He watches me intently, searching for the cracks in my exterior he can latch on to.
“Do you have any idea what will happen once you're gone? The level of destruction that’ll be a direct result of your actions?” He pauses for me to answer, but I have no words. None. They’re trapped in my throat, making it ache and burn. I want to deny what he’s saying but I can’t.
His eyes bore right into me, seeking out my vulnerable parts and demanding that I listen. That I acknowledge the role I’ve played.
“Your parents will be beside themselves with grief, and all grief needs an outlet.” His gaze is like a physical weight pressing down on me, and there’s a bitter edge to his words. He’s no longer speculating. He’s speaking from experience. His own experience. “They’ll wonder what they could have done. What signs or signals they missed.” His jaw clenches. “Did they tell you they loved you enough? Did they try hard enough to make you stay?”
I turn to look away but Gabriel won’t have it. His arm drops from the wall and he captures my chin, forcing my gaze back to his. His fingers dig into my cheek, his thumb anchoring along my jaw.
“Asking those questions won’t make them feel better, so they’ll move on to the blame game.” His smile is cruel as he glares down at me. “They’ll blame each other for your death. They have to blame someone. Anyone. But they sure as shit can’t blame you. Even though it's your goddamn fault. They can’t think of it that way.” He tsks.
I try to pull away but Gabriel’s grip on my face tightens. His other hand lowers to settle on my hip, fingers digging into my skin. There’s no escape. I should be freaking out right now, fighting to get away from him.
But he isn’t finished.
I need to hear what he has to say.
“They’ll remember you as the perfect child who never made a single mistake. They’ll forget all the bad things in their grief. All the times you fucked up. All the therapy and hospital stints. The sleepless nights. None of it exists, so blaming you, putting any shred of responsibility on your shoulders, is wrong.”
He releases my face and stabs a finger into my chest, looming over me like an avenging angel. “But it’s not wrong. Them being fucked up over what you didisyour fault.You’rethe one who deserves the blame. It’ll be your fault when they get a divorce because the sight of one another is a constant reminder of the kid they lost. And it’ll be your fault when your mom gives into depression and gets hooked on painkillers. When your dad turns to alcohol so he can forget his kid killed herself and that he lost his wife to her pain. All of that shit will beyour fucking fault!”
I wilt under the onslaught of his words. Each one hits me hard, like a knife in the chest, leaving me to bleed out on the cold stone floor.
“I … I didn’t think?—”
“Clearly.” His chest presses against mine, heaving with each ragged breath. The muscles in his neck are pulled tight, tendons straining. I don’t know what to say. There’s this crazy, irrationalpart of me that wants to comfort him. He’s like me in a way. Broken. Hurting.
“Who did you lose?” My voice is hoarse, throat thick with emotion.
His warm, heavy breaths fan over my face and his fingers flex around my hip. Our eyes are still locked together and I see anguish flicker across his face, but as quickly as it appears, it’s gone.
Gabriel touches his forehead to mine, the moment all of a sudden intimate. I squeeze my eyes tight and place my hand to his chest. His heart races beneath my palm, eager for escape. Mine does that too. Sometimes I wonder if it beats fast enough, loud enough, if it can succeed in running away, and finally put an end to all my suffering.
He presses his lips to my temple and we just stand there, drinking in one another’s pain. Seconds pass turning into minutes, and I realize having him this close doesn’t terrify me like it should. My heart races but for an entirely new reason
He squeezes my hip once more before pulling back, and before I even meet his eyes, I know the moment is gone.
I peer up at him through my lashes, taking in the thin line of his lips. His flat, emotionless eyes. He’s shutting down. Withdrawing into himself in a way I’ve seen myself do time and time again.
“I lost my brother.” There’s zero inflection in his voice. “My twin.”
I gasp, fingers covering my mouth. “I’m so sor?—”
“Don’t.”
I snap my mouth closed, unable to imagine what that sense of loss feels like. I want to ask more questions. How did it happen? When did it happen? Is there anything I can do? But I keep my lips firmly together. He doesn’t owe me his secrets. Not when I’m unwilling to offer him mine.
Gabriel steps back and runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the dark strands with an irritated huff. “I don’t know why I told you that.”
He shakes his head and looks away, giving me an up close and personal look at the cut of his jawline. Sharp and unyielding.
Then, without another word, he shifts on his feet and heads for the door.
I stare at his back, reeling. My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. I’m tempted to call out for him, but what would I say?
I’m sorry for your loss.
I wish I could help.
