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I need to stop. Or at least turn this off. You don’t need to hear this, mom, you’ve suffered enough.
ten
It dawns on me that he was right.
It doesn’t dawn on me, no, that’s a lie. That makes it seem like it’s some kind of slow realization, when in fact, I knew it all along. Also, it’s a pretty violent realization.
I stumble along between the trees, tripping over roots and logs for a few minutes or more. The darkness is thick like a cloak all around me, and I can barely see my own hand. Then, I suddenly see an opening between the tree trunks. A streetlight floods the open space in light. I drag myself towards it, blindly through the darkness.
And then I see it.
In the middle of the road, in front of me, lay the remains of the most horrific car wreck I have ever seen in my life, in real life or in media footage. It’s still smoking, too, as if it’s fresh, only just happened, and—Wait.
Something about this car feels familiar.
As far as I can tell from the destroyed carcass, it’s a BMW with tinted windows, and there is a body hanging out of the driver’s door, broken and bloodied and… Is it possible? I think it looks burned.
I turn around, fighting sudden nausea. No, it can’t be. This can’t be the same car Marco ordered for me, it’s not possible, it’s not. I try to breathe, but my chest heaves in the all-familiar constriction of a panic attack.No, no, not now, I think frantically. If there ever was a moment to be strong, it’s now.
But I’m not strong. I sink to my knees and—
And I don’t fall to the ground. Someone is there to catch me, and I’m pulled into a pair of strong arms, my head buried in a marbled chest. It smells familiar and safe and annoying. It smells ofhim.
“Marco?” I whisper, but nothing comes out.
He came after me, I think, like an idiot.He came after me.
“Don’t look, my queen.” He is panting, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek, as if he’s run all the way over here. How did he find me in the darkness? He’s still in nothing but his jeans and white vest, and he’s grabbing me so tightly, I can’t turn my head to look at the wreck, even if I wanted to. “Don’t look,” he repeats, lifting me to my feet. My muscles feel like jelly. “Come on, lean on me. Can you walk? I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
He keeps mumbling that he’s sorry incessantly, and there’s no way to stop him except by saying:
“You were such a jerk.”
Which is true, after all.
“I know,” he says immediately. His hand is on my head, as if he’s trying to shield me. It feels warm, big and strong. His fingers need to be wrapped around my waist, my neck, my…Stop. Now is not the time.My brain must be trying to avoid what I just saw by fantasizing about his fingers on places they don’t belong. “I know I was a jerk. You…” I can feel him shrug. “You said you wanted a jerk. You said you chose me for that reason.”
That is not what I said, or what I thought, I think, but I don’t say it. He didn’t go on the defensive; he didn’t try to deny it. He genuinely sounds as if he thinks it’s true.
“Lots of girls want a jerk,” I say lightly. “Doesn’t mean it’s good for them.”
“It’s bad for them,” he says, beginning to walk. My legs buckle and he swings me up in his arms. “Very bad.”
“Now is not the time for bad boy innuendos, don’t you think?”
“If not now, when?” He murmurs, but he stops when he sees that I am not laughing, he swallows and walks faster. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m sorry you had to see this, and I’m sorry you were here alone.”
I shudder, and his arms tighten around me. For once, it feels ok that I’m so small, tucked against his chest like this. It doesn’t feel weak or silly to be that small. It feels just right. We fit.
“I am the one who ran away,” I say.
He shakes his head so abruptly I’m jolted in his arms. “I made you.”
“You did.”
He buries his nose in my hair, and his chest heaves as if he’s holding in a sob.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’ll never leave you again, ok? I promise. I’m so sorry that this happened.”
