by James, Ella
“Because?”
I snort, and look up at her.
“Not going to answer?”
I inhale and exhale, not too quietly.
“You know what?”
Her lips purse.
“I’ve come in here a thousand times, and I try every time to have a good attitude. To be honest. To be grateful. To be okay with where I am, and how I am. Because that’s the ‘right thing’ to do. Because I want to make progress, to be better than I am, for…some purpose. Just so I can say I did my best, or something. I don’t know. But let me say this now. Nobody knows what it’s like to be in my shoes. To look this different from other people, to have things like this—” I point to my mouth— “that stand out. I was told, as you know, that I might not be able to have children because of the ovary I lost.” A stark chill grips me underneath my throat as I think about Barrett, where my mind can never help but go.
“I’ve got a lot to deal with,” I hear myself tell Helga. “It’s…a lot.” I fold my hands together, looking at them, and not at her face. “I found out my fucking boyfriend is the one who hit me that night. That he lied. He was with me out of guilt, no doubt. So that’s what the drinking is about. If I’m going to be alone forever, why not be alone and drunk?” I throw my hands up. “Why not?”
Helga’s eyes are kind and warm, almost omniscient. I stand up.
“I’ll see you Thursday.”
I have fifteen minutes left, but I don’t care. I’ve never left her office early. Now can be the first time.
Jamie stands up in the waiting room when I come out.
“You’re—”
“Early. Yes. That’s not your problem, is it?”
Her eyes widen.
“Take me home, please. I don’t feel like St. Jude right now.”
Jamie does as I ask, and she’s even nice about it. I’m still in a rotten mood when she leaves half an hour later.
“You’ll be good? No—”
“No drinking. It was like, a week. I drank as much in a week or two than you did the first three days of spring break in Cabo our senior year. Lay off.”
Again, the wide eyes. I roll mine.
“Sorry. Just leave me to my own foul mood.”
When the door shuts, I sob.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Gwenna
February 14, 2016
Valentine’s Day.
It’s when I know for certain he will never contact me again.
How could he let me be alone on Valentine’s Day? If he loved me?
I know from Nic that Bear surrendered at the jail in Breckenridge, and one of his old ACE friends bailed him out.
He’s willing to serve jail time because he didn’t really love me. If he loved me, he would have considered that I wouldn’t want that for him. Would have never wanted that for him.
“Really?” Helga asks me, fingers steepled.
I frown. “Of course I wouldn’t.” What does she take me for? Some kind of savage? “You do remember I already beat the shit out of him, yeah? Nic told Jamie that, but I knew already. I had blood under my fingernails. I went at him. And Helga, he was suffering.” I sigh, lean back against her couch’s saggy cushions.
“That’s the worst thing,” I tell her, picking at a loose stich on my jeans. “It’s not like I don’t know him, didn’t love him on my end of things.” It hurts to say that out loud, so I breathe for just a second. Then I shut my eyes, because it’s too private to say aloud and look at Helga.
“I love Barrett still. Maybe not as a lover. I understand that’s over; he didn’t love me that way. But I love him as a person. I will always love him. Because I knew him. Isn’t that the worst thing about knowing anybody? I think knowing someone well means loving them. It almost always does, if they’re a nice, good person, and they show you themselves. So if it goes south, for whatever reason, you have to turn it all around and cut it off. Except you really can’t. You just pretend to.”
And our time is up—right there. A fitting epilogue, I think as I walk back to my bike.
* * *
The days pass slowly. Cold days: gray and rainy. Winter in the Smoky Mountains. I don’t think it’s beautiful. I think it’s lonely. My bears are still mostly asleep. Jamie comes to visit when she can, but she’s busy with work.
The only person I see with any regularity is Nic. A film has brought him here to my neck of the woods. I’m ashamed to realize I don’t even know what kind of film. I just know he’s staying here, at a fancy Airbnb on the other side of town, and one or two nights a week, he drops by and says “hi.” We play checkers, or I cook dinner for him.
I think I was wrong about how boring he is. He’s not boring per se… More just…very black and white. He doesn’t see many things in gray, so I think that’s why he’s not into long, drawn out discussions. He seems to be a very surface sort of person. And what’s wrong with that? It takes all kinds, as they say. I like movies. Nic makes movies. Annnd we’ve got a match!
Our conversations may not be riveting, but his hour-long visits keep me from feeling totally abandoned by the world.
Which—okay—I kind of do, but not because I should or anyone’s to blame. It’s just, they’re busy. Everyone is busy with their real lives. They can’t pitch a tent in mine, and I don’t blame them.
When Nic’s not here, I go out sometimes into the yard again. It’s not much, but it’s progress. Ever since what happened, happened, and I had my little drinking binge—which Helga thinks was more serious than that: a real attempt to hurt myself—I’ve been more self-conscious again. And more secluded. More the way I was before I met Barrett.
I can’t seem to fight the regression in my self-esteem and confidence, and it makes me sad. Like somehow Barrett’s touch has been deleted from my heart.
I started practicing my old Taekwondo forms at the top of the hill, just like old times, and like old times, I always end up crying before my workout is really finished.
Helga tells me this is normal. She says I’ll heal the same way everyone does: a little jagged maybe, with some scars, but that my heart and soul will work again at some point in the future. That I won’t feel broken anymore the way I do right now.
I don’t believe her.
I’m not sure I want to.
That’s the funny thing about grief, isn’t it? It’s like a blanket: protective. I’m not ready to drop it yet. Sometimes I think I never will be.
I’ve started dreaming about him. He and I are riding in my car together, and I’m driving. (I would be, since it was me who drove the whole relationship, who threw myself at him). We’re going up a hill: a slope in Breckenridge, of course. And then the gas pedal stops working. The car slides backwards. I step on the brakes, but they don’t work. I reach for Barrett, and I see his face is filled with shock and horror, just like mine. Barrett jumps out of the car. It slides backwards on the icy road. I’m all alone, and wrecking—almost every night.
I have moments where I think I truly hate him. That he left me this way. That he hasn’t even called, he hasn’t written, hasn’t come by. God, I guess there’s nothing he could say, but I don’t care. He should have tried. He should care more.
He should care about me more.
He knew me, too. He said he loved me.
I blow my breath out, pull my hair back up, finish my Taekwondo form, and dry my useless tears. I start back down the hill.
I’m deep in thought, so I don’t notice at first: there’s a man in front of me. He’s wearing camouflage and holding a huge gun.
* * *
Barrett
That fucker came into my house and went into my drawers and stole my ACE camo. He had my .338, I think—the one I pawned. The case looked dinged up in the same spots mine was.
I watched him walk up, dressed in dark clothes, waited patiently as he fumbled through the trusty bobby pin routine on my deadbolt. When he stepped inside the house, I hid, so I could see what that fucker would do next.
He
went right upstairs. I followed. He’s so unobservant, he had no idea I was right there, looking over his shoulder as he put my clothes on, went down to the den and put my gun together. I’m surprised he managed to get ammo into it.
Now that he’s striding through the woods, I’m fucking terrified. I’ve got a stun gun and a throwing star—two weapons that survived my self-harm purge.
Jesus Christ, why did I sell my guns?
I know Gwenna is at the top of the hill, and that’s where he’s going. My whole body is ice cold. I’m shaking like I never did before this. Jesus, I’m an Operator, but I just can’t stop shivering. I’m such a fucking wreck that it’s a struggle to stay quiet behind him. As I stalk him, I can feel my phone vibrating in my pocket: call after call. And I know why now. Too bad for Dove and Blue: I can’t answer.
I tell myself, in desperation, that he’s trying to impress her. Mimic me or something. I don’t fucking know.
But I can’t stop shaking. I can’t fucking breathe as I gain on him just a little. Up, up, up the hill. I hear her footfall on the leaves. She’s coming down. Oh God, I fucking see her.
My reflexes are still fast, so even though my right hand sucks, I throw the star before he gets the gun’s nose pointed at her. It flies fast and far—but hits his shoulder, not his spine.
Niccolo whirls: eyes wide, face twisted, gun raised.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gwenna
February 14, 2016
OH MY GOD, THAT’S BARRETT!
He’s so thin it takes a second to be sure, but I can feel him before my eyes identify his face and body. My heart swells to twice its size, surging so hard and fast, I almost fall right over.
I’m alight. Alive.
My mouth opens—I want to scream and run to him—but Barrett’s eyes are not on me. His arm jerks up. I see the man in camo flinch, and then whirl. He’s clumsy, teeters on his heel. He holds the giant gun clumsily, but it’s pointed at Barrett.
Time stops as Bear holds his hands up. I can see him walking slowly toward the masked man. I can see his face go white. Just one time, his eyes flick to mine. I can read him like a book: RUN, GWEN!
I can’t.
“It’s okay,” he says loudly to the gunman. He waves, as if nothing is the matter. “Hunting?”
“You—” The masked man shakes his head. His back is facing me now, as he’s turned toward Barrett, lower down the hill. I see a crimson stain seep through his camo, near the shoulder blade, and realize Barrett must have…I don’t know. Bear doesn’t have a gun, does he?
The masked man laughs, wielding his own long rifle. “Did you throw a knife at me?”
I know that voice.
I hear it laugh.
“How many times have you played checkers? Dammit, woman. I can never win.”
My stomach bottoms out.
It’s Nic.
I hold my arms out, desperate to convey this to Barrett somehow. My mind spins. What is going on here?
Again, Bear’s gaze hits mine. Go!
“It was a throwing star,” he says calmly. “Sorry, man. Is that you, Nic? I wasn’t sure. I just got home and saw someone head up this way. Guess I panicked.”
Barrett shrugs, and if my brain weren’t pealing with alarm bells from the strangeness of the situation, I would believe what he is saying.
“Hunting?” Bear repeats. He shakes his head and brings a hand up to his temple, like he has a headache. “Really sorry, man. I’ll—”
“Quiet!” Still brandishing the gun, Nic steps closer to Bear. Then, abruptly, he whirls back around toward me. Using both arms, he raises the gun. I can see his finger fumble for the trigger. At the same time, I note the blur that is Barrett rushing toward us.
It happens so fast.
Nic fires the gun, and I can hear and feel the bullet—hitting me? I guess I drop down to the ground, because that’s where I am when I see Barrett straddle Nic and wrench the gun out of his hands. He slams his hand down on Nic’s throat and squeezes as his face twists violently.
“You fucking piece of shit!”
His body trembles and his face reddens. I think I make some sort of sound because Bear’s eyes, again, fly to mine. Once his gaze hits mine, it softens.
And that’s when it happens. That’s when Nic, who’s writhing under Barrett, reaches up and…I don’t know what. Barrett recoils, his hand at his throat, and I can see the shock on his face. Then I hear a horrible gasp. His hand and neck go red. His mouth opens. A strange sound comes out. Blood is spilling out his throat and down his chest.
Run!
I read his lips, but I don’t understand. I look from Nic to Barrett. Everything has slowed down. I feel like I’m in a movie. Or a dream.
The hollow gasping starts again. Barrett falls over, bracing himself with one palm against the ground as Nic rises, holding the gun weirdly now—weirdly meaning the wrong way…because he slams the butt of it into Barrett’s head.
Barrett sprawls out in the leaves, but wobbles up. I hear his raspy, gurgling breaths and see the blood pour from a gash along his throat. As Barrett lunges for Nic, Nic whacks Barrett with the gun again. Bear blocks him, but the impact of the gun against his shoulder sends him rolling downhill.
Nic turns my way. “Put your head down, Gwen! Eyes on the ground!” His face tightens as he moves toward me. “EYES ON THE GROUND!”
I do, for a split second. And then I notice: Barrett isn’t moving. He’s lying on his side in the leaves. Abject terror tumbles through me.
My brain kicks into motion. I go for Nic with a hand move Bear taught me, striking at his jugular. Nic staggers. I kick him in the stomach. He falls. He rolls downhill, not stopping until he’s lying right beside Bear.
I wrest the gun away from Nic and knock him in the face.
I see Barrett bleeding from the corner of my eye; I can hear his awful, gasping breaths.
“What are you doing? What is wrong with you?” I’m shrieking.
Nic grabs my fucked up ankle and yanks it out from under me. I land on his lap. Barrett’s on us just a second later, tossing me aside and going for Nic’s eyes. He gouges one of them, and blood spurts. Oh my God, the sound of Barrett breathing… He is lightning with the gun. It’s in Nic’s face so fast, for a second my eyes don’t believe it.
“It was you,” Bear wheezes. The words sound hollow, breathy, but I understand them.
Nic laughs.
“You…piece of shit!”
Bear drops the gun and grabs Nic by the throat. “Why are you here…wearing my clothes…” he gasps, and I can see his body quiver, “with…my gun?”
“Hunting,” Nic sneers.
Barrett’s big hand squeezes his throat.
I realize belatedly that I should get the gun.
That’s how, when Barrett passes out, and Nic springs up, it’s me who shoots him. He takes one step toward me, and I squeeze the trigger. The gun kicks back so hard, I fall down. Nic does, too.
I scramble up: numb, deaf, and blazing with adrenaline. I look down at Nic’s maimed torso, at all the blood.
He’s dead, I think. I think I killed him!
I’m sobbing as I drop down in the leaves by Barrett. His eyes flutter open. They’re wide at first, and blinking blindly, like a fish; but then they focus on my face. His mouth moves. Blood spills from his lips. His eyes squeeze shut, and I see tears drip from the corners.
“Pig.”
He blinks several times, squeezing his eyes shut, wheezes, choking on his own blood. I’ve got him in my lap, my arms around him. Oh my God, he’s going to die…
“I love you, Bear. I love you so much.”
His eyes open, leaking tears.
“I love you!”
His eyes seem hazy, unfocused.
I feel his body go heavy a split second before his head falls back. His eyes roll.
“Barrett?! BARRETT, wake up!” I’m shaking him when I hear the sound of footsteps crunching leaves.
Then there’s a re
d-haired guy. Tall. Did I see him in the moccasin shop? That’s all I have time to think before he’s shoving me aside. Another guy comes, too. They’re on Barrett so fast that at first, I’m scared. I try to force them off.
“Stay back,” the black-haired man barks.
“You okay?” the red-haired one asks me as he stabs something into Barrett’s leg.
I start to sob. “What’s wrong with Bear?” I come closer and the black-haired one holds out his arm.
“Don’t touch him!”
“Please?” The word collapses. Sobs start coming.
It takes me some time to notice that the red-haired one has got a red tube. There’s a tube connecting him to Barrett.
The mean one—the one who said “don’t touch him”—has his hands around Bear’s throat.
Their faces are taut and furious. That’s how they look to me. I can still hear Barrett’s breathing, see him moving. Mine. I drop down beside his head.
“Bear? I love you so much.”
I’m still sitting there, stroking his hair and forehead, when the ambulance arrives at my house.
“RUN,” one of them growls. “Tell them we need a trach, his trachea is torn and there’s a rip in his left common carotid!”
I don’t remember doing that. I don’t remember any of the details. I just see Barrett’s eyes, the way they open and shut, tears leaking the whole time they load him up. His gray cheeks, all wet, and his red lips stretched open, trying to get air into his lungs.
When the red-haired guy detaches himself from Barrett, I jump into the ambulance. Barrett’s fingers stretch out slightly and his face folds on a sob that has the paramedics scrambling around his throat.
I grab his hand. I don’t let go.
Chapter Thirty
Gwenna