by Ali Merci
Gloria didn’t say anything for a long while, letting the words and their implications hang in the air between them.
“So which is it, Carmen?” she eventually asked. “Are you afraid you’d hurt someone the way you believe you hurt your mother? Or are you afraid you might hurt someone the way you believe your mother hurt you?”
The silence dragged on, heavy and thick, as if every single thing around Carmen was waiting, as if the universe itself had just hit pause for her to release the breath she was holding.
“The latter,” she finally said in a rushed exhale. “For so long, I’ve been angry at her, blaming her for making such a selfish decision to leave us behind, to leave by passing all that pain on to us. And I was so afraid to do the same thing to someone else. So scared that I might put somebody—who cared about me—in a miserable place because I decided to make a selfish choice.”
“I see,” Gloria murmured after a while, the concentrated expression on her face dissipating as she once again slipped into that laid-back posture.
Carmen’s eyes met hers. “See what?”
“Why it’s so hard for you to speak about the boy,” she replied. “You think you made that selfish choice when it came to him, that you did to him the one thing you were so afraid of doing. You told him you were in love with him when you hadn’t reached that point yet because you wanted to keep him around, and you believe you’ve done the very thing your mother did.” Gloria paused. “You think you made a choice that worked in your favour, but in doing so, you put someone who loved you in a place of misery.”
Carmen didn’t bother fighting off the tears that gathered at the corner of her eyes. “Yes,” she said in a hushed tone. “But that’s not the only reason.”
“Not the only reason what, Carmen?”
“Not the only reason I don’t like speaking of him.”
There was a short pause. “Oh?” Gloria raised a brow. “What else is there?”
“Talking about him makes it…real,” Carmen said quietly, her heart beginning to race like all those raindrops sliding down the window.
“Makes the fact that you did the one thing you never wanted to do real?”
Carmen shook her head. “No…It makes the fact that I’m actually getting better real. That I’m making progress here becomes real.” She ran an exhausted hand through her hair, feeling the long strands fall over her shoulders. “Coming here for the past ten weeks has allowed me to open up more than I thought I’d be able to, and after each session, I’m able to let a tiny part of my past go. To let go of some portion of all that dead weight. And whenever that happens, it gets easier to let something else in. Whether it’s me telling my dad about my day, or talking to Joyce about my favourite bands, or even feeling comfortable about going bowling with her and Willa on the weekends.”
Gloria’s eyebrows furrowed ever so delicately and she blinked once. “And this is what you wanted, right? To let yourself open up so you can form real connections with people?”
Carmen nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, it is. I can’t even begin to say how much lighter I feel on the inside already.”
“So, then what’s the problem?”
“I…” Carmen hesitated, curling her palms into her fists and feeling the tips of her nails being pressed into her skin. And then she lied, hoping her tone was convincing. “I guess that I never really thought of myself in a place where I could learn to let myself be happy. Where I’d want to stop letting my past have such a huge hold on me.”
But those weren’t the words that Carmen had meant to say initially. That wasn’t the problem. That wasn’t what had recently begun to plague Carmen’s mind.
No, the problem now was that it was also becoming easier to let in all those moments of both emotional and physical intimacy with Asa. It was becoming easier to accept the fact that he’d only ever had her best interests at heart.
It was becoming easier to accept the fact that Asa San Román had been (and maybe still was?) in love with her.
And it terrified Carmen more than anything else in the world to realise that she could truly begin to let herself be loved with such intensity by him—only now, only after she’d let him go.
58.
The Thing About Redemption
The last week of February and the first week of March seemed to blur and blend into each other that it was difficult for Asa to pinpoint exactly when one month ended and the other began.
Months, years, what did it matter? Hadn’t Asa already once acknowledged that his life was measured by lifetimes instead? And hadn’t he decided he’d lived two lifetimes: the world before Carmen West and then the one with her?
He supposed this was the third one: the world after Carmen West.
There was that hollow feeling in his chest again. Asa wondered how it was that something so empty could weigh so much.
Asa had also begun wondering about a lot of things lately, especially about how they never really told you about girls like Carmen West.
Sure, he’d heard of the ones who couldn’t commit to one man, the ones who were just interested in the size of your wallet, or even the ones who only wanted what was underneath your clothes.
But no amount of books he’d lost himself in spoke about girls like Carmen goddamn West.
The kind that was an artist, whose fingertips turned everything they brushed against into something magical. The kind whose heart was a masterpiece that no kind of art could compete against.
The kind that reminded you of the moon, always ready to shine her best against the darkness, so much so that you forgot it had different phases, and she only let you fall in love with half of them. Then you spend the rest of an infinity wondering what the other half was like. The kind that planted seeds inside the crevices of your heart, mind, and soul with every precious word that fell past her lips. The kind that made those seeds flourish and grow with each kiss until you could feel the roots dig deep into the core of your being and build a home inside you. The kind that one day decided you weren’t a home but a temporary resting place, and so when she left, she also left behind that home you’d let her build in the centre of your chest.
And so, each time you felt her absence, the emptiness of that home, all those roots embedded so deeply within you being torn to shreds at her departure, it would finally dawn on you why storms were named after people.
Because after all, that was what Carmen was. A hurricane. The type that came with a beating heart trapped inside it.
Traces of the havoc she’d wreaked were evident in every silent ride back home from school, in the absence of the smell of paint mixing with the scent of his watermelon gum, in the way he wanted to tell her about how he had to skip the scene of Sirius Black’s death again even though this was probably his hundredth time reading the series.
Sometimes Asa would be so lost in thought that he’d see her across the hallway and almost wrap his arms around her from behind before burying his face into the crook of her neck. Almost.
But he’d always catch himself in time. And then the realisation would hit him as if it was the first time all over again: She wasn’t in love with him. She wasn’t in love with him. She wasn’t in love with him.
And even though Asa could swear on his life that his heart had already been shattered into smithereens, he’d feel something in him break a little more.
•••
After helping Wyatt with his training for the meet during after-school practises, Asa found himself walking back towards the main school building to grab his bag from the locker as Wyatt waved goodbye and got into his car to head back home.
Asa turned down the hallway, so used to the directions by now that he didn’t even have to watch where he was going. He’d just gotten his bag and was about to walk away, when he heard a commotion from the direction of the boys’ locker room.
Recognising most of the aggravated voices, Asa approached the small crowd that had gathered there, choosing not to make his presence that obvious as he observ
ed the scene with a frown.
“…was my call!” Hunter’s icy tone was one that Asa would recognise anywhere, even if he didn’t hear the entire thing he’d just said.
“Says who?” a boy who was a foot shorter than Hunter, but a little broader, with a scowl firmly etched onto his face, snarled back.
Asa recognised him as the quarterback. It suddenly dawned on him that this was probably the one who’d managed to throw a punch at Hunter a few months back. He probably wouldn’t get so lucky the second time around. Hunter wasn’t the kind to let someone catch him off guard twice.
“Says my fucking title as team captain,” Hunter spat back, balling his fists and squaring his shoulders but not stepping closer in a threatening manner that would’ve implied he was looking for a fight.
Asa didn’t want to believe Hunter was holding back, that he was actually showing self-restraint. But he also couldn’t deny something that was as obvious as daylight.
“You keep undermining me in front of the team every single chance you get!” Hunter hissed at the other guy. “I’m not going to just watch you ruin everything I’ve worked my ass off to achieve because you’ve got some complex problem. It’s senior year, college scouts are going to be there, and I’m sick of you trying to challenge every word that comes out of my mouth.”
“Yeah, and I’m sick of you looking down on me all the time but you don’t hear me complaining, do you? So why don’t you just run along and go cry to your mum about it.”
Hunter visibly froze at the insult, his face draining of all colour.
The words weren’t aimed at Asa, obviously, but he held his breath anyway, feeling the secondhand punch to the gut that the blow of that remark would’ve undoubtedly thrown at Hunter.
Asa didn’t know much, but from what little Carmen had said, he knew enough to be certain that the death of Hunter’s mother was a sore topic—especially that he’d lost both of them.
And then it all happened in really slow motion.
Hunter shook off that brief moment of stunned silence, and then one of his fists was raised into the air.
“The coach threatened to bench me during the final game of this season if something like that happened again.”
Hunter’s words were suddenly fresh in Asa’s memory, as if that conversation had only taken place yesterday and not a few months back.
“Can’t have that, not with all those scouts attending.”
Asa’s muscles tensed as he watched Hunter’s fist drop lower and lower, every millisecond feeling like they were minutes instead.
Hunter deserved to get benched if he loved the sport so much. He did. How many students had he been merciless towards before?
How many long-lasting scars must he have inflicted and on how many people? Didn’t he deserve to lose what was probably one of the handful of things he actually gave a shit about? Didn’t Hunter deserve a dose of his own medicine?
But then Asa was suddenly in a chair in the principal’s office with his parents by his side and he could hear Hendrickson’s voice as the words floated around in his head: “However, you’re no longer allowed to take part in this year’s interstate swimming meet.”
The memory dissolved into nothingness, blending into the scene currently playing out right in front of Asa’s eyes.
None of the other boys seemed to be doing anything, and even though he didn’t understand why, Asa’s feet were suddenly moving towards them.
He managed to get in between Hunter and the other guy, fast enough to place his palm on the other guy’s chest and shove him out of the way to break up what would’ve led to a fight, but Asa wasn’t fast enough to jump away himself or dodge the punch which now landed on his own face instead of who it was intended for.
Hunter’s fist struck the side of Asa’s face, hard knuckles colliding into his lip and jaw, making his bag slip off his shoulder and sending him stumbling back a few steps—a result of both Asa’s surprise at his own actions slowing his usual reflexes and Hunter’s inability to stop the momentum of the swing.
Pain flared in the bottom left of Asa’s jaw before shooting up in the entire side of his face. He lifted his fingers to his busted lips and felt something warm and wet trickle down his chin.
“Hijo de puta!” Asa hissed as he pulled back his fingers from his face and saw the red liquid smearing them.
Without waiting to see how much bloodier his split lips could get, he shoved past Hunter, barrelling into the shoulders of whoever was in his way as he stormed into the locker room and headed straight towards the row of sinks lining one of the walls.
Asa winced as he took in the reflection of his bloody mouth from the long mirror that hung above the sinks, spanning over the entire length of that wall. His eyes fell on a faintly discoloured patch of skin near his jaw where he was certain a bruise was going to form by the time morning came.
And this time he couldn’t even blame Hunter. That only pissed Asa off more.
What had he been thinking?
“What the hell were you thinking?!” Hunter’s voice thundered throughout the locker room as he slammed the door open. Asa turned just in time to see the prick throw his bag (which he must’ve picked up from where it’d fallen) in his direction, watching as it skidded across the floor and stopped right at his feet.
Asa shot Hunter a heated glare and snatched his bag from the floor, placing it on one of the benches between the lockers before going back to the sink and turning on the tap.
“Pendejo,” Asa muttered under his breath as he tried splashing water on the cut.
“Swear at me in Spanish again,” Hunter threatened, narrowing his eyes at Asa. “Go on, I fucking dare you.”
Asa turned around fully to face Hunter and looked him straight in the eyes. “P-e-n-d-e-j-o,” he said unflinchingly, deliberately dragging out each letter as he spelled them. Then, he let his mouth curve upwards into a smirk.
Hunter’s jaw clenched, and Asa watched as his palms curled into fists, shooting Asa a look that would’ve killed if the particular saying was actually true.
And then, he stormed towards the storage cupboard in the corner of the room, yanking the doors open with unnecessary force and grabbing something that Asa couldn’t see.
Hunter marched back towards him and shoved the object into Asa’s chest, the unexpected gesture catching him off guard once again and causing him to stumble backwards slightly.
Asa looked down to see a fresh roll of tissue paper in his arms, and he took it with a scowl, turning back to the sink as he soaked a few tissues and began to dab at his bleeding lip.
“You’re welcome,” Hunter said in an annoyed voice as he moved back and leant sideways against one of the sinks, observing Asa with a scowl of his own.
“Oh, yeah,” Asa retorted sarcastically. “Thank you. I was totally in the mood for a busted lip and a bruising jaw.”
“I didn’t ask you to intervene,” Hunter snapped. “He asked for it anyway!”
Asa laughed disbelievingly. “You know, maybe I do deserve this,” he gestured wildly to his face, causing a few water droplets to fly around him, “—for actually feeling the tiniest shred of empathy and stopping you from doing something completely stupid only to get punched and then have you mock me for it!”
Hunter’s scowl lost some of the heat behind it as it morphed into something like a frown instead. “Empathy?” he asked in confusion, but the annoyance and anger still lingered in his tone.
“Yes,” Asa told him, throwing the used tissue papers into a bin nearby. “Empathy. The ability to put yourself in someone’s sh—”
“I know what empathy fucking means!” Hunter spat, looking like he wanted to throw something at Asa.
Asa shrugged. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“You’re making me really want to slam my fist into your face right now,” Hunter said in all seriousness.
“You’ve never held back before,” Asa muttered. “What’s stopping you now?”
Hunter pushed himse
lf off the sink and stepped directly in front of Asa, frustration swimming in those icy blue eyes. “When are you going to stop holding that against me?”
“When all the shit you put me through stops hanging over me,” Asa said in a steely voice. “Just because you haven’t done anything recently doesn’t erase everything else you already have done!”
“Oh, come on!” Hunter growled in irritation, kicking the leg of a bench nearby. “It can’t be that hard for you to let go of—”
Asa’s head whipped towards him, warning flashing in his eyes. “Don’t you dare,” he said in a low voice, shaking with repressed anger. “Don’t you dare belittle the things you did, the things you said. You don’t get to decide if it’s easy or not for me to let go of it all. You don’t get to decide how much damage you’ve caused to someone. That’s like setting a person on fire and telling them how loud they’re allowed to scream.” Asa stepped away from Hunter and looked him dead in the eyes. “When someone tells you that you hurt them, you either apologise or you ask them what you can do to make it better. You don’t tell them they’re not supposed to feel the way they feel.”
A muscle in Hunter’s jaw ticked as he looked away. “You’re telling me you’ve never done things you regret?”
Asa scoffed, shaking his head to himself. “Hell yeah, I’ve done plenty of shit that I regret. I’ve gotten into numerous fights sticking up for the other students who get picked on here. I once took Carmen’s journal and kept it as leverage. I let Isla’s negativity blind me so much to the point that I completely disregarded Wyatt, Hayden and Lyra who were always there as great friends. I let myself be so consumed by all the hate Carson threw my way that I lost my chance to participate in the meet this year.
“These are all things I regret, Hunter. But you know what? My heart was always at the right place. My intentions were never malicious. And still, I tried making amends for them. But you,” Asa let out an exhausted breath and dropped down on the bench his bag was placed on, “you always looked to hurt people, Hunter. You wanted to break them just because it made you feel powerful. And I don’t see you trying to make amends at all.”