Page 57 of Saving Sparrow
Clank…
Sparrow worked swiftly. Did his speed and anger boil down to control? His need to have everything just right? Or did he need to get out of here before my words started to have an effect on him?
“No one ever knows everything about anyone,” I said, barely above a whisper, not sure if Sparrow could still hear me. “We all have our secrets, our shameful insecurities. We all have things we’d rather not face.” Elliott hadn’t been the only one hiding; his secrets were just so much bigger.
“Do you believe that no one sin is greater than the other?”he’d once asked us as we hung out in bed. He’d ask random questions like that sometimes. Elliott struggled with his faith, struggled to let go of it completely, even when he thought he already had.
“No. Killing someone is definitely bigger than stealing a piece of chocolate,”Quentin had responded, staring off into the distance. I knew it was an image of his father he was seeing right then.
But as I looked back on things—on life—I realized bad things created more bad things.Biggerbad things. Small offenses led to greater ones, like a domino effect.
Quentin’s father did bad things. Things that shaped Quentin, shaped his vigilant need to protect, shaped his fear of being left or having something he cared about taken from him.
I did a bad thing that left me feeling powerless, feeling unworthy of love, and so I kept a secret that could have freed Quentin. Instead of forcing us to face the truth, I continued to benefit from his fear.
Elliott had bad things done to him. I wasn’t clear on what all those things were yet, but they made it easy for our love and acceptance to swallow him whole. We were the air he breathed, his heart, and the blood that pumped through his veins. And he was ours.
Our love was built on top of a mountain of bad things.
Sparrow barreled from the closet, scooping up the leftover scraps of curtain before heading for the bedroom door. He didn’t even spare me a glance.
“Please!” I shouted, thrashing in my restraints. They wouldn’t budge. “Don’t leave me here! He wouldn’t want you to leave me here!”
Sparrow paused by the door, and I squinted to see him better. His shoulders tensed as if those words had broken through to him. Or maybe it was wishful thinking on my part. Either way, I couldn’t keep the next words from tumbling from my mouth.
“For so long I’ve wanted to end it all,” I confessed, feeling split open, raw, and at my lowest. “Not a day has gone by since I lost you that I haven’t thought about ending it all like… like my mother did,” I whispered shakily.
I’d never spoken the actual words before, neververballyadmitted that she’d taken her own life. I’d found the suicide letter she left me. It was hidden inside the music box in Joshua’s room. I knew the truth, but it’d been so much easier to let Quentin convince me it was his father’s doing. Maybe he made her write it, I’d told myself. But deep down I’d known he hadn’t. Dylan was by no means blameless, but he hadn’t pulled the metaphorical trigger.
“It was my fault, just like losing you was my fault. I’m so sorry, and I’m so scared,” I sobbed as Sparrow stood with his back to me. “I need you. Elliott… I-I need you.” Could he hear me? Was it enough to break through to the man I loved more than anything?
“Please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me again.” The ache in my heart trumped the pain everywhere else, and a tear fell from the tip of my nose as I waited for him to say something.
Sparrow left without a word, closing the door and leaving me alone with my anguish.
“No!” I jerked at my makeshift chains. “No!Please!” I screamed until my voice grew hoarse, until my tears left me congested, until my heart threatened to stop beating.
I writhed, twisting my wrists and trying to kick free as a new and sudden urge took over my body. “No,” I breathed, trying harder. “Please, no…”
I froze, closing my eyes in shame. I looked down after a few minutes, feeling the last of my dignity slip away as I took in the wet spot in my lap.
It hurt to peel my eyes open when Sparrow returned, standing just inside the doorway. My head felt swollen, like my brain was pushing against my skull. I squinted over at him, my vision worse than usual.
The blurry impression of him moved, drawing closer to me. I flinched away when he slid my glasses over my face. One of the lenses was cracked and webbed.
He no longer wore Joshua’s fire truck pajamas, and he seemed less angry, too, if his kneeling to cut my legs free was anything to go by.
“What are you going to do to me?” I rasped, turning my head to the side to cough. He continued to untie me, and if the scent of my urine repulsed him, he didn’t show it.
I rubbed at my wrists, my whole body sore and throbbing as I waited for the next round of torture. The simple act of waiting to be punished fried my already scorched nerves.
He dropped a pill bottle in my lap. Antibiotics. They’d expired, but not by much.
“Get cleaned up and meet me downstairs.” He left again but hadn’t closed the door this time.
I was scared to move, scared this was a test, scared he’d come back the moment I stood to accuse me of trying to escape. Every time I attempted to stand, my legs gave out. My fear had a hold on me.
I watched the door, anticipating his return, his plan to catch me being hopeful. Sparrow didn’t come back, not even to check that I’d done what he said and gotten cleaned up. I pulled myself together and worked my way to the bathroom.
