“If I could go back—“
I cut him off. “You can’t.”
“Let me give you a ride home.”
“And then what?” I ask.
“Then, at least I’ll know you’re safe.”
“You didn’t know if I was safe these last six years. Why start to care about me now?”
“I knew you were safe, Amari. I’ve never stopped caring about you.” Those last words aren’t true. Cleary he didn’t care about me. I know that now.
“How did you know I was safe? How’s it possible that caring about me, as you say, you did what you did to me,” I question.
“It doesn’t matter how I knew you were safe, just know I wouldn’t have been able to go to sleep at night if I thought you weren’t. I know you don’t understand, and partly it’s because you don’t want to let me explain, but I care about you more than you think.”
“I don’t need your explanation.” I don’t want it. It’s been six years. Telling me everything now would be too little too late.
“Then can you at least let me take you home?”
“If I say no, will you leave me alone?”
“If you say no,” he says and then cracks the slightest of smiles, “then I’ll be forced to pick you up and throw you in the truck myself.”
I hold back a smile. But I do give in. He can tell the moment I shake my head. Seconds later, we’re walking together to his truck.
I hesitate when we reach his truck and I wish my house was closer. Because he’s right, it’s unsafe for me to be out in the dark with this rainstorm on this street. Then again, if I hadn’t spent the last twenty minutes fighting with Christian on this same street, I would already be home.
When I don’t move, he swears in exasperation. Then, unexpectedly, his hand grips mine and he speaks again. “You can hate me all you want. That’s fine, I deserve that. But I will take you home. We can either go in my truck or I’ll walk there with you, next to you, behind you. Amari, it’s pouring out here. You’re cold. You’re not even wearing the right shoes for walking.” I look down at my work heels which, for some reason, I had forgotten I was wearing until now. The moment he points them out, I feel the pain shoot up my feet. “The choice is yours,” he finishes.
“I’ll only get in if you don’t talk to me anymore.” I tell him.
He nods. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”
I know he won’t give up, so I do. When Christian Cole has something in mind, when he has a mission, he doesn’t quit. That’s how I know he didn’t love me. If he loved me, if he cared about me as much as he claims to have, he wouldn’t have given up on me.
Even if he cheated, which he denies, I would’ve listened to him. I may have even forgiven him, despite how much that went against my nature. We could’ve gotten over whatever together. But he gave up on me.
I walk toward the passenger door and he steps forward from behind me, opening it for me. Getting in, I shiver the moment I take a seat. I’m drenched in water, but it’s not until I’m finally shielded from the pouring rain that I start to feel the heaviness of my clothes, the dripping of the water from my hair, and the goosebumps on my body.
I guess the goosebumps could also be from how my body reacts to Christian’s proximity as well. He once made me feel safe. He made me feel loved. Now, seeing him is a reminder of brokenness. A part of me I could never fix. A part of me time and distance could do nothing about.
Putting on my seatbelt, I face forward and don’t acknowledge him when he gets in on the driver’s side.
“Thank you,” he says, turning on the vehicle. I ignore his words. We’ve said enough already, I’ve said enough. “What happened to your car?” he asks and I realize he’s trying to make conversation despite him agreeing not to talk to me.
I shrug. I don’t know what happened to my car. It just didn’t work, like most things in my life. I should’ve never moved back here. I knew running in to him was always a chance. I knew it was possible he never left. I guess I wanted to find out for myself. But I got way more than what I’d bargained for.
Finally coming to peace with the fact that I wasn’t going to talk, we drive the rest of the way in silence and I’m grateful for it. I lean my head against the window and wipe the tears that stream down my face quietly. I hope he hasn’t noticed. I don’t want to give him the privilege of showing him my wounds. Showing him how fresh they are. I don’t want him to win.
In what feels like an eternity later, but was probably only a few minutes, we arrive at my parents’ house, my house.
“How did you know I lived here?” I ask and regret it immediately, I guess I couldn’t stop myself from saying something, anything, to him. Me living at the house I grew up in makes sense.
“I figured if you were back, you’d be here. I confirmed it a couple of days ago.”
“You confirmed it how?”
“I stopped by. I wanted to explain, to make things better.”
I try not to linger on his admission. “It’s too late to make amends, Christian.”
“I’m alive. You’re alive. So long as we’re breathing, it’s not too late to fix the things that are broken.”
“The things you broke can’t be fixed,” I tell him then step out of the truck and shut the door.
16
CHRISTIAN
I step out of the car too and walk purposefully toward her. I’m hoping she’s wrong about fixing things, but I won’t push anymore, not today. “Well then, can you let me at least fix your car?” I ask, knowing she’ll likely say no. I don’t blame her though. Not for a single thing. I’m the one who’s at fault here; I did the wrong thing. And regardless of how much I want to fix that, she doesn’t want to hear it. Not yet. I’ll talk to her when she’s ready. I’ll keep insisting until she either hears me out or shuts me down.
I notice the hesitation in her face. The exhaustion behind her eyes. The tears she tried to hide as I drove her home. The tears I felt right in my soul as she shed them. Every ounce of pain she feels, I feel too. Nothing hurts more than knowing I’m the cause of her pain, the cracks in her heart. The brokenness she feels.
She was pure and innocent when I met her. She was sarcastic but also filled with hope. She was a beautiful story that I marred. I didn’t want to ruin her. I didn’t want to bring her down.
I didn’t want to destroy her.
But looking at her here, in front of me, with no strength or desire to fight anymore, I realize I did more damage than I expected. I made things worse by leaving her when I should’ve stayed. I thought she’d get over me, over us… I thought she’d be back to the girl she was before I entered her life. I was wrong.
She gives me a look that can only be described as defeat. “Knock yourself out,” she says after a few seconds and her words give me more hope than I’ve felt in years. To her, they may not mean much, but to me they mean she’s letting me in. In some small way. She didn’t turn my help down. I know it’s probably because she’s tired of arguing with me, but I don’t care. I want to help her in whatever way I can. She says it’s too late to fix things, but I don’t believe that. I don’t want to believe that.