30. Let These Violent Delights Have Gentle Ends
LET THESE VIOLENT DELIGHTS HAVE GENTLE ENDS
LAKE
No matter how far I run, the walls still feel like they’re pressing in.
Realistically, I only get a few blocks before I slump against a streetlight on the corner of a vacant road.
I stare up at the funeral procession of storm clouds rolling over my head, taunting me with the promise of rain, and the seam between dusk and dawn is a dark one—now devoid of stars with the changing of the weather.
I can’t see the moon anymore. My only source of light is the low-powered, cobweb-laced bulbs that flicker ominously in the dead of night.
I don’t want the Mustangs to pay for one idiot’s mistake, and I don’t want to start a conflict with the people I care about. On the other hand, though, if I let this go, a little voice will always be in the back of my head asking me if it was the right decision.
I’ve always hated that condescending voice. It materialized outside of my body for the first time tonight, and I was absolutely powerless to control it.
Sutton is just standing up for his friends—his family. Hell, I asked him to show me his fangs, and then I condemned him when he did. I continued to antagonize him until he couldn’t take it anymore.
Who have I become? Or, I guess the more appropriate question is, who haven’t I become? A selfless daughter. A reliable big sister. A good girlfriend. I’m just a bratty, self-centered child who still thinks the whole world revolves around her.
The air—despite being cold—encapsulates my skin like sticky tar as my belly starts to ache with a sickness that can’t be remedied with your run-of-the-mill antacid.
The world is still eerily silent—so much so that the tripping of my heart is amplified ten times in my eardrums. A garbled sob harpoons the atmosphere, and I slap a hand over my mouth, feeling the tears begin to fall again after a momentary reprieve.
What if Sutton and I can’t come back from this?
I hated the harsh way his tongue wrapped around my name.
I hated the way he looked at me. I was relegated to a stranger within the span of thirty minutes, and home has never felt so inexplicably cold before.
The hearth of love that burned for me beneath his breastbone—it no longer runs, and I’m not sure if it ever will again.
I know it’s late, and I know my mom will probably kill me for scaring her like this, but I need to call her. I need her to tell me how to fix this.
I fish my phone out of my pocket, and my nausea only worsens when I see that Sutton has already left several voicemails.
Breathing through the hiccups and the snot-nosed sniffles, I scroll to my favorites until I find my mother, and then I hit call without a second thought.
There’s a phantom pain in my heart—a heart that doesn’t belong to me anymore—and it wails for its rightful owner, refusing to settle for the imposter who’s holding it captive.
My mom, thankfully, picks up on the fourth ring.
“Lake?” Her voice is groggy from sleep, yet considerably less frustrated than I’d anticipated.
If I didn’t have a stupid metal pole holding me up, I would’ve crumpled to my knees. I try to modulate my voice as best as I can, and I wipe away the evidence of tears on my skin as if she can see them.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, swishing the words around in my mouth and cringing at the impassive, PR-trained taste of them.
“It’s late, honey. I thought you were staying at the hotel tonight.”
“I-I am. Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up. Something hap—I just needed to hear your voice.”
My breath fogs out in front of me from the dropping temperature, and I stare back up at the mourning sky, no hint of a silver lining anywhere in the heart of a storm-studded evening.
I clutch my phone tighter to the side of my face, as if this cold, hard device could possibly substitute for my mother’s presence. It’s been a long time since I felt her comfort; I need it now.
Tungsten crushes my chest, thinning my airflow and spinning me into the beginnings of a panic that is undoubtedly noticeable over the line. How am I supposed to face Sutton tomorrow? His teammates? I don’t want to be here.
“Lake? Are you okay?”
Ironically, breathing doesn’t seem to be helping all that much. I get one last inhale in before cries shoot out of me like a pyrotechnics show gone awry, and the invisible levee that was holding my tears at bay suddenly crumbles.
Sutton unearthed a monster that existed deep within me.
One I thought I could starve and kill, but this creature would rather fill its stomach with a rotting carcass than go hungry.
Would bear the detrimental weight of a natural-borne sickness and succumb to the progression of life if it meant never having to feel that empty, gnawing ache ever again.
No matter how hard I try to get rid of it, it’s a part of me.
“Sutton and I got into a fight. A big one, Mom. We were yelling at each other, and I said terrible things to him that I didn’t mean.
I can’t—I can’t fix this. I ruined everything like I always do.
He hates me. I c-can’t have him hate me.
I don’t know what to do. I can’t live without him.
I don’t want to live without him,” I ramble, fully hyperventilating in the middle of nowhere, curling my fist into the front of my sweatshirt, right over the incessant throbbing of my lovelorn heart.
My entire face is wet; I can’t determine each tear’s genesis anymore. They’re merging together into one continuous whitewater rush, wracking my frame while simultaneously searing my nasal cavities.
There’s a reason I’ve never been in love before Sutton, and that’s because nobody could ever love me as I am. I don’t blame them, obviously. I’m a therapist’s wet dream and the human embodiment of a walking flashpoint.
“Slow down, Lake. You’re okay. Just breathe,” she coos.
“I…can’t,” I gasp, feeling my heart actively atrophy in the niche of my chest. The adrenaline isn’t enough to sand down the pain.
Everything is wrong. I’ve had conflicts before in my life, sure, but nothing that hit this close to home. My muscle memory is telling me to run into Sutton’s arms—to seek comfort in this trying time—but I can’t go back.
Bile coats my tongue as the tender night pulses in some sick mockery above me, little to no oxygen circulating through my system no matter how many heaves my lungs endure.
I feel my whole body tremble in response—on the verge of total collapse—and emotions leak out of me like snowmelt runoff.
Thick, sluggish, drained of exuberance. I alternate between feeling too much and nothing at all, as if my conscience can’t decide which is worse.
“You can. In. Out. In. Out. Just listen to the sound of my voice.”
I follow my mother’s instructions—albeit poorly—sucking as much air into my mouth as I can, willing the lightheadedness to subside long enough for me to communicate the situation to her.
For an eventide that is objectively quiet, the world has never sounded so loud before. I pause for the first time since I made my great escape, waiting underneath the sky’s mulberry maw to see if it swallows me whole.
It doesn’t.
It takes a few more deep breaths for the panic to trickle away, and when it does, a visceral wail breaks every linguistical restraint as I finally embrace agony like an old friend. The last time I felt this way was when I was holding Audie in my arms.
“What happened?” she asks.
Tears continue to cut down my cheeks, and when I glance up—looking for some sort of quick-fix from a higher power—the irony of the streetlight’s halo isn’t lost on me. I never realized how sad the sky looks when it isn’t filled with a minefield of incandescent stars.
“I caught one of Sutton’s teammates in the middle of an illegal sports gambling situation.
I told Sutton that I’m going to publish it in the school’s newspaper, even though it could disqualify them from the Frozen Four,” I say, a Russian nesting doll of memories unraveling in my head, each one more gut-wrenchingly horrible than its predecessor.
The look of betrayal on Sutton’s face, the way he raised his voice at me for the first time, the invasive shame that suffused my stomach at a speed I couldn’t intercept, much less comprehend.
“Is it true?” she asks.
My mother is a pretty levelheaded person (except when I push her overboard).
She’s strategic when she approaches problems because she’s had to be, given the frequency of their house visits.
I used to think her rationality in emotionally strung situations was cold and cruel, but looking back at it now, all she wanted to do was protect me. From the world, from myself.
I paw at the stickiness on my face. “I saw him exchanging money with this shady dude, who turned out to be a sports bookie. I’d already made up my mind about publishing the article without even taking into consideration how it would affect Sutton and the team.”
“It sounds like you’re taking it into consideration now.”
“If I don’t publish this story, it will go against everything I stand for. Plus, I’d blow my chances for the editor in chief position next year.”
“I know how hard you’ve worked on the school newspaper, sweetheart. I can’t imagine how difficult this decision must be for you.”
“I unknowingly made a choice back there, and I didn’t choose Sutton. I didn’t protect him. You’re supposed to protect the people you love. I failed.”
And then my mother says something that she’s tried to ingrain into me ever since my sister died—not successfully, but not for a lack of trying.
That all-knowing tone of hers is stripped away for a bare second, and a part of me knows what’s about to come out of her mouth before she can piece the words together.
Her voice sputters like the sick cough of an engine in the height of winter.
“What happened to Audie wasn’t your fault,” she whispers, and the little patch of ground beneath my feet finally gives out. I slide my back down the base of the streetlamp, plopping onto my butt and pulling my knees into my chest.
I can barely see out of the foggy cling film over my vision.
I’ve spent my whole life trying to outrun the hounds of self-deprecation that stalk my every movement, even though I knew they’d inevitably catch me.
And maybe I’m especially sensitive right now, but I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear those words again.
“I’ve watched you blame yourself ever since that night, Lake.
And if I had the power to switch positions with you, I would’ve carried the weight of your burdens in a heartbeat.
You did everything you could, sweetheart.
You were so young, and you were terrified.
I should’ve been the one to hold things together, not you. I’m so sorry.”
My voice lumbers over a congested inhale. “It’s not your fault either, Mom. Nobody could’ve known something like that would’ve happened. It was an accident.”
“Exactly. It was an accident, and I hate the fact that you punish yourself for something that was out of your control. Now this guilt is seeping into your current life—a guilt that I should’ve worked harder to mitigate.
You think you don’t deserve to be happy because of what happened in the past, but you’re the one who deserves it the most. The fiasco with Max’s suspension made me realize how absent I’ve been from both of your lives.
“I’m sorry for not being there when you needed me.
I’m sorry for placing all the responsibility on your shoulders.
I never thanked you for taking him to practice and never missing a game and listening to him when I was too caught up in my own grief.
That’s not the kind of parent either of you deserve. ”
“All I’ve ever wanted is to be a good influence for Max.” I sniffle, wiping my eyes on the arm of my hoodie.
“And you have been. You taught him to stand up for what he believes in. You taught him to speak out because his voice matters. He’s the person he is today is because of you, and I’m so proud of you both,” she tells me, plying me with the love that I’d thought I’d lost, unknowingly offering me the approval I’ve spent so long chasing after.
“Sutton is my family. How do I choose between him and my dreams?” I ask.
“Love is about compromise, but true love would never require you to change who you are.”
When she puts it like that, the answer seems pretty clear.
There’s a lightness to my mother’s tone that I haven’t heard in ages—one that means more to me than she could ever imagine.
“I know what resentment can do to a person. I saw it firsthand with your father. He walked out of our lives because guilt ate him alive after Audie’s death, and I don’t want you to make the same decision.
It might not seem like it, but Sutton needs you right now.
Don’t throw everything away because of one single argument.
Talk to him. Fight for what you believe in, just like you always have. ”
Sutton Whittaker has lodged himself under my ribs. He’s made a home for himself in my skin, and he never once turned away because of my scars. He’s shown me forgiveness when I thought I didn’t deserve it. He’s shown me compassion when I tried to push him away.
But most importantly, he never ran. He never ran because he knew how lost I’d be without him.
“I love him so much, Mom. I can’t lose him,” I sob, feeling like a heartless hull lying on an operating table under a surgeon’s hand, having forgone the anesthesia so I can feel every prod and poke of this bloodstained body I call my own.
“If he truly loves you, you won’t.”