Page 43 of The Legend Next Door
“Don’t rush,” he says. “Take your time getting up and drink this when you’re ready. It will help flush the toxins out.”
Despite what he said, I get up quickly. The room spins. No, not the room. I spin. My head spins. I blink into the light as though I’ve woken in a dark cave with the beam of a flashlight shining directly into my eyes. I sip the water as instructed. It’s icy, and each time I swallow, there’s a sharp sting where my neck and jaw meet.
My headache is gone, but it’s left a vacuum. An empty space that needs to be filled. Tiny molecules organize and begin to shift, vibrating and rotating as they snap together to form something bigger. Something different.
A different kind of pain.
A deep, brutal ache forms and fights for freedom. It’s lurked beneath the surface for so long. Too long. I clamber to my feet, extremely aware that I need to take cover, and fast, because this thing is coming out of me today. Now. I need to find refuge and solace. I need to be alone. I need to be somewhere with a locked door and, ideally, a very large pillow. I need to get out of here. I need that as much as I need air. I need it as much as I’ve ever needed anything.
Only, there’s something I need more.
If I was in a better frame of mind, I’d recognize the embarrassment of it and I’d never, ever allow it to happen. I’d leave now.
I’m not in a good frame of mind, though, and something inextricable is keeping me here. Gravity. An unmistakable pull. Something I know I need even if I don’t understand how to explain it.
“Jelly.” My voice cracks as I name it. “I need you to hold me.Please.”
For his part, Jeremiah doesn’t act like it’s the craziest thing he’s heard all week or even all day. He takes the glass from my trembling hands and sets it on the table. Things inside me collapse. Tall structures I’ve painstakingly built break into pieces. Walls crumble and fall in on themselves.
Jeremiah doesn’t hesitate. He steps into me like he was expecting it. Like this is something that happens. Something usual, not out of the ordinary. His chest collides with mine, pecs hard and solid, belly almost concave. Strong exactly where I need him to be. His arms wind around my neck. A tight, dense compression, just where I need it. My hands find their way around his waist, limp at first, but it isn’t long before I’m fisting the back of his shirt, clawing at him. Clinging to him.
Every emotion I’ve felt since Liz died finds and assaults me at once, forcing my breath out in ragged, chopped fragments. Fast on the way out, short and shallow on the way in.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t get a good breath.
The pain I’ve held inside for so long rushes to the surface and finds its way out in the form of a howl that’s muffled at first. A soft sob smothered by lips clamped together and buried in the meat of Jeremiah’s shoulder.
The next one is louder, accompanied by a wet, tacky click that sounds like something that comes from Luca when he’s sad in the night.
The last one is broken. It’s a bruised, bleeding cry that comes straight from my bruised, bleeding heart. It pours out of me. Gushing, unbridled. Long and endless. Once it starts, it doesn’t stop. It feels like it won’t ever stop. Like I’ll be here, in this moment, forever. Like I’ll never feel better. My eyes burn savagely. So does my throat. The gnarled fist of grief reaches inside me, finds what it wants, what it needs, and clenches so hard that finally, finally,finally, the sorrow I’ve carried with me becomes too heavy. Too much. So much that it overflows and runs down my face.
My tears are hot and angry at first, burning heated tracks down my face, spilling out of me with rage and fury.
I struggle in Jeremiah’s arms, tearing at his clothes, pushing him away and pulling him closer.
For his part, Jeremiah stands firm. Firmer than anyone or anything I’ve ever held on to. Steady as an anchor in a storm. Sure as a metal stake planted into the earth. He doesn’t speak as I struggle or when the fight begins to leave me. He simply holds me.
He holds me like he’s not just holding me, he’s holding me up. Like I’m adrift and he’s the only thing in my orbit still standing.
Tears pour down my face in a steady, unrelenting stream. All the pain I’ve pushed down finds me and ravages me, leaving me shaking and frail by the time it’s had its way with me.
The entire time, Jeremiah doesn’t flinch.
When I’m finally empty, I’m shell-shocked, confused, and relieved. More relieved than I’ve been in months. Many months. Over a year. I step back, but still, Jeremiah has me. He has his hands on the underside of my forearms, near my elbows, supporting me and keeping me upright as I regain my balance.
When I’m stable again, he looks at me for a long time. I look at him too. His eyes are an ocean, a sea of blue without any waves. I know I should look away or apologize for my outburst or feel embarrassed or something like that. I don’t though.
I’m not sorry.
I don’t feel anything other than completely and utterly seen.
26
Jeremiah Blake
Ben’seyesarebloodshot,so red and raw they look painful. His lashes are wet and stuck together, glistening with an outpouring of emotion. His shoulders still lurch at irregular intervals, but his tears have stopped falling. He’s breathing through his mouth now, catching his breath the same way the Ben on my TV screen does when he’s just come off the ice.
