Page 84 of Ghosts Don't Cry
Need to go home and change clothes. I’ll call you later.
She’ll be worried, but I can’t face her concern right now, or the questions she’ll have been holding back all night long.
And now, in my own bathroom, there’s nowhere to hide from the truth.
I reach for the concealer. The brush shakes in my hand as I dab it over the darkest marks. It looks pathetic against the bruises. The purple shows through, mocking my attempt. I try a darker shade. Then another. But nothing hides them.
The makeup brush clatters to the sink, and I grip the edges of the counter, my vision blurring with the tears filling my eyes.
You’re just like them. You only ever saw what you wanted to see.
The surge of anger takes me by surprise.
He’s wrong. I saw him back then. When everyone else looked away, Isawhim. I knew him in ways no one else did.
But now?The words are an insidious whisper.
I don’t know this version of him at all. I don’t know what prison did to him, or how life treated him once he was released. Ihave no idea who he’s become in all the years between then and now.
And it doesn’t matter, because last night, I realized that nothing had changed. My body still remembers his. My heart recognized the truth I’ve been trying to deny since he came back and I saw him on the street.
I never stopped loving him.
The tears in my eyes spill over and down my cheeks, and I sink to the bathroom floor, lean against the wall, and close my eyes.
The last thing I said to Cassidy before we went to bed last night comes back to me.
I don’t know why I’m letting him affect me like this.
But that’s a lie. Idoknow. I could pretend they were memories, the echo of a first love that never quite faded. I can argue that I’m curious about who he’s become, that it’s because I never found any sort of closure. But that’s not what it is.
I still love him.
My phone vibrates on the counter, shattering the silence of the bathroom. I force myself upright, and pick it up. It’s a message from Mom, asking about dinner again. I type back a quick response, telling her I’m about to get into the shower, and that I’ll call her later.
I love my mom, but I can’t handle her concern for me right now. And she’ll know something is wrong as soon as I speak to her.
My phone vibrates again. This time it’s Cassidy.
Cassidy: You okay?
Me: No.
Cassidy: I’m coming over.
Me: Don’t. I need?—
But I don’t know what I need. I delete the message unsent, and look at myself in the mirror. The woman staring back at me looks lost. My hair is a mess, tangled from tossing around in bed all night. Dark circles shadow my eyes that are red-rimmed from exhaustion and tears.
Outside, a car passes by. A dog barks. The world keeps turning while mine tilts on its axis.
Cassidy: I’m on my way. Bringing coffee and bagels.
I strip out of my clothes and turn on the shower. Steam fill the bathroom. Stepping under the hot spray, I tip my head back and close my eyes, and let the water wash over me.
When I finally get out, wrapped in a towel, I look a little more human. I pull on yoga pants and an oversized sweater, drag a brush through my hair, then take one more look at my reflection.
I love him.
