by Crystal Shaw
“Emma,” he greets me warmly as he shields me from the striking rain, “I would’ve run down here sooner if I’d known you were walking.” His voice is comforting and puts me a bit at ease until I am reminded of why he is here, why I am alone.
“Thank you,” my voice cracks with distress. I try to force a humorous tone, as if I didn’t mind the onslaught, “I was getting soaked.”
“Well, I’m glad I saw you,” he says politely with a smile.
“Not as glad as I am.” I return his pleasant tone as though his presence is not shocking. Well, truthfully it’s not. Either Thomas or Michael has been here almost every evening since I’ve moved out two weeks ago. Usually it’s Thomas and Michael waits by the car, carrying out his role as attentive assistant.
He graciously takes the bags from my hand in exchange for the umbrella. He stands a good distance away from me, careful not to invade my personal space. His right half is already drenched. It makes me feel horrible. He shouldn’t have to suffer just because I was stupid enough to get caught in this damn rain.
“Please stand with me under the umbrella; I don’t want you getting soaked too.” My desperation is obvious; I’m practically pleading with him. After everything that’s happened, I just want him to stay dry. He gives easily and walks with me under the umbrella carrying my bags of truly unneeded/unwanted perishables.
“Did Thomas send you?” I finally ask as we take cover under the awning to my building. It’s a question I already know the answer to; of course Thomas sent him. I turn the umbrella upside down and attempt to shake the droplets off. I’m unsuccessful, making me feel even more pathetic.
“He would’ve come himself but he’s required else where. He just wanted to make sure you are doing well.”
“Is he in jail?” The question leaps out of my throat. Michael looks a bit taken aback. I break his gaze and punch in the code so we can walk inside. I attempt to justify my outburst, “I heard about the incident.”
I heard about it in depth. Yet again, a reporter was waiting outside of Thomas’ office building and, as soon as Thomas set foot outside, the unrelenting nuisance started drilling him for answers. Why I moved out? Are we getting a divorce? Were the pregnancy/miscarriage leaks an attempt to distract the media from the allegations of his abuse? Thomas gave nothing back as he usually does, until the reporter asked if he had kicked me out because I was a murderer. He knew that would get him a response. Thomas’ anger got the best of him. He struck the reporter hard in the jaw causing him to fly backwards into the street, landing on his ass.
Murderer, yes that’s something I am now and forever will be. The pain thickens in my stomach. I attempt to hold it back, but I’m vaguely aware that the expression on my face is reflecting the distorted, heated mix of anguish and resentment that’s slowly taking over my body.
“Mr. Grant isn’t in jail; that matter has been sorted out.” Sorted out? Paid off is more like it. I don’t bother to question further. I don’t care to know the details. The thought of Thomas defending me adds to my pain though. I want to let him go, to rid himself of my infection. That’s why I left; increase the distance to decrease the agony.
I open the door to my cozy beige apartment still filled with unopened boxes, and gesture for Michael to put the bags on the kitchen counter. I unconsciously let out a distressed sigh as I head to the bathroom. I just want to dry off, but as I pat my face with the soft cream hand towel, my body heaves and I succumb to the overwhelming sadness. I try to keep my sobs as silent as I can, but I know that he knows.
I hear his footsteps approach the door; it’s time for me to lie and him to knowingly accept the lie, pretending that he isn’t aware of the truth.
“Are you okay, Emma?” I can even hear it in his voice; the knowledge that I am going to lie and the pain that is causes him.
“Yes, I’m fine.” I hesitate to come up with an excuse, something to make him go away and leave me alone, so that I will only be a burden to myself.
“I’ll let Mr. Grant know that you’re well then.” His voice echoes in my head as it creeps through the bathroom door. “Is there anything I can do for you before I head out?”
“No thank you, Michael. I’m fine.” My voice is sporadic, I did an awful job of trying to hide the fact that I’m practically lying on the cold tile floor, soaking wet, and rocking my body while trying to muffle my sobs with the towel. Pathetic.
“Thomas just wants you to be happy.” His words cut through me, a dagger to my heart. I know this already, but he can’t make me happy. I can’t even make myself happy.
The truth escapes my lips before I can object to it, “And I just want him to be happy.” I desperately want him to be happy, but I know he can’t as long as I’m around. I’m a black hole for happiness, draining it from anyone who nears me.
“He won’t be happy until you’ve come home.”
I can’t help but to release the heavy sobs suffocating me.
I manage to respond, “You can go now.” It’s an order. I don’t want anyone to see me like this and I don’t want to talk about this any longer.
I hear him softly answer, “Yes, Ma’am,” and a few moments later the door closes softly behind him.
I allow myself to sink deeper into my agony, cooling my tear-soaked, heated face on the cold tile floor. My weak body keeps me still as I cry myself into a deep and much needed sleep.
THE FIRST TIME I TRIED TO LEAVE HIM, it was a complete and utter failure. I just couldn’t walk past him; I couldn’t ignore the pain in his expression. Misery loves company, and God knows I was miserable, still am. I knew I had to leave him. Everyday a small piece of my wretchedness was being absorbed by him, darkening every expression on his handsome face. It killed him to see me like this, so I decided to leave.
I knew two months after the accident that if I loved him then I needed to leave him. I don’t know why I’m calling it an accident, encounter, incident maybe? Two months after I killed her, after I shot her in cold blood while her eyes pierced into me. I was huddled in the corner of our living room, drenched in my own blood, and some of hers. It was the day I miscarried, after her brutal attack. It was also the day I lost my passion to live. Thomas couldn’t protect me from her, he couldn’t always be by my side, waiting for her to emerge from whatever dark shadows she hid in. Even worse, I couldn’t protect our baby, our fragile baby who was never able to take a breath.
I sat on the edge of the sofa with my suitcase by the door, waiting for him to come home. No one was with me; Rose had gone home for the weekend and Michael was picking up Thomas from work even though it was a Saturday. I think that’s how Thomas coped; he buried himself in work. I was alone with my thoughts, hating myself and hating life. I thought about just leaving a note. It would’ve been easier. But he would’ve found me. He deserved an explanation. So I waited, practically shaking with morbid anticipation.
When he came in, he knew. Thomas entered first. I’ll never forget the look on his face, a mix of shock and pure sadness. He stopped moving altogether as if he had suddenly become frozen. Michael walked in slowly and quietly but quickly left us. His eyes never met mine. I searched for them, for support in my decision, but he avoided my gaze at all costs. Thomas’ feet were still firmly planted on the floor with cement bindings and both of us were mute.
I slowly rose, attempting to stand on my own, and let the salty tears soak into my face. I tried to swallow so I could speak, but even that hurt. Everything hurt. Looking at his face, the agony in his eyes, I could barely breath, knowing the pain that I’d caused him. I needed to tell him that I wasn’t getting better, that I didn’t want to get better. I wanted to live in my suffering or die because those were the only two fates I deserved. Before I could speak and justify my leaving, he stopped me.
“No,” his raspy voice managed to whisper as he shook his head.
Hearing the pain in his voice and the hurt on his face made my heart crumble into a million pieces. I still knew I needed to leave him; I had
to save him from my misery.
“I have-” I tried to speak but he cut me off. His body was freed from whatever held him still and he ran across the room with tears in his eyes. He wrapped his arms around my body, holding me close to him.
“No, no, Baby, you don’t have to do anything.” His chest moved sporadically against mine as we both tried to calm our breathing.
“Please, don’t leave me,” he begged me, kissing me passionately. His hand moved to the back of my head, his fingers in my hair, holding my lips pressed to his. I felt his hot tears on my lips and it was my undoing. I collapsed into his chest, releasing heavy cries.
“Everything will get better; just don’t leave.” He kissed my hair and rubbed my back.
Here he was again comforting me while I caused him nothing but sadness. I hated myself for hurting him. I was so selfish. He deserved better. Although I stayed, I still knew I needed to leave. I couldn’t protect our baby, but I could still protect him. It was only a matter of time before he would be more willing to let me go. The days were filled with meetings, counseling and therapy; they did nothing but take up the time.
MY ACHING BODY LIFTS OFF the cold hard floor. Tears cloud my eyes as I try to catch my breath. I’ve been crying in my sleep. I don’t know why; there are plenty of possibilities. There’s a pounding ache in my temples as I try to steady my trembling legs by resting my body against the sink. I subconsciously turn on the hot water and wait for it to warm while I calm my breathing. After what seems like an eternity, I splash the water on my face. My eyes are sore; they feel so raw that the slightest touch pains me. I debate on a shower but then I decide I should seek comfort in my bed.
The sheets are cold and flat, yet another reminder of my loneliness. It’s a solitude that I chose and fought for, but at this very moment I don’t want it. In this instant I realize why I was crying. I want to be selfish. I want him to hold me and love me, even though I know I can only cause him pain. I shake my head against the pillow as the tears start to roll yet again down my cheeks. I want to but I can’t; I have to protect him.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue