Page 49 of Save Me

"I already wrote out a statement," she says, her green eyes locked on my face.

"What?"

"You think you owed me this silence, but I never asked for it, Brantley. I never wanted it. I never cared if they knew the truth. I only ever cared that you were okay." She closes her eyes, leaning back in her chair. "We've carried it long enough, dear. It's time to put it down."

"Jesus," I whisper. "Ma…"

"I made my decision the day I came to see you. I've just been waiting for you to make yours, Brant." Her eyes pop open, focusing on me. "It look you long enough to decide you've got something worth fighting for."

"I knew." I swallow hard, my throat raw with emotion. "I've always known she's worth fighting for. I just wasn't sure I was."

"What changed your mind?"

"She did," I whisper.

My mother smiles. "You better fix what you broke, Brantley Eugene. I'm not going to be very happy with you if she doesn't forgive you."

"I'm working on it, Ma."

"Work harder."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "As hard as I've gotta work to get her back. How's that sound?"

"I suppose it'll do."

I shake my head again, and then sigh. "I've got one other thing to tell you. You probably aren't going to like it."

"Are you drinking again?"

"Two things," I amend. "I went to a bar today. I didn't drink, but it was close."

"Brant," she sighs, worry filling her eyes.

"I'm going to start doing the meetings again. Let Daniel psychoanalyze the fuck out of me." I drum my fingers on the arm of the chair. "Maybe talk to a psychiatrist, too."

I've always been reluctant as hell to do that because I didn't want medication. But shit. Maybe that's what I need. And maybe it's time to admit that it's okay to need help. I'm not okay. I haven't been okay in a long goddamn time. But I can be. Iwillbe. Because I'm not that little boy anymore. I'm not locked in a closet, listening to a fucking monster torment my mother. I get to decide what happens to me now. And I'm choosing freedom. I'm choosing healing.

I'm choosing Isla.

"What other bad tidings did you bring?" my mother asks.

"I'm paying off his dealers."

She's quiet for a moment and then she nods. "I figured you might. People like that don't just disappear until they get what they want."

"You aren't going to fight me about it?"

"Would it stop you?"

"Probably not."

"Sell the house, Brant. Pay them with the profits or recoup the costs. I don't care, but let this house be their payment."

"I'm not taking your house, Ma."

"It's not my house," she says, something flashing in her eyes. "It'shishouse. Every inch of it is steeped in painful memories. I want a nice apartment closer to you. One with a garden. One he's never stepped foot in. That's what I want."

"I'll make it happen," I murmur, my throat tight.

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