AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I suppose when I start college September, I’ll definitely need to hire a few employees.
‘Mmm-mhm,' I say to Archer now. I know I’m being evasive. I know he’s made the effort in reaching out to me. But I don’t want to talk about my life with him. I don’t want him involved at all.
Just then the waiter arrives with our drinks. As soon as he leaves, I lunge for mine. My mouth is so parched, but my hands tremble, and I knock the glass.
Archer lurches forward to grab it before it falls, and I flinch back, away from him. His eyes widen as he slowly settles back into his seat.
‘I wasn’t…’ He swallows. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, love.’
Doesn’t matter; my body remembers.
‘Why did you invite me here?’ My voice shakes as I cautiously reach for the glass again, slowly, as if Archer is a feral animal and I don’t want to get bit.
He runs a hand down his face. Pinches the bridge of his nose. And then he looks at me. Truly looks at me. ‘I want you to know that I…I’m getting help. I’m in an anger management programme and reaching out to people I’ve hurt is part of my healing process.’ His eyes glisten. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry for what I did to you. If I could take it back, I would. I would have run a mile to save you from me. I don’t even know why I…’ He presses a hand to the nape of his neck.
I stare at him. His apology evaporates in the air between us before it even reaches me. I don’t care for it. Because for a savage moment, I think about telling him of the miscarriage. I know it’d hurt him. I don’t want him to heal. To find peace. Retribution. Not when a piece of me is still caged in that apartment, bleeding and broken.
I still have nightmares about it. I still see him, feel him choking me, kicking me, spitting at me. Chase still has to hold my hair back as I puke into the toilet, or hold me until I stop shaking. I can be going about my day, and all it takes is a smell, a sound, someone that sounds like Archer, and I’m back there.
Counselling helps; Rose has been coming over to the apartment once every week. She suggested the comfort of the house and knowing Chase is within reach might help the healing process, as opposed to going to a facility. It was difficult, at first; it’s not that I didn’t want to talk, but I just didn’t know what to say. But Rose was patient—she prompted me, questioned me, until I could make sense of my thoughts and feelings.
I won’t ever heal. Over the past few months, I’ve slowly put myself back together, but I can still see the cracks. I can still see the scars he left.
‘I lost my job, if that makes you feel better,’ he says.
‘It does.’ He seems to physically deflate, so I add, ‘How long is this programme, then?’
He perks up a bit, relieved I’m taking interest. ‘A year. I enrolled myself on it,’ he says, as if I should give him extra credit for realising he’s a fucked-up piece of shit and needs help. ‘I go to therapy, too. I think most of it comes from the trauma—‘
‘There’s no excuse,’ I cut in firmly. ‘We all have shitty upbringings, or go through shit, but that’s no excuse for what you did to me.’
He leans forward. ‘I know. Iknowthat—‘
‘Do you have any idea what it’s like?’ My voice quivers, but I push on. ‘To live every second of every day fretting about messing things up? Of getting something wrong? Of saying the wrong thing? What you did—the physical parts—those weren’t even the worst of it. You made me forget who I was, my hopes and dreams and ambitions. And I still don’t know who I am. I’m still getting to know myself.’ For a while I didn’t know my favourite colour, or what I liked to wear, or what I liked to eat. I felt like a robot with its hard-drive wiped. A clean slate. Empty. ‘And you sit there and tell me you knew exactly why you did those things but made no effort to rectify them when you needed to.’
‘I hate myself for what I did,’ he whispers. ‘I think I loved you too much. And I know that sounds stupid,’ he adds as I open my mouth to protest. ‘But I did. I wanted you all to myself. You were just so…good, and I didn’t want to lose you. You were so much better than me. I hated myself for years, drowning my sorrows in drugs and drink, and then you came along, and you showed me that strength isn’t shutting yourself away from what you’re feeling, but that strength is having the courage to face those feelings. Everything I threw at you was a test; I wanted to see if you’d break. But you never did. Even when I hurt you, you showed me kindness. And I hated you for it.’
My nails dig into my palms.
‘You were supposed to leave, Frankie,’ he says. ‘I kept pushing you away, but you kept coming back. And each time you did, I’d hold onto you for a little bit longer, until I didn’t want to let go at all. I still thought love was weakness. That’s why I couldn’t say that I loved you, or kiss you, because I was terrified. And a part of me knew you could never love me back, not after all I put you through. I never wanted to hurt you, love, and I’m sorry. I’m just so sorry.’
I look at the man seated across from me. He’s slowly turning into the person I always wanted him to be. Hoped he’d be. Someone capable of love. But no longer do I see that dream, that future with him. As he splays himself open before me, vulnerable beneath my judgement, he becomes that broken boy. He’s just a shattered soul. And everything he did melts away.
I can’t ever forgive him. But he’s healing. And even though it’s unfair that he’s moving on and I’m still stuck, I’m relieved. I still care for him deeply. I don’t think those feelings will ever go away, not after the moments of happiness we shared, however fleeting they were.
Shouldn’t I encourage this? This better version of him? My heart aches for him, for that haunted look in his eyes. He’s trying. And Chase was trying once, with his addiction. And I helped him overcome that. What kind of person would I be if I turned Archer away?
Archer is trying because of me. Because he realises everything he did wrong. Amends will never be given. But maybe…
I reach out and place my hand atop his on the table.
He raises his head, blinking back the tears that have already escaped.
‘I want to be there for you, Arch,’ I tell him, and I mean it. Every word. ‘There’s no chance for me and you. Not ever. But I want to support you. As your friend.’
He stares at our hands. I can tell he wants to hold mine, but he’s still, and a pang of gratitude swells in me. He knows that’s too far, too soon.
He nods. ‘I want to be there for you, too. Anything you need. As your friend.’ He offers a slight, tentative smile, and I return it.
