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It’s my choice to tell—my story, but he’s mine too. I made another choice, the one to be with Malcolm, to do whatever it is we’re doing. If not tonight, another night would have brought us to this moment, the one where I had to look at him and tell him that the girl who had loved him all those years ago hadn’t been able to love herself enough to continue living without him when he walked away. She let everyone else try to love her, to fill up that space that he left hollow inside of her. But he was always in the back of her mind—the feelings she had for him, the person she wanted to be with him…the people they were when they were together. She had saved a part of herself even after he broke her heart, because somewhere she had always thought it would be Malcolm.
But one night, one bad, awful, life-altering night, even that was taken from her, and she had been left with not just a broken heart, but a broken soul.
“When?” he asks. I startle out of my thoughts and realize I’m parked in his driveway. I don’t remember making the drive here, and I don’t know how long we’ve been sitting here. A glance at Malcolm shows he’s not looking at me, but straight ahead.
I clear my throat and follow his lead, staring out at the dark. “After you left.”
“Be more specific,” he snaps, throat raw. “I left a lot.”
My body trembles, and I wish it was with anger. Instead, the weakness that plagued me for years after the incident is battling with terror. “I need air.”
My hand fumbles with my seatbelt, and then I’m swinging my legs out, walking away from him and around the side of the house, down to the strip of sand that looks at the water. My breath is shallow, the pressure in my chest making it feel as though someone is sitting on me, keeping me from drawing a full gulp of air into my lungs.
“Nala.”
I ignore Malcolm’s shout and keep going, eyes focused on the small sliver of moonlit water. I need it; more than I need anything at this moment, I need the beach and the water and the open space if I’m going to get through this.
“Goddammit, Nala, wait.”
He’s out of breath, but his voice is strong, like he’s closing in on me. When I go as far as I can, I stop, keeping my back to him.
“I need to know.”
I shake my head, still focused out at the water. “People say that, but I don’t think they really understand what it means.”
He pushes himself beside me. I don’t look at him, but I can feel his gaze on me. “Tell me then—what does it mean?”
Now I turn, and my stomach sinks at the look on his face. Everything I’ve ever feared is written there. Anger, disgust, horror. The cramping comes back, and I have to wrap my arms around my middle to keep from doubling over.
“It means hearing everything—it means having your worst fear confirmed. It means knowing the truth, the ugly, horrifying truth, and it means never forgetting it. Maybe you can learn to tuck it away and live, but it means never truly leaving it behind.” I dig my nails into the sides of my arms to keep the trembles at bay. “It means looking at me when I’m done telling you, and trying to see me as anything other than a victim—other than someone who was used, and hurt, and tossed aside like garbage.”
His face breaks then, his expression faltering until he has to look away. When he turns his back on me, hands raised over his head, I close my eyes and concentrate on drawing deep breaths through my nose, bringing oxygen into my body and calming my heart that wants to race with panic.
“I’ll kill him,” he says, voice low and hard. “I will find him and fucking kill him. Whoever he is,” he swings back to me, eyes fierce, deadly. And my heart breaks all over again. “Do you know?” He swallows, and I swear it’s painful the way he looks. “Tell me who, Nala, and let me make him pay.”
I ignore his demand, looking past him to the water when he makes it again. “People say that like they think it helps. ‘I’ll kill him for what he did to you.’” My laugh is bitter, painful—and I shake my head. “Like killing him is what’s going to make me feel better.”
“Godfuckingdammit, Nala, what do you want me to say?” He explodes, hands thrown out to the side, jaw tight, eyes blazing. Backed into a corner, Malcolm will always fight. He’s backed into a corner now, trying to make something right, to take it back and even the score when there is no way to ever make this right, to take it back, or to make it somehow even.
I discovered a long time ago that while we can heal, while we can continue living even in the darkest of times, we can’t get back our innocence—that’s the one thing being a grown-up shows us.
We can ask for forgiveness, from a god, from a friend, a lover, even ourselves. We can ask for forgiveness from all of the people we’ve wronged, but we can never get back the one thing we’re truly hoping to find when we asked: our innocence—the person we were before that piece of us was taken, ripped away and shattered at our feet, leaving us to learn how to pick ourselves back up and move past it.
Malcolm drags his hands through his hair, pulling at it until it stands up in all different directions before holding his arms out wide to his side. “Jesus Christ, Nala, what he did? Whoever the fuckheis, what he took from you? Your voice, your decision, your… fuck,” he whispers, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, they’re blazing, wet, and devastated. “Herapedyou. Heviolatedyou. How do you want me to respond when I know that? What do you want me to say?”
Tears pool in my eyes—tears I’d long thought were all shed. Malcolm’s voice is barely a whisper when he speaks next, scratchy and gruff, like the words are as painful as the admission I’ve yet to confirm. “I could kill someone for looking at you the wrong way, let alone actually hurting you.”
I shake my head. “That’s not the answer, Mal.”
“Then what is?” he rages. “Jesus Christ, Nala, what is? Tell me, because I can’t think right now. I can’t think about anything but you, and what...” he trails off and I swallow, because even without finishing his thought, Mal just said the one thing I was afraid of.
“But me andwhat, Malcolm? Me and what happened? Dirty, soiled,never going to be able to give my virginity to someone who might have cherished it, or at least acknowledged it, me?”
“Nala, fuck…no.” His voice is so low I barely hear it over the erratic beating of my heart, the moisture that was in his eyes burned away with the pain that now resides there. He reaches for me, but he stops, and everything that was balanced on that precipice falls over the ledge, shattering to dust. I take one step back, and then two. He stays where he is.
“I want you to love me anyway,” I say. He freezes, eyes going wide, body immobile, and my heart takes another beating. I tighten my arms around myself, drawing as much strength as I can muster so I’m able to look him in the eyes. “You want to know what I want from you? I don’t want you to kill him, I don’t even want you to think about him, or even acknowledge that it happened. I only want you to think aboutme, and I want you to love me anyway.”
He doesn’t respond, and I don’t wait. Instead, I turn, and flee.
