Page 65 of Vice
She moves like her limbs are made of lead as she turns to face Jamie. His expression is a mixture of joy and concern as he takes in her appearance. Just like the rest of us, she’s covered in blood and dirt. She’s still Laura, though. She’s still my blood.
“Hey,” she says softly. “Good to see you.”
Jamie swallows, looking from Laura to me, as if he doesn’t quite know how to conduct himself in this unexpected, surprising situation. “Good to see me?” he says, repeating her words. “Are you fucking kidding me?” In a heartbeat he’s striding toward her, throwing his arms around her, pulling her fiercely to his chest. “You have no idea,” he says. “We turned the world upside down looking for you,” he rasps.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Laura’s crying, her shoulders shaking as she weeps. She must be running on fumes, but she somehow manages to stand upright as Jamie rubs his hand up and down her back, whispering soothingly to her.
“God, don’t apologize,” he tells her. “Do not fucking apologize. None of this is your fault.”
“If I hadn’t left the house that night, sulking like a fucking child, none of this would have ever happened.”
“And if I hadn’t given you cause to go running? There are too many ifs, Laura. You are not to blame.”
She’s heard this from me already, more than once, but I think she will believe it now. Only Jamie can relieve her of her absurd guilt. It’s as though she visibly relaxes as he holds her, the weight of her remorse finally falling from her shoulders, and I know it: she’s going to be okay. She’s really going to be okay.
