I stared at her, the pain radiating through me. “She did die for nothing,” I hissed.
She shook her head, the tears glistening in her eyes as she did so. “How could you say that? When you’re looking at the evidence proving you wrong. She died for everything.”
I stepped beside Bull, slipping my hand into his, holding my heels in the other.
He flinched slightly at the contact and went stiff. He kept staring at the polished marble and didn’t say a word, but his hand flexed in mine.
I looked at the polished rock.
Always and forever in her unclouded day. Always and forever in our hearts.
“She wouldn’t have had it any other way,” I whispered after a long silence.
He flinched but didn’t respond.
Not a surprise. The man was as cold as the rock we were staring at.
That’s what happened to someone who didn’t see the sun in three years.
“If she could have had it all over again. If she knew this was where it would end, she would have done it the same. As much as I wish to the contrary. I know she would,” I continued, my voice neither flat nor empty. I wouldn’t do that to her here. Put on that mask that did me so well everywhere else.
He didn’t respond, though I didn’t expect him to.
We stayed in the silence that I expected to last until one of us decided to stop looking for ghosts.
“That’s the worst part,” he rasped, surprising me.
I glanced at him, but his demon-filled gaze was on that stone and the bunch of sunflowers in her grave.
The fresh ones.
The ones he gave her every single week when they were together.
“Because if I could do it all over again, I would push her away. I would have made sure she never spent a second in my presence, even if it killed me.” He paused, his jaw tight. “Especially if it killed me. I would have done anything to make sure she didn’t end up here, including that being my name on that fuckin’ slab of rock.” He took his hand from mine. “But that’s the problem. I can’t. Never fuckin’ can. And that’ll be my cross to bear from then to the moment it’s me on that rock.”
He glanced at it one more time, then turned on his booted heel and left.
I watched him with a heavy heart, wishing Laurie was here for perhaps the two millionth time in three years.
Or wishing there was someone who he could stop running with.
But then again, the world was cruel.
I was staring at the cold, polished reminder.
One Week Later
From: [email protected]
Subject: Standing still
So I’m writing this from a cell.
I decided to desert out of worry.
Or panic. Never really felt that before. Consider myself a laid-back kind of guy. Especially with chicks. You change it all, Snow.
Radio silence only works in life-threatening situations.
So of course, I thought the worst.
Then I stalked your Facebook again. I had to pay Duke $50, so you’re buying dinner when I get home.
The dress you wore on Saturday night was too fucking short, and the man you were in the photo with was too fucking close.
He’ll go on the kill list too.
Along with “him.”
Wear the dress while I do it. I need something nice to look at when I do that.
Reply to me, please, Snow. We don’t have to talk about running.
Talk about your job. Your breakfast. Your stance on crunchy versus smooth. No pressure, but the answer is a deal breaker. I’ll give you a clue: crunchy.
I gave it all away.
That’s how much I like you.
K
PS: I’m not in a cell. I just said that to get your attention. But if it doesn’t, I’ll have to do it for real.
You don’t want that on your conscience. You know I’m too pretty for prison.
I drummed my fingers on the keyboard, thinking.
Not about the deadline for the story, nor the column.
All I wanted to write was the e-mail.
For once, I did the sensible thing.
Covet wanted another column. They were on a Sex and the City kick and wanted a commentary about life and love, but in a way that was palatable. Funny, neither life nor love was even close to palatable, but I did my best.
Bad Habits
We all know certain things are bad for us. Chocolate. Wine. Microwaves. High heels.
It’s the things we love that will destroy us in the end. Sylvia Plath knew it.
We all know it on some level.
Knowing it doesn’t mean we’ll stop eating chocolate, drinking wine, microwaving popcorn, because it’s a must when watching any movie, and wearing high heels that damage both our feet and bank balances.
What’s the point in loving something when you know there’s no risk, no promise of destruction or at least a little chaos?
There is no point.
That’s the point.
We’re adrenaline junkies. We may not all jump out of planes or ride motorcycles, but we love what’s bad for us. And the stakes are so much higher than broken bones.