Shuddering, heaving in ragged breaths, still denying the breakdown, she murmurs the words, and I know they break her, once and for all. “He asked me to marry him. I said no.”
“You were eighteen.”
“I know. I know! That’s why I said no. He wanted to go to Stanford, and I wanted to go Syracuse. I would have gone to Stanford with him, just to be with him, but…I couldn’t marry him. I wasn’t ready to be engaged. To get married.”
“Understandable.”
“You don’t get it, Colton. You don’t—you don’t get it.” Hiccups, now, words coming in stutters. “He asked me to marry him, in the car. I got out, angry that he didn’t understand why I said no. He followed me. Stood in the driveway arguing with me. I was on the porch. Minutes like that, him in the driveway, me on the porch. We should’ve gone inside, but we didn’t. The rain had stopped, but the wind was worse than ever. I heard the tree snap. It sounded like cannon going off.”
“You didn’t kill him, Nell. You didn’t. Saying no didn’t mean—”
“Shut up. Just…shut up. I said no. He thought it meant I didn’t love him, and we wasted so much time out there, in the way of the tree. If I had just said yes, gone inside with him, the tree would have missed us both. Missed me, missed him. He’d be alive. I hesitated, and he died. If I hadn’t frozen, if I had just moved out of the way…one jump to the left or the right. I could have. But I froze. And he saved me…and he—he died. He’s gone, and it’s my fault.”
“It’s not.”
“SHUT UP!” She screams it into my chest. “I killed him. He’s gone and it’s my fault…my fault. I want him back.” This last, a shattered whisper, and I feel—finally—warm wet tears on my chest.
It’s silent, at first. I think maybe she’s waiting to be condemned for weakness. I don’t, of course. I hold her. I don’t tell her it’s okay.
“Get mad,” I say. “Be hurt. Be broken. Cry.”
She shakes her head, tiny side to side twisting of her neck, a denial, a futile refusal. Futile, because she’s already crying. The high-pitched whining at first, high in her throat. Keening.
I once saw a baby kitten in an alley sitting next to it’s mother. The mama cat was dead, of age or something, I don’t know. The kitten was pawing at the mama’s shoulder and mewling, this nonstop sound that was absolutely heartbreaking, heartrending. It was a sound that said What do I do? How do I live? How can I go on?
This sound, from Nell, is that. But infinitely worse. It’s so f**king soul-searing I can’t breathe for the pain it causes me to hear. Because I can’t do a goddamn thing except hold her.
She starts rocking in my arm, clutching my bare shoulders so hard she’s gonna break the skin, but I don’t care, because it means she’s not hurting herself. Now it’s long jagged sobs, wracking her entire body, and god, she’s got two years worth of pent-up tears coming out all at once. It’s violent.
I don’t even know how long she sobs. Time ceases to pass, and she cries, cries, cries. Clutches me and makes these sounds of a soul being ripped in two, the grief so long denied taking its toll.
Fermented grief is far more potent.
My chest is slick with her tears. My shoulders are bruised. I’m stiff and sore from holding her, motionless. I’m exhausted. None of this matters. I’ll hold her until she passes out.
Finally the sobs subside and she’s just crying softly. Now it’s time to comfort.
I only know one way; I sing:
“Quiet your crying voice, lost child.
Let no plea for comfort pass your lips.
You’re okay, now.
You’re okay, now.
Don’t cry anymore, dry your eyes.
Roll the pain away, put it down on the ground and leave it for the birds.
Suffer no more, lost child.
Stand and take the road, move on and seal the hurt behind the miles.
It’s not alright, it’s not okay.
I know, I know.
The night is long, it’s dark and cruel.
I know, I know.
You’re not alone. You’re not alone.
You are loved. You are held.
Quiet your crying voice, lost child.
You’re okay, now.
You’re okay, now.
Just hold on, one more day.
Just hold on, one more hour.
Someone will come for you.
Someone will hold you close.
I know, I know.
It’s not okay, it’s not alright.
But if you just hold on,
One more day, one more hour.
It will be. It will be.”
Nell is silent, staring at me with limpid gray-green eyes like moss-flecked stone. She heard every word, heard the cry of lost boy.
“Did you write that?” She asks. I nod, my chin scraping the top of her scalp. “For who?”
“Me.”
“God, Colton.” Her voice is hoarse from sobbing, raspy. Sexy. “That’s so sad.”
“It’s how I felt at the time.” I shrug. “I had no one to comfort me, so I wrote a song to do it myself.”
“Did it work?”
I huff at the ridiculousness of the question. “If I sang it enough, I’d eventually be able to fall asleep, so yeah, kind of.”
I finally glance down at her, actually look into her eyes. It’s a mistake. She’s wide-eyed, intent, full of heartbreak and sadness and compassion. Not pity. I’d flip my shit if I saw pity in her eyes, just like she would if she saw it in me.
Compassion and pity are not the same: pity is looking down on someone, feeling sorry for them and offering nothing; compassion is seeing their pain and offering them understanding.
She’s so goddamn beautiful. I’m lost in her eyes, unable to look away. Her lips, red, chapped, pursed, as if begging me to kiss her, are too close to ignore. I’m suddenly aware of her body against mine, her full br**sts crushed against me, her leg, one round thigh, pale as whitest cream, draped over mine. Her palm, long fingers slightly curled, rests on my shoulder, and lightning sizzles my skin where she touches me. I’m not breathing. Literally, my breath is stuck in my throat, blocked by my heart, which has taken up residence in my trachea.
I want to kiss her. Need to. Or I might never breathe again.
I’m an ass**le, so I kiss her. She deserves ultimate gentility, and my lips are feathers against hers, ghosting across hers. I can feel every ridge and ripple of her lips, they’re chapped and cracked and rough from crying, from thirst. I moisten them with my own lips, kiss each lip individually. First the upper, caressing it with both of mine, tasting, touching. She breathes a sigh.