Page 116 of Edge of Unbroken

He finishes with a sigh.

“Ran…” I search for the right words. I can tell he’s upset by her sudden departure. I don’t quite understand his relationship with Miranda. I know they have a history; I obviously know they were together at some point; I know he was intimate with her, that she was his first, which always leaves a lasting bond. I imagine the reason he’s upset is because Miranda was an anchor in some way; she was helping him through the trauma he had suffered. Now he has one less person to rely on in his battle, and even though I can’t honestly say I’m all that sad she won’t be sneaking into his bed at night, I’m frustrated that she, in a certain way, threw a wrench into his recovery. On the other hand, I commend her for recognizing that she was inhibiting his progress, that she was threatening his healing and decided to leave. Gosh, talk about conflicting emotions…

“She’s right, you know? All the things she said about you and about your mom—she’s right. I’m sorry she left you, Ran.”

A moment of heavy silence stretches the immeasurable distance between us. “I’m lonely, baby,” he says. His words and the deep sadness with which they’re spoken cause my chest to ache. How I wish I could reach through the phone. “I know I’m not alone, but…”

“But you feel like you are?”

“Yeah. And maybe not so much in a physical sense, but… Randi, she understood what it’s like to live in a shitty home. I mean…”

“What happened to her, Ran?”

He hesitates. “I don’t really think it’s my place to tell.”

“Did her dad abuse her?” I remember a line in her letter in which she alluded to a terrible interaction between her and her father, her reference to “crappy ass parents.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Not physically, but he’s a fucking asshole to her. And I don’t just mean he’s rude sometimes, I mean he’s emotionally abusive. And I don’t care what anybody says, that shit is as devastating as being beaten up.”

“Yes, it is,” I say, remembering the effects Adam’s hurtful words had on me, how long it took me to unlearn some of the things he did to me during our brief relationship, the things I started to believe about myself.

“I wish there was something I could do,” I say. “I wish I could give you what Miranda could.”

In a very real sense, I envy Miranda for the way she’s able to comprehend what Ronan has been through. It’s a level I can’t possibly attain. I’ve never experienced the kind of abuse Ronan has. Even though I’ve suffered my own trauma, it’s different in that my abuser was…isan ex-boyfriend, but never a parent—never a person who, by definition, was supposed to love and protect me unconditionally from the moment I took my very first breath.

“Baby, I need you to know that there was nothing between Randi and me. We were friends. I mean, we had history, yeah, but now—”

“Ran, I know. It’s okay. I promise you don’t have to worry about me. I just mean that I wish I could really relate to what you’ve been through because even though on a theoretical level I feel like I can, I know I can’t truly comprehend. And I bet Miranda could because she’s been through something similar. And so, her words—when she tells you what your mother did to you wasn’t your fault—would hold more weight than when anyone else on the outside tells you the same thing. It makes sense, Ran, but I still wish I could be that person for you. I don’t want you to be lonely.”

“Baby, honestly, you’re so much more than what Randi is… was… to me. Don’t think that what you do for me isn’t helping. You’re the only reason I’m still here. But… I don’t know,” he sighs. “I’ve known Randi since I was little, and I feel like such a dick. I know I didn’t do anything wrong, but I still hurt her. Why does that always have to happen? It’s like whatever I do, it’s never good enough for people. I was never enough to my mom, and I wasn’t enough to Randi as just a friend, so she left. And I’m so fucking scared that you’re going to realize the same damn thing one day—that I’m not good enough for you, and you’ll leave me…”

“Ran, you know that’s not true. That’s your mom’s conditioning! Remember what Randi wrote: you’re enough, you’re worthy, and you’re loved. All that is true. She didn’t leave because you weren’t good enough; she left because she couldn’t give you whatyouneeded, which is an uncomplicated friendship that helps you on your road to healing. I think she knew she was hindering your progress, and she recognized that her feelings for you were going to make things more complicated,” I say. “In a weird way, I think she’s protecting you.”

He's silent for a long while, and I’m desperate to be there with him. Words just aren’t enough right now.

“Did your dad say anything about when you’re coming home?”

“No, he’s always so vague about it. He just said that as soon as he knows if and when the trial actually starts, he’s going to bring me home. As far as I know the damn thing is set for next month sometime. It’s fucking frustrating. I have no control over anything,” he groans.

“I know the prospect of testifying and all that is scary, but… selfishly, I want you home. The idea of getting to finally see you in a few weeks is really exciting to me,” I say with a small smile in my voice. “I don’t want to be away from you anymore.” My words trigger the memory of my college admission letters. “Oh, not to change the topic or anything, but I got three letters last week—from NYU, Duke, and Columbia.”

“Holy shit, baby!” I smile at the excitement in his voice. No matter what he goes through, he never fails to show up for me. “What do they say?”

I grab my letters. “I haven’t opened them yet. I wanted to do it with you,” I say, blushing, which is so dumb.

“Alright, let’s hear it.” I picture him sitting on his bed, eyes closed as he listens to me.

“Real quick, before I do, tell me what you’re doing,” I say. “I want to be able to visualize you.”

He chuckles. His laugh will forever be one of my favorite sounds in this entire world. And particularly right now when it feels as precious as a rare gem. “Umm, well, I’m lying on my bed staring at the ceiling, which is not at all interesting.”

“Uh-huh, and what are you wearing?” I ask with a small giggle.

“Jeans and a black hoodie.”

“And how about underneath that?” I ask and blush again.

“Black boxers and a white shirt,” he says, his voice low now. “And now you have to tell me what you’re wearing.”

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