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But every single one of them had gone unanswered, and her silence flayed him alive.
He knew this was what he wanted. Was how he needed it to be. He fucking knew. But it didn’t – couldn’t – change the way he felt.
He missed her.
He goddamn missed her.
He missed her to the point that she haunted every damn conscious second of his existence. He would be having a meeting with a couple board members of the university, and she would suddenly pop up in front of him, a ghost of the past, head bowed, knees crashing to the ground. He would be in his private box at the Royal Opera House, and in the middle of someone’s fucking aria, the sound of her cries would ring in his ears.
I just want to know why.
Just please tell me why.
Tell me why.
And he would find himself laughing his head off, laughing like a fucking hyena that those seated at nearby boxes had turned to look at him like he was insane.
Which he was, Matthijs knew, since there were times, when he was alone, and he was at his lowest fucking point, he would find himself thinking…
What if I had told her why?
What if he ignored logic and pretended the past didn’t exist? What if he did tell her why? What if?
What if he told himself when push finally came to fucking shove, and shit finally hit the fan, it wouldn’t be as he feared? She wouldn’t wish to turn back time. Wouldn’t wish he had listened to her and told her why.
Could you be that girl for me?
Would you still stay?
Would you still be there when everyone else was smart enough to leave?
Her
Diana had known, the moment she stepped inside the forum hall, showing up was a big mistake.
But her feet kept moving, and soon it was too late for her to back out, with the professor calling her name out in clipped tones.
She came up to the podium, and all eyes were on her. Aside from the professor, there was also the rest of his panel: a retired priest and a Carmelite nun to represent the Church, Mr. Bakker and the university’s resident therapist, and a pair of social workers from the local help center.
Her palms were cold and clammy as she reached for her iPad and connected it to the projector via Bluetooth. Clearing her throat, she began her presentation, and when it was over and the lights went back on, she took one look at her audience and knew.
I was right.
This was a big mistake.
The questions came at her all at once, their myriad of expressions ranging from perplexity to outright dissatisfaction.
“So do I have this correctly,” the retired priest said heavily. “Are you insinuating that Catholics who commit suicide are selfish?”
“No, Father, that’s n-not the case at all.” So aghast was Diana she found herself stammering. “All I’m saying that they need to be more selfless—”
“In other words, selfish,” the therapist pointed out.
She quickly shook her head in protest. “No, I promise, that’s truly not what I meant. All I’m saying is that those suffering from depression be made to see that if they die, they might as well have killed the people depending on them.”
“What about the people who have no one in their lives?” one of the social workers quizzed. “Because not everyone’s lucky to have people to love.”
“Then it is the Church as a whole that should help them find someone or something to care for—”
A scoffing sound from the other social worker cut her off. “That’s it? That’s your answer? For high-suicide-risk individuals to look for leeches to hang on to them? That it’s better to have people suck them dry as long as it keeps them alive?” The other woman’s tone bordered on disgust, and even though Diana knew better than to take things personally, she couldn’t help it, and her eyes started to sting.
Unfortunately, this only seemed to rile up the woman even more. “Oh, for God’s sake!”
“Give the child a chance to form her thoughts and defend her beliefs, Luisa,” the Carmelite nun murmured. Turning to Diana, the soft-spoken nun gave her an encouraging smile, saying, “Go on, Ms. Leventis.”
“The reason why I want it to be the Church to help individuals struggling with depression find something or someone to care about is because it’s the Church. It would make no sense for the Church to give us someone unworthy to care for.”
“That’s a very risky suggestion,” Mr. Bakker said quietly, “and I say that both as a trained psychologist and a Catholic. The Pope may be made infallible by the grace of God, but other members of the church aren’t so lucky. There’s every possibility ‘mismatches’ could occur, and if that happens, the person they’re supposed to care about becomes another reason for them to kill themselves.”
