I writhe in Jason’s grasp the entire way until he opens a car door and deposits me inside on the bench seat of a truck. He runs to the other side and slides into the driver’s seat, turns the key in the ignition, and peels awayfrom the curb. I know where he’s going before we even take the first turn: the mountain.
Jason’s hands anxiously grip the steering wheel, he’s vibrating with tension. I guess the come down from all that adrenaline is still wracking his body. His knuckles are bloody, split over the joints that impacted with Bryce’s face the most.
Then recognition dawns on me and I blurt, “This is your dad’s truck.” He knows that, obviously, but I’m surprised it’s both running, and that he’s even driving it. He always seemed conflicted about the truck, probably because of who it belonged to before him.
I can’t sit in here without thinking about what we did on the hood of the truck. Or–more appropriately–what he did to me.
God, two minutes with him and my body is already singing with desire for him. The traitorous bitch. I can’t help it. Every inch of me remembers every inch of him. It would be so easy to forget everything that happened and climb him like a tree, erase the past few months and pretend none of it ever happened so we could live happily ever after.
That’s the easy way out of this, not the right way. The right thing to do is never the easiest thing to do but hopefully it has the best results, despite however many obstacles that path entails.
I don’t know if Jason is here to try and apologize, to work things out, maybe just to be a big baby and kidnap me so I have no choice but to stay with him. I wouldn’t put it past him.
We sit in silence the entire drive, I don’t give him the satisfaction of begging for answers when I know he won’t give them to me. Because–once again–that would be too easy.
It’s when he pulls off the road after we’ve already crossed the bridge that I start to realize where we are headed. The woods look so different without the fluffy white snow to blanket it. Lush, green, full of life. The ferns on the forest floor are in full swing and the sun beams through the gaps in the tree trunks. The forest seems so alive with color and light when it was so diminished a few months ago, set to slumber beneath the winter snow. It’s almost like it was resting, waiting for spring to take over andblossom again. I’ve been in these woods so many times, driven around on the mountain before. But it feels like I’m seeing it for the first time with fresh eyes uninhibited by reality.
The sparkling water of the pond glimmers ahead as the truck comes to a stop on the grassy bank a few feet from the shore. It seems like yesterday this place was frozen over and I fell through the ice. It seems like yesterday Jason was cradling me in my sleep in front of the fireplace to keep me warm as my body temperature rose. I thought it was beautiful under the cover of winter. But with the color of spring, this place is magical. The way the light dances off the water illuminates the entire world. It’s as if Thomas Kinkade painted the view before me. Birds chirping in the trees, a light breeze sending ripples over the surface of the crystal clear water. Golden rays of sunlight striking the surface.
It’s breathtaking.
Jason steps out of the truck, comes to my side of the car, opens the door and extends a hand for me to take.What a gentleman.
I hop down on my own accord and stare him directly in the eye when I say, “I’m capable of walking myself.” Storming off, I mutter under my breath, “neanderthal, brutish caveman.” The words trickle into nothing the closer I get to the pond and feel the cooling effect of the breeze on my exposed skin. I hate how irritated I am right now. It would have been so much more satisfying if I was calm and collected, unaffected by his actions. But I’m subject to my own whims.
Jason approaches from behind, stopping a few inches away. I can feel his warm breath in my hair, the energy crackling in the small space between our bodies that comes alive whenever he’s near. Every part of me wants him to wrap his limbs around me and hold me until the pain goes away. The one percent of me that isn’t flustered right now knows that’s not going to solve anything.
I’m so fucking angry. I was making peace with everything, I was working on myself. I was trying to forget about him and all the hurt he caused.
I was also trying to forget about the security and fulfillment I felt in his presence. The overpowering love I acquired forhim. It wasn’t a gradual development. The love I felt (feel) for Jason hit me like a freight train, knocking me off my axis. What I felt for him was so strong and all-consuming, it makes it that much harder for me to forget it. If it was easy, we wouldn’t have ballads that perfectly explain what it’s like to try to forget this love. Heartbreak has been the root of so much art and beauty in the world, as well as so much pain.
Hell, Troy and Greece went to war over love. People have killed for love, or lack-thereof. We’re all searching for something that feels as rare as the holy grail and just as desirable. But how much destruction comes from the pursuit?
I spin around in a flash and start hammering on Jason’s chest, overwhelmed by the myriad of emotions raging a storm in my soul.
“You son of a bitch,” I fire at him. “I was healing. I was getting better. I was getting stronger and you ruined everything.” Am I talking about the past three months? Or the time I spent with him? Because I was healing this winter, his rough edges softened mine. His healing hands soothed the bitterness in my heart. And he threw me off a cliff at the end.
“Why couldn’t you leave me alone. You made your choice. You fucking coward.” He just lets me pound at his chest. Although I know my assault isn’t nearly hard enough to do any real damage, it can’t be pleasant either. But he tolerates everything I need to unleash. Some people go shooting or ax throwing to release tension. Apparently, I find punching the love of my life more cathartic.
“You stubborn, selfish, bastard. I loved you and you just–.”
“Mara.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jason-Present
Mistakes-Jim Clack
She freezes the second I speak, just like I knew she would. Last time she heard my voice she was falling through ice on this very lake. I didn’t know how to start this conversation but she was working herself up too much and I need her to listen to me, I need her to be patient with me. I’m still not very good at this.
After a moment of stunned silence, those big eyes staring at me expectantly, she whispers, “Did…did you just say my name?” It’s almost like she’s afraid of the answer, afraid to hear she’s hallucinating.
But she’s not imagining anything. I’ve been working the last three months to get to this point. The minute Dylan left with her, I instantly regretted everything that happened. It’s like I replayed it in my mind as a bystander observing it and realized how utterly despicable my actions were. How uncalled for and down-right cruel. I was too wrapped up in my own shame to think clearly.
I thought about driving after her but decided against it, she needed time, the wounds would be too fresh. I knew if I went after her right away, she wouldn’t be willing to listen, let alone forgive me.
That’s also the moment I decided she’s right, I’ve been a coward and I’ve let trauma rule my life for too long. My father ruined everything good in my life while he was alive, and he was still infecting it after his death. Hedoesn’t deserve that kind of power beyond the grave. The only way I could make amends was if I made an effort. The only way she might even consider forgiving me is if I made a gesture so big it overpowered every horrible thing I’ve done.
