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And maybe, just maybe, I have to spell it out for him, telling him that I’m not okay.My vulnerability might convince him to stay with me, and maybe if it’s not with me, just stay in this world.
“I can barely breathe, knowing she’s no longer with us.If ...if you leave too.”I pause, unable to finish the sentence.But I remind myself what’s on the line.“Please, let me help you.You matter,” I plead, desperation lacing every syllable.
“I couldn’t help her.”His voice trembles, anguish evident in every word.“I was on the floor watching them abuse her through a haze.Even now, I still have nightmares where I watch her, helpless and do nothing.Sometimes, I don’t know if the memories are real or just another drug-induced night terror haunting me.”
“Does anyone know why you turned to addiction?”I ask, searching for answers.
Am I the only asshole who thinks he just took the easy way?Probably not, and this is one way of punishing himself for not being there for her.
He shakes his head, eyes filled with sorrow.“Only my parents, and that’s because Mom blamed herself.Addiction is a hereditary illness, so she assumed ...I had to tell them.Obviously, they understood why I needed them—the drugs—like I needed oxygen.It’s hard to explain or for many to understand.”
“Do you still need them?”I inquire softly, my heart aching for his struggle.Then scoff.“Of course you do.Sorry for being insensitive.”
He looks down at the scars on his arms, tracing them with his eyes.“My body will crave them forever.But every day I wake up, take one breath at a time, one step at a time and remind myself that I just need to get through that one day.I’ve been clean for four years and some months,” he mumbles.“I do it for her, for myself ...”His gaze trails off, probably lost in painful memories.
“Sorry for disappearing on you.I failed you,” I mumble.“I wish I hadn’t been away when this happened, if I had ...”I trail my voice, not knowing how to finish.
“They could’ve done the same to you,” he mumbles.“We actually were thankful that you weren’t in town.‘At least San is safe,’ she repeated several times.Enya swore she would find you and kill you herself.”
If I could, I would find Enya and put a bullet through her head.But I can’t bring anyone back from the dead just to seek revenge.There’s not much I can do about my ballerina either.However, I can be here for Greyson in any way that he’ll let me.
“What can I do for you?”I ask, yearning to bring him solace.
He looks at me and shakes his head.“Let’s finish reading.”
“Will you ever forgive me for not being there for you?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” he claims.
But then, I summon the courage to ask the question that haunts me day and night.The one I’m sure is what’s keeping him from moving on with his life.
“Will you ever forgive yourself?”The words linger, heavy between us.
We’re so broken.How are we going to piece ourselves together?Can we even do it?
I don’t know the answer, and instead, I grab the biography and begin to read it out loud again.
ChapterThirty-Nine
“You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.”—C.S.Lewis
Everything unraveled justas we were about to begin the last act and reach our grand finale, the orchestration of a ballet two years in the making, where we were supposed to be the stars.
But, in a cruel twist of fate, our meticulous plan became a tragic fall from grace.
The drug dealer was getting desperate for a solution.This was our last chance to prove ourselves and show that we were better than our parents.We should’ve killed them first when we had the chance instead of waiting around like sitting ducks.
It happened all too fast.One second, we had everything under control, and the next, chaos broke loose.Sirens sounded, texts began to blare on our phones.Everyone wanted an explanation.Dad was concerned.His boss was threatening to kill me.There were rumors that I had betrayed them.
I only had a few hours to fix it.At least, that’s what I thought.“Shoot them.Kill them now.We can try to escape through the back stairs,” I ordered, my voice trembling with fear.In a heart-stopping moment of chaos, Regan was shot.His body crumpled to the ground, a haunting display against the backdrop of the frenzied scene.
Seeing him lying there, lifeless, shattered something inside me.It was like a nightmare come true.He was all I had, and someone had just taken him away.Two more shots rang out, killing the other men in the room.I stood there, trembling, afraid that the next bullet would find me.I never thought it would end like this.It wasn’t how I imagined it at all.
It was over.The reality sank in, and I couldn’t help but wonder if there was any way to escape.How did it all go so wrong?I couldn’t stop thinking about what could’ve been, what I should’ve done differently.Regret and guilt swirled inside me.
Maybe I couldn’t move fast and swiftly, but I could think on my feet and strategize in seconds.To protect myself, I made up a story, saying we were all kidnapped.I claimed to have heard everything that had happened and promised to help them capture the people who had done it.Confessed that our father had worked for a drug dealer for years, but that I also knew a few big players.
I was willing to give up big names on the top of the most wanted list of the FBI.I claimed to know where they hid and probably how to capture them.
