When she hangs up, I set the phone down. I feel the tears run down my face, but I don’t make a sound. Jack’s dead. I keep saying it to myself over and over. He’s dead. The more I say it, the more my emotions well up. I want to shut down, but I know I need to force myself to feel whatever it is that is brewing inside of me.
When I choke back a breath, that’s when I begin to cry. I’m not sure why I’m crying. I’m so confused. I don’t know what I’m feeling, but it feels a lot like sadness. But why am I sad? Shouldn’t I be happy? But I’m not happy. He’s dead. God, what’s wrong with me? I shouldn’t be feeling sad for the guy who raped me. I should be relieved—relieved that I don’t have to be scared of him anymore. I begin to sob, my emotions overtake me, and I know for sure: this is hurt and sadness.
I pick up the phone to call Jase, but it just goes to voicemail. I hate that I’m feeling this way. I lie on the floor in the middle of my messy room, and curl into a ball. I try to slow my breathing, but everything about Jack starts flashing through my mind: meeting him for the first time at the club, dancing with him at Remedy, kissing him in his car. Why am I thinking this way? I should be thinking about the asshole that raped me, broke me, destroyed me. He ruined my life, and I’m sobbing on my floor because I feel bad for him.
I need to run away. I know I shouldn’t, but I just need to escape. I throw on my running shoes and walk outside. It’s the middle of the night, and the streets are quiet. It’s raining, but I don’t care. I just walk. I walk and cry as the drops fall from the sky. I don’t know how long I’ve been walking or where I’m even going. My running shorts and t-shirt are soaked through, and my hair is drenched in a bun on top of my head. I wander through the streets, unable to calm myself down.
When I turn onto yet another street, my vision blurred by my tears, I start walking up stairs—familiar stairs. When I knock on the door and no one answers, a fresh wave of tears break free. I feel so alone.
Hearing the click of the lock, I look up as the door opens, and my stomach clenches when I see his clear-blue eyes staring at me. I start sobbing and fall into his chest. He quickly wraps his arms around me, and I cling desperately to him. It’s been months since I’ve touched him. I melt into him, and he reaches down, slipping his arm behind my knees and scoops me up, cradling me in his arms as he walks me inside.
When he sits us down on his couch, I remain in his arms, curled in his lap. I lay my head on the curve of his shoulder as he holds onto me tightly, as if he’s scared I’ll slip away. When my cries soften into short breaths and hiccups, he asks, “Baby, what happened?”
I lift my head and look at Ryan. He reaches up and strokes my cheek with his knuckles.
Shaking my head, still confused, I tell him, “Jack died tonight.”
He lets out a deep breath and leans his forehead to mine. When he does, I let out all my thoughts in a blubbering mess. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know where to go. I’m so confused. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Slow down, babe.”
“Should I be happy? Or relieved?” I ask, desperate for someone to tell me how I should be feeling.
“Well, what do you feel right now?” he asks as he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear.
“Sad. And hurt. I don’t know why. It’s like all I can think about is Jack when he was good. Or when I thought he was. But I know he wasn’t. I know I should hate him. But, if I’m sad, does that mean I don’t hate him?”
“I think you’re just in shock. I think you need a little time to sort this out in your head.”
I lay my head back down on his shoulder, when he says, “Let me go get you a towel. You’re freezing.”
I nod my head and scoot off his lap and onto the couch. He returns with two big towels and wraps one of them around my shoulders. Sitting next to me, he pulls me back into him.
“You need anything to drink?”
I lean back forward and let my head hang down. Wrapping my arms around myself, I shake my head no. Ryan’s hand runs up my back and onto my shoulder as he tugs me back.
“Talk to me.”
I sigh and say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize I was here until I was in front of your door.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” He cups my cheek with his hand and says, “I’ve missed you so much.”
His words hurt. They hurt because I know how he feels. I’ve missed him too. I’ve been trying not to. Trying so hard to not think about him, but he’s always been there. Without even thinking, I reach up and run my hand down the side of his face as I feel my own face scrunch up, and I start to cry again.
“Baby, don’t cry,” he says as he brushes his thumbs over my cheeks.
Being here, in his house, on this couch where we’ve made love, and in his arms, I just want to go back to when it was all good. When I didn’t know about the lies. When I was safe and we were so in love. But, I can’t. I can’t go back there again and make myself that vulnerable.
He leans down and presses his lips to my forehead, and I have to force myself to not take more. Pulling back, I shake my head and say, “I can’t.”
“Babe.”
“I can’t. It hurts so bad, I just can’t”
“I swear to you, I will never hurt you again.”