Erin
Gavin Lindberg has been MIA from every session since the one when he so casually asked me to dinner.
Not that it matters, of course, because I’ve had my own priorities to focus on. I’ve spent the last month making amends, apologizing to everyone I’ve hurt and accepting that as much as I want them to, not everyone will forgive me.
Skyler was first, and she was the easiest — perhaps because she was the one in our group who always seemed to put her friends before herself. I don’t think it’s in her blood to hold a grudge, and I’m thankful for that, since we’re now slowly working toward having a friendship again.
My mother was the next battle, and it was more like a war, because as much as I was apologizing to her for all the hell I’d put her through in the past year, I was also confessing to her that she was responsible for a lot of the deep-seated issues I’d been fighting all my life.
She did not like hearing that.
I’m thankful to my mom for how she helped me after Landon and his brothers gang-raped me. It’s because of her that I clawed my way out of the deep, bottomless hole that night had put me in and took the reins of my life firmly in my hands once more.
But she also advocated ignoring what had happened and disguised that as strength.
We never talked about it, and there was never any room for me to explore what that night did to me, how it permanently changed me, how I would never be the woman I was before.
Hell, I wasn’t even allowed to say the word rape — like I should have been ashamed of it.
To my mom, strength is standing tall and holding your chin high and never letting anyone see that you were a human being with feelings and flaws and hopes and dreams.
You must be steel — cold and hard and resilient.
So, opening up to her was not only difficult for me, but to her it was practically being forced to lie in a bed of needles. She wasn’t just annoyed by my emotions, she was uncomfortable when they were aimed at her, which is why I wasn’t surprised when she was less then receptive to them.
Still, she forgave me, and she seemed to at least somewhat listen to me, and I hope that, like Skyler, we’ll move forward into a new, stronger relationship together.
I’d sat down and talked with everyone close to me — Lei, Jess, and Cassie included. I wasn’t ready to tell them everything that had happened to me just yet, but I at least wanted them to know that I was trying.
And then, there was Bear.
I’m not surprised that he reacted the way he did when I asked him to dinner and tried, pathetically, to explain why I murdered our child.
I know it’s not as callous as that, that I’m berating myself and not “being kind to myself,” as my therapist would urge me to do.
But truthfully? In my heart? That’s how I see it.
I took life from my own child, and I’ll never forgive myself.
So why does it upset me so much that Bear won’t forgive me, either?
He had every right to reject my apology that night we went to dinner, and still, I was shocked by it.
Maybe it’s because through all the shit I’ve faced in the past year, he has always been there for me.
He’s always been the one holding me and assuring me that it’s okay, and that I’m not a terrible person, and that I will make it out of the hell I’ve been imprisoned in.
But he didn’t hold me this time.
Hell, he could barely look at me.
And it killed me.
So, yeah, I’ve had plenty of my own shit to occupy my time and energy without worrying about going on a date with Gavin Lindberg.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice he hadn’t been around.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take extra time getting ready for group the week we were supposed to go to dinner, curling my hair and putting on my makeup with precision and picking out one of my favorite fall outfits — dark, skinny jeans, a conservative silky blouse, and my favorite black high heels.
And I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t deflate a little when he never showed that night, or the week after, or the week after that.
Maybe that’s why I find myself slightly annoyed when he waltzes through the door two minutes before group therapy starts, casting me a smile and a wink as if we’re buddies before taking a seat across the circle from me, outstretching his legs and shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.
His intense blue eyes watch me curiously, and I just glare back at him, letting my annoyance show until Jackie says we’re getting started.
Then, I turn my attention to her, and I leave it there for the rest of the session.
I don’t look at Gavin again, not even when he makes his sarcastic and ill-placed comments when someone else is speaking. Jackie warns him a couple times, and he finally shuts up — presumably because he’s failing to get my attention like he so desperately seems to want to do.
When the session is over, I promptly grab my belongings and make my way toward the door, not bothering to stop by the table of coffee and donuts that I never touch, or stay back to talk to anyone else in the group.
I make it all the way to the parking lot before the distant sound of my name being called out stops me, and I take a deep breath, turning and finding Gavin slowing from his jog to a walk and eventually to stand just a few feet away from me.
It’s dark in the parking lot, save for the streetlights casting warm circles over a few of the spots. Gavin is standing under one of them, and it leaves his face half-shadowed, but I can still see a tinge of remorse in his ocean eyes.
“Geez, you really bolted out of there tonight,” he says. “Did I miss the fire?”
I cross my arms, shifting my weight to one hip.
Gavin sighs, grabbing the back of his neck and looking around at the otherwise-empty lot before his embarrassed gaze finds mine again. “Alright, I deserve the silent treatment. I’m sorry I bailed on our dinner. I have the tendency of being an asshole from time to time.”
“How unfortunate,” I deadpan, turning on my heel and making my way toward my car. I click the button to unlock it, sending a flash of taillights over the lot before Gavin jogs around to stand in front of me, holding his hands out, palms up.
“Erin, wait.”
“Honestly, Gavin, I’ve been busy handling my own shit, okay? If you didn’t want to go to dinner with me, you could have just said it. You didn’t have to avoid group for almost a month.”
“I do want to go to dinner with you.”
“Clearly.” I roll my eyes, pushing past him and opening my car door, but before I can slide inside, Gavin wraps his hand around the top of the window, serving as a barricade.
“I mean it,” he says, brows furrowed together as his eyes search mine. “I’m sorry. Truly. I… I’ve had some personal things going on.” He swallows, and I let my guard down marginally at the display of vulnerability. “And I do want to go to dinner with you.”
I inhale, but otherwise don’t respond, waiting.
“Let’s go now.”
At that, I laugh. “Now?”
“Right now,” he says again. “If we go now, I can’t bail out.”
“Oh, how charming.”
“I’m serious,” he says when I try to push him out of the way to get in my car.
His hand gently holds my forearm — not with enough force to stop me from brushing him off if I really want to, but with enough care to let me know he means what he says.
“Let me take you to dinner. Right now. Anywhere you want.”
The way he watches me is like he already knows who I am, and I hate that I love it so much. I hate that feeling like I’m being seen makes me want to say yes to any and everything this shadow of a man proposes.
“I don’t really know of any good places to eat around here,” I finally say. “I spend most of my time on the other side of town, near campus.”
“What are you in the mood for?”
I shrug. “Sushi?”
Gavin grins, stepping out of the way and holding the car door open for me. “I know just the place.”
***
“Why do I feel like I should be scared for my life or, at the very least, that I will be hugging my toilet later tonight?” I ask, eyeballing the dingy, roughed-up exterior of the brick building Gavin has guided us to.
It’s small and tucked between a bicycle shop and a barber shop in the part of downtown my parents specifically told me to stay away from when I first started school at PSU.
The flickering neon sign above the blacked-out door says something in Japanese, and under it, a simple white banner reads SUSHI in black, all-caps English.
“Trust me, this will be the best sushi you’ll ever have in your life,” Gavin says, holding the door open for me.
As soon as he opens it, we’re hit with the thumping base of electronic music that would be better suited for a club than for any kind of restaurant, and a large group of people smushed inside, waiting to be seated.
It’s dim throughout the restaurant, with black lights and disco balls sending flares of light across the room.
I arch a brow, but don’t move otherwise.
Gavin chuckles, reaching out for my hand. “Come on. Have a little faith.”
Something about his smile makes my chest warm and fuzzy, and I smile in return, letting him take my hand in his and guide me inside. We mutter excuse me to several groups, squirming our way to the hostess stand.
Then, Gavin surprises me by speaking Japanese to the hostess, who smiles at him like she knows him — or like she wants to sleep with him, I can’t be sure which — before leading us to a corner booth all the way in the back, where the music is a little softer and we have a view of the entire room.
Another surprise to me is that the place is packed. Every single table is taken, even though it’s after eight now, and the table we’re seated at was roped off like it was being held for a VIP. Judging by the long wait at the front, Gavin isn’t the only one who’s a fan of the sushi here.