Without my phone and laptop, I’m completely isolated. Mom’s forcing me to take the rest of the week off, and I have the whole house to myself for the better part of each day. I don’t think she knows what to do with me. No one does, me included. I can’t imagine going back to school now without Jack, without Elise.
Every day I half expect Elise to show up, and I don’t know what I’d say to her. I don’t know how I’d even feel about seeing her again.
For some inexplicable reason, I rewatch the Kill Bill movies by myself even though I’ve seen them a million times with Elise already. I have no idea what I’m looking for, but I can’t shake the feeling that I might find it in the Bride’s story.
Five hours later, I’m a sobbing mess on the couch. It’s been there the whole time, staring at me in the face, but I didn’t want to see it.
On the surface, the movies are about revenge. It’s even in the opening epigraph—revenge is a dish best served cold. But it’s not a story about revenge. It’s a story about love.
And abuse.
Every act of love is corrupted with it. And it’s not just the relationship between Bill and the Bride, Beatrix, whose real name is only revealed near the end. Even when Beatrix goes to train under Pai Mei, his respect is only earned through her ability to withstand his abuse.
Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.
We have been sold a lie. Our parents thought nothing of hurting us in the name of love. What a thing, to learn as a child, that pain is love. That love is bruises on our bodies and scars in our minds.
Elise’s father told her it hurt him more than it hurt her when he hit her, that he hit her only because he loved her. Tell your daughter enough times and maybe she’ll believe it—believe it so deep down in her soul that she thinks it’s only love if it hurts.
That it’s not love if it doesn’t.
We believed our tragedies were romantic. We believed what didn’t kill us made us stronger. We believed our wounds made us special, because in a strange and awful way, maybe they were proof that we were loved.
Trauma has a gravity of its own, but so does love—an invisible force, an unseen tether. How easy it is, then, to feel the pull of one and confuse it with the other.
Vera comes by in the afternoon with an update. She opens with, “I have some news.” She’s spoken with a friend in the DA’s office. “It appears unlikely they’ll pursue any charges related to Jack’s death.”
“What?” I say, breathless with shock. “How? Why?”
“It’s not official,” she cautions. “And even if they decline to press charges now, they could still bring them years down the line if something changes. But unofficially, they’re probably not going to press any charges right now.”
I’m too stunned to speak.
“Prosecutors don’t like to try cases they might lose. And in this instance, the law is on Elise’s side. He was near the doorway. It was dark. It was her house. He didn’t tell her he’d be there.” Vera goes on for a while, explaining the technical details of the case. Apparently, Elise would make an extremely sympathetic defendant. “No jury’s going to see those pictures of her beaten up and convict.” She keeps going but my mind is spinning.
I did it, I think. I protected her. Collapsing to the ground, I begin to sob. Vera kneels to comfort me with an arm around my shoulders. She thinks these are tears of joy, of relief. But I don’t feel any relief. I just feel like I’m drowning.
This was what I’d hoped for. This means we’re free. Only I don’t feel free at all.