Beau and I were shuttled through an underground passage in the FBI building to another building about a half mile away. It felt like we walked forever, taking unmarked, seemingly random turns until we went up a set of stairs and came out into another office building. A car took us to an apartment building somewhere. I don’t know where, because we were blindfolded and made to wear headphones so that we couldn’t hear anything. The only thing that got me through it was Beau’s arm around me and the feel of his big, solid body next to mine.
I still can’t believe he asked me to marry him. Is this even happening? Everything that’s happened since being in FBI custody seems so surreal. I’m struggling to play catch-up. Just when I adapt to the latest turn of events and think I might finally have a grasp on things, something else happens and my world spins out of control. I feel a bit like a tennis ball being batted back and forth.
We’re in this apartment with a U.S. Marshal babysitter and another outside, and all I can think about is who is going to plan Marie’s funeral? Who’s going to attend it? Who’s going to choose the flowers and stand over her grave, mourning her? I’m her only family. When I agreed to talk to the FBI, I thought Marie would eventually be with me. I pictured us getting to know each other and being a family. I never imagined Javier would kill her. I should’ve. I should’ve seen that coming. Even if I did, could I have done anything about it?
Beau tells me it’s not my fault. I think he really believes it. His natural optimism is both a blessing and an annoyance. He wants to see the best in me, even when he has to dig down deep to find it. Even when the hole fills back in with all of my bullshit, he just keeps digging and digging. I fear one day he’ll get tired and give up to sit back and watch the hole fill until you can’t even see a dent where it once was. There is no good in me. There is only survival.
I’m tired.
Not the sleepy kind of weary. Soul-deep exhaustion. The kind that makes you stop flailing and splashing. When you give up and just let the water take you under, watching, resigned, as the surface gets farther and farther away and the dark depth welcomes you. You stop thinking. You stop feeling. You stop being.
I roll my head to the side in the strange bed, in the strange room, and watch Beau sleep. He lies on his stomach, his face turned toward me. One of his arms wraps around my middle. He’s the buoy keeping me afloat. Just when I think I’ll drift away on the sea of fuck that is my life, he’s there, offering his hand to me. He should’ve let me go. That should’ve been goodbye in the FBI conference room. It never should’ve been an offer to spend forever with me. He’s throwing away his life on me.
Why? echoes like a bass drum in my head, a constant, relentless boom that shook me out of a deep sleep. I fail him on every level. Except for maybe the sex. But we can’t live on sex and denial. At some point, the one will stop covering for the other and then they’ll both stop working. We’ll be forced to face the fact that what feels like a connection is really just a temporary escape.
He pulls me toward him, turning so that I’m tucked in to him the way we fit best—back to front. He’s got my back, even in sleep. What do I do for him?
“You’re thinking too loud,” he mumbles. “I can’t sleep.”
“Sorry.”
“Anything I can help you with?”
“No.”
“What kind of ring would you like?”
“Ring?”
“Engagement ring.”
“I don’t need a ring.”
“Bullshit.” He kisses my shoulder. “Every girl needs a ring.”
“Who am I going to show it to?”
He’s temporarily baffled by my question. “I’m getting you a ring as soon as I can.”
“Who’s going to come to our wedding? What names should we use for the wedding registry? Who’s going to stand up for us? How are you going to pay for this ring I have to have? Who’s going to pay for the wedding?”
“Wait a minute.” He rolls me to my back so he can see me. “Is this what’s got your wheels spinning in the middle of the night?”
“Well…yes.”
“I should’ve known. Stop worrying. It’ll all work out.”
“Nothing ever works out for us. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Some things’ve worked out.”
“Like what? Look where we are. Look what we’re doing. Look at why we’re here. I wouldn’t call this working out for us.”
I stumped him again. “It’s temporary. Come on. What kind of dress do you want?”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m not saying we’ll get married tomorrow. We’ll do it when we can, the way we can. In the meantime, tell me about your dream wedding.”
“I don’t have a dream wedding.”
“Please. Every girl dreams about her wedding. There wouldn’t be all those shows on TV about them if they didn’t.”
“When would I have dreamed of a white wedding? When my virginity was sold? When I was on my back with my legs in the air while some fat, married businessman sweated over me? When I—”
“Okay. I get it. Could you at least give me some kind of hint about the ring? Diamonds or colored stones?”
“This is pointless.”
“Gold or platinum?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“A round stone or another shape, like a rectangle or a heart or a square?”
I sigh. “You’re relentless.”
“New or vintage?”