Page 104 of The Spare
"I've been asking and asking you-"
"Therapy isn't going to bring them back, Maribel!" I snap in a rough, loud voice, feeling my face warm as I finally meet her gaze and feel every muscle in my body tighten. "I can't relive that night. I won't. That night almost killed me! And if I'm forced to dissect it, I might not come back from it!"
She turns her face away, rubbing her fingers across her brow as she wets her lips. "I won't keep talking to you about this. Asking you- no-beggingyou to-"
"I'm your husband, and we took vows to always be here for each other,"I yell, my voice strained as my throat begins to clog with emotion.
"You're my husband, but you areruining our fucking family!"she yells, her face turning a deep red now, and a vein in her temple stands out. A tear falls down her cheek, but when I raise a hand to reach for her she steps back. "No!" she hisses, taking a deep step back."Don't touch me."
"Maribel!” I say, feeling my face contort with pain. She never removes her touch from me or disallows me to touch her. Furthermore, her words hurt. They slice deep, touching that part of my soul that I don't think will ever be healed.
My hand falls to my side, and I take a deep breath, willing my emotions into check so I don't lash out at her. I know I'm deserving of her wrath. There's truth in her words, but I can't. I physically can't bring myself to do what she's asking of me.
It hurts too bad. Can't she see it?
I scrub a hand down my face, willing myself to stay calm. But the heat and tremors come anyway despite my best efforts. I swallow bile, wrestling with the looming panic attack threatening to break free.
"That's your son!"she yells, pointing to the door that leads to the study we just came from. Shame fills me at her mentioning Mason. "That's your son, and you treat him liketrash."
"I am not a bad father," I growl, but the tears come along with the self-doubt, with the pain of her words, because it's true. My lips tighten as my body lights up with emotion so strong the hair on the back of my neck and arms stand up.
Her eyes narrow. "You arebarelytheir father," she says in a tight voice laced with venom.
My face turns to stone, and I inhale a ragged breath, but she keeps her eyes tight on mine. My hands begin to tremble, and my face beginsto perspire, but I bite the inside of my cheek hard to take my attention off it, fighting off the panic as the shame of her words eats me damn near alive.
"The only one of our children you act like a father to is Teresa,and you know it. And I am tired, Richard,"her voice cracks as more tears flow down her face, but I don't dare reach for her right now. "You told me if they somehow found out, that you'd discuss it with them. But the moment you had the opportunity you somehow made it worse. Our son told you that he felt like you couldn't stand him," she whispers, hurt lacing her tone. Her chin quivers with emotion."Don't you see how badly you're hurting him?And I'm left to pick him upevery time."She points a finger at me, narrowing her eyes."To hold the broken pieces together whileyouget to wallow in your self-pity, and we all tiptoe around you because you can't be bothered to do what it takes to fix yourself."
"Mari, I-" I cut my words off, unable to express how I'm feeling. "I was ambushed," I say weakly. "And he brought upWilliam.Mari, you know what that does to me.You know how I feel about him and what he did-"
"I don't care any longer." She holds up a hand and sniffs. "That is my son! I birthed him.Twenty eight hours in labor, in case you forgot.And I will not sit here and watch you treat him this way. The way you talked to him tonight was despicable!"
"Mari, I'm not-"
"You have stewed in your anger for four decades now and the time for excuses are over." She pulls her five foot one frame straight and pins me with a stare. "You don't want to go to therapy, fine. You don't want to let your sons close, fine. You don't want to tell anyone what happened to you, and leave everyone guessing and closing yourself offthen that's fine. Youdo what you have to do Richard, but I'llbe damned if I stand by you while you hurthim orour other two children."
"Where are you going?"I ask, but she presents her back to me, striding across the rug of our bedroom towards the door. "Mari!" I shout. "Mari, please!"
She doesn't answer me.
I blink, feeling my own eyes well with tears, but I can't bring myself to move to her.
"Don't leave me alone," I whisper, but she's already on the other side of the room, heading out of the door. "Mari, don't leave me." My voice cracks just like my heart, but I have no energy to fight right now. She slips through the door without a backwards glance, and my knees buckle.
I sink to the floor, my hands clenching into fists and I gasp as I dive headfirst into a panic attack. One of the worst I've had in years.
All I can see is my father shooting Stephanie point blank in the face. Her blood splattering all over the room. All over me.
Momma screaming as her only daughter, her first born slumped over lifeless on the living room rug.
William coming around the corner yelling, and Father swinging the gun on me, too. The sound of the bullet as it went off, but momma rammed her body into him and it missed my head by mere inches. Two more gunshots as he aimed wildly at William and me, despite her attempts at stopping him.
My nails catch on the rug as I grasp at it, trying to claw my way out of this hell that feels like it'll never leave me.
Me flinging myself into William and getting him out of the room, screaming at him to run while I went back to find my momma, rolling around on the floor, fighting with him. The gun just feet away whilehe punched her in the face, flinging her off so that he could reach for it. But I got it first.
My eyes flicker, searching for Mari's help, but she's gone. A tear rolls down my face, followed by another one as the memories become sharper, clearer.
Almost as if I was back in that room with the feel of the steel gun in my hand. I squeeze my eyes shut, but my other senses pick up the slack.
