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Sitting here is torture of a different kind than any form I’ve endured, and the fears I hold inside of losing her again or her never looking at me the way she did this morning in bed have become palpable. She finally speaks. “When you say hitman, did you kill people?”
Not what I wanted to hear. How do I justify what I’ve done to someone who has no idea of the evil that resides outside this town? “I said I wasn’t a hitman.” One way or the other, our pasts were going to dampen our time together. I can only hope it’s temporary.
“I need you to be serious with me, Jason. Have you killed someone?”
“Yes.”
On her feet, she’s pacing the dock. As if her mind is spinning, her stride picks up. “You’ve killed someone?” she asks as if the answer will be different this time, as if she misheard me.
“It’s my turn,” I say, silently begging her to give me this chance. I need to bring back some of the lightness from before.
She stops, too far for me to grab her ankles and beg for mercy. “Jason.”
“Delilah.”
“This isn’t funny. You’ve murdered somebody, or you killed them?”
She’s right. There’s nothing funny about it. Not then or now. That’s why I’ll spend this life and eternity in hell in misery. “Is there a difference?”
Her hands go to her head, her expression crumpled in disbelief, and she starts pacing again. When she stops, she says, “There’s a difference. Killing someone accidentally is very different than murdering somebody.”
“What if they murdered your friend or someone you loved? Hurt them. Tried to kill them. Then is it okay?”
“It’s never okay.”
I put my back to her. This will be the end of what I hoped was a beginning. The sun is high in the sky, morning turning to midday. I can feel the heat on my skin, the burning, but I don’t move. A sunburn I can handle. What I can’t live with is her disappointment in me, her disgust in me.
Closing my eyes, I remember how that bastard slept beside his wife. I remember the weight of the metal and the wood grain of the gun handle. It’s slower in my memories, like a lot of things. Except Delilah. All my time with her has always been too short, gone by too fast.
I’m not sure when Delilah sat down, but her body presses to my back, her words softly spoken, “When I said I love you, I meant it. I love you, Jason. I won’t stop because you’re honest with me. I’ll only stop if you’re bad for me.”
“I’m bad for you, babe. So bad you don’t even know it.” I hate how true those words are.
The wind blows, and the song of the birds is carried with it. I’m not sure what to say, but I confess anyway, “I hate what I’ve done, but I can’t take it back, and I wouldn’t if I could.”
“Why? How can you not regret taking a life?”
“Because he took many lives, and he tried to take the life of someone I cared about, someone who deserved better than to be shot on the side of the road and left for dead. That’s what he did.”
She rests the back of her head against mine and sighs. I try to end her internal debate. “I’m charred inside, burned from the hell I’ve been living. It’s probably best you know now. Save yourself, Delilah. No good can come from being with me.”
“But—”
“No.” I stand, moving out of her heat, her love, her misunderstanding of what needed to be done versus what we all wish we could have done if the world was a better place. As I stare at the farmland surrounding me, it’s easy to believe only good exists. Even when we struggle to pay bills or crops don’t produce. This place, this land, it’s magical—like time stands still here—and I’m not judged as harshly as I am beyond this property line. “I can’t turn back time, and I can’t take back the sins I’ve committed.”
“You can be redeemed. You just have to believe—”
“I don’t regret what I’ve done. It was either take him out or allow him to kill a dozen innocent people. I’ll burn in hell like I’ve been burning here on earth, but I’ll face that fire with a clear conscience.”
“Jason?” She stands, her little pink bikini so damn distracting to the conversation we’re having.
Grabbing my alma mater snapback, I pull it on and lower the bill. “What?”
“I meant what I said. I love you.”
“I know you do, but love isn’t going to be enough this time.” And it’s those words I now hate the most. The truth. She doesn’t need the shit that is my life in her world.
She doesn’t need me.
She’s brave and bold, stepping right up to me with no fear of consequences. She knows I could never hurt her, even if I’ve hurt others. “It wasn’t last time, but here we are faced with a second chance to get it right.”
