Page 18 of Carver
I don’t know if tonight will be right or not, but I can’t wait forever.Forward. That’s the only choice that’s left.
I know nothing except that something has shifted with Dom. I could sense it even before our conversation.
I can only hope this doesn’t destroy us before we even get a chance to beusagain.
Chapter 5
Carver
Bronte is on the floor, sandwiched between a folded over quilt. I offered the other side of the bed, but she said that she didn’t want to risk rolling into me while she was sleeping and accidentally injuring me. I was painfully aware of the looks she sent me all afternoon and evening. I know what desire looks like on her.
Beautiful.
She doesn’t trust herself to get too close.
I don’t trust myself either.
I killed my need for her the best I could. It made my blood toxic, a poison that I would have gladly chosen oblivion over having to endure. The memories of us together aren’t just sweet. They’re a torture.
From the side of the bed, Bronte’s breathing is even, but not deep enough to be asleep. She’s been silent for longer than half an hour, but she’s not faking it. Just lying there in the silence, same as me, struggling to find the right words.
There’s so much we need to say. My brain is churning as fast as my gut. Neither of us ate much at dinner after an afternoon of boardgames. It wasn’t so bad enduring them. At least they were something to do besidesthink.
Kael left a few hours ago. She told us Dravin was going to stop by her place to fix some security stuff and then he’d be back, but not until late.
Witnessing the playful, sizzling passion between them, it’s clear that the security issue doesn’t exist. Kael gave us a hopeful smile before she left. She might have been through some shit recently, but she hasn’t lost her faith in things working out. I don’t know how some people manage to find that damn light in all the darkness.
I’ve always been envious of that. Is it a learned skill? Something innate? Why and how the fuck do some people just want toliveso badly? How do they make strength out of weakness?
I need to figure it out. I need to figurelifeout.
My own head.
I stare up at the ceiling, the neon blue of the sign below us that stays on all night throwing pale, stark shadows into the room because the blinds can’t keep it from oozing beneath and around the edges.
I take a breath and then another, and another, and now that I’m counting them and listening to them, I realize that they’re almost perfectly synced with Bronte’s.
She’s right beside the bed. We’re separated by four feet, but it feels like an endless chasm. I want to know what she’s thinking about. What memory is she churning over?
“Bronte?” My voice is wrong. It cracks on the last syllable of her name. I should be used to not sleeping, but I’ve never felt so exhausted.
I’ve cut her far deeper than that wound on her hand. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to let her in again. I don’t know how to want or be wanted.
“Are you okay? Are you in pain?” The quilt rustles and she stands up, hovering over me at the edge of the bed. “Do you want a drink?” She crosses the room and switches the light on.
My eyes water. I carefully angle myself up against the headboard. Any swift movement could cause my face to explode. Hopefully not literally. I’ve done too much today. The pain is more than a low grade hum. It’s like cattle prods under my skin, igniting a bonfire.
“I’m…” What am I? What of the thousand things can I give her? “I’m sorry.” Trash words. Bronte already knows that. I know it. We both know it will never be enough. “I robbed you of so much of your life. I’ve been the worst. There’s nothing else for it. No other word. Just- the worst in every way. I broke your trust. I disappeared. I left you alone. I said unkind things I didn’t mean. I wanted you. I missed you. I was desperate to make everything okay and I couldn’t do any of that, so I tried even harder to ruin it all.” Self-sabotage runs in my family, but that’s no fucking excuse.
She sits down on the end of the bed and pulls her legs up, crossing them.
“I don’t deserve you, Bronte. I certainly haven’t ever, but especially not since I imploded everything. You’ll say it’s not about that, but it is. There’s no groveling or apologizing, or actions that can undo this. It will always be a black hole in my mind.”
She bites her bottom lip, a pink flush creeping up her neck. She does meet my eyes, but hers flicker, straying to the lamp and the wall before coming back. “What if I told you that it’s forgiven? All of it. I want to help you heal, not hurt you. We can move forward and that’s the end of it. I don’t want more pain foryou. I never have. I want good things. I want them for you. For me. I want themtogether.”
I know that we’re talking in circles here. The only way I can see to pull myself up from that chasm that I was raised in and held down in, is to make a break with everything.
I bury my good hand in the quilt and grip it tight, dropping my gaze there. “I don’t know about joining anything, but I think I need to move here, Bronte. The only thing waiting for me back home are the memories.” I still feel chained to that place, but I’ve known for a long time that it’s just a weight. A pit. A void of black nothing. An endless hell that unless I get away from, is going to destroy me.
