Page 59 of Spyder
I feel caught between two different worlds right now… the world I want and the world that is. In the world I want, I have Derek. I’ve never wanted anybody the way I want him, and I’m sure he and I could build a happy life together. But in the world that is, my mother is dying. Who knows how many days I have left with her? All I know is that it’s going to be like a bomb going off in my world. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I have to worry about Derek getting himself killed in this stupid fight with the cartel.
If I lost Derek on top of losing my mother, it would destroy everything inside of me. While I can prepare myself emotionally for my mother’s death, knowing for certain that it’s coming and there’s nothing I can do about it, there is no way for me to prepare right now for the possibility that Derek could die in this fight… other than to cut things off with him now. If I walk away from him, I’d be protecting my heart. But I know it would also be like cutting off my nose to spite my face.
Derek cups my chin in his hand and raises my gaze to his. There’s an expression of concern on his face, and I can tell he’s trying to intuit my thoughts but is failing, which only seems to be worrying him more.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“Yeah. My mom just had a bad day.”
“It seems like there’s more than that.”
A rueful smile touches my lips and I look away from him, not wanting Derek to see the tears welling in my eyes. But he turns my gaze back to him and, with his thumb, wipes away the tear that spills out and races down my cheek.
“I just worry about you, is all,” I tell him and gently, but pointedly, lay my hand on his bruised cheek. “I mean… I can’t lose you too, Derek.”
“And you’re not going to.”
“We’ve already talked about that. It’s not something you can promise.”
He gives me a small nod, but his gaze never leaves mine, his hazel-colored eyes crackling with an intensity I feel deep down in my soul.
“None of us are promised tomorrow, Bell. Any one of us can drop for any number of stupid reasons,” he says. “We don’t have any control over it. When our time is up, it’s up.”
“Maybe. But we can certainly mitigate that by not willingly walking into a situation that increases your odds of dying,” I respond.
“This isn’t any different than me being in the Corps. We’re fighting for our ideology… which, in this case, is keeping this town and everybody in it safe. That’s our mission and we hold it sacred,” he says, his voice burning with the same intensity I see in his face. “Would you rather we just step aside and let Zavala do his thing here? Do you want to see this town taken over by a fucking cartel? Do you want to see junkies all strung out, robbing and murdering people to get their next fix? Kids out on the streets getting hooked on his shit?”
“No, of course not,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t want to see any of that.”
“Then, sadly, we’re the only thing that can prevent it,” he replies gently. “It’s like I told you before, we didn’t pick this fight. It came knocking on our door.”
“I just wish you didn’t have to answer it. It scares me. The thought of losing you scares the hell out of me, Derek.”
He pulls me into a warm embrace, and I melt into him, seeking out the comfort and solace I usually feel in his presence. It’s there, of course, but it also feels slightly muted and not quite as strong as it usually does. My fear over losing him is dulling the emotions inside of me. Except for the love I feel. No, that’s burning as bright as ever. But the fear is what’s been keeping me from saying it to him.
I know it bothers him that I’ve not been able to say it back, even if he’s able to carry on like it doesn’t. But I know it hurts him. He put himself out there and I’ve not been able to reciprocate. It’s not that I don’t feel it, because I do. It’s just that saying it out loud is going to make the abstract concrete, and along with that comes a million different things that terrify me.
I remember telling Derek that we live in a disposable world. And we do. Nothing is built to last, and everything can be thrown away. Except for our hearts. There is nothing disposable about those or about the relationships we engage in. When I give my heart to Derek, it’s because I trust he won’t discard it. I trust he won’t treat it as disposable but with the sort of reverence I hold his heart with.
Deep down, I know he will. But giving over to my feelings and telling him how I feel is terrifying because it makes it all very real. And when things are very real, losing that person you’ve given your heart to is one of the worst pains you can ever feel. In many ways, I know it’s going to hurt worse than losing my mom. Or at least, hurt very differently. We’re born expecting to lose our parents during our lifetimes. We don’t expect to lose the person we give our heart to.
“It scares me too, Bell,” he says softly. “The thought of never seeing you again puts a dagger straight through my heart.”
“Is there any way around this?”
He shakes his head. “Afraid not.”
We cling together for a long moment, each of us trying to draw strength from the other but both of us failing to find it. Eventually, I step back and wipe the tears from my eyes. Derek pulls me over, gives me a tender kiss, and climbs to his feet.
“I’m going to take a quick shower. Why don’t you order up some dinner for us?” he suggests and hands me his wallet.
“Sure,” I reply.
He gives me a smile, then turns and heads to the back. I look down at the battered leather wallet in my hand, ruminating on everything I’m feeling right now. It’s quite a thick, heady emotional stew bubbling up within me and I’m really not sure what to do with it.
As I pace back and forth in his kitchen, tapping his wallet against the palm of my hand, I realize that surrounded by so much death and misery, I need to feel joy. I need to feel something that celebrates life rather than something that mourns or fears it. I drop his wallet on the counter, make my way back to the master bedroom, and pause just outside the partially open door then give it a gentle push.
The bathroom door is open, and I hear the sound of the shower running. I strip out of my clothes and toss them on the chair in the corner then walk into the bathroom. Wreathed in the thick clouds of steam billowing out of the shower stall, I pause for a moment and look at the figure of the man inside. The man I love. I take a second to admire the beauty of his big, strong body, feeling the heat within me building, growing even warmer than the shower itself.
