by Yessi Smith
I pull the safety down, sweat dripping down my back, as I close my eyes.
Forgive me, Erica.
A loud boom explodes throughout the room, knocking me to the ground. The last bit of humanity in me dies when I realize what I’ve done. I shot my only link to Erica.
My blood boils while my soul grows cold, desolate.
A waste. My life only mattered when Erica was in it. She was the light in my dark life, and she gave me a reason to move past the evil inside of me—to leave it all behind and live in the sun shining from within her.
She saw good in me, and I believed her.
But now?
As I lie on the cold floor, I know she was wrong.
She figured out she was wrong, too. That’s why she wanted a divorce. That’s why she believed me when I threatened her life after she’d said she was leaving me. That’s why she tried to jump out of our car.
That’s why she’s dead.
I try to block out the memory, but it forces its way through every fake memory I put up in its place.
I killed her.
Slowly at first. So slowly that she didn’t even see the darkness creeping into our lives until it was all consuming. She’d asked for a divorce several times before that fateful night. I never permitted it.
I loved her too much to let her walk away from me. She was the only thing keeping my demons at bay. Without her, I would have gone back to who I was—a monster whose only delight came from preying on those weaker than me.
But she couldn’t live with me anymore. So, she opened up her door and tried to throw herself out of the car. When I grabbed her, I veered into the other lane and hit another car head-on.
I did that, not them.
Now, I’ve shot our son.
With hands shaking, I go to push myself off the ground, but pain radiates from my stomach, rendering me helpless. When I place my hand over my abdomen, I find blood. I bring my trembling hands up to my face and stare at them in bewilderment.
“You were gonna shoot me.” Derrick stands over me, his face contorted with despair. “You were gonna shoot me, Dad,” he repeats, his voice frail, like a scared boy.
“You were scared of water. You remember that?” I ask him.
He kneels down before me, presses his forehead to mine, and nods. “So, you took me to the pond close to our house every day to teach me how to swim.”
Derrick takes my hand in his and squeezes it. I hate how sad he looks.
“No boy of mine was gonna be scared of something as stupid as water.”
Derrick laughs like I knew he would, but he quickly sobers.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I—”
“You did the right thing.” I hold his gaze one final time. “I’m proud of you.”
I lift my hand to his cheek, and he holds it there. Sirens approach the house, but I know they won’t make it in time. Having killed countless times, I know what death feels like. And this is death.
It’s ugly.
It’s freeing.
My existence is nothing more than a mistake of nature. There’s a monster inside of me, it’s wild and cruel, but beautiful.
“I loved your mom so much.”
“I know, Dad. I know.” He squeezes my hand, pressing it harder against his face.
I fight back the tears, so he doesn’t have to see me cry.
“I loved her like there was no tomorrow.” Until tomorrow never came. “It wasn’t enough. I couldn’t make her stay.”
The love I felt for her sustained me, kept me alive, but it’s this moment that defines me.
A monster. The monster and I hold hands and welcome the dark cloak of death together.
Derrick keeps my hand on his cheek long after I’ve closed my eyes.
“Dad.”
I hear Derrick calling to me one more time, but the comfort in the quiet corners of death also call to me, and I answer her.
I hate hospitals. They’re meant to save people, but sometimes, all they do is break them. Between the bland walls, family members suffer for days at a time, only to see loved ones die. Yeah, I hate hospitals.
After arriving, the hospital staff took Poppa and Travis away while a nurse cleaned me up and then bandaged my wounds. But it isn’t the visible wounds that hurt. It’s the ones embedded in my soul that will haunt me every day and every night.
After she is finished with me, I go to find Poppa, only to be told that the doctors are still working on him. The nurse doesn’t offer any more details, and I’m too scared to ask, so I hunt down Travis, who I find in a private room in the emergency department.
He’s a sight when he’s angry. His light eyes darken to a brown so dark that they almost look black. His body is torn from the torture he’s endured. Marked by my ugly past. A lot of his scars will be permanent. I tried to save him from the worst, but Mando enjoyed seeing me hurt.
And what better way to hurt me than through the people I love?
From the doorway, I watch Travis shout at the nurses. They put up with him, and I appreciate them all the more for it. After seeing his eyes blur with anguish and pain, I’ll take the anger. He senses me standing at the doorway and after he turns around to face me, he stalks in my direction, already having removed any monitors they tried to put on him. He picks me up with one swift movement and sits me on his lap when he takes a seat. I press my lips to his neck and breathe him in on a long inhale.
“Holly,” he breathes my name into my hair.
I squeeze my eyes in a silent prayer of gratitude.
The nurses leave us, probably taking advantage of Travis being too preoccupied with me to yell at them. I wrap my arms around his neck and softly kiss him on the lips. He sinks into the kiss, combing his fingers into my hair. Soft murmurs hang in the air as we are aware that the worst is over, and we’re safe.
The monsters are gone, safely tucked away in closets and under beds where they belong.
We’re what’s left—Travis, Poppa, and me. Only, I can’t think of Poppa, so I focus on Travis. His soft lips tugging my bottom lip. The texture of his hair on my fingers. The firmness of his shoulders. His bare skin pressed against my clothed body.
“How’s Poppa?” he asks after he ends our kiss, leaving my lips tingling at our sudden disconnection.
“They won’t let me see him.” My fingers trace over the bandage that covers where Mando sliced through his flesh.
“You’re okay?” Although my vision blurs, I keep my eyes trained on the bandage, and away from his searching eyes.
“I’m fine,” he reassures me, tipping my chin so that our eyes lock. “Your Poppa’s a fighter.” He brushes stray strands of hair away from my face, his eyes searching, finding, holding me. “He’s made it this far.”
I nod my head and then change the subject. “Do you think Derrick made it?” My hands shake at my question, so I hold them together and press them against my lap.
“I don’t know, princess.” He takes my hands in his and lifts them to his lips where he kisses the tips of my fingers.
Princess. I smile at him, into his eyes, and all I see is my future.
“I love you,” I tell him.
Travis laughs, placing his hand against the bandage on his stomach. “Way to cut a guy’s balls off,” he jokes.
My smile grows wider as the electricity between us sparks throughout the room.
“You couldn’t let me be the first to say it?”
“I’ve waited for weeks,” I counter.
“I’ve been waiting to tell you since you knocked me on my ass seconds after meeting you.”
“You deserved it.”
I try to squirm away from him, but he keeps his arms tightly wrapped around me.
“I don’t deserve you.” He hugs me tighter to his body, and I melt against his chest. “What you did for me…Holly, I’d have rather he hung me, burned me, whatever, than see you suffer.”
Travis’s body trembles beneath me as he recalls what we went through together. Just like him, I
couldn’t bear to watch him suffer, so I suffered for him.
Only, our love unites us. What one feels, the other experiences tenfold.
I take his face into my hands and kiss him. “You still haven’t told me that you love me.”
Travis gifts me with a cocky half smile, making me laugh. He kisses my neck and then traces his tongue where his lips pressed, sucking and kissing, until he reaches my chin. With my chin in his hand, he tilts my head upward and kisses my lips.
“I love you, Holly.”
“I love you, too, Travis.”
“No one’s ever loved me the way you do. Every day I spend with you is the best day of my life.”
I’m not a stranger to tears. Some days, it’s as if crying is all I’ve done since I woke up one day without a memory. Today hasn’t been any different. Only, now, while Travis and Poppa sleep, I cry silently by Poppa’s bed.
Those are the worst tears. The ones no one witnesses. The ones that shake your body with every sob and make you want to scream into a pillow. The ones that leave you hugging your stomach as you try to catch your breath. The ones laced in desperation.
Poppa’s only woken up once since his doctor – Dr. Harris - finally let Travis and me into his room. I stood over Poppa’s bed, but his eyes never registered. He never saw me, so he has no way of knowing he’s safe.
We’re safe.
They tried to make me leave after visiting hours were over, but they must have felt sorry for me and what I’d been through because they didn’t push the subject. Normally, pity would infuriate me, but today, I welcomed it. They brought me a bed with strict instructions that only one of us should lie on it at a time.
That’s not a problem since the only time I leave the chair by Poppa’s bed is to use the bathroom.
Travis’s snores reach me from across the room, and a small smile spreads across my face. I told him to leave, to stay at Poppa’s house, but I’m grateful that he hasn’t left me.
It’s a miracle that Poppa’s alive. It’s a miracle that any of us survived really. I’m still not sure we were meant to, so I keep waiting for someone to hit the Rewind button to our last minutes at the shed before Derrick tackled Mando, his dad.
The reality of it is so horrible that I actually welcome nightmares.
The nightmares will come just as surely as the police went to Mando’s after I called them as we raced our way to the hospital. And away from the shed. I don’t know what they found, and I hope they won’t disclose that information to me.
Knowing the extent of Poppa’s injuries—three broken ribs, a separated shoulder, and a concussion along with pneumonia—I can’t leave his side, especially now that I have my memory back.
The problem with remembering is that you can’t pick and choose your memories. They all flood back at once. Like a jackhammer, they chisel their way into your heart and fill you.
Dancing with my mom, barefoot, in front of the fireplace in Poppa’s living room. My first date. Fishing with my dad. Family dinners and picnics. Cooking with my grandma. Poppa reading to me long after I learned how to read. Family arguments. Prom. Softball. Funerals.
Too many funerals—Mom, Dad, Grandma.
Grandma broke her hip two years ago. Shortly after surgery, she got pneumonia. She fought hard because that’s what we all are—fighters. But in the end, some fights simply can’t be won.
I miss them.
I hope Poppa won’t leave me to be with them.
Strong arms lift me from my chair by Poppa’s bedside, and I curl into them when Travis sits me on top of his lap. He places his lips on my forehead and leaves them there. He rocks me back and forth as I continue to cry on him, and he hums a song I don’t recognize.
He never hushes me or tells me how everything’s going to be okay.
Because he knows just as well as I do that everything might never be okay again.
Images wildly come to life on the back side of a paper that one of the nurses left behind. Images of my past and my present merge into beautiful chaos, flawed but fighting.
Travis left the room half an hour ago to pick up his mom at the airport. Once he’d told her what we’d gone through, she’d insisted on coming over and being by his side. Before he’d left, I’d held his face in my hands and reminded him that he had a family.
“That’s love, Travis,” I’d told him. “That’s your mom.”
He’d kissed me deeply after that, making my knees grow weak. And he’d smiled.
I think he finally believes me.
Poppa stirs slightly on his bed and murmurs Grandma’s name, Aly. She was beautiful, kind, and fun. I miss her dearly, along with my parents.
I don’t know how it was possible for me to forget them. But even when my memory left me, I held on to them because the essence of who I am is a direct result of them. My family. They taught me to fight, even when hope seemed nonexistent. They prided themselves in my independence. They surrounded me with laughter and love.
From the moment I opened my eyes, I fought. I laughed. I loved.
I have them to thank for that.
I adjust the prongs in Poppa’s nose that deliver him oxygen, and he moves his head to the other side, away from me. My hands reach for Poppa’s when he whispers Grandma’s name again, and I bow my head in a silent prayer as I lean my head on his hand, careful not to disturb the IV in his hand.
I miss them so much.
“I know you’re not crying over this old man.”
My head snaps at the sound of Poppa’s voice. It’s weak, but his smile lets me know what Travis already told me. Poppa is a fighter.
He wipes away my tears with shaking rough hands but stops when he starts to cough. His eyes well up with tears as he tries to stop the coughing, and he holds his sides when he can’t.
I sit on his bed and hold his hand while I wait for the coughing to subside. I know he hurts, and I wish I could do something for him. With a napkin I find on his bedside table, I wipe his mouth when he finishes coughing, and then I readjust his oxygen.
“Never, Poppa.”
I kiss his cheek, and his hand grabs my arm. He isn’t strong, but he’s awake. That’s something.
“I’m crying because I just found out that I missed a great sale on some pretty shoes.”
“The ones with the straps and big heels?” he asks and I nod my head. “That does sound rough.”
I giggle. It doesn’t take long for me to catch him up on what happened at the shed once Travis and I arrived, especially since I leave out the torture.
I sigh when I get to the part of the story with Derrick’s involvement. Poppa’s getting tired anyway so I stop midsentence and stare at his bed.
“Spill it, girl,” he demands.
Laughter eases out as I squirm on the bed and look past it to the window.
“That bad, huh?”
“Yes and no.” I shrug but don’t look at him.
My heart quirks, my spirit breaking. The world keeps moving, our stories never ending as my relationship with pain becomes even more intimate and unyielding.
Derrick is Mando’s son. He knew his dad was responsible for my kidnapping, but I believe he was trying to protect me while also protecting his dad. But when I called him and told him that Poppa had been taken, Derrick should’ve rescued him. I can forgive him, all his faults and deceptions, but not for leaving Poppa in danger.
I gnaw on the bottom of my lip, not knowing what I should tell Poppa.
“Holl,” he says gently, getting my attention. “Forget it. Whatever has you all worked up, forget it. We’re okay, and that’s all that matters.”
I nod. “There’s one thing you should know, Poppa. I’ll explain the rest of it to you later, but for now, I want you to know that Derrick saved us.” I swat away tears as they fall down my face. “Just when Mando was going to kill me and Travis, Derrick tackled him to the ground. While they fought, Travis got you, and I got Derrick’s truck. We were able to escape because of Derrick. I never saw him leav
e the shed though, Poppa.” I inhale a deep breath, my heart stuttering in despair. “I heard a gunshot when Travis was putting you in the truck, but I never saw Derrick come out of the shed.”
Poppa sits up and cradles me in his arms.
The room begins to spin. I clench my jaw, close my eyes, and begin to count.
One. I inhale slowly through my nose.
Two. I exhale through clenched teeth.
Three. I inhale again and force the tension out of my jaw.
Four. I exhale, opening my lips.
Five. I open my eyes and look back at Poppa.
Six. I smile.
Seven. We’re alive.
Eight.
Poppa’s door swings open, and Travis walks in with Barbara by his side.
Nine. My heart recognizes him immediately.
Ten.
Travis makes introductions.
“Glad you’re awake, old man,” Travis says.
Barbara softly swats his arm.
“I wanted you to meet my mom.”
Barbara’s eyes widen, as does my smile.
“Mom, this is Ed, Holly’s Poppa. Poppa, this is my mom, Barbara.”
Rather than taking Poppa’s outstretched hand, Barbara turns to Travis and embraces him. Poppa curiously eyes me, so I promise to fill him in later.
Nurses walk in shortly after Travis and Barbara arrived, and while Poppa urges us to go home, I refuse to leave until I’ve spoken to a doctor. So, Poppa barks out orders to his nurse who scurries away in response.
“Does anyone ever say no to you?” I ask.
He’s growing even more tired, his eyes barely able to stay open, but I’m afraid of him closing his eyes.
“Not if they know what’s good for them.”
The door opens again, but this time, Dr. Harris walks through them, and I stand up to greet him. He’s tall with eyes just as tired as Poppa’s.
The doctor puts his arm on my shoulder, familiar with me after the countless times we spoke yesterday as we waited for Poppa to wake up, and he squeezes his unspoken reassurance. “I hear you won’t leave the hospital until you talk to me.” He smiles, exposing straight yellowed teeth.
“She wants to make sure I’m gonna wake up if I go back to sleep.” Poppa chuckles lightly, reading me far too easily.