“I don’t remember too much before I was about five or six years old, but it wasn’t like one day things went to shit. I just didn’t start remembering most of it until then.” He shifts to sit up higher against the headboard and looks down at our entwined hands. “We lived in an apartment that I never left until I was nine years old, surrounded by my mom’s addiction and the actions that came along with it. Only when she died did we get to experience a normal life.”
I don’t want him to stop talking, but my eyes are already beginning to water, and I feel like after I hear more, the weight of it will be just as heavy as to why he feels comfortable enough to tell it to me.
“There were men that always came and went. We lived in a studio, so that meant when they came, I had to hide. It was either an oversized wardrobe or under the bed. The wardrobe was where I’d prefer because sometimes they’d be there for days. I was never allowed to come out. I had made that mistake a couple of times. I saw things I never had any business of seeing at that age. And I could never unsee those images and erase the feelings that came with them.” A tear spills down one of his cheeks, and he wipes it quickly, with noticeable resentment. “It all damaged me enough that I can’t fucking forget any of it.”
He looks at me again, wiping the tears that are quietly pouring down my face. I don’t have any words for him. There’s no comfort in words, so I hold his hand tighter.
“I was seven or eight when I wished my mother would die. Every day. Who does that? Who wishes for their parents to die?”
I know it’s rhetorical, but he looks at me as if he’s searching for an answer, so I give him one. “Survivors do. Someone who fights to survive the hell that a parent puts them through.”
“Well, I got my wish. I was nine when it happened. She couldn’t pay off her debts, which wasn’t anything new, but this day, it was enough of a reason. The men who had always come decided she wasn’t worth the trouble any longer and killed her. That time, we were under the bed. I cradled my sister under that bed for almost three days straight before the police found us. The best thing to ever happen to us was her death, and not a single day goes by that I don’t thank the universe for it.”
Jack wipes the tears from my face and kisses my lips softly. “The memories follow me. It's my penance for wishing my mother dead, but I’ll take it. My sister is safe. I have an incredible nephew. And I have a life that I’m proud of. But, I never fall asleep with anyone. I never know which memory will wake me. And until you, I’ve never felt the need to tell anyone about it.”
I move toward him, sitting on his lap, and facing him, I cradle his face with my hands, brushing my thumbs over his lips, a move he’s done to me repeatedly. I kiss him with all the feelings I have swirling through me, compassion, sympathy,love. “Thank you for telling me.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders and neck, hugging him tightly. “You are so much more than what I expected you'd be, Jack. But none of those things are damaged or broken.”
He doesn’t say anything else after that, but he lets out a long breath that has me wondering if he’s been holding it in along with his secrets. A heavy burden now lifted, or perhaps enough of a past dredged up that he’s letting it settle itself back into the dark. We hold on to each other, brushing our fingers along each other’s skin, lulling one another until we both drift off again.