I can’t imagine why not-not after what she heard today. I’ve always told her that I’m fucked up. But this… this is fucked up.
The doctor spent an extra hour talking with me after I woke up, but I can’t remember anything that he said. It was all words and blurs and noise. Static. It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing that he can say that will help. He has to know that.
Mila grasps my elbow. “Ready?”
I nod and we walk silently out to the car. My feet feel wooden.
“Want me to drive?” she asks as she looks up at me.
“I’m good,” I tell her as I open her door automatically. I’m on auto-pilot now. I’m moving, but not feeling. Mila slides in and looks up at me again. I don’t know what she’s waiting for. I close the door.
I buckle in and sit still for a second, staring at the snow in front of us. Everything seems to be a blur to me. Blurs of movement, blurs of shapes. Colors that bleed into each other. Nothing makes sense.
“Pax,” Mila whispers. I can feel her eyes on me, waiting for something. What the fuck is she waiting for? But I don’t ask. She leans over and embraces me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and burying her face in my neck. I don’t feel her warmth. I’m too numb.
“It will be okay,” she finally whispers as she pulls away. She’s wiping her tears away and I wonder why I’m not crying. I’m the one who should be, but my emotions seem to be gone. I can’t feel a thing.
As I start the car up and drive, the silence yawns between Mila and I. I keep my eyes on the road, unable to focus or concentrate. I feel numb, every bit as numb as I felt after I dove in the lake after Mila. My heart is like a block of ice; frozen, suspended.
“Pax,” she murmurs, staring at me. I can feel her gaze, her soft expression. I don’t want to see it though, so I don’t look. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve her goodness.
“We should talk about this.” Her voice is soft, but insistent.
She puts her hand on my leg. Her fingers are cold. Normally, I would grasp it, hold it, tuck it into mine to warm it. Not now. I don’t deserve to touch her with the same hands that killed my mother. So, I keep mine clenched on the steering wheel and I stare at my scar. It is jagged and deep, the edges of it white.
I have marked you.
In my head, I remember the man with the yellow teeth tracing my mother’s blood into the cut. My mother’s blood is literally on my hands. It’s engrained in my skin forever. I have marked you.
I swallow. “I killed my mother. There’s nothing else to say. In my dreams, I kept thinking that she was begging me to do something. But she wasn’t. She was begging for me. For my life.”
Everything seems like it is closing in on me and I suddenly feel incredibly hot. I breathe deeply, sucking in air. The white of the snow and the sky seem to be swirling around me and I can’t see straight. I pull over and crack my window, and then I stare into the distance as I try to get things under control; my heart beat, my breathing, my thoughts.
Mila is silent.
I can tell she doesn’t know what to do.
“Pax,” she tries. “There’s everything to say. You know it wasn’t your fault. He was the one with the gun, the one who was forcing a violent act upon your mother. It wasn’t you. I love you. I’ll do anything you need me to do. Just name it. We can get through this.”
Her words fade away and I stare into the silent winter day.
I can’t believe the world is going on just the same as it was this morning, like nothing happened. Crows are perched in a nearby tree and I can hear them cawing. I briefly wonder why they haven’t flown south, but I really don’t give a fuck. The snow drifts across the road; and down the way, I see a snowplow coming slowly, it’s yellow lights blinking in the slush. People are bundled up on the sidewalk, leaning into the cold winter. Everything is cold. The day, the wind, the lump in my throat.
I swallow hard, but it won’t go down.
I shake my head and start the car again, driving to my house. The road passes behind us in a gray blur.
After my tires crunch on the snow in my driveway, I turn to Mila.
“I’m not going to be good company today. I think I should probably just be alone.”
She’s already shaking her head.
“Not on your life. I won’t bother you, Pax. But the doctor said you shouldn’t be alone. So you do whatever you’d like. You think about things, you process it however you’d like, but I’m staying. I’m just going to run into town and get your prescription filled and I’ll be right back.”
I nod curtly, and go into the house. I don’t look back, even though I can feel Mila staring at me.
I stand in the middle of my living room, limply. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to process this. How would anyone process this?
And then, all of a sudden, I think about my father and a white-hot rage passes through me, overcoming the numbness.