Page 45 of Surviving the Merge
Damon, I could have forgiven. An unspoken acceptance of imperfection colored the lens that I viewed Damon through. I could have gotten past almost anything from him.
But Blake? Blake was my safe haven. My quiet place. My one sure thing. Home.
What will I do now?
Dragging my feeble limbs over to the couch, I lowered myself on shaky legs, holding on to the arm for support. Elbows to my knees, holding my head in my hands.
“Justin?”
“Don’t come looking for me. Do not call me.” I raised my head, drilling him with my gaze. “You wanted me to be strong enough to survive what something like this would do to me? Aware that there is more tolifethan my weakness and codependency?” My lip curled with derision. “Well, we’re about to put my strength to the test.”
“Justin, please.” He reached for me, and I snapped.
“Don’t touch me! You don’t get to lay a hand on me ever again.” My body vibrated with fury at his nerve.
“Blake, I think you should go,” Julie said softly and without condemnation.
You could even say it was said with love and understanding. What could she possibly understand about this?You should be on my side!I mentally shouted at her.
“I’ll make sure he gets home safely,” she said to him.
He looked hopeful, and it brought me great pleasure to snuff out any ounce of joy he may have harbored. “I won’t be coming back to the condo,” I said, my voice colder than a winter night. Sadly, the pleasure his pain gave me was short-lived. I had to look away before my defenses were breached. Seemed like fury slipped through my hands just as fast as it came. I much preferred it over the feelings of sympathy for him. Why couldn’t my mind make up its... mind? Or was it my heart that needed to get on board?
Julie escorted him out. They talked for a moment, but I couldn’t make out what was said past the roaring of my blood.
Coming close, she perched next to me and took me in her arms. “Oh, Justin.”
The dam broke.
13
Raining and pouring were not interchangeable. A vast difference disconnected the two. The sounds of its impact seduced opposing responses from your emotions. Rain encased you in a peace that eluded reality. Raindrops were sweet. You could even call them romantic. But when it poured, it felt like something diabolical had been unleashed. With the pouring came the thunder. If you were unlucky, lightning would arc across your dark skies. The racing of a pulse that produced a worry that, even behind your locked windows and doors, you were not safe.
It poured outside that night.I love when it pours.
Several days and nights had passed since my world sank below the surface. I sat on the balcony of the apartment intended to set me free, but more and more, it felt like the undertaker that would surely bury me. Cold, dark, and suffocating.
How many times could you break a thing before it was deemed irreparable? I wondered.
Did it depend on the circumstances of the break? How did I determine the gravity of what was broken in me?
The excruciating hurt I’d once felt, simultaneously, everywhere within me, became isolated to the place behind my breastbone. Where the heart lived.
I’d always thought the sternum functioned to protect the important parts tucked behind it. But there was no bone nor cage—rib or other—that could stand against the kind of pain that so violently plagued me. Someone should have warned me.
The rest of me was now numb, which made me acutely aware of the daggered sensations within that poorly protected place. The place where I could stillfeel.
With every breath, the fire threatened to incinerate my lungs. So I’d been breathing less.
And the less I thought, the less it hurt. So I focused on being thoughtless.
The sick, rolling nausea in the pit of my belly, I could do nothing about. It had its claws in me since that night. The night I refused to think of because I was committed to thinking less.
Sighing heavily, I asked, “What are you doing here?” The quiet stretched like a rubberband, ending when it reached its breaking point.
“Blake called me. He asked me to make sure you were okay,” Sam said from behind me.
She sounded unsure. Nervous that maybe I didn’t want her here. “I tried calling first, but your phone must be off. Or dead. I kept getting the voicemail.” She moved closer. “I picked up a bag of stuff he packed for you. I got us some food too. And some essentials like towels, soap, shampoo… I figured you hadn’t gotten around to getting that stuff yet...”
