Page 99 of This I Know
“Honey.” My mom shakes me awake.
“Mmm.”
“I’m heading out to run a few errands. My phone’s on me.” She kisses my head.
I hear her bedroom door click closed behind her.
Our house is still livable. The smoke was a little misleading; the fire destroyed most of the siding near my room, but thanks to Ethan’s quick action and the good work of the fire department, it was put out before extensive damage could be done.
For now, I’m rooming with my mom. We’re expecting some workers later today, sent by our insurance company to fix my side of the house.
I fondle the white and silver bed sheets, trying to distract myself. The morning sunlight is already poring into the room, but I don’t want to get up. I just want to stay here, lying like I am, thinking about the horrible mess I just made.
How could I have let this trauma get the best of me, even after all this healing time has passed, to ruin the best thing I had going? Okay, so technically he ruined it. I get that. But after, I pushed him away. I put up a wall. I wouldn’t dare let him break it down.
Is that how every one of my relationships is going to be from now on? Even more fucked up, for one reason or another, thanks to what that man did to me?
The thoughts won’t stop until I’ve finally had enough. I jump out of bed and walk over to my new, temporary closet.
Inside, I reach up, feel around, and pull down an old pair of denim shorts from the top shelf.
I don’t care if my scar shows. Not anymore.
Normally I’d take these back over to the bed to put them on, but I’m determined to do this without sitting.
Holding them out in front of me, I slide my good leg into the first hole. Then, slowly, I work on getting my bad leg inside the other. I do it fine (almost perfectly, actually), which surprises me, but I try to hold back tears as I work with the button. It’s fighting me. I try to get the metal button through the small slit of fabric. I work it with my thumb, and I almost have it completely through when it pops out.
I twirl around and grab the item nearest to me, which just so happens to be my journal resting at the foot of my bed. I haven’t written in it since my hospital stay, but I keep in close by for comfort. I throw it hard against the wall, releasing all my emotion in one fell swoop. It hits harder than I had intended, slamming into the wall near my mom’s TV with a bang. It falls to the ground, and I collapse, too, just in time to see my pressed flower lying on the carpet. I don’t know how it got there, but if I had to guess I’d say the rage of the moment had something to do with it.
Sniffling, I crawl over to it. I hope it didn’t break. That would be just what I need right now – to have lost another part of Ethan.
As I examine it in my palm, the flower moves back and forth with my movements. It’s thin and dry, but intact.
I cup it in my hands and remain on the floor, resting my back against my bed.
I take a few deep breaths.
Then I lift my head and whisper into the thin air surrounding me, “I love him.”
Because I do love him.
I love him in a way I’ve never loved anyone – certainly not in the way I thought I loved Cole. I realize this now, and that’s what’s making this so hard for me.
I can’t see or talk to Ethan again.
I don’t think I’ll be able to do either of those things without anger and resentment exploding within me. And even if Icouldforgive him for what he did, I won’t ever be able to forgive his father.
I think for a minute, still holding the flower, then lower my forehead to my shoulder.
No. I can’t do it.
Maybe if Ethan had come into my life in five, ten years from now … I might have had enough time to get over it, to heal.
The sadness flows out of me, replacing the anger. I want nothing more than to both hug Ethan and push him as far away as possible at the same time.
I want to never see him again, and I want him here, right now, sitting next to me with his arm around me and his face against my hair. I’d lean over and kiss his warm, strong neck once, then I’d look down and see his father’s hands.
I spend the day obsessively organizing my clothes, lounging in front of the TV, and eating comfort food.
