Page 11 of Connected

“I cut and bleed just like you, Pilar, and I know it’s easier to place blame on someone else, but you need to quit blaming me for the abortion.”

“Who else should I blame?”

“How about no one? How about you realize we’re both too screwed up to bring a baby into this world? I know it hurts, that it will always hurt, but we did the right thing.”

“The right thing would’ve been loving the child we created.”

This isn’t about love.

It’s about the choices we made in our lives and the consequences that hang over us like a dark veil. Pulling on my boxer briefs, I straighten my frame and glare at her.

“You’re an addict, Pilar, and I’m a fucking criminal,” I shout as I stand from the bed. “There’s no room for a child in all that shit.”

“I wouldn’t have relapsed if I wasn’t looking to numb the pain you inflicted on me. Don’t you get it, Joaquin? Don’t you fucking see . . . loving you is killing me?”

Those words paired with the flashback from last night cut, and the epiphany I had after draining the life from Pablo and holding her in my arms, suddenly flee my mind. I can’t give her more. I can’t be better. I can’t make things right.

I cut and bleed just like you.

“And you know what I finally realized?” she continues. “I don’t want to die. Not for a man who doesn’t love me.”

My eyes snap to hers.

“Is that what you think?” I ask as I take a step toward her. “That I don’t love you?”

She purses her lips and straightens her shoulders as I take another step closer.

“Yes,” she replies. “And for a long time, I thought it was my fault, that I was unlovable, but it isn’t me. I have my faults and I’ll admit I need help, but I’m worthy of love, Joaquin. I am,” she insists as her voice breaks. “You’re the one incapable of love. Receiving it and giving it.”

“You got it all wrong, Pilar,” I growl, reaching her. “I love you and I hate myself for allowing that to happen because it doesn’t matter how deep my love for you runs, I’ll still find a way to break you. In my world love isn’t enough, it’s a casualty and you deserve more than that.”

I pause to stare at her. There have been many nights when I wanted to tell her how I felt, many nights I clamped down the urge. So long as I’m connected, I’m no match for the lost dreams of the boy I used to be. It would be selfish of me to think otherwise.

“You need to let me go,” she whispers, tearing her eyes away from mine. I watch as she wipes away her tears.

Let her go.

The thought is crippling.

“And what happens when I let you go?” I reply hoarsely, my voice sounding broken even to my own ears. “Where do you go then? Do you go score some drugs and pretend we never happened?”

“Don’t do that,” she cries.

“You need help, Pilar.”

“I’ll get help,” she says, lifting her eyes. “I can kick the drugs, Joaquin. I need to learn how to beat you, though, because loving you is my greatest addiction.”

The greatest and apparently the deadliest.

“I do love you, Pilar,” I murmur, losing my will to argue. As much as I want to see her through her recovery and prove how much she means to me, there’s truth in what she says and any way you slice it, the outcome is still the same . . . I’m not good for her.

A whimper escapes her lips, and she quickly tears her eyes away from me, moving toward the bed to grab the rest of her belongings. I reach out, taking hold of her wrist, and close the distance between us, pressing my front to her back. She goes still against me and I bend my head, touching my lips to her shoulder.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m sorry. For everything. For the choices I made and the consequences you suffered as a result of them. All I want is for you to be happy,” I whisper. “And if the only way you can get there is by walking away from me, then I’ll let you go.”

She doesn’t turn around, nor does she respond. I release my hold on her and take a step back, waiting for her to make a move. A moment passes and I watch as her shoulders shake as a sob wretches free from the back of her throat.

It would be so easy to reach out to her.

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