Pretty Guilty

by K. L. Cottrell

“I brought a bottle of wine for your mom,” she says. “I hope that’s okay. I put it on the gift table along with what you bought her.” She pushes her hair behind her ears. “I, uh…I wrapped it. Your gift. So you wouldn’t have to.”

  That makes me smile. I’d been planning on quickly wrapping it when it got here, but she sweetly did it for me. “Thank you. That was so kind of you.”

  She glances at my mouth, then away again, then rushes out, “Listen, Will, I know this is a shit time to talk about Aaron, but he’s not here right now and I want—”

  “Food’s ready!” Jeremy’s voice booms through the house.

  Wait, what? Coralie wants to talk about Aaron?

  “Burgers, chicken, hot dogs, and all the fixings in the kitchen! Come and get it, folks!”

  Under the whoops of the other guests in the place, she mumbles, “Well, later, I guess.”

  Yeah, she wants to talk about him. Huh. I blink hard, surprised I didn’t have to bring him up like I planned. And, damn, she wanted to talk now, but it’s time to eat with everyone else.

  For a moment, I consider suggesting we talk first and get in the food line afterward. It’s sure to be long, anyway. But she’s already shuffling away from me, so I follow her, wondering what she wants to tell me.

  I can’t make any guesses based on her body language. We eat, I introduce her to my parents, my mom opens gifts, and dessert gets served, and Coralie is inconsistent as usual the entire time. She’s either curled in on herself and staying quiet or she’s making small talk and giving me affectionate looks that make my pulse act funny.

  It’s a fun evening overall. I especially enjoy when Coralie tells my mom that she helped Catie make her quilt. Mom is so thrilled to have met her and so in love with the gift that she throws a big hug on her, and I’m warmed by the way Coralie hugs her back. I remember the things she told me about her severe parents and stiff childhood, and I can tell she appreciates my mom’s open and loving disposition.

  But soon she’s back to being quiet and fidgety. And after a little while, when she asks if we can step away from everyone, I know the time has come for us to stop putting off our talk. I suggest going to the gazebo in the backyard. It’s snowing outside again, but that’s the closest private area I know of.

  Once we’re leaning against one of the railings, she looks out at the snow and mentions something much more pleasant than Aaron. “I think I love your mom. She’s the sweetest lady ever.”

  “She really is,” I agree easily. “I definitely love her. And she likes you a lot, too.”

  Unsurely, she asks, “You think so?”

  “I know so. If she didn’t, you’d know it like you know your name. Trust me. She’s really happy you came over.”

  There are star-shaped white lights strung up around the gazebo, and they seem to make Coralie glow. From her pale hair to the red tights under her dress to the silver buckles on her boots, she’s a beautiful sight—even when she looks up at me nervously.

  I realize I’m a bit nervous, too.

  “I’m glad she liked the quilt,” she says timidly.

  I nod and give her a little smile. “I knew she would. It’s well-made.”

  She nods, too, looking more and more uncomfortable by the moment. One of her feet starts to tap at the wooden floor of the gazebo. “Will….”

  I’m ready. I’m ready to hear what she has to say. “Yeah,” I say gently.

  “I—I haven’t been fair to you. And I know that’s not breaking news or anything.” She swallows hard and looks at the ground. “You always say great things to me and do great things for me, and I just keep fucking everything up because…” she frowns and visibly struggles to keep talking, “…because Aaron—and I know…I know you aren’t as…concerned…by him as I am…but you don’t h…you don’t hear him.” Her frown deepens and her voice goes quieter. “You were right the other night. I…haven’t told you everything.”

  A frigid breeze moves through. She wraps her arms around herself and then goes still, even holding her breath. I find myself holding mine, too.

  When the breeze goes away, she exhales in a puff of white. Then she says, “Aaron won’t stop saying I killed him.”

  I sigh, my suspicion about that confirmed.

  “Murderer,” she continues, her eyes lifting to my chest. They’re full of pain. “He calls me a murderer. Any time he’s around, he accuses me of—of—” Her features crumple in distress and she drags her eyes up to mine. “Will, it’s so hard to be around you and try to have fun and let myself like you when I’m constantly being told that I’m a horrible person. Horrible people don’t deserve good things.”

  I step forward and take her face in my hands. She doesn’t try to pull away, so I take my time looking at her. Then I ask, “You agree with him? You think you’re a horrible person?”

  She gives me her own lengthy look, her eyes steadily filling with tears. I know her answer long before she nods it.

  And I know what it means.

  And you know what? It doesn’t change how I feel about her. In fact, I think I like her even more for admitting this without me pushing her. There has to be a good explanation for what happened to Aaron, because she’s not a horrible person.

  But she doesn’t know I’m thinking these things. The tears spill out of her eyes, which look so heavy and worried that it hurts me; she’s scared of what my reaction will be.

  I let go of her face and pull her into a secure hug. “Oh, babe, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

  She gasps unevenly, and I can sense her surprise and relief—no, she didn’t expect this from me. Then she locks her arms around me and starts crying against my chest.

  I go quiet while I hold her. I think it’s best to wait for her to keep talking. After a minute, she does. She sobs, “It w-was an a-accid-dent.” She makes a whimpery noise. “I-I mean, it was and—and it w-wasn’t, but I—I was just…I didn’t m-mean…. It was bec-cause—” Her crying overwhelms her again and her whole body shakes with it, so I squeeze her comfortingly. My poor girl.

  She tries to talk some more, but I can’t make out any of her words, so I murmur against her hair, “Hey, there’s no rush to say it. Breathe. We can do this slowly.”

  She works to judder out, “I’m-m s-so t-tired of it, W-W-Will.”

  “I know. I’ve known the whole time that something big was bothering you. Just try to relax a little. You don’t have to rush through this. I’m not going to disappear on you, okay?”

  I’m really not. I know now that I’m not stupid for sticking around. She is worth it.

  “Are y-you sure?” She’s holding on to me for dear life, it feels like.

  “Yep.” I curve a hand around the back of her head. “Just relax. You’re okay. Everything’s okay.”

  She sniffles and breathes erratically for a while before she draws back from my chest. When she looks up at me, I rub my thumbs under her eyes to wipe away some of the mess left by her eyeliner.

  After another minute, she swallows hard and then says thickly, “Okay. I’m ready to tell you what happened.”

  I give a nod. “Okay.”

  On an exhale, she says it out loud: “It really is my fault Aaron is dead.”

  7: Coralie

  I don’t know what’s scarier: admitting who you are to yourself or admitting who you are to the person you love.

  Yeah, that’s right, I said it: Will is the person I love. At least, he’s quickly becoming that person.

  I always figured that when the time came for me to fall in love, it’d come about slowly. I thought that kind of thing could only happen after a long period of time—after I had thoroughly gotten to know someone and could make the informed decision to give them my heart. But that wasn’t what happened. I fell for Will on accident. Got to know him when I didn’t think I’d stepped close enough to do it. Between the attraction and how easily we make each other laugh and how caring he is, even now after I’ve told him everything about the night Aaron died…

&nb
sp; …I just couldn’t stop it. The attachment wasn’t there and then suddenly it was.

  He’s hugging me once again, letting me cry on him again. I’m quieter this time, feeling free instead of twisted up like a person-sized wad of barbed wire. He’s just assured me that I’m not a monster, which is something I’ve started worrying about.

  “I don’t blame you for doing what you did,” he’d said. “The truth is that you’re responsible for what happened to Aaron, but it doesn’t mean I’m not on your side. I’m completely on your side. If he were still here, I’d go tear him up for how he acted that night. He was so wrong.”

  “But aren’t I an evil bitch?” I asked weakly.

  “Hell no, you’re not. You are seriously awesome. The situation could’ve been handled differently, like you said, so we can’t say you’re totally innocent…. You’re just human. We all mess up. The best we can do is deal with it when it happens.”

  We haven’t spoken since he said that, and I’ve been thinking about how right he is.

  I may not be a total monster, but I’m not guiltless. I did get Aaron killed.

  It wasn’t exactly intentional—I didn’t see a car coming and shove him in front of it. But I knew what I was doing was wrong in some capacity and I did it, anyway.

  Because of that, Aaron’s family and friends have to live without him. He pissed me off to no end and I don’t miss him, but I’m not the only person in the world who knew him. There are people out there who miss him, who loved him, who don’t quite know how to function with him gone.

  So maybe I should confess to them, too.

  But just the idea terrifies me. What the fuck would I say? I can’t tell them, ‘Hi! I just wanted to let you know that the reason Aaron got hit and killed by that car is because I got mad at him and left him in the middle of the street!’ Maybe I could just say I’m sorry for their loss? Maybe I don’t have to be wide open?

  I sniffle and ask Will what he thinks.

  “You should do whatever you think will make you feel better,” he says. “And it doesn’t have to be done right away. It took me a month to decide to apologize to you about Taylor, remember? Going to Aaron’s loved ones might sound good now because you’re in the confessing mood, but it might not really be a good idea. The only way to be sure is to let your head clear so you can really think about it.”

  I sigh and press my forehead to his chest. “I feel better already just because I told you.”

  My pulse jumps when I feel him press a kiss to the top of my head. Oh, God, I’ve missed that kind of affection from him. “I’m glad,” he says more quietly. “Thank you for trusting me.” His breath drifts into my hair and makes me shiver.

  “Thank you for being trustworthy.”

  I wonder how he would react if I let slip that I’m blonde-head-over-chunky-black-boots crazy about him.

  Not going to find out tonight, though. I’ve been risky enough for one night.

  He begins rather shyly, “Hey….” He ends our hug so he can brush his hands down my back.

  I almost shiver again. “Hmm?”

  “I don’t know if it’s too soon or not, but…do you want to hang out at my house for a little while? I feel like hot cocoa and I got an oddly large number of those chocolate-dipped spoon things for Christmas from my Aunt Poppy.”

  I nod several times, not even trying to hide my enthusiasm.

  “Yeah?” he asks more cheerfully.

  “Yeah.” I start to add a warning that I don’t know when Aaron will be back, but then I snap my mouth closed because a glorious thought has popped into my mind.

  I’ve accepted responsibility for Aaron’s death.

  He said he’s been haunting me because I wouldn’t own up to what I did, but now I’ve done exactly that.

  A new kind of excitement bursts through me. Have I done it? Have I rid myself of him? He’s been gone quite a while, and I actually admitted the truth to myself before I came to the party—I had to so I could then come clean to Will. Was that all it took for Aaron to be put to rest?

  “Can I be honest with you about something?” Will asks, bringing me out of my thoughts.

  I can come back to them in a little while; they’re happy thoughts, nothing to worry about. “Of course.”

  “Are you sure?” He pauses and then his voice drops lower. “It’s about you belonging wherever the hell I am.”

  My stomach does an Olympic-worthy backflip. I’ll never forget what I said to him the night I stayed at his house—never forget how open I felt when I said it or how intently he kissed me in the next second.

  Breathless over the memory, I say, “I’m sure.”

  His hands find and squeeze my waist. “Okay, well…I hope you still like me, because I still like you. A lot. I really want you to be wherever I am.”

  Fuck. Yeah.

  I tilt my head back so I can see his face. “I really want that, too,” I say, “Will Whatever-your-middle-name-is Bowman. The like is strong in this one.”

  “Really?” Those blue eyes look at me like I’m perfect rather than tear-swollen and sniffly with ruined make-up and a smudged soul. “Now that I know your Aaron secret, you’ll stop pushing me away?”

  I nod. “Yes and yes.”

  He sighs into a smile, looking seriously happy to hear that. And then he’s suddenly kissing me full on the mouth, his hands drawing me against him.

  I kiss him back right away, going up on my tiptoes and looping my arms around his neck. The exchange doesn’t last long—we know we’re not in a good place for this—but the promise in it is plain, and it lasts long enough for me to remember how it feels to be where I belong.

  It feels kick-ass.

  *

  There are a few differences between waking up in Will’s bed in the morning and how I woke up here last time. Firstly, we’re both clothed. Secondly, snowy daylight is coming in through the window, rousing me instead of a nightmare. Thirdly, I remember us drinking hot cocoa and talking late into the night, but I have no memories of sex because…well, we just decided to save that part of our relationship for another day. Today, maybe? One day this weekend? Whenever we feel it’s right. But I do have memories of us sharing some longer, hotter kisses—memories of savoring that awesome melty feeling he inspires in me.

  But one thing is not different from the first morning I awoke here: Aaron is here again. I see him in the kitchen after I’ve drained a glass of water and turned away from the sink.

  My heart leaps into my throat and then hits the floor with an almost audible splatter. “What—what are—?” I stammer, confused and worried and so, so disheartened. “Why are you here? I thought you were gone!”

  “I’m here for the truth,” he gurgles.

  I shake my head. “What? I—I already admitted what I did to you!”

  A black look of anger comes onto his dead face. “You admitted it to who?” he snarls. “To that pretty boy in there? To yourself?” He flings a sarcastic look along me. “Looking at a truth inside your own head isn’t commendable, Coralie. That’s just thinking.”

  “Fuck you!” I crack out, anger surging through me, too. “Don’t fucking float there and tell me I didn’t do anything. Yeah, I confessed to Will, and that was a big deal just like it was a big deal for me to confess to myself! It was a struggle whether you think it should’ve been or not!”

  He zooms up so close to me that his front brushes mine, and that sickening, covered-in-bugs sensation washes over me. I gasp and stagger backward. Thankfully, he doesn’t follow, just glares at me and spits out, “I don’t need you to tell some random bastard what you did, and I don’t need you to quietly admit it to yourself. I need you to say it out loud to me.”

  I stare at him, seething and detesting him just as much as I detested him when he was alive. “Why the hell do you need that? Is it not enough that—?”

  “No, it’s not enough!” he bellows, raising the hair on the back of my neck. “I’m the one whose life ended! I’m the one who bled and had
to leave everything and everyone behind! And I’ve been wandering around like this, unable to do anything but look in on my heartbroken family and friends, because I’m stuck! You owe it to me to admit you’re guilty!”

  “What about what you owe me, Aaron?” I yell back. “Yeah, I did a bad thing, but you fucking started it!”

  “And I deserved to die?” he hisses now. “I deserved to have my entire life taken away from me? My future? The people I loved deserved to lose me?”

  I bite back the furious scream building in my throat. Oh, I hate him. I want to call him every bad name in the book, use every expletive I know and then start making some up. But his question has me holding back, because I know he’s got a point.

  I hear a faint noise from across the room. I look over and see Will leaning against the wall in the hallway, arms crossed over his wrinkled shirt, eyes gentle on me.

  As I sigh, I realize I’m tense all over—my throat is constricted, my chest is tight, my fists are clenched. Last night, I shared with him my thoughts about Aaron being gone, and we both felt sure that I’d done what needed to be done. That I’d freed myself.

  But I hadn’t.

  Aaron is still here, demanding more from me.

  I don’t know if I can give it.

  I damn sure don’t want to.

  Yes, he has a point about his loved ones, but why should I take all the blame? I’m not the only one who was wrong. He hasn’t apologized for all the hassling and stubbornness and deluded talk from when he was alive, and I haven’t heard him sincerely apologize for drunkenly assaulting me. It’s not fucking fair for him to ask me to confess when he doesn’t show any sign of regret for…

  …for…uh…

  …oh…

  …ohhhh, wait a minute.

  I unclench my fists as something creeps into my mind: the fine print of what I was just thinking.

  ‘Confess’ and ‘regret.’

  Those words mean two different things.

  Apples and oranges.

  Holy shit—confessions and regrets are apples and oranges.

  Admitting what I did and saying I’m sorry for what I did aren’t the same thing. And Aaron only wants the former from me, because that—hell, that is fair.