Chapter Twenty-Five #2
Her weakest? Yeah she’s insecure about her past relationships but that’s not the same as killing someone. That’s one of my darkest secrets that I planned to take to my grave. Besides, that is not the point. The point is that my brother that I trusted implicitly betrayed my confidence.
“What? Are you angry I know something personal about you?”
I run my fingers through my thick hair and turn away from her. This is infuriating and getting us nowhere.
“Oh I see, you think it’s not enough. You think your secret isn’t the same as how vulnerable I’ve been with you.” I thought she was past this. I thought I’d made it clear I didn’t see her as the girl she thought she was.
“Then how’s this for even? Want to know my darkest secret?” Eyes locked in a fierce battle of wills, she drops her bomb. “I was on the road the night you found me because I was going to drive off the bridge and end it.”
Time. Time ceased for I don’t know how long. I stopped breathing and stopped trying to think straight. My mind jumped from thought to thought.
She was going to kill herself?
Did she change her mind or not make it before her accident occurred?
Why hasn’t she tried again?
What could have made her feel so lost she wanted to end her life?
My mind was a mess of unfinished thoughts, a culmination of shock and fear and relief all at once. I found myself so relieved that she’s still here. That I found her.
I’ve tried to ignore that it felt like fate that brought me to the bridge the night of her accident. Maybe in more ways than one.
Tears welled in her eyes, glimmering under the low lights. I rushed toward her and took her cheeks in my hands, desperate to feel her, feel her breath, feel her pulse. I want so badly to tell her I’m so thankful she’s still here and that I found her. That we’ve had this time.
But most importantly, I want to tell her I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
So I sign it. I don’t sign often but for her I will. If it’s what she needs from me to make a stride forward. I hope she sees it for the gesture it is.
“I don’t understand sign language,” she sighs.
“He said he’s sorry,” Dylan’s voice comes from over my shoulder.
We both look to him and the defeated, hurt expression on his face that I feel all too guilty for.
I took this too far. I acted just like our father and let my anger get the best of me.
Before I can apologize to him too, he shuts his door and I hear it lock.
Fuck.
I turn back to Mara with pleading eyes, begging her to forgive me and to understand. None of this is easy for anyone involved. But I want her to know me, if that’s what she wants. It took this clusterfuck for me to realize it, but I have to try.
I pull Mara close, tenderly, angling my hand on her cheek so my fingers weave through her blonde locks behind her ear, and bring our foreheads together.
Her skin is so hot with the heat of all her emotions.
Her breathing is erratic and unpredictable.
A soft sniffle tells me she’s fighting back her tears.
Fuck. Mara tried to kill herself. And somehow fate intervened and brought us together instead of letting her leave this earth.
I feel so guilty my inability to control my emotions pushed her to share when she wasn’t ready.
I want to say her name. I want to tell her it’ll be ok. That I’ll do better. I’ll be whatever she needs me to be.
“The day I fell through the ice, I thought it was some kind of cosmic balance, that I was supposed to die that day since I didn’t die that day on the bridge. But you keep saving me.” Her voice sounds so raw with emotion.
Her voice lowers to a whisper like she’s afraid of awaking some monster. “Jason, that day on the ice, did you shout my name?”
I lift my head so I can look into her misty eyes.
And I nod. An admission I’m not comfortable with and I don’t know how to explain. But she deserves honesty.
“And you don’t think you can do it again?”
I shake my head no. I’ve spoken twice in the last decade and they both felt too unnatural. It’s not that I don’t know if I can. Every time I’ve tried to speak—the few times I’ve tried—no sound came out. It’s like my voice box is littered with cobwebs from disuse. Broken.
“Have you tried?” The hope in her voice guts me like a knife.
I nod again. Resolution settles in her eyes.
“You owe Dylan an apology,” she scolds me. “You should be mad at me for pushing the subject, not him.”
I rub my middle and pointer finger over the space between my eyes on the bridge of my nose. I know I fucked up. Big time. I have so much to apologize for. So much I need to say. To both of them. My anger shouldn’t be directed at anyone but myself.
“I’ll sleep in my room,” she announces in the silence. But as she tries to walk past me I pull her into me once more and silently beg for her to stay with me. I hold her gaze and shake my head. Then start toward our room, hoping she’ll come with me.
“Jason,” she looks unsure. So I kiss her with as much passion as I can muster through all the hurt and confusion. If I can’t tell her how I feel, maybe my actions can speak on my behalf.
A little reluctantly, she follows me into the bedroom and I tuck us into bed, spooning her small frame with my body so I can bury my face in her neck and breathe her in all night. So even in my dreams, I know she’s here.
She’s here. She’s alive.
I’ve had to remind myself of that too many times this winter.