Page 26 of Say You'll Stay

Help me?

The very thought is laughable, a cruel jest from a cruel universe. For how can she help me, when I have violated the very foundations of trust that should have been the bedrock of our relationship?

How can I burden her with the weight of my sins, when she is the only hope I have of reclaiming the shattered pieces of my soul?

“You can’t,” I whisper, the words laced with a sorrow so profound, it threatens to swallow me whole. “No one can.”

I extricate myself from her grasp, ignoring the flicker of hurt that crosses her face, and stride away, each step a battle against the urge to turn back, to fall at her feet and beg for her forgiveness.

For I know, with a clarity that is both terrifying and absolute, that I am beyond redemption, unworthy of the light that Cara represents.

So, I retreat, burying myself once more in the trappings of my gilded cage, clinging to the false security of power and privilege as the last vestiges of my humanity slip through my grasping fingers.

And the only constant, the only truth , that remains is the unwavering conviction that Cara is my salvation - if only I can find the strength to become the man she deserves.

Chapter eleven

The afternoon sun caresses my skin, a fleeting moment of warmth amidst the tempest of my emotions. Surrounded by the laughter and easy banter of Song and Louie, I feel like a ghost haunting the edges of their joy, an outsider looking in through a frosted window.

“I swear, Cara, you should’ve seen Grandma’s face!” Song’s howling laughter grates against my raw nerves, a harsh reminder of how disconnected I feel from the world around me. I force a smile, the muscles of my face straining with the effort, but it’s a pale imitation of the real thing.

Sonya’s hand on my arm is a lifeline, anchoring me to the present. “Cara, you okay?” Her eyes search mine, concern etched into the delicate lines of her face.

“Yeah, just thought I saw…” I trail off, shaking my head as if to dislodge the phantom image that has haunted me for weeks. Since June.

My gaze darts to the edges of the park, a compulsive habit born of equal parts fear and desperate hope. And there, like a figment of my most tortured dreams, he stands. June. Watching me with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine, a predator stalking his prey.

Panic claws at my throat, my heart a wild, caged thing beating against my ribs. I blink, and he’s gone, leaving me to question the very fabric of my reality.

We decide to leave, the daylight waning into evening’s softer tones. As we say our goodbyes, the lengthening shadows mirroring the growing unease that coils in my gut. Song and Louie, lost in their own blissful bubble, leave me to navigate the once-familiar paths of the park alone, as if drawn by an invisible thread of fate.

And there he is again, as solid and undeniable as the ache in my chest. June, just across the way, close enough to touch, yet a lifetime away.

I falter, my breath catching in my throat, but when I gather the courage to confront him, he melts into the gathering dusk, leaving me grasping at shadows.

The night leads me to a bar, I seek solace in the burn of alcohol and the fleeting warmth of a stranger’s attention, desperate to drown out the memories that cling to me.

A guy, decent-looking and seemingly interested, slides onto the stool next to mine, offering an easy smile, and a cheesy pick-up line.

I engage, partly out of a desire to feel normal, to prove to myself I can move past the ghost of June I seem to be chasing.

But even here, in this dimly lit sanctuary, I can’t escape the specter of my past. June appears like a wraith, cutting through the haze of smoke and chatter with a singular focus that steals the breath from my lungs.

“Excuse me,” his voice is a cold caress, a blade slicing through the fragile illusion of normalcy I’ve tried to construct. “I need to speak with my wife.”

Wife?

The word hangs between us, a noose tightening around my neck. The stranger beside me fades into insignificance, a bit player in the twisted drama of our lives.

June’s eyes bore into mine, a challenge and a plea wrapped in one smoldering gaze. “We were just leaving, right, Cara?”

Anger and hurt propel me to my feet, a tidal wave of emotion that threatens to drag me under. “Actually, June, I wasn’t. But you should.” My voice is steady, but inside, I’m a hurricane.

The stranger makes his exit, and I round on June, my eyes flashing. “Why are you here?”

For a moment, he falters. “I needed to see you,” he confesses, and the raw honesty tears at my defenses.

“Well, you’ve seen me. Happy?”

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