19. Chapter 19 #3
Caroline's grip tightened.
"No."
I stared at her.
Anger flared.
"What?"
"No."
She moved closer.
"I will not be the only reason you live."
"That's not what I—"
"It is what you asked."
Her eyes held mine.
"And I love you too much to accept it."
I couldn't breathe.
"You want something to live for?"
Her thumb moved over my knuckles.
"Live for the possibility that one day you wake up and don't hate yourself."
My throat tightened.
"Live for the club. Live for the people who sat in that waiting room all night."
She leaned closer.
"Live because there are still things you haven't seen. Because there are still people you haven't met. Because somewhere under all this pain is a man who drove to a grocery store and tried to buy fucking onions."
A laugh broke out of me.
It hurt like hell.
I didn't care.
Caroline was crying and almost laughing too.
"Live for stupid things," she whispered. "Coffee. Sunsets. Sex. Terrible television."
"Sex?"
"Focus."
"I'm trying."
She squeezed my hand.
"And yes."
Her cheeks flushed.
"Live for me too."
There it was.
Not everything.
Something.
"Live for us. For the possibility of something that doesn't involve destroying yourself."
I looked at our joined hands.
"You really love me?"
"Unfortunately."
I laughed again.
"Ow. Fuck you."
"Maybe eventually."
My head snapped up.
Caroline's face went scarlet.
For one perfect second, neither of us spoke.
Then I smiled.
Actually smiled.
Her expression crumpled.
"Don't."
"What?"
"Don't make me laugh. I'm still furious."
"You're the one talking about fucking me."
"Colt."
"Just clarifying."
She wiped her face.
I watched her.
The anger was still there.
So was mine.
That mattered.
Because this wasn't forgiveness.
It wasn't a miracle.
She had left me.
I had tried to turn pain into punishment.
We had both hurt each other in ways love couldn't erase.
But she was here.
And I was alive.
"Okay," I said.
Her expression sobered.
"Okay what?"
"I'll try."
"To?"
"Live."
The word felt enormous.
Impossible.
I forced myself to say more.
"But not just for you."
Caroline's eyes filled.
"Good."
"For me too."
Her grip tightened.
"Good."
"I don't know how."
"I know."
I glared at her.
She smiled through tears.
"Sorry."
For the next several hours, she stayed.
We talked in pieces.
Not constantly.
Some truths were too heavy to hold all at once.
She told me more about the three weeks she'd been gone. About opening our text thread and typing messages she never sent. About sitting alone in her office and pretending distance was discipline.
I told her about the parking lot.
The drinking.
The first fight.
Not all of it.
Enough.
When the afternoon light shifted, Caroline stood.
My entire body tensed.
She saw it.
"I'm going to the cafeteria."
I forced my shoulders to relax.
"Okay."
"I'll be back in twenty minutes."
"You don't have to report your movements."
"No."
She picked up her bag. "But right now, I think I do."
The honesty hit somewhere deep. I nodded. "Twenty minutes."
"Twenty."
She made it to the door.
"Caroline."
She turned.
I almost said don't go. But she spoke first. "I'm going to be here," she whispered. "For recovery. For the hard parts. For the fights."
I closed my eyes.
"But only if you're actually going to fight for survival instead of fighting for death."
"I will."
She pulled back.
I looked at her. "I can't promise I won't fuck up."
"I know."
"I can't promise I won't want to go back."
"I know."
"I can't promise this fixes anything."
"I don't want promises you can't keep."
Her fingers brushed carefully through my hair.
"Just tell me before you disappear."
The words cut both ways. We both knew it.
"Same deal for you," I said.
Caroline nodded. "Same deal."
After she left , I lay in the hospital bed and watched the clock.
Five minutes.
Ten.
At fifteen, panic started whispering.
At eighteen, I hated myself for counting.
At nineteen, footsteps approached.
At twenty, Caroline walked through the door carrying two coffees and a bag of something that smelled like actual food.
Relief hit so hard it almost hurt worse than my ribs.
She saw it. Didn't mention it. Just set one coffee on the table beside me.
"I came back."
I looked at her. "Yeah."
She sat down. This time, I believed it.
Not forever. Not yet.
Today.
Maybe tomorrow, we'd choose it again.
I'd spent months confusing pain with healing. Had believed that the only way through trauma was to hurt worse than it hurt. Had convinced myself that I deserved to suffer.
Caroline couldn't fix that. But watching her walk back into that room at exactly twenty minutes broke something open inside me.
I didn't deserve punishment.
Maybe I didn't fully believe that yet. But I wanted to.
I deserved the chance to recover. I deserved people who loved me enough to be furious when I tried to destroy myself. I deserved a future that wasn't guaranteed by Caroline staying and wasn't doomed by the possibility that she might leave.
And for the first time since the black-site, I actually wanted to live long enough to find out what that future looked like.