My heart claws its way into my throat as my car bursts through the rail on the side of the bridge.
The sound of the impact is horrendous, but the scream that leaves me is worse. It’s unlike any noise I’ve ever heard myself make. It feels and sounds like my vocal chords are being pushed past their limits, furiously straining to alleviate the panic suddenly invading my entire being.
They do not succeed.
My car sails downward, heralded only by the beam of the one headlight that isn’t shattered. It drops, drops, drops even though I’m screaming for it not to and desperately clutching the steering wheel and wildly kicking my feet.
My hairs stand on end as my mom shrieks my name from the backseat. My dad bellows hers from beside her. I realize we’ll be hitting the rocky, uneven ground any second now. My eyes burn with tears and my stomach lurches with dread and my heart thrashes around in places it doesn’t belong and my soul is shot through with agony, because I know we’re all going to die.
We’re going to die in this car and I’m the one behind the wheel.
Nothing flashes before my eyes. I relive nothing from my childhood. I envision no surreal images of me in the future. I have no sudden thoughts about what I should’ve done or said in my life, or shouldn’t have.
All I know is terror. It’s such a part of me that it feels like it’s burning through my synapses—
“Mari, wake up!” someone says right in my ear.
I gasp so violently it hurts me.
“It’s okay! It’s okay,” they say quickly. A hand brushes my hair away from my face. “It was just a nightmare, sugar. You’re okay.”
My eyes open, and I find a blurred figure swirled with bright teal stationed close to me. It takes me a few seconds to recognize that color, that voice, that gentle hair-brushing. Still, even as Beatrix’s face comes into focus and I remember where I am, some part of me tries to tell me that I was dying just seconds ago, that my car was just falling through thin air and I’d just been hearing my parents screaming.
She smiles tenderly. “Hey.”
I try to say something to her, but I’m suddenly choked by sobs.
“Oh, honey,” she murmurs, pulling me to sit up. “Come here. Come here.”
She sits down next to me on the couch and lets me curl into her side and cry. Her arms are comforting around me—exactly what I need, what I’ve missed, what I don’t really think I deserve. I accept them greedily.
It hurts me to know I’ll probably never get this from Claire again. Not only do I not know how to fix what I did to our relationship, but also there’s no way I can be around her if there’s a chance Shaun might appear.
But what if her baby is a monster and it kills her from the inside out? What if she dies with this chasm still between us and I never get the chance to really talk to her about it?
Or what if the baby is a monster but Claire lives through the pregnancy? Maybe I’ll be able to try to talk to her, but would it do any good? Would the baby corrupt her somehow? Would Shaun? Would they kill her?
What if her baby is human and normal and precious, and Shaun does something to it? Would he kidnap it and be gone for good? Corrupt it and then have to do the same to my sister? Kill it and then try to stick around to father another potentially evil child?
I shove away from Beatrix and run from the room, knowing I’m about to be sick.
I spend several minutes in the bathroom, vomiting and crying and feeling helpless.
When Beatrix comes in, she gets right back to taking care of me. She ties my hair back, dabs at my face with a damp washcloth, offers me water and a few crackers. When I think I’m done being sick, I rinse my mouth and let her take me back to the couch.
I get covered up and settled in again, and she makes herself comfortable on the floor beside me. “Need to talk about it?” she murmurs.
My throat hurts when I reply, “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say whatever pops into your head.”
I gulp and wrap the blanket tighter around me. “I was dreaming about my car wreck. It was exactly like it happened in real life.” My pulse speeds up, turning my next words breathless. “My parents were screaming in the backseat. I can’t believe that’s the last thing I ever heard from them. It was so….”
There isn’t even a fitting word.
I press my trembling lips together.
She starts stroking my hair again. “You were screaming in your sleep,” she whispers. “That’s why I ran in here.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper back.
“Don’t be, sweetie.”
I shake my head. “But I am. To you, my mom and dad—Claire—Rafe—” My voice falters.
I’m still so angry with Rafe. I still can’t wrap my mind around what he did or why he’s acted the way he has since that night. Such a big part of me blames him for my parents being dead, because if he hadn’t cheated on me in the first place….
But now that I’m telling someone else about it—now that it’s not just lurking in the back of my mind—the truth winds itself around my lungs. Rafe was only part of the problem. He may have started the whole thing, but he didn’t directly turn me into an idiot driver. He didn’t cause the wreck, the death, the cracking apart of my family.
I did that.
I shut my burning eyes. “Have you ever just hated yourself?”
Beatrix inhales a bit sharply, like she didn’t expect that from me. She doesn’t freak out about it, though. Just takes her time answering.
When she says, “Yes,” I know she’s being honest.
“I hate myself so much,” I whisper.
“Maybe you do,” she allows, “but listen to me. It’s important for you to remember you didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Not on purpose,” I moan, “but because I was so careless.”
The night flashes back to me all over again.
“I was having a party and everything was going great. Friends everywhere and good music and I’d just fixed myself this awesome-looking drink I’d wanted to try for the longest time. And then I found Rafe and Audrey and I got so—I don’t even know what I was.” I press a hand to my eyes, which are tearing up again. “Then my parents called and needed a ride home because it was their anniversary and they’d had drinks at dinner, and I ran out to get them because I had to get as far away from that party as I could or I was going to lose my mind. And Rafe was yelling after me and then calling and texting and I finally got so fucked up about it that I started reading his texts, and that’s all it took, Beatrix! Just looking at my phone for two seconds and my car was going off the bridge and—and just look what….” I draw a slow, pained breath. “Look what that cost me.”
Look what it cost the people I love.
I cry much more quietly this time, but it doesn’t hurt any less.
Again Beatrix comforts me, whispers kind words about me that can’t possibly be true.
At length, she murmurs, “Sometimes even our worst mistakes bring us things that are beautiful. Do you ever think about that?”
“No,” I say, my voice wobbly and weak. Why would I think about something like that? How could I?
“Well, you’ve gotten true companionship and a very special lifestyle out of that one mistake. You have the chance to protect people from the worst things in the world, and as if that’s not a wonderful gift all on its own, you’ve also been given the gift of people who care about you and truly understand you.”
My heart feels even weaker in my chest. “That…that sounds so nice, but….”
“Mari, it’s true,” she insists, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “Baby, you might not have thought about it this way, but your parents would’ve died anyway. If you weren’t involved, it would’ve happened some other day, in some other situation.”
Even though I know she’s right, I whimper, “No.”
“Yes. We’ll all die. The only surprise about it is the timing. Maybe they would’ve died later that night in some way that had nothing to do with you—or say they had tried to drive themselves home even though they’d been drinking, and they died like that. Would you have blamed yourself for not being able to stop it?”
She shifts to look straight at me, her eyes bright with gentle conviction.
“It’s healthy for you to feel guilt, but do your best not to let it consume you, because the truth is that you still have a purpose to fulfill. You made a mistake and that’s okay, even if it’s ugly, because it just happens. You just have to remember it was an accident, and that your parents loved you. They still love you, honey, wherever they are, and I know that they forgive you. They’re probably as pissed off at Rafe as you are.”
My heart aches at the very thought. I hadn’t even told my parents Rafe cheated on me. My mom would’ve been appalled, then pissed, then optimistic. ‘One day, he’ll realize what he did wrong and he’ll be sorry,’ she would’ve said in a tone that was somewhere between bright and resentful. My dad would’ve hugged me and told me to keep my chin up, and then every time he saw Rafe afterward, he would’ve given him that flat, disapproving look no one ever wanted to get from him. It would have made me feel better, knowing my parents were on my side.
I’ve always heard parents are supposed to love their kids unconditionally. I hope that’s true. I hope Beatrix is right. Because the idea of them hating me for what I did as much as I hate myself is agonizing.
Beatrix seems to know what I’m thinking. “You have to learn to forgive yourself. Trust me. This pain is hard to bear and I know it, and maybe it’ll take years for it to simmer down, but I also know you will be fine if you learn to accept the things you’ve done. What if this was just your fate? What if this was just what had to happen in order for your life to be what it’s supposed to be?” A soft laugh leaves her. “Because believe me, darling, we’re glad you’re here. You’re good for us. We love you already.”
Hot tears leak out of my eyes as I gaze up at her. I choke out, “I love you, too,” as I painfully remember what Claire said about not loving me anymore.
Beatrix smiles more radiantly, but only for a moment. Her expression goes gentle as she curls her fingers against my temple, like she’s checking to see if I have a fever. “Have you talked to Gabe about all of this?”
Oh, God, no. No.
She sees it on my face. “I think you should.”
“He’ll never talk to me again,” I protest sadly.
“Yes, he will.”
I shake my head. “You don’t know that.”
She pats my cheek now. “Well, I do know that, but if you want to do it this way, allow me to say you don’t know he’ll never talk to you again.”
I sniffle and frown at her.
Her shoulders lift and then go back down. “Just saying.”
“I guess,” I mutter. I sigh before drying my face off with my shirt sleeve.
“Just be honest with him. It’ll be good for both of you.” Her words turn into a yawn.
“Oh, God, what time is it?” For the first time, it occurs to me that I might’ve woken her up with my freak-out. When I look over at the window, I’m at least glad to see some daylight coming through the curtains.
“A little before 8, I think.”
I moan. “I’m so sorry if I woke you up.”
“Nah, I’d just seen Wes off when you started screaming. So it’s just me and you here, and I was already awake.” She gives me a patient smile. “Do you need to go back to sleep for a bit? You’ve got some time now that I don’t have to pick you up for training.”
“I don’t know,” I mumble. I don’t feel so hot, but maybe it’d be better for me to just greet the day. Have a shower and some coffee or something.
“Well, do what you want, okay?” She stands up. “I’m going to take a shower, and if I come back and you’re asleep, I’ll just wake you up after a little while.”
“Okay. Hey!”
She freezes mid-turn-away, one hand in the air like she’d been about to scratch her head or something.
I tell her earnestly, “Thank you.”
She relaxes and looks at me tenderly. “Of course, but you don’t have to thank me. I’ll always try to take care of you guys.” She snorts. “Maybe even when you don’t want me to.”
I sink back into the couch and give her a look. “I can’t imagine such an occasion.”
She winks at me. “I accept the challenge. And speaking of challenges—” she points at me, “—I hope you’ll still be up for what I want you to try in training later.”
Yesterday’s training session feels like it happened a week ago. It takes me a second to remember her mentioning that she wants me to try something different today.
“I will be,” I assure her, and I mean it just like when I agreed to it before.
“Great.” She backs away with a nod. “Now, take your time getting your thoughts together, and I’ll see you soon, lovely.”
I can’t help but feel a twinge of amusement, because only she would call someone that after a morning like this.
*
I feel okay after I’ve showered and had breakfast. I got in some thinking about my night with Gabe, too, and that cheered me until I remembered the end of the night. Then I felt humiliated about it all over again.
That whole car situation was just something else. First I felt like my world was falling apart at the seams, and then I was in some half-miserable, half-awed state because of Gabe’s cosmic talk, and then I was suddenly so rocked by him that I had to do something to let him know it. And that turned into some wild time-freeze thing during which I thought he really might kiss me, and God, I’d hoped he would. I really hoped that. Then I realized he was actually probably just too traumatized to do anything but stare at me, and that it might not be kiss-related at all.
He said it didn’t freak him out, though—in fact, he said it was great (said I’m great!)—and I decided to believe him because I trust him to tell me the truth. I wouldn’t have minded a smidgen of explanation, but I didn’t really get it and there was no way in hell I was going to ask for it. So I just said, Fuck it, and called it a night.
And, anyway, in the grand scheme of things it’s not really that big of a deal, is it? If he still likes me as much as I like him, he’ll do something about it. If he doesn’t….
Well, among other things, I got fucked over by my best friends, survived a horrific car accident, and killed two Hellions without an ounce of knowledge about what I was doing. I don’t think a simple case of It Just Isn’t Meant To Be would destroy me—hurt, maybe, but not destroy. I’d still make it.
Though if anything’s going to mess up what we have, it’s that I’m responsible for the deaths of two people.
My conscience won’t stop whispering about Beatrix’s advice. Tell Gabe. Be honest with Gabe. You owe him that. He’s an awesome guy. Don’t let this go any further without the truth. I can’t shut the shit up. I can barely shove it to the back of my mind.
But I try.
At the Sanctum, Beatrix and Mark help me obtain a room. It makes me happy to officially have somewhere to live again, and I’m told I can bring my stuff in any time I want. I plan on stopping by the apartment later to see if I can get in and get out without any problems.
So I’m not in that bad of a mood when we start training, but as usual, it’s this time that helps me the most emotionally. Like yesterday, I push as hard as I can. It’s intense and tiring and I get so, so hot, but I persevere because I know that by the end of it I’ll be thanking myself.
Indeed, when the long hours come to an end and my skin is slick with sweat and I’m humming with vitality and the distressed half of my mind has quieted down, I feel like the world sucks less than it did this morning.
Something else that happens at the end of the session: I realize I haven’t received any unusual directions from Beatrix yet. Once she starts her cool-down stretches, I wonder if she worked the stuff in on the sly so she could say something like, ‘You already did what I wanted you to do! You just didn’t notice it because you were taking everything in stride, and that is an important skill to possess. Lesson learned.’
But then she levels her gaze on me and says, “Okay, Mari. Ready to try this?”
Oh, whew, I didn’t miss it.
I stop rolling my shoulders and nod. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
“Great.” She nods at something behind me. “Spar with Gabe.”
My heartbeat does something funny, and it has nothing to do with the rigorous workout I just went through.
I turn my head and see him walking up, looking like he already knew about this idea. I didn’t even know he was here yet.
He gives me an encouraging smile and crosses his arms—probably unknowingly showing off his forearms, which are uncovered because the sleeves of his black shirt are pushed up, and which are pretty damn appealing as far as forearms go.
(So I’m supposed to be getting ready to spar with this man, and what am I doing? Not assessing the advantages he has over me or mentally planning out how I can make my height and weight work in my favor. No, I’m thinking about his fucking arms.)
Well, that’s enough of that, I resolve. I didn’t slack yesterday or today, and I’m not doing it now. Handsome opponents be damned.
“Fake weapons or no?” I ask Beatrix.
“Yes.” She hands hers to Gabe. “Whoever lands a solid killing blow with it in their hand wins.”
“Gotcha,” he and I say at the same time. I pick up the fake dagger I’d been using.
She starts backing away. “Calling it on in five...”
Not wasting any time, I see.
He and I inhale deeply and look at each other.
“…two…one…go.”
Despite my tiny mental pep talk and my determination to try something different, for a few seconds, I just look at him.
He looks back, normal as ever.
And I wonder what the hell I’m actually supposed to be doing with him right now.
After another moment, his eyes seem to grow tighter. I get the feeling he’s trying to convey something to me with that gaze—‘You have to pretend I’m not me,’ perhaps.
Then I watch his form tense, his shoulders square, his knees bend slightly, his arm curve around to hide his dagger behind his back. His expression closes off, and those eyes turn hard and focused.
And even though the serious air works for him, it’s also unsettling—he still looks like sweet Gabe on the outside, but what I can’t know is what he’s like on the inside right now. What he’s planning. What he’s capable of.
Just like a Hellion, my mind whispers. To most people, they look normal, but underneath it they’re dangerous. Evil.
Shaun pops into my head, and then my pregnant sister. My mom. My dad.
Some switch in me is flipped. The torment crashes over me again, and my very bones ache to fight it. I have to fight it.
I have to fight it or it’ll kill me.
I fly forward, ducking when Gabe swiftly swipes his dagger hand out. When I’m up again, I throw a punch with my free hand, and he catches it to yank me closer. We both aim our daggers at the other’s throat, but the attacks block each other, so he sweeps his arm away from mine. Just as he goes to curve it around me to ostensibly stab me in the back, I whirl around and down to the floor, throwing him off balance because he’s still holding on to me.
And for I don’t know how long, this is all that happens.
The spar is intense and fast and full of tricks, and we don’t go easy on each other by any means—but we get nowhere. Neither of us gets our dagger into a killing blow position long enough for it to count, because the whole encounter is just one big dance. I send a jab of my dagger his way and he deflects it before shoving his elbow at me, which I veer away from so I can whirl a strong kick toward him that he catches easily. Cyclically it goes on like this: a swift attack met with a smart counter that opens the door for a good hit that is fated to be avoided, too.
At one point, I get some decent space between us, and I’m determined to make it work. His free hand is around the wrist of my empty hand, and I’ve just spun away from his dagger hand like we’re a couple of ballroom dancers. I think fast, and before my chance disappears, I throw my dagger at his chest. He dips and swerves away from it, looking mildly startled for the first time.
Before he can straighten up again, I’ve stepped forward, cocked a foot back, and aimed it at his head. Unable to stop me worth a damn, he lifts an arm and takes the kick there, and the collision is just powerful enough to make him stumble and loosen his hold on my wrist.
In one move, I yank my hand back from him, spin around full-circle, and swing a leg out, fast and strong, at his feet. They leave the ground and he falls backward, gasping loudly just before his back slams against the floor. His dagger tumbles out of his hand.
I’m on him in what feels like half a second, planting my left hand firmly on his chest while my right hand grabs his dagger.
As I snap the fake blade against his throat, an amazed expression brightens his face.
“Done!” Beatrix yells.
I did it. I’m suddenly panting. Oh, God, I did it. I won.
Relief mixed with triumph burns through me. I relax, drop the dagger back onto the floor, and crawl just far enough away from Gabe to lie down flat, too.
I hear Beatrix chattering with someone—Wes, probably—but all I can really focus on is what I just accomplished. I stare at the ceiling and try to catch my breath, my hot skin tingling and my mind going wild with exhilaration.
After a minute, I realize Gabe hasn’t said a thing. I turn my head to look at him and find he hasn’t moved except to gaze at me, too.
I’m sure I look like absolute hell, because he’s sweaty and flushed and out of breath and he hasn’t been in this training room all morning like I have. But he doesn’t seem grossed out or anything—at least, not enough to look away.
He reaches over to touch my sweat-dampened hair, which I can feel is falling all over the place, so no, I guess he doesn’t find me too terribly repulsive.
“Are you okay?” I ask him. Not like I think he’s fragile or anything, but he did take a hard fall right onto his back.
“I’m great.” His fingertips leave my hair to trail down the side of my face. “How are you?”
I can’t help closing my eyes against the touch. “I’m great,” I echo.
That’s all we have time to say because Beatrix’s voice sounds from my other side.
“Excellent spar. Gabe, honey, you doing okay? That was quite a fall.” She tries to say it teasingly, but I can hear some big-sister worry in there.
My eyes reopen, and he smiles at me before finally looking away.
“I’m fine. I might be a little sore later—” he groans as he sits up, “—oh, yeah. But you’re right, that was kick-ass. Literally.”
Wes says, “Yeah, good job, both of you.” Then he nods at Gabe. “Hey, man, walk with me.”
The two of them head toward the water jug as I get up, too.
Beatrix beams at me. “Babydoll, I think you’re ready for the next step.”
I can’t help but smile, too, as I start on my cool-down stretches. “Yeah?”
“Yep. I think we should let Dr. Roterra take your blood tomorrow. Then we can drop it off with Red, and maybe he’ll have your weapons ready on Tuesday.”
“Sounds good.” I catch my reflection in the mirror and roll my eyes. I look as crazy as I imagined—so crazy that before we head out to the receiving room, I stop by the bathroom to rinse my face off and put my hair back up.
During the walk out of the Sanctum, Beatrix fills the guys in on my new living arrangement. I stop paying attention once we get outside because the cold weather feels fucking wonderful. “Oh, Lord Almighty,” I breathe when a breeze seeps through my hair and clothes, feeling arctic and glorious.
I manage to participate in the goodbyes, but another breeze drifts through on the way to Gabe’s car and distracts me again. I hold my arms out to my sides in satisfaction.
“We can walk instead of drive if you want,” he teases.
I chuckle. “There’s no way I’m walking home. I need music on the trip and I’m a terrible singer.”
He laughs, too, and we get in the car. “I need music when I’m on the road, too. But there’s something I need to talk to you about this time.”
“I’m listening.”
“Well,” he sighs as he gets us ready to go, “remember me telling you about Em?”
His Gathering mentor/friend who died. “Yes,” I say sympathetically.
“Grayhem has been looking into his death. Not just his, actually—there have been way too many Light people being killed in Dallas, on top of normal Hellion activity. He and a few other Directors think it needs checking out, so Wes and I have been asked to drive down and meet up with some other people to see what’s going on.”
I can’t help a frown. “Oh.” After a beat, I clarify, “You’ve been asked to check out a dangerous situation that a bunch of other Light people haven’t walked away from.”
It’s not a question, but he still nods in response. “Yeah,” he says slowly, “but I’m not overly concerned about it. I don’t know that we’ll be doing any fighting.”
I chuckle even though I’m not very amused. In fact, a rather troubled feeling is settling in my bones. “I’m sure you will. He’s sending you because you’re the best at fighting. He wouldn’t ask you and Wes to drive several hours there and back if all he wanted was for you to glance around.”
Gabe shrugs. “I mean, he’s known us a while. He trusts us and knows we’re not idiots. And yeah, if a fight were to come up, I’d bet on me and Wes, too.” He pauses. “But for the record, I’m not the best.”
I drum my fingers on my legs. “Yeah, whatever you say. When do you have to leave?”
“Middle of the week sometime.”
Well, at least it’s not tonight or tomorrow. “Okay.”
He pulls up to a red light and grips the steering wheel. “I just wanted you to know as much about the plan as I know so far. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone or where we’re staying or anything.”
I swallow hard and stare out my window. “Okay. Thank you. Just…come back in one piece.” I purse my lips. “Well, and come back alive. I like you being alive.”
He laughs a little. “I’ll come back alive and in one piece. I promise.”
If only promises like that could always be kept.
There’s no sign of Claire’s Prius or Shaun’s Corvette at the apartment, but we agree that Gabe should go in with me anyway. I leave him to look around the still and silent place while I pack my stuff up. All I absolutely need are the details because there’s furniture in the Sanctum’s living quarters, so it doesn’t take me too long. The only mildly difficult part is deciding which clothes are going and which are staying, since I can’t take them all.
When I go to grab my phone charger from my nightstand, I see a slip of paper with my name written across it. I open it and read the slanted writing slung down the page:
What a shame it is for such a delectable girl to possess such an unsavory gift.
Your sister considers you not being a social butterfly something of an affront, but I’m quite all right with it. Rest assured that if there’s one thing I’m willing to engage in with you, it isn’t conversation.
Take care, won’t you? I’d love to see you again. In fact, I’m planning on it.
No name at the bottom, yet I’m sure I know who it’s from.
I say, “Um, Gabe?” but the words aren’t very loud.
He hears me, anyway, like he heard my gasp that first day on Blossombranch. Pretty quickly, he asks, “Yeah?” from the doorway.
I turn around and walk the note over to him, then hurry to finish packing my stuff.
After several seconds, he asks, “You found this in here?”
“Yep.” I struggle to zip up one very full bag.
“So he really does know you know what he is, and he’s not planning on letting it go unsettled.”
“Sounds that way. Damn it all!” I yank my pinched finger away from the unzipped zipper.
I hear him walking toward me. “I’ll get this bag. You okay?”
“Fabulous,” I grumble, moving to stuff a few more last-minute things into my other bag.
“Hey, I know this note is scary—” he zips the bag cleanly closed, “—but he’s not going to hurt you. You proved today that you can handle someone stronger than you, plus B will be with you if I’m not around.”
Even though things seem to be getting more and more frustrating for me, I can’t help but smile at the thought of our spar. “While I’m thinking about it, I’m sorry I tripped you back there.”
“Nah, you did what you had to do.”
“As someone who was in the middle of a fight, yeah. But since we’re not actually enemies, I’m sorry I tripped you.”
“It’s fine. And congratulations. I forgot to tell you that earlier.”
I close this bag with no problem. “Thanks, I guess. I kind of feel bad about it.”
He laughs. “Don’t. The point of the whole thing was for you to beat me.”
“Still.” I turn to look at him just in time to see him touch a sketch I hung on one of the walls. It’s really simple—just a picture of a lone toddler sandal I spotted on the floor in the mall years ago. But for some reason, I loved it enough to hang it up.
“Did you draw this?” he asks.
I smile at the memory. “Yeah, at the mall one day with Audrey. She was shopping for something I didn’t care about whatsoever, so I was sitting on a bench outside a store and saw that.”
“It’s great,” he says with an easy laugh. “One lost shoe. Kids are funny.”
“They are,” I agree.
I think about Claire’s baby and all the things that can—or will, I guess—go wrong with it. Then I think about Claire herself and the giant mess I’ve gotten myself into with her. Then I decide I’m done standing around in her apartment.
“Hey, grab that off the wall, will you? I think we should get going.”
With an endearing amount of care, he takes the sketch off the wall. Then he picks up the bag I don’t have in my hands, and we head out.
Just before I shut and lock the front door, it occurs to me that I should leave something for Claire even if she does abhor me. I put my stuff in the car and tell Gabe, “I’ll be right back.” Then I hurry back into the apartment to write her a note of my own.
Claire, I’ve decided to stay somewhere else for a while. I’ll be safe. I’ve got my phone if you need to talk to me.
Mari
I don’t know if she’ll care that I’ll be safe, or if she’ll really call if something happens, or if she’ll give a shit that I left a note in the first place…or even that I’ll be gone. But I have to try. I put the paper on the kitchen counter where I’m sure she’ll see it.
Then I walk out the front door for what I expect to be the last time ever.
I leave behind the possessions I couldn’t grab, the sheets I’ve grown used to, the living room I’ve been helping Claire decorate for Christmas every year since I moved in when I was eighteen. I’m not sure how well it’ll work, but I try to leave the bad times behind, too: her attack on me and the arguments and tears and nights I lost sleep over what I did to our family.
Even though I know this is what needs to be done, my legs feel heavy as they carry me to where Gabe stands against his car, waiting to take me away.
I remind myself as we leave the parking lot that there’s something else I need to do before the day is done. Something that won’t be as easy as sneaking out of my sister’s life while she’s out of the house.
I have to sit this guy down—this guy for whom I fall more and more every time I’m with him—and admit to him that I have blood on my hands.