
I want you to grow up knowing that none of it is your fault.
Accidents happen. And I love you. I will always love you. ”
She completely collapses into me.
I hold her.
It is such an emotional moment that even I shed a tear as I rock her softly back and forth and caress her hair.
A nurse enters, I shake my head and tell her to leave with my head—gladly, she nods and leaves silently.
At some point, I just lie down with Amelie in the hospital bed, because I can’t sit anymore. My butt still hurts like shit, a vivid reminder of what happened.
None of it was okay.
But it was the only way to get her and me through.
I know she didn’t mean to.
She wasn’t herself that night, in the most literal way possible. It is not an excuse, but it is my decision to see the person she was before she was triggered.
I thought she would break me that night.
By all means, I wanted her to.
But she didn’t.
She broke herself with it.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers as if she heard my thoughts. “I am so, so sorry, I don’t know how to—“
“You said sorry,” I say. “You didn’t mean to.”
“I meant to, I—I—“
“Shhhh,” I say. I mean, I know many of the things crossed a line, but I also know that she wasn’t herself. Her brain chemistry did things to her because she couldn’t handle the grief. And while I am still unsure about my own reaction to whatever that was that happened between us, I know one thing:
I love her. And others may call me crazy, but when I love, I do so with all I have, meaning all the understanding of what emotional distress does to a person and the belief in her good heart. She always asked for consent and was always thoughtful. The person I saw wasn’t her.
“You didn’t mean to. You tried to make me hate you. You grasped the last straw because I confronted you with a version of yourself you couldn’t hold because your brain wouldn’t let you. That version wasn’t you. You. Didn’t. Mean. To.”
“I didn’t mean to,” she repeats.
“Yes,” I say. “And to be entirely honest, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world,” I add.
“I hit you, I hurt you, I–“
“And I would want you to do it again,” I say and add, “With some boundaries and talking beforehand.”
“Are you for real?” she asks incredulously.
“Yes,” I say. “Call me crazy.”
“You’re not crazy,” she says. “Don’t say that about yourself.”
I smile.
There she is again.
The woman I fell for.
We lie there for endless moments.
Her breathing slows down until her eyes close and her body relaxes.
I crawl out of the bed under her, stretch myself because my back hurts from the position, and then place her in the bed and cover her with a blanket.
She looks so peaceful, the woman I once met.
The one who saved me from the stalker. Who talked me through my over-stimulation. Who taught me how to stand up in front of my mother. Who held my hand while flying. Who knew how to calm my every wave.
A smile hushes over my face as I crawl back into the bed with her and cuddle around her from behind. I dig my nose into her hair.
Lavender.
“I love you,” I say silently into the back of her head, “And I am not going anywhere.”
And with that, I close my eyes, too.
When I wake, Amelie brushes with her hand over my face. I open my eyes. She looks at me.
“Hi,” she says hesitantly.
“Hi back,” I say, smiling drowsily.
She brushes back my hair.
“You slept for twelve hours,” she says.
She looks exhausted, her eyes tired, still red, dark eye rims, hardened eyes.
“I suppose I had some sleep to catch up with,” I say. And she immediately removes her hand.
“Don’t,” I say, pulling it back towards me, as carefully as possible so that I don’t do anything to her healing wound. I am still scared of experiencing that again. I am not good in crisis, and when I saw her with her cut open arm, the blood flooding from it—
I shudder.
“You don’t have to be here all the time,” she says.
“I’m not leaving,” I say. “You can try to push me away all the way you want, but I will not leave you.”
“But you have work, research, lectures, your cat—“
“All taken care of. I’m here. Nothing else matters.”
“I’m sorry I messed up everything,” she says. “You, your life. It’s all—“
“Stop it right there,” I say.
“But—“
“I decided to be here. It is my decision.”
“I don’t deserve you,” she says. “After everything I did,—“
“You deserve to have someone in your corner. Someone who tells your little mindfucker to shut up. Someone who loves you.”
She swallows hard with my last words. I can still see the pain on her face.
“You are not betraying El,” I say. “Rationally, you cannot betray someone who isn’t physically here.
Emotionally, I know it’s easier said than done, but allow me to say this: Love is infinite.
You can love two or even more people at the same time, and it doesn’t change anything how much you love each person.
Otherwise, parents couldn’t have more than one child. ”
Amelie retracts, and her hands tremble.
“Your brain might not see it right now, because it is convinced it was all your fault, but El kissed me. She kissed me. She invited me. She wanted me to be there, do you think someone would do that who feels betrayed by that love?”
She shakes her head, her eyes getting tearful again.
“If you ask me, you are so used to feeling guilt that you cling to it as the only known constant. Guilt is what your brain and body know, so you search for it everywhere.”
A long silence follows.
“But how do I stop?” she asks me finally.
“Rewire your brain,” I say. “Mental rehearsal. Become familiar with the moments it happens and decide to act differently.”
“I don’t know how to let go of it,” she says.
“Then, tell me. Every time that thought pops up, you tell me.”
“I don’t want to be your project.”
“You are not. You are the woman I love.”
“Still a project.”
“Change that thought, right there. I am wanted. I am seen. I am loved, tell yourself that.”
“Affirmations don’t work if a person doesn’t feel them,” she snaps at me.
“Then, feel them,” I say, cupping her face.
“Feel my touch. Feel how I care. Feel how I love you,” I say, and then kiss her.
I try to put as much as I can into that kiss.
She is hesitant at first.
“I am here,” I whisper against her lips. “And I am not leaving.”
But then, she kisses me back. Softly. Carefully. But just enough to make me feel that one feeling only she can give me.
That feeling of being home.