“Mom,” I murmur her name, afraid that it might be the last time I’ll ever call her that and hear her answer. My chest tightens with the ensuing silence, as I pray for her to answer. Then I feel her squeeze my hand as she slowly opens her eyes.
“Baby girl,” she says softly. I move in closer, straining to hear her near-silent voice as she speaks. “I waited as long as I could,Dani, and I’m so very tired.” Tears fall freely down my face as I stare at the person who gave me life, watching her lose the battle to keep her own.
“Mom, I’m here. You don’t have to wait any longer. I know you’re tired…and you’ve been so brave and strong. I love you so much.” I lean down to kiss her, and for the briefest moment, her lips curve into a slight smile. I rest my head against her, listening to the beating of her heart and feeling the rising of her chest until both cease to function.
“No. No. No.” I rise from the spot, staring down at my mom’s still body, all life gone, now leaving only a shell. The same body that I watched be ravaged by a cruel, unimaginable fate from the very beginning. I collapse to the floor, crying for the only person who had ever truly loved me. But that’s not entirely true. I have Vic, and maybe, just maybe, he still loves me. Even if he isn’t a part of my life right now, I know without a doubt we will be together again. My heart feels like it’s splitting in two, and I let myself feel every shred of it before forcing myself upright. I wipe the tears from my cheeks, one at a time, standing there numb.
We had a plan in place for this moment. I called the funeral home to collect my mother’s body, and she will be cremated per her wishes. We have no one to attend the service, as sad as that is, so I’ll honor her request and spread her ashes on the beach. She loved the water and had an extensive collection of sand dollars, taking pride in the ones she found intact along the shoreline, unbroken despite the unrelenting waves. Those, she said, were the strongest survivors and deserved to be preserved and cherished like a trophy, on display for all to see.
The funeral companycalled to tell me her ashes were ready. I went without hesitation, carrying them with me toward the coast, toward Galveston. The seawall rises before me, the Gulf waters and sky blur into one by the heavy, humid haze along the horizon. I leave the car and step onto the sand. The wind tugs at my hair, salt in the air mingling with the salt of my own tears.It’s fitting, I think, as the sting of grief pushes me forward, one step at a time, and leads me to her final resting place.
The sound of waves lapping against the jetties guides my steps until I reach the rocks that hug the water's edge. There, with trembling hands, I draw out the small container that holds my mother. From my bag, I remove her collection of sand dollars, carefully placing them one by one on the cool, damp sand and arranging them into a heart shape.
She always cherished these fragile little treasures. To her, they symbolized the delicate balance between life and death. These talismans of endurance stood as reminders that even in her final hours, strength could be found in what survives the storm.
At last, I open the canister. Ash spills into the heart of the shells. Some rise, caught in the wind, while the tide carries away the rest. The sea reclaims the lifeless, sun-bleached skeletons and folds her ashes alongside them into the foamy spray. And when the tide retreats, carrying away the last of her remains, I stand there staring at the place where her sand dollars and asheswere mere moments ago. But now, there is no trace that she had ever been there at all.
Before leaving, I place the empty vessel in a barrel by the seawall, although my hands linger, unwilling to let it go. Back in the car, I sit for a long time, listening to the cry of seagulls overhead and the steady beating of waves against the shore. The day settles heavily over me, as I struggle to grasp the reality of all I have lost. Before shifting into drive, I vow, with all I have left to give, never again to take love for granted, no matter how brief, because its worth lies in all the fragile pieces. And no matter how beaten and battered by the storm, you still make it out whole.
SIXTEEN
VIC
Iknow there was more to the story, but instead of confronting Brandon and Dani that day, I let the rage devour me completely. I threw myself into my studies and detached myself from everything else—no parties, no friends, and no women.
As a result, I think I lost a little of my humanity. Confrontation would have been a predictable response for any sane person. To find out the truth and seek those answers to the questions that plague you. But I’m no longer either of those, sane nor predictable. My mother died, and I endured. I survived a hostile home, the sting of his volatile temper, and the punishments dealt out with his fists. Until one night I ended him, and his reign of terror ceased until his blood ran freely on the floor. And then, there was Dani, still cloaked in my father’s blood.
My breathing hitches, and my cock grows hard, remembering when her lips were coated red from our shared blood-stained kisses.
I carried her upstairs bridal-style. I took her there in the shower, still drenched in the red coloring of my sins, driving into her mercilessly with the same desperation that had drivenme to commit murder. Our darkness collided, entwining in a macabre dance of shadows that cloaked my bedroom, binding us in something deeper than this world. It was darker than love, a contract of our forever, bound through violence and need. Our equal obsession.
My breathing increases, forced and angry.
So when I saw her wrapped in the arms of another man, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. She was all I had left, and in that moment, it felt like she was being stolen from me, and my soul was being ripped apart from its ethereal tether, piece by fucking piece.
I look down and see the blood swell slightly at the surface from where my nails bit into the skin on my leg. I watch it bead, and one lone drop forms at the surface, and I place my thumb into it and suck it into my mouth.
That next morning, when I returned from Texas, I woke with a hangover sharp enough to split my skull. Now, years later, as the silence stretched, and as I realized my time at this school is over, one truth surfaced. I couldn’t outrun the past any longer. So I made the decision to travel back to Texas before my next move to Massachusetts for residency. Back to the ghosts that haunted it, the blood and the lies I buried there. I needed to see Dani and get answers. I can’t move on, and maybe I don’t want to.
The first thing on Monday, after securing my place and preparing to begin the next part of my career path, I drive to the Boston airport and leave my car in central parking, resolved to worry about the fee when I return. Four hours later, I pull away from the Austin airport in a rental car, finally doing what I should have done before. I curse my stupidity and berate myself the entire ride there. The old Vic would have never let her go without a fight, and yet I left her that day like a coward. Leavingher was my failure, but now I’m finally doing what I should have done long ago.
The city gives way to long stretches of highway, with city buildings made of steel and glass transformed into pastures and country homes. It’s as if time stands still in this place, despite the years that have passed. As I drive onto the last stretch of road, my body twists with doubt about my choices. I hadn’t thought this through, not really. I have been a shell of myself since I left her, drifting further with every mile that I left things unresolved between us, and now I was barrelling back without having a single word prepared. What would I even say to her? That I love her? That I hated her? That I would forgive her for anything? All of it was true at the present.
But if Brandon is there, I don’t think I can trust myself to walk away without bloodshed. I sigh. Bloodshed could mean jail, and I don’t know if Dani would protect me from myself this time. Without that being an option for now, I force myself to breathe long, deep inhales as I fight the darkness that claws just beneath the surface, manifesting it to sink into the deepest crevices of my being. The way that I had trained myself to keep the rage contained in its cage, even as it tried making its way to the surface just beneath my ribcage, battering my heart that only beats for one woman.
So with the help of several more deep breaths—manifesting a calm, clinical detachment, I pull up to her house and get out, and can’t stop my eyes from drifting over to the one I’d grown up in. A bicycle leans against the porch rail, along with a couple of toys scattered across the lawn. It paints a picture of a normal home life filled with caring parents and children running amok, content with their childhood. It looks like the way I always wanted my childhood to be, but the only hope remained that I could recreate that depicted fantasy with another person, one person in particular.
The vision clears, and I blink. The dream is gone. As I stare at it more closely, I know that I will always see it as my father's house. The place I’d never called home. But Dani’s house? That had always been my sanctuary. She was the place where my jagged puzzle pieces met hers, creating a beautiful, scenic picture of our future. This is the place where I still feel like I truly belong. And I was ready to take back my sanctuary and erase Brandon forever.
I have already decided to forgive her. Truth be told, Dani could do anything, and I’d still love her. So as I bounce up the steps with a hammering heart, ready to knock on her door and win her back. I’m practically readying to throw myself at her feet, just as the door swings open before I can knock.
A young woman, who is very much not Dani, stares at me, her head tilting slightly, assessing. “Hi.” She smiles up at me curiously, my hand frozen mid-knock. Unable to speak, I lower my arm and step back. Confusion pulls my mouth into a frown. “Can I help you?” Her voice is polite, but edged as if she’s calculating shutting the door in my face. Her gaze looks past me, scanning the driveway, before her attention snaps back to me.
I clear my voice, the words stuck in my throat as I push them out. “Are you a friend of Dani’s?” The question escapes before I can stop it. My eyes search her face when hers crinkle at the corners in confusion. I look at the driveway, searching for Dani’s car, but I only see an unfamiliar sedan.
At Dani’s name, the woman stiffens, her posture rigid. “Are you friends with Brandon?” she asks, and when I look at her, she must hear the murderous thoughts that cross my mind when hearing their names used in the same sentence, as if they could ever be a couple. She takes a step backward as fear shows in her eyes, but my anger is misplaced. It’s not toward her, but pain from the knife that is twisting in my heart.
“Did he send you here to collect rent?” Her words hang in the air between us. My eyes widen in surprise at hearing that Brandon owns this house or is possibly connected to it. I shift forward, my foot pressing to take a step, but she instinctively flinches. I halt my movements, my body seizing at the memory. For a moment, it isn't her I’m seeing, it’s my mother. The same recoil and fear bring back so many haunting memories of those dark times in my life, and I try to keep them buried. I push them all down, softening my shoulders and clenched jaw. When I speak again, my speech is softer, and my temper is reigned in.
