A sharp gust knocks me off-balance and I hit the railing hard as I fall. The pain doesn’t matter. I’m going to be free of it soon. I’ll be free from all of this—from my father, from my mother’s cold hand, from what I did to Maria—and it’ll all be better.
It will all be better.
The streetlights turn on again and this time they stay on, their dim light leading me slowly out to the middle of the bridge. I wipe the rain from my face and stare down into the darkness below. The wind is so loud, the downpour so strong, that I can’t hear the raging water at the bottom anymore. Maybe there isn’t any water. Maybe there’s nothing down there at all—just blackness, a place to escape.
“No... I’m going to die if I jump. Don’t do it,” says a voice inside my head. It’s pretending to be reasonable, pretending I have any reason to stay here now.
I clutch tightly to the railing like it’s a ladder, and I climb the bottom rung.
“Don’t do this,” begs the voice inside me. It’s a cruel, evil voice...it wants me to stay and hurt even more people I care about.
Second rung. One more and I’ll be able to lift my leg over it.
For a moment, I hear a strange sound drifting on the wind—the sound of someone screaming, yelling into the pouring rain—but I know it’s my imagination. Nobody else is out tonight. Nobody’s insane enough to come out in a storm like this. In all my years in Ithaca, this is the worst storm I’ve ever seen.
Third rung. The railing is so cold and slippery that I nearly lose my grip and fall backward. The power goes out again, but seconds later, a brilliant flash of lightning illuminates the bridge and I regain my bearings.
All I have to do is lift my leg over the railing. I can forget everything on the other side.
“You’ll lose everything!” screams the fraudulent voice of reason in my head. “Don’t do this! There’s nothing down there for you.”
Shut up. What do I have left to lose? My mother? Nope... she’s dead. Maria? Look what I did to her.
The wind howls viciously over the gorge, chilling me to the bone as I steel myself for the final step. I’m tired of being scared and I’ve hurt too many others to stay. I don’t want to remember them anymore—failing Samantha, my mother, Maria...
I’m so sorry, Maria.
It’s time to go.
As I lift my leg over the railing, something hits me from behind. I lose my grip and start to fall.
Monday, April 29 – In the darkest hour...
Maria
“Maria! Please let me in.”
Tina bangs loudly on the door for what feels like forever, calling to me, pleading with me to open the door, before she finally goes away. I’m not letting her in. I’m so fucking messed up right now that I can’t bear the idea of her seeing me in this state.
“Why did you have to read my book, Owen? Why? Why did you do this to me?”
I can’t believe he read it. He knew about the book and what it meant to me, that it’s where I hide all the bad memories. It’s as if my nightmares came true, that Owen was there watching Darren rape me. It’s different from me telling him what happened because the book contains every last detail of what happened and what it did to me afterward. When I walked in on him and saw him reading it, the horror on his face was palpable. In his mind, he was there watching it all unfold.
He was there at the worst moment of my life, watching as I died on the inside, and I wasn’t ready for that. That’s when I lost my mind and threw him out.
A crack of thunder rattles the windows and the power flickers just long enough to reset my alarm clock. The glaring red numbers flash twelve o’clock over and over. No matter what time it is, it’s midnight now. It’s been midnight to me for a very long time.
I sink to the ground, my back against the door, and try not to start crying again. I don’t even know why I’m crying anymore. Is it because of how much he hurt me, or is it because of what I did afterward? Seeing Owen with my book felt like he’d stabbed me in the chest and left the knife there, but I also feel terrible now for reacting like I did. He just lost his mother, for God’s sake, and I screamed at him and threw him out. What’s wrong with me?
Everything’s wrong with me. I’m psychotic. I’m more protective of a notebook—a notebook I hate and wish I’d never started writing—than I am of my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend? I don’t know anymore. It’s like I warned him when we were first intimate together—I can’t predict when I’m going to go crazy, when the nightmares are going to drag me down with them.
Maybe we’re better off not seeing each other. He needs someone stable, someone less fragile... he needs someone who isn’t me. I can’t hurt him if we’re apart, and he can’t hurt me either.
“I need to calm down, take a deep breath and call him.”
No.
“We can talk through it. He can apologize, I can explain, and it’ll all be okay.”
No way. Not after what he did to me.
“Shut up and call him!”
I bite down hard on my lip, yank my phone from my pocket, and just as I start to dial, the lights go out and plunge me into darkness.
A crack of thunder scares me half to death and rain lashes against the windowpanes as I dial Owen’s phone number. It rings five times and then goes to his voicemail. Again and again... five rings and voice mail every time I call. He’s not picking up.
Lighting flashes and for one brief, terrible moment lights up my bedroom. Harsh, terrifying shadows appear everywhere, crawling out from behind all the furniture, and then they’re gone as the room goes dark. They’re not gone, though—in my mind, they’re still coming closer, still sneaking up on me in the blackness.
I have to get out of here.
Why won’t the door open? I struggle with it, panicking as the shadows close in on me, and finally remember that it’s locked. I throw the door open and race down the stairs in the darkness. Craig and Tina are in the living room—I can hear their raised voices, but this isn’t their usual, friendly argument. Their voices are tinged with fear tonight.
“I have no idea where he went!” Craig shouts to Tina, shielding his eyes from the glare of her ridiculous headlamp. I never thought I’d see the day that thing was actually useful.
“You didn’t go after him?” she asks him incredulously. “He’s your friend!”
Tina turns and glances at me as I come downstairs and join them, but she quickly returns her attention to Craig.
“One, I had no pants,” protests Craig. “Two, I was on the phone with Cornell’s alcohol support line. I was trying to get him help.”
“Get who help?” I interject. I know they’re talking about Owen but I don’t know what’s going on. “What happened?”
“Don’t worry about it,” answers Tina, shrugging off my concern. “We’ll take care of it. You just calm down and...”
“No. What happened to Owen?” I almost shout back at her.
I shouldn’t care what happened to him after how badly he hurt me, but I do. I care because I’m afraid that whatever happened is my fault.
“He got drunk—like totally trashed drunk—fell down the stairs and then stumbled out into the storm,” Craig tells me. “He could barely even walk. I called the health center, but then the power went out and I lost sight of him.”
Why on earth would Owen do that? Why would he go out in the storm?
Oh no... oh God, no. Please, not that. Please don’t let it be what I’m thinking.
“When did he leave?” I ask Craig. “How long has it been?”
“Like ten minutes ago maybe? He just kept saying he needed to get away, and I couldn’t stop him,”
I run to the door and hurry to put on my sneakers. I know exactly where he went. My chest tightens in fear as I throw the front door open in a panic and race out into the storm.
“Maria! Come back!” shouts Tina, but I don’t listen to her. I have to get to the bridge.
––––––––
I’m completely soaked
and my clothes cling to my freezing skin as I race toward the bridge. All the streetlights are out as I run blindly through night, guided only by the intermittent flashes of lightning. A strong gust pushes me off the sidewalk and I twist my ankle as I hit the cement. Sharp pain shoots up my leg with every step. It hurts so much, but I can’t stop now. I grind my teeth together and keep running—really just hobbling—up the hill. Please don’t let me be too late.
The bridge is shrouded in darkness when I reach it, and I fumble for the railing in the pitch black and pull my soaking wet hair away from my face. The wind is so strong that I can barely stand upright without clinging to the railing.
A flash of lightning. Someone else is here.
I grip the railing tightly and hurry toward the middle of the bridge as quickly as my throbbing ankle permits me. The entire bridge sways and creaks loudly in the howling wind. It’s so windy that it’s raining sideways now, blinding me as I fight my way out to the middle.
Another flash lights up the bridge and I watch in horror as Owen climbs slowly up the railing. Don’t do this! Please, please don’t do this to me. I call out to him, screaming his name at the top of my lungs, but the wind steals my words. He can’t hear me over the storm.
Suddenly, I’m running. I don’t need the railing and not even the storm is going to stop me. It doesn’t matter that my ankle hurts with every step I take. It doesn’t matter that Owen hurt me and the notebook doesn’t matter either. None of that matters at all. The only thing that matters right now is the horrible feeling bubbling up inside me as he climbs to the second foothold on the railing.
I call out to him again, shouting so loudly that my throat burns, but he still can’t hear me. He’s up to the third rung, and he’s lifting his leg over the railing. He disappears again as the lightning fades and cloaks the bridge in darkness once more.
“You can't do this to me!” my mind cries out in terror.
Another blinding flash of lightning arcs through the darkness, and suddenly he’s right in front of me. I grab him, yank him backward off the railing with all my might and tackle him to the ground. The storm lights up the sky again and rain pours down on us as I cling to him.
“Stop it!” I scream at him in terror and I press my head to his chest. I can’t bear the idea of losing him. I can’t be without him anymore. “You can’t leave me!”
I scramble up to his face, kissing his lips in desperation as he stares blankly back at me. His eyes are glazed over, unfeeling, almost as if he’s empty—as if he’s not in there anymore. He reeks of alcohol, but I know we can get past that. He’s alive and that’s all I can ask for right now. I found him before he took that last step off the edge.
“I can’t live without you,” I whimper, holding him close. “Please, don’t do this to me.”
I burst into tears and lay my head on his chest again as my fear of losing him flows out and mixes with the freezing-cold rain. Owen’s body is warm against mine and somehow, being together blocks out the icy chill of the storm.
Slowly, he puts his arms around me and pulls me close to him. I can’t see him in the darkness, but I know he’s back. The darkness has lost its grip on him and he’s safe with me again.
“I love you, Owen,” I tell him, choking up on every word. “I love you so much. Don’t ever leave me like that—don’t go where I can’t follow you.”
He squeezes me tightly, pressing his cold cheek to mine until both our faces are warm again.
“Maria?”
“Yes?”
I softly kiss his lips and wait for him to speak.
“I... thank you. Thank you so much,” he says, choking up as if he’s just now realizing what he almost did.
He trails off and goes silent, overwhelmed by the enormity of what just happened, and I hold him tightly and kiss him again as we lay together in total darkness on the bridge. Our kiss is different from anything I’ve felt before. It’s not about passion, longing, about anything like that—it’s about love and fear. It’s about everything we nearly lost forever tonight, everything we could never get back again if he’d taken one more step. I need him forever and I almost lost him.
“Owen... we need help. We can’t do this alone,” I tell him, and I press my lips to his with almost frightened desperation as the rain pours down and the wind howls around us.
“Whatever help you think we need, I’m with you,” he answers me, almost shouting over the storm, and then he draws me close and kisses me again. I love him so much. I love every last bit of him, broken or not.
I struggle to my feet and clutch at the railing to fight off the wind, and Owen slowly rises to my side. His warm embrace supports me like a crutch as I limp beside him away from the bridge. We’re broken as hell and we need help if we’re ever going to fix ourselves, but tonight, we’re alive and we’re together. Together, we’ll make it through the storm and find our way home.
Tuesday, April 30 – 10:00 AM
Maria
I squeeze Owen’s hand as we once again wait in the stupidly uncomfortable chairs of the university’s health center. It’s a different sort of visit from our last two trips, though. There are no bones to fix this time—only minds and souls. We’re here for counseling.
“Are you scared?” I whisper to him. It seems like a stupid question from the moment the words leave my lips. We’re about to bare our secrets to complete strangers. Of course he’s scared. I’m scared too. I’m absolutely terrified to do this, but after what happened last night, it has to be done. We have to get help.
“I’m really nervous,” he whispers back, gently stroking the back of my hand and tapping his feet nervously. I can’t tell if he’s trying to calm himself or me, but I don’t think either one is working.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell him. “It’s a first step, and we have to take it.”
“I just wish we could take it together,” he says, his voice low and full of fear.
I lean my head on his shoulder and ignore the sharp, metal armrests digging into my ribs. I can hear his heart pounding, and I suddenly feel terrible for him. I wish I could go in with him and hold his hand through his first session, but I can’t do that.
I’m part of the problem. We both are.
Owen and I may have found ourselves in each other, but we need to be complete on our own before we can be complete together.
“Number eleven?” calls out the receptionist, and we both glance down at our tickets. It’s Owen’s number; they’re making sure they don’t give away the names of students here for counseling, not even to other people in the waiting room.
He casts me a nervous smile, releases my hand and then cautiously approaches the reception window. After a few minutes of paperwork, a door to the right opens and his counselor comes out to meet him.
“Whenever you’re done with the paperwork, just come straight through here and we can get started,” she tells him.
I can’t help but smile at the sight of her. His counselor is a middle-aged, motherly looking woman with a kind smile and a soft voice. I just know she’ll be a wonderful fit for him. He follows her to the door, all the while chatting like they’re old friends, but then he stops at the threshold and looks back at me. He’s so nervous.
I leap up, run to him and hug him tightly. He’s scared to take the first step, and I understand what he’s feeling. There’s so much inside him that he’s hidden away over the years and now it’s all going to come out. He’s scared of having to face it again. I want to squeeze all the fear out of him like a sponge and let him go into his first counseling session feeling fresh and new.
“You going to be okay, sweetie?” he whispers in my ear, and he kisses me on the cheek.
I see a different sort of fear in his eyes now—a fear not of his own first step but of mine. He’s right, too... I am scared. I’m terrified to take this step, but I know that I’ll never heal unless I do.
“I love you so much, sweetie,” I whisper in his ear and I press my cheek softly to
his. “Don’t worry about me. I promise you I’ll be okay.”
He squeezes me tightly, and I bask in the warmth of his body as he holds me for just a moment longer before we finally separate.
“See you in an hour?” he asks, and I smile nervously back at him. It’s going to be a very difficult hour for both of us.
He follows his counselor down the door and it closes behind him. I return to my seat and wait nervously for my number to come up. Our numbers were sequential, so it’ll be any moment now. I catch myself nervously tapping my feet, but I can’t seem to stop myself from doing it.
Five minutes later, they call my number. Butterflies flap around inside me and my palms sweat as I hurry up to the receptionist. My legs feel weak from fear and I prop myself up against the counter for just in case they decide to give out on me and humiliate me in front of everyone else in the waiting room.
The receptionist flashes me a friendly smile and hands me a stapled packet of paperwork.
“Could you please just check through all of this and make sure it’s correct?” she asks in a quiet, safe voice. “We want to make sure we have the right event recorded for you and get everything off to a good start.”
It takes me a moment to decipher her words, but they finally click together in my brain. It’s more privacy protection; ‘event’ is talking about what happened to me. There it is on the sheet, too... rape counseling.
I scan over the paperwork to make sure it’s all correct, swallow hard and slide the packet back through the window.
“It’s all correct.”
“Okay, thank you. We’ll call you up soon and the counselor will explain the process to you from there.”
The receptionist’s eyes are friendly and nonjudgmental, as if she truly isn’t judging my worth or forming opinions about me based on what happened. How many horror stories has she seen while working here? How many times has she seen women come in here, broken women like me, women with even worse stories than mine?
No. I can’t think like that anymore. I need to turn over a new leaf if I’m going to heal.
Found (Lost and Found #2, New Adult Romance) (Lost & Found) Page 17