Chapter 21 Indie
Indie
Let Down - Cover - Mack Lorén
Age Twenty-Two
It’s been weeks now, and I can’t get a full night’s rest.
I’m tortured in my sleep with nightmares, and flashbacks when I’m awake.
I don’t know what peace feels like anymore. I can’t think straight; I can’t take a deep breath without feeling like my chest will implode.
Why can’t it all just go away?
Tears threaten to spill over my lashes, but I aggressively bat them away. I’ve cried so much every day that I can’t have anything left.
I don’t want to be like this.
I’ve lost a part of myself, and the grief has its claws dug tightly into me. No matter what I do, it feels like it won’t ever let go.
The worst of it is, they took from Regina, too.
Conrad and George had an ultimatum that night. I can’t think long enough to work everything out.
Had they been watching us with Jenna?
Were they planning on doing it to all three of us?
The questions are endless, but the conclusion is void.
Jenna got locked in the bathroom, and when she managed to break out, she was dragged outside by one of Conrad’s friends, stating she was too drunk—whilst the drugs were fully invading our system.
When they wouldn’t let her back in, it caused a commotion; she knew something was wrong.
She called Saint, who was already on his way with Rex, the two of them managing to get inside whilst Saint tore down the place to find out where we were, him and Rex taking down anyone that stood in their way.
The cruellest thing about it all? If they’d have drugged us properly, we wouldn’t have been partially conscious to fully know what happened to us.
I tried hard to fight back, but I couldn’t.
Sometimes I wish I did black out, because now I’m left with mental scars that never seem to want to heal.
The scabs fall off as soon as they form, and the torture rewinds from the beginning again.
This can’t control me, define who I am.
But every time I try to talk myself round, reality comes crashing down, and I either vomit to the point my throat is raw, or I spend hours in the shower, scrubbing my skin raw.
Sleep is a thing of the past, so I grab my phone from the bedside table, seeing it’s 5am. I’ve seen every hour of the clock for weeks.
I open my messages, Saint checking in with me at all hours; he isn’t sleeping either.
He’s sent me links to all different kinds of facts about the planets and stars; he’s trying to distract me. Old me would have been ecstatic he took such an interest, but all I feel is a void.
Not worthy of anything joyful.
I even spent my twenty-second birthday alone, didn’t want anyone around me. Life feels like it’s slipping from my grip, happiness is being snatched away from me, but I don’t know how to get it back, if it’s even possible.
He sends me little things to take my mind off it when he’s not with me, which I’ve only allowed twice. It’s not that I don’t want to be around him. I don’t want to be around anyone. I don’t deserve the soft side of him he’s pouring over me.
His texts mostly go unanswered, only in those rare moments when my social battery refills just enough to allow me to reply.
I know he doesn’t really want me anymore. How could he?
I’ve been tarnished by another.
He says he does, and to stop blaming myself, that he’ll fix it. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be mended again. I’ve lost a part of myself entirely.
He knows it, too, I can see it in his eyes. It’s in my mom’s, too.
Pity.
It gleamed over his irises, and he’s trying to be gentle with me. Something he rarely does. It’s what I love about him. But even the words that come out his mouth tiptoe around me.
They’re lies, I know they are.
Treating me like I’m a broken vase, waiting for one wrong move to send me clattering to the ground.
I know I’m fragile; I just don’t need to be reminded of it by everyone looking at me.
Eventually, he’ll leave. Tired of trying to hold me together.
He needs to. He doesn’t deserve to be sucked into the abyss with me.
It’s why I need to do this.
I don’t want to, but it’s for the best. He’ll look back at this moment and realise I was right.
I quickly send him a text, asking him if he can come over, and he replies immediately. My heart flutters rapidly. I’m not in my right mind.
Deep down, I know I shouldn’t do this, because this will break the last remaining part of me that’s whole.
I’m destined for a path of self-destruction, and I don’t want him to get caught as my collateral.
I’ve lost track of how long I stare at the wall when the doorbell rings, and I head for the stairs, seeing my mom has let Saint inside. She’s begged us both to go to the police, but Regina hasn’t told her parents.
It’s the shame. I understand. It’s vicious and unforgiving.
A small voice inside you will scream at the top of its lungs it wasn’t your fault.
But the sinister side…it whispers that it’s lying, forcing you to try and trace your steps, finding out where you went wrong.
And somehow, that voice is louder than the other; its words hold you prisoner.
Jenna told Saint to bring us back here, thinking my mom would be working late. I was completely unconscious when she saw me, and I’m glad; I don’t need a reminder of the initial heartbreak she would have had on her face.
She’s been struggling with this. It’s something you don’t realise: how much it affects everyone else around you.
I want to tell them I’m okay, that I’ll get there eventually.
But I hate lying, so silence suits me better.
“She needs you, Saint,” Mom says in a hushed tone, and I feel my heart spasm inside my chest.
I push myself off the wall when she leaves, meeting him at the bottom of the stairs. Those eyes I’ve come to know so well stare up at me, unsettled and uncertain.
“Hello, darling,” he whispers, and I watch his hands fisting at his sides, fighting the natural urge to touch me.
The last time he did was when he held me all the way home. He hasn’t attempted since, waiting for the moment when he feels like he can ask.
I don’t know if that will ever come back, either.
We both walk out to the backyard. The sky is as dark as my mood. Light rain drizzles around us as we head for the swings still firmly planted near the willow tree.
The first time I spoke to Saint was when I was twelve years old. Mom invited my whole class round for a party. He and Rex were halfway up it; she was pleading with them to get down.
The memory tries to nudge a smile on my face, but it feels so unnatural, so I let it fall again.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, a million reasons tied to it.
Sorry for not sticking to my original plan.
Sorry for taking a drink off a stranger.
Sorry for thinking not everyone has bad intentions.
I’m sorry for saying sorry.
My gaze fixes on the ground as I gently sway back and forth, trying to soothe the argument that rumbles in my head.
“Indie, none of this was your fault. There’s not a single piece of blame that can be placed on any of you.”
I can feel his gaze searing into the side of my cheek, but I can’t look at him.
If I do, I’ll only delay the inevitable. He doesn’t deserve to be stuck with me a moment longer.
I clear my throat. “Maybe if I was—”
“No, Indie. There’s no fucking excuse for what the two of them did. Nothing in this entire world could convince me of that. It shouldn’t for you, either. They’ll get what’s fucking coming to them.” He snaps the last word out, like he just spat out venom.
I glance to the side as he runs a hand through his hair before it fists in his lap.
“I promise you, darling,” he adds with a whisper, and I know he’d do anything to protect me, but Conrad and George’s father is a judge; I don’t want Saint to get in trouble.
Another reason smacks itself into the pile on why I need to let him go.
“Saint…I—” The rest of my words get stuck in my throat, the sentences jumbling up inside my head, causing a strain to burn behind my eyes.
“Talk to me, please.”
When I still hold my silence, I hear the metal creaking above us, and he moves to crouch down in front of me.
“Indie?”
I suck in a jagged breath, my gaze still locked in on the ground, pleading with the earth to give me the strength to do this.
“I love you, Saint. I do. It’s just…everything’s too much right now. I want to feel better. But I’m pulling you down this hole with me. I don’t want to do that anymore.”
“You’re not doing anything to me.”
I scoff at his words, my hands wringing in my lap. “You’re being so nice to me, more than usual.”
He hasn’t made a single attempt to touch me, kiss me, nothing intimate, and I’m grateful. Part of me wants him to, to see if I can stand it, but the other half feels like I’m too dirty. Like nothing will be able to wash the stains away, and I can’t taint him with them.
“I’m just giving you patience, baby.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight the burn.
“I know.” I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face.
My thoughts go from one extreme to the other. From the rational to the downright illogical.
“God, I know you are, and I want that, but I…fuck.”
Sometimes I don’t know what I’m trying to say or even think. As soon as I open my mouth, the thoughts all scramble turbulently in my head, and I believe it’s the reason why my head is constantly throbbing.
“What do you need from me? Tell me what I can do?” he asks, and I finally dare myself to look at him.
He is absolutely perfect.
Too perfect for someone as damaged as me.
“I just need time, and space. I need to be alone, to work on myself properly.”
The unspoken words pass between us the moment we stare at each other through the silence. The recognition lodges deep within his gaze, and I know I’ve hurt him.
We may never be able to come back from this.
I can’t risk dragging him along with me, wasting years of his life for me to never get better. Because being happy seems like it’s no longer within my reach.
I need to work on myself until I’m strong enough to fight back the walls that are constantly caving in on me.
“I’m sorry, Saint,” I breathe, and my shaky hand reaches for his.
He warily takes it, his thumb trembling as it brushes over my knuckles, and he stares down at where we’re joined. The sensation rushes straight to my chest, and I struggle to take in a breath, the thought of losing this, but it’s for the best right now.
The muscles in his jaw flex, and I watch him force down a swallow, his eyes almost bulging as he fights whatever’s bursting inside him.
“If letting you go means that it helps you, and it’s what you want, then…” He clears his throat, casting his eyes to the ground. “I’ll be there when you’re ready.”
He stands, our hands slowly slipping apart.
“I’ll always love you, Indie. No matter what. This doesn’t change anything for me. It never will. I’ll wait for you.”
The last time we sat on these swings, we held hands whilst the sun beat down on us on a warm summer night.
The tears were from laughter; the twinges in my chest were from butterflies.
The look I gave him was because I wanted to stay in that moment forever.
Now, it will always be tainted by this.
The rain grows heavier. My nails dig painfully into my thighs as he turns and walks away, his broad figure no longer visible as tears glass over my eyes.
And when the sob rips free, I allow it.