YOU KILLED HER.
The image of Matthew’s face is seared onto the back of my eyelids, his expression utterly broken.
The paleness…
The glazed, tear-filled gaze…
The desperate fight for breath…
That wasn’t the face of the cold, furious man pinning his father to the wall; that was someone completely undone by the devastating cost of that confrontation.He stood up to the man who caused him so much pain, the man he believes killed his mother.And to see the state it left him in…
Gut-wrenching.
My gaze drifts around the now eerily quiet foyer, landing on the blood Roger spat out.A dark, ugly spot marring the slate tile.A sickening punctuation mark to the violence that just unfolded here, in Matthew’s immaculate home.My stomach churns at the sight, but my heartache for him is a deeper, sharper pain.
Hesitantly, I move toward the base of the stairs, straining to hear anything from the upper floor.
Then I hear it.
Faint but distinct.
The sound of running water.
Quietly, cautiously, I begin to climb the stairs, my hand trailing lightly on the smooth, dark wood of the banister.Each step feels uncertain.The upper hallway is dimly lit.The drumming rush of a shower grows louder, clearly coming from the room at the end of the hall to my left.
A sudden, inexplicable dread makes my heart pound as I approach.Deeper into the room, to the left of his large bed, the bathroom door stands slightly ajar.A sliver of light spills out onto the carpet.
Something is not right.
I push the door open hesitantly, just enough to peek inside.
The scene before me steals the breath from my lungs.It is a twisted mirror of my own breakdown by the pool not too long ago.
Matthew is huddled on the tiled floor in the farthest corner of the large, glass-enclosed shower, knees drawn up to his chest.His black T-shirt and grey sweatpants are plastered against his skin, utterly soaked by the torrent of water pouring down from the showerhead directly above him.He stares blankly at the drain, his dark hair slicked to his forehead.Even through the rush of the water, I can see his shoulders shuddering with each ragged breath.
Seeing him so utterly undone, stripped bare of his usual control and strength, shifts something in me.
The cascading water seems to fade, momentarily replaced by the memory of my own ragged sobs echoing by the pool from that terrible night.The image vividly overlays the present…
Matthew’s arms unyielding around my shuddering frame.The phantom pressure of his cheek pressed against my temple.The memory of my fingers digging into the muscles of his forearms, anchoring myself to his steady presence during my own chaotic unravelling.
He absorbed my storm then, unflinching.Radiating a quiet strength, a warmth that slowly, painstakingly, thawed my frozen core.
He held me together.
Now, seeing him here, devastated by his own storm, a profound sense of purpose crystallizes.
Without a second thought, I slip my feet out of my black flats.I step past the edge of the glass panel and into the shower stall.The initial shock of the water hitting my jeans and sweater makes me gasp.The spray instantly plasters the fabric to my skin.
I step further onto the wet tile floor toward Matthew.He remains unresponsive, a statue carved from misery under the pouring water.I slowly lower myself to my knees in front of him.The water pools around my legs, soaking through my jeans entirely.My hands lift, trembling slightly, unsure if any touch is welcome.But tentatively, my fingers brush against the soaked fabric of his knee.
No reaction.
But then, his head tilts back.Slowly, heavily, he leans it against the shower wall behind him, bringing his face out from under the direct water stream pouring from above.
I shift closer and reach for his face.The water sloshes around me.My fingertips, clumsy with emotion, carefully sweep back the strands of soaked hair away from his eyes.The pad of my thumb wipes droplets from his temple.
Under my touch, a tremor runs through him, his eyes fluttering open.It takes a moment for them to find mine.They are rimmed with red, swimming with an agony so acute it pierces right through me.The carefully constructed walls are gone; there’s nothing left but exposed, devastating pain.
