“You’re a coward,” I fire my bullets, “you’re a coward because you tookthe easy way out instead of facing your demons and becoming stronger. Instead of taking the power back, you let your past ruin what could have been a beautiful future. And now you have to live with your choices.”
Jason takes the last step over the threshold, slamming the door behind him and sealing the decision he’s made.
I thought having the last word would make me feel stronger, like I had the upper hand. But when the ultimatum was placed at his feet, Jason chose the option that didn’t include me. And now I have to live with his decision too.
Before the tears can overtake me, I ask Dylan, “Can-can you drive me back to my parents house?” He doesn’t answer me with words but guides me with gentle hands on my shoulders to the passenger seat and helps me in before climbing into the driver’s side behind the wheel. The truck starts with a mechanical whir and then jolts forward with a start, descending down the mountain and out of Jason’s life forever.
I can’t control it much longer, I’m vibrating with emotions that feel more powerful than I could have ever imagined.
He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t even want me anymore. I fucked the whole thing up and we both have to suffer for it. Why couldn’t I keep my nose out his business? How could I be so fucking stupid? How could he shake me off so easily and throw me out? I thought that after everything we’ve been through together, he would have wanted to at least cool off and try to work things out after some time had passed. Apparently I’m not worth it to him.
As much as my heart is breaking over the loss of a relationship that never had a chance, it’s also fractured for the little boy who was abused and never got the help he deserved. For the boy who’s spirit broke and innocence stripped. He deserved more. Who would Jason be if his father had just listened to him?
Tears slip down my cheeks in endless streams as I struggle to breath while keeping the sobs from flooding the vehicle. Too ashamed of my current state, I angle my body toward the passenger side window in a feeble attempt to conceal the ambush of emotions overtaking me.
Dylan doesn’t ask what happened, he stays silent the entire drive, he doesn’t even play music. I wish I could thank him for that but I know if Itry to speak I’ll break apart completely.
Forty minutes later, we’re back in town and Dylan is parking the truck on the circle driveway of my parents house. I completely forgot to see if my car was still by the bridge on our way down. I guess it doesn’t really matter.
I can hardly bring myself to look at Dylan but I know it will probably be the last time so I lift my head and peer at him through damp lashes. As soon as I do, he envelopes me in a hug that feels like it should heal, it feels like it should fix everything and make it all better. But he doesn’t have that kind of power. All it does is remind me of the life I’ve lost today.
“Th-Thanks,” I stutter through controlled sobs.
As I start to climb out of the truck, Dylan stops me. “Mara, I don’t know what happened, but he loves you. You have to see that. You mean more to him than anything in the world.”
I don’t think that’s true anymore. But it’s nice of him to say that. He kisses the top of my hand in farewell before I shut the door and he drives away.
I try to get myself under control on the short walk to the front door of my parents house. Do I knock? Do I walk right in? I decide walking into their house would cause an alarm so I ring the doorbell. A minute later, my mom opens the door and the shock that mars her face is enough to tell me she never thought she would see me again.
“Mara?” She utters on a whisper. “You’re alive?” She doesn’t even sound that happy about it, just surprised.
“Yeah, Mom,” she gestures for me to come inside, “I have a lot to tell you.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mara-two months later
ceilings - Lizzy McAlpine
Borderline personality disorder. That’s what my therapist diagnosed me with. And, to be honest, it makes sense. She described it as the middle child between bipolar disorder and depression. Where you have ups and downs but not quite as rapidly as being bipolar and not as consistently down as depression is. Which explains why I can feel so content in my life, so at peace with things and then all of a sudden a spiral of sadness consumes me out of nowhere.
Labeling how I feel both makes it feel all too real, and gives me a sliver of hope that this isn’t forever. Putting a label on it helps me define my actions as more than just being emotional. Through lots of self reflection and research, I’ve accepted that this isn’t something that has a magic cure, but I can learn to cope with the bad days and hold on to the good days through skills I’m learning in therapy. I spent so much time denying that this would be a part of my life forever, I thought I could fix it like I’ve had to fix everything else in my life.
But I’ve had to accept a lot of hard truths in the past two months.
My parents were shocked, to say the least, when I showed up on their doorstep—alive. At first, they thought I’d been kidnapped but no ransom call ever came. Then they assumed I’d just run away from home. They should have known me better than that. I don’t make impulsive decisionsoften. But after they didn’t hear from me for months, they assumed I was gone forever. I didn’t bother to ask if they held a memorial for me or even tried to figure out where I went. I don’t think I want to know even though deep down, I do.
I told them as much as I could while composing myself so I didn’t break down into tears. I told them about the accident and how Jason found me. I told them about how I spent the winter at their cabin on the mountain and they kept me alive until the snow and ice melted enough for us to drive safely back. I didn’t tell them anything personal about my relationship with Jason and the inevitable end. And they didn’t ask why I looked so distraught upon my return. Just the way I wanted it. All I wanted was to cry for the next decade and hide away.
But my mother insisted I should go to therapy. One of her girlfriends suggested a woman in town and that’s how I found Nita. She’s wonderful. Non-judgemental, objective, insightful, and informative. She balances the scales of emotion and logic in a way that makes sense to me. It feels like I’m talking to a friend but without the social constructions of expectations. I’m not afraid of what she thinks because frankly I don’t give a fuck. But when she does have something to say, it’s always helpful. She’s helped me to understand what I’m feeling and dealing with without telling me what to do. She’s guided me into a state of self-awareness that I wouldn’t have been able to find without her.
She’s also the only person I’ve told about what really happened with Jason. I didn’t tell her Jason’s secrets because they aren’t mine to tell, even to someone who’s bound by law to keep secrets. Just that our crash and burn came from me sticking my nose where it didn’t belong and his inability to see past his own insecurities.
Nita reminded me that I am not to blame for that. I know that, but it’s still reassuring to hear that. She also reminded me that we can’t force others to see things our way, to do what they don’t want to. And as much as I’d like to be the most important reason for working on his issues, I can’t be. It has to be his cognitive choice.
I just wish I had been enough.
But I keep that to myself because she’d probably tell me I am enough, he is the one who isn’t strong enough to make a change. And that I deserve better than someone who doesn’t give an equal effort.
