penance. a love story (The Böhme Series) (25 page)

“
I
am
the bitch. I yelled at her to leave me alone and she did. I lay in bed for a while staring at my ceiling as a feeling started in my chest. An ache stirred me from my bed and it felt as though my ribs squeezed against my insides. I had to get out of my room, which is the main thing I remember. I had to get out of my room.” She looked toward the window as if she were there and no longer in my apartment.

"I ran toward the spot wh
ere we used to play as children.” She pulled her lip in and took a deep breath as she closed her eyes, allowing her tears to fall. "I found her lying there in the wet grass in her blood stained nightgown. She had slit her wrists. I drove her to that.” She ended her story without emotion in her voice. She met my eyes again and her face was wet from tears that she now let fall in silence.

The story was horrible, but the prominent thought in my mind was of how much I hated her father. I also hated her mother for not defending her daughters. Hannah blamed herself for her sister’s death, but I always believed that if someone held the mindset to do that, the ending was always at their hand. They could have chosen otherwise. Hannah didn't do that to her sister. I pulled Hannah closer to me and let my fingers trace along her arm. “I hate your dad
,” I said.

She chuckled against my chest. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Yep, that’s it,” I said as I ran my hand through her hair.

“I’m a horrible person, Wynn.”

“Is that why you have penance tattooed on your wrist? Do you need to suffer for what you think you did?” I asked, in a stern tone that reminded me of Stinson.

“Yes. I can’t get close to anyone. I don’t deserve it. She was with two people in her life and she would have spent her life with one man, had I not spoiled her happily ever after
fairy tale. I can’t get to know them. I can’t experience anything of value because I don’t deserve it.” She held my hand tightly.

“Why didn’t you tell your dad about your sister and her boyfriend
even after she told him about you and yours?” I asked.

She r
aised herself up with a forced smile. “Because my momma always told me not to tattle,” she said as she took a deep breath before lying back against me. "And that's my story."

I understood the darkness of pasts that haunt you. I understood blaming yourself for another person’s choices. It’s easier to take the blame yourself than to believe someone chose to do something on his or her own free will. It makes more sense to believe that you drove them to cause you such pain. It was their retaliation. I understood absorbing other's stories and pain as your own.

“Everyone has a story, Hannah. Some people have shittier ones to play out. Maybe suffering is our payment for living on earth. The good times are gifts to us for putting up with the shitty times. It isn't anything you did, it’s just life. It isn’t karma or sin, its life and it kicks our ass one day and fills us with joy the next because that is all part of the experience.” I lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. I realized it was the first time I did such a thing and I watched as a smile formed on her face. “Thank you for telling me your story. I know it wasn’t easy.”

She nodded, “I feel better having voi
ced it. So what’s your story?” she asked and shook her head. “I’m sorry, just because I told mine, doesn’t mean you have to share. I remember our little deal.”

I thought of whether I should tell her. Mine was a story of years long hidden away and I was afraid of what the outcome would be if I shared. As I looked at her next to me, and the lightness of her once burdened shoulders, I couldn't hold back. I had to tell her. I needed to give my sorrow words.

Why the hell did I do that? Why did I open my mouth and say all of that? I blame it on the shots and today’s date. I put my head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat as it quickened. It started to increase as he began to tell me his story and I was nervous for him. The tension I was beginning to associate with Wynn began and guilt filled me for another reason now. I wanted to focus on his story, but all I thought of was how wonderful it felt to be this close to him.
Friends, Hannah. Friends.

“Let me back up a minute. I have a hard time explaining emotions, Hannah. But there’s openness with you and for some reason I can tell y
ou something I have just told Stinson. I don't share emotions. I don’t share my pain or dark memories. I learned from a young age to hold them inside.” His arm rested on my back and he ran his fingers up and down the side of my arm as he spoke. He took a deep breath and on his exhale he began to speak quickly.

“
I’m going to say it without any of the details right now. Okay, here goes. I’m going to plow right through it,” he said before taking another deep breath.

“
First, my mom used to beat the shit out of me. She loved wine. Red was her favorite—anything dry. She chose my name because of wine. How fucked is that?” he asked as he lifted his eyebrows and looked at me as I lifted my head to meet his eyes.

“
She would drink and hit me. But that wasn’t all she did.” My own muscles tensed as his voice began to drift and my mind started running with possibilities of what he would say. “She said that my father was the love of her life and because she chose to keep me instead of an abortion it was my fault that he was no longer with her.

“
He didn’t want to keep me and because of that he didn’t want to keep her either. She thought he would change his mind, but he strung her along and when she was six months pregnant he left her for good. She clung to the idea that someday he might come back. She told me I had his eyes and she hated me for it.

“
She would come into my room at night and she would do things no mother should ever do to her child. She told me that I belonged to her and if I told anyone, they would laugh, because it's not possible for women to abuse boys. She said she wasn’t technically abusing me because I must like it since I reacted to her. I believed her, because it made sense. If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have reacted.

“
She started doing that before I can even remember. She stopped when I was about thirteen. I grew in height and weight so I threatened her one day and she never did it again. She still beat me, but the other stuff stopped.” He rushed through his confession without pausing. I wasn’t even sure if he had taken a breath the entire time.

He shared it all so fast, I felt as though I missed an important part. His fingers started tapping across my skin again as if he were doing measures on a piano. He moved me off him and leaned his elbows on his knees. His shoulders lifted up and down in a quick motion as his skin began to turn an ashen color. I recognized this pose well. He was fighting a panic attack.

I sat on my knees on the couch next to him and rubbed his back. I rested my head on his back between his shoulder blades and willed his breathing to match mine as I took slow deep breaths. No words passed as I rubbed his back for about ten minutes until I heard his breathing slow. His heartbeat slowed and I felt tension escape him.

“I can’t tell you the details, he said and w
hen he spoke I heard his voice echo through him and into me.

“I don’t want you to
,” I replied. I cared, but I didn’t give him all of my details either.

“Who’d of thought a meatloaf would have led to this?”
he asked in finality trying to change the subject.

I laughed as he leaned over and pulled me toward him until he hugged me around the waist and his head rested against my abdomen. We had switched positions now and I caressed his arm running my fingers along his many tattoos.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you. It makes my issues pale in comparison, because mine came from my own choices. Yours were inflicted upon you.”

“Stop, Hannah. I don’t think anyone’s issues can compare to another persons.”

“Okay,” I simply said, as I felt the determination in his statement. “Do you believe time is going to make the pain easier?” I asked. “I mean, I lost count of how many people told me Lily's death will get better with time. I’m sure people would say something like that to you too. Time separating you from the starting point of the pain doesn’t make it go away. If you are walking somewhere and you leave your starting point to walk to another one, your point of origin is still there. It never goes away. It is the same with time. It is still there just like the starting point and you can go back to it anytime. So how can pain change?”

“
I don’t think time will help,” he said. “I think time might make the memories not as frequent, but the feelings will remain. Something triggers a memory and you’re right back there. The feelings rush back pulling you into the moment as if it were happening right now,” he said with surety. “But maybe there's more to it and we are both still at this standstill, not letting time change things. It’s a scary place—moving forward.” His shoulders and abdomen lifted as he inhaled a deep breath.

"I sho
uld confess something to you,” he said as he ran his hand through his hair.

“What do you mean?” I wasn’t sure if I wanted more confessions tonight, but the look in his eyes as he sat up showed his determined need to share.

“You said just friends and I accept that. But I have to say this,” he said as he turned toward me on the couch. “From the moment I saw you on that bench, you’ve invaded my thoughts. I wanted nothing more than to hear your voice. You had this look on your face that day that took in the world, but didn’t let it affect you. Life was swirling around you, but you didn’t pay attention, you just were. You stood out among all the chaos and you were the definition of peace.” He turned away and scratched his chin.

“
I know you didn’t see any of that, but I did. Everywhere I go, it's as if waves are crashing against me, but that day when I saw you was different. I tasted freedom. When you refused to go through that door, I was hooked.” He laughed a quiet laugh as he ran hands back through his hair.

"I’m telling you this
 because the last few weeks have been hell. I wasn't avoiding you, I was avoiding the inevitable. There's a war going on inside me and statistically, I know I will win.” He gave a smug smile as he continued.

“
But I’m afraid to find the end of the battle and discover which part will win. The part that always runs and hides, curling up in a ball could win or this new stronger Wynn could be who comes out ahead. Which one will be stronger, the Wynn who will accept that you want to be friends or the Wynn who wants nothing more than to be consumed by the girl I saw that day on the bench.” He leaned back against the couch and looked at his ceiling.

As I listened, I imagined my walls crashing down and I hated it. I was not the girl he described. I could not be the girl he described. I was at one time, but not now.

I stood from the couch and grabbed my purse. “I’m sorry, Wynn. It’s been a long day and I need to get home. This has been fun and I like our talks, but I can’t do this right now.”
Now who was running?

He stood from the couch and said, “Okay, let’s get you home.”

He didn’t speak with an annoyed tone, but he seemed to understand why I needed to leave and that pissed me off more. He didn’t piss me off, but my fucking feelings and the possibilities I saw every time I looked at him did.

Possibilities of something better cannot happen. I know the emotion eating away at me every time I looked at him. It was hope and I couldn’t believe how horrible it felt. Hope annihilates from the inside because it can never be achieved. It taunts with expectations always on the horizon, never to be reached. Hope was fucking evil.

I’m supposed to not
feel anything
. But looking at him now, I felt a whole hell of a lot and it had nothing to do with being friends. I was lying to myself. He was so much more than a friend to me. I wanted to be as consumed by him and he had the potential to remove walls that I built with expertise and experience. I looked into his eyes and without a doubt he saw those feelings going through my mind.

He didn’t try to hug me or comfort me and it made the hope grow. Why couldn’t he use me and send me on my way? Why did he have to get to know me? Why did he have to be so welcoming and rip down my walls?

“No, that’s okay. I’ll call a cab.” I looked away from him and headed toward his elevator. “Thank you for dinner,” I said as he nodded and the elevator doors closed between us.

I tried to tell myself that those closing doors were literal as well as figurative. I was closing the door on any hope with Wynn.
Hope. Fuck you, hope.
I
hoped
dismissal of his confession in such a bitchy way would be enough to drive him away.

Leaning against the elevator wall I ran my fingers across the tattoo on my wrist. I needed to do something. I looked to the ceiling and gave my sister apologies for letting things get too far. Emptiness was allowed and it was a welcomed friend. I knew as soon as I said I was calling a cab, I wasn’t going to make the call. I needed to add to my numbers. I needed to get rid of this fucking hope and the way I knew how do it was with cheap sex that didn’t mean a damn thing. I needed to fuck away hope. The elevator stopped at street level and the doors opened to show Blake sitting alone in the lobby.