I close my eyes and let my tensed muscles relax.
I can meet that demand. I can.
I don’t know where I got the idea that I was being asked to apologize, but it’s false. And I know it sounds shitty, but I’m not sorry I kicked Aaron out of my car and that he’s not around to bother me anymore. But I could’ve handled the situation differently—the option even came into my head that night and I ignored it. I could have forced his distance legally or maybe even just with a good ass-beating. He really didn’t have to die. That was just the consequence of the action I took.
And that’s what the point is here. I’m not being asked to apologize. I’m being asked to be honest about what happened, which I’ve already done twice now. I can do it again.
I blink and refocus my gaze on Will, who I think can tell I’ve shifted out of fury and into something calmer. He gives me a supportive little smile, not even needing to know the details of what I’m in the middle of right now. I adore him for it.
Aaron makes a nauseating noise in his throat, and I look at him. He’s so horrifying, so gruesome, so bothersome. And I’m ready for him to be gone.
I breathe deeply, lift my chin, and say it: “I couldn’t stand you, Aaron, but no, you didn’t deserve to have your whole life taken away. I knew that night that I didn’t have to leave you drunk in the road, but I was so ready to punish you for how you acted that I chose spite instead of reason. I didn’t mean for you to die—I just wanted to inconvenience you or scrape you up a little or something—but you did die.” I clear my throat. “You did die and it was my fault.”
He shuts his eyes.
He lets out a long sigh.
And…he starts to fade away.
Just like that.
And I know that his haunting me really will be finished after this; his disappearance is gradual, not abrupt like it always was before. This is an ending, not an interlude. I can feel it.
And then he’s not here anymore. I’m not looking at anything but empty space now.
It’s over.
Wow.
Wow.
I wipe away the teardrop that’s snuck down one of my cheeks. I must say, I’m not pleased he didn’t say anything before he left—didn’t admit his part in what happened, the sorry motherfucker—but mostly I’m just…I’m so relieved. Because I did it. I was honest about myself. If he couldn’t be honest, too, then that’s his problem, right? Just like if he were alive. I can’t control what other people think, say, or do. I can only control myself.
“What’s going on?” I hear Will finally ask, carefully. “Is he…?”
I turn my gaze to him. “Gone,” I say. “He’s gone.”
His eyebrows lift. “He is?”
I nod.
“For good?” The corners of his lips twitch hopefully.
“Yes.” I nod more and start to smile, too. “Yes!”
A grin spreads across his face. “Wow! Coralie!”
“I know!” I burst into laughter as I go over to him. “He’s gone, Will!”
“Awesome!” He holds his arms open and I jump right up on him, locking my arms and legs around him. Now we’re both laughing. He hugs me firmly and kisses my cheek happily. “I’m so damn proud of you,” he says before he presses his mouth to mine.
Our smiles are in the way for a few moments, but then they’re gone and our kiss can deepen, and it does, and I can’t keep in a moan. He lets one out, too, lowly, and then we’re moving and I feel a wall against my back. His hands find and slip under the hem of the shirt he let me sleep in, and they close warmly around my waist. And, oh, I love it. His skin on mine is heaven.
Before I can get distracted by the new kiss we’ve just started, I lift my arms meaningfully because, yes, I think today is a good day for us to get all the way back together.
He catches my meaning and voices my thoughts in a murmur. “You want to do this today? Now?”
I nod. “Yeah. If you’d like. Or we can wait?”
“Now is fucking perfect.”
God, I’ve never heard him cuss like that. Is it weird that I love it? I shiver big as hell as he slips my shirt up and over my head.
He drops it away and says candidly, “I want you to be my girlfriend.”
New delight sparks to life in my chest and I need him that much more. “And I want me to be, too, so let’s call it done, boyfriend.” I start pulling his shirt up, too.
“Yes, ma’am.” He helps me with the shirt and then says, “Hold on to me,” so I obey. I think I drool a little as he carries me back into his room, all bare-chested and messy-haired and blue-eyed….
It grows increasingly harder to think straight once we’re in his bed with more clothes being pulled off and hands exploring confidently and mouths leaving fire wherever they go. The rest of the world almost completely disappears once he’s inside me, his body the best kind of cage over mine. But I still feel the relief of having faced and overcome the ugliest part of myself. It makes a good thing feel even better. Ten of ten; I would recommend.
Being honest with yourself and other people is a very important part of being happy.
*
A week passes. And another. Then a few more. Good things happen: I meet Will’s friends and they’re goofy but nice, and I start hand-making hair bows for the store. Will and I are doing really well and have even said we love each other—the first time was after a rain puddle splash fight we got into one Saturday, and the way he touched my wet hair and laughed the words was totally, totally awesome…
…but there’s a lingering weight on my heart, and I need to do something about it.
So near the end of February, I pay Aaron’s family a visit.
It’s a short one, though. I don’t mention what he did to piss me off the night he died, because while I’ll forever think he was a jerk, I don’t want his family to see him that way. Or maybe they know he was a jerk? In any case, I feel good about simply telling them I’m sorry for their loss. And I’m happy to report that even after more time passes, I feel like it was enough.
I tell Catie in March, and I don’t leave anything out with her—I even tell her about Aaron’s ghost. She reacts with equal parts horror and fury, and the latter isn’t only for Aaron. She really tells me off for not telling her about the calamitous night of our date. But then she hugs me and I hug her back and we cry together, and I know we’ve finally grown a little closer.
April shows up and I still haven’t spoken to Eddie yet. Every time I see him around town, he looks and acts angry, and I don’t want to talk to him when he’s like that. I intend to get my apology out someday, but I don’t think now is a good idea. He needs more time to settle.
Speaking of settling: Will’s parents’ house has been doing just that, and I can’t get used to the sound of it. On the third Sunday of April, we go over for our monthly dinner with them and even though the house was creaking in March, too, I jump a mile at every unexpected sound.
A particularly drawn-out creak startles me during dessert, and the low sound of it actually makes me shudder. Maisy and Jeremy laugh good-naturedly while Will squeezes my thigh. I’m calmed quickly and we laugh, too.
“Oh, sugar,” Maisy says, reaching across the table for my hand, “those settling noises get you every time! Bless your heart!”
“I know! Ghost stuff is just hard to get out of my head, I guess.”
She and Jeremy nod. They know the basics of my Aaron story. “Oh, I’m sure,” he says. “Stuff like that’ll open a person’s eyes right up. You’ll never look at things quite the same way again—even normal things, eh?”
“And that reminds me!” Maisy snaps her fingers and points at Will and me. “You know I told you Brenda-Lynn died the other day? Brenda-Lynn from my little job at the farmer’s market?” After we nod, she raises her eyebrows and motions around the room. “Some weird things been happening around me since her funeral.”
“Uh oh,” Will says as he drapes an arm over my shoulders. “Sweet, loving mother of m
ine, did you cause Brenda-Lynn some great injury while she was alive?”
“Couple things in our childhood weren’t very pretty.”
“Lord, woman, that was forever ago,” Jeremy says with an affectionate pinch of her cheek. “What’d you do that she’d be agitated about after all this time?”
“I won’t say.” She lifts her chin. “Not right now, anyway.”
I have to smile, because I know how that goes. Not everyone needs to know what I did to Aaron, so I don’t expect Maisy or anyone else to divulge their similar secrets to me. Such things are personal and, sure, outside help can be invaluable—Will definitely helped me—but at the end of the day, what goes on in a person’s heart and mind is their own business. It’s theirs to deal with as they will.
I lift my glass of wine and say, “To hoping the great injury of past years died with Brenda-Lynn.”
Everyone else lifts their drinks, too. After our sips, though, Maisy sighs, “A great toast, honey. But the truth? I don’t think it did die with her.”
“Well, that’s okay, Mom,” Will says. “I think you can handle it. And if you can’t, call my girl up. Right, Coralie?”
“For sure.” I throw finger guns at him and then at her. “If it ain’t dead yet, I’ll help put it down. Pow, pow!”
Everyone laughs, and Maisy’s slightly uneasy expression lifts, and Will tells me, “With me.” It’s our shortened little code for, ‘You belong with me.’
“With me,” I say back happily.
“You know it, babe.”
Oh, life. You’re heavy-handed with the bullshit sometimes, but I have to say, you can also be pretty perfect.
THE END
Dear Reader
Thank you for reading Pretty Guilty. I hope you found Coralie’s little journey to peace, acceptance, and love as interesting as I did!
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I appreciate you!
More Works by K. L.
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Pretty Guilty Page 8