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My vision is spotty, a solid thought elusive. I struggle to stay alert, darkness wanting to overwhelm as my body is dragged into the bathroom.
Fight.
I try to kick my feet, but my socked foot slips because I can’t find traction on the floor. The water is turned on in the tub, and I’m dragged closer, my whole body controlled by one of his hands. “Cole!” I scream, tears streaking down my face, my heart racing. The pain in my scalp becoming too vivid to handle. “Please.”
“Please what? You ruined everything. Everything was for you.”
“Please stop.” He steps into the tub, pulling my body over the edge with him. As he slides down the tile, he cradles me against him, my back to his chest, his hand squeezing my neck, cutting off my ability to breathe.
Fight.
I tug at his arms, though I find comfort in the cool water as it creeps up the sides of my body. Every flail sends water flying over the edge as I fight for my life. Pushing off the other end with my feet, my body is slammed harder against him, the air punched from his lungs.
Black spots color my vision, the bright light of the bathroom beginning to dim under the pressure of death. Trying to recount how long it’s been since Jason ran out the door, I realize that time evades me under the struggle, and he may not be able to save me.
I always thought death would follow a filtering of flashing memories, the ones that made you happy through the years one lived, feel alive, and loved. I was lied to. Every regret I’ve had in life is given a front-row seat to my breaking heart, the memories forefront in my mind, the ones I would change . . .
I should be grateful for the time Jason and I had together. I’m not, though, because I’m in love with him. From a distance, my heart shatters to the ground as I watch him be the hero of the game. When he’s a few feet in front of me, he stops, reading my inner emotions. He’s always seen me too clearly.
I’m not ready to hear the words. I’m not ready to wake up tomorrow and know he’s not mine anymore. Is Cole right? I can’t hold him back, and if I don’t go, he’ll stay. I don’t want him to give up his dreams for me. His focus needs to be on football, not on a small-town girl from back home. “Hi,” he says, catching up to me. “I got the transfer.”
“Yeah, I know.” I try to sound disinterested to cover the sobs that ache to be set free.
“Hey!” I look back to find he stopped a few feet back. “What’s wrong?”
I choose to stare at the ripped-open envelope instead of the golden-brown eyes that will weaken my knees and my resolve. Stick to what’s best for him. Cole warned me,“Don’t become a hindrance he’ll regret one day. He’ll get rid of you as soon as he transfers anyway.” Think of Jason. Protect my heart.
Water covers my head, drowning the memories with the remainder of my life. The only way to express the immense love I’ll carry with me comes between coughing his name, “Jason.”
I push one more time, putting all the strength I can muster behind the effort. As water falls over the edge of the tub, it hits me. Cole’s muscles have softened, his hold on me released. As air enters my lungs, I cough even harder but scramble to escape. When I fall over the side, my shoulder hits the ceramic base of the toilet and my back the cold tile.
He mutters, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” through sobs that fade into the sound of the water draining from the faucet. Cole reaches for a gun on top of the toilet just as Jason kicks the door in. The gun goes flying across the small room and spins on the tile.
Quick to grab it, Jason takes me under my arms, pulling me free from the room. His face is fuzzy, his voice muted. “Say something, Delilah.”
Despite almost drowning, my throat is dry, and I roll to the side to cough. “You came for me.”
As my vision begins to clear, I watch as he kneels to lift me. I’ve never gripped him so tight, so desperately clinging to him. Setting me on the bed, he has the gun aimed at the door while whispering rapidly, “Go to Paul’s and wait for me. Tell him what’s happening.”
My boot is tossed next to me, and as I put it back on, I reply, “We’ll go together.”
“No. I’ll handle this. Go!”
I take off running. The front door now wide open, I push against the front screen door, then run down the steps and across the lawn. I don’t stop until I reach the field just beyond where the porch light reaches and hidden behind dead vines, I stop to catch my breath.
