“You always kept the heater far away from the curtains whenever I was over.”
It’s like Jared’s speaking out loud all my arguments when I heard what happened. And yet…the cause of death is undeniable.
“I did, but I had moved it out of my way when I was getting changed, so it was closer to the window than normal.” I strain to remember that moment in my mind, but it’s blurry like it’s been ever since that night. “And then Mama and I left.”
“And you never went back inside after the fire was put out,” Jared says like he’s recounting the moment right along with me.
“Right. Everything of value was destroyed, and Mama and I just wanted a fresh start. It was devastating to lose my childhood mementos, but losing Aaron was a relief.”
“It was.” Jared shifts and unexpectedly takes my chin in his hand.
He studies my face, and I warm under his gaze.
“What?” I ask him defensively. “What are you searching for?”
“I hate that you feel torn up about that night,” he says, his dark eyes filled with emotion. “We called it your reset night—for you and your mom to start over with no one terrifying you on a daily basis.”
“I know. And it was.” I sigh. “Most of life isn’t black and white, J. It’s filled with gray. So while I felt tremendous relief that Aaron was out of our lives, I couldn’t shake the fact that I killed him.”
The memory is so strong I feel like I’m back there in my childhood home with the smell of my stepdad’s stale cigarettes and the scent of whiskey permeating the living room where he always camped out whenever he wasn’t at a bar. From that room, he could see anyone coming and going, just the way he liked it.
He was hitting Mom a lot that evening. I knew better than to get in the middle. She’d warned me endless times to stay out of it. She was protecting me, but I wanted to protect her.
So when Aaron stumbled to the bathroom, I left my bedroom and, for the first time in my life, convinced Mom to leave for a bit. She always stayed, no matter how rough he got, and no matter how much I begged. And when he’d reach for me…she’d just tell me to run.
So I would, straight to Jared’s. All night, I’d pray she’d still be there when I returned home the next morning. By the next day, Aaron would be sober, and he didn’t hit her when he wasn’t drunk. So the cycle continued throughout my childhood. My dad had left when I was a baby, and Aaron was the only father figure I’d ever known.
Sometimes, I called the cops, but that never ended well. Mama would always cover for Aaron, every single time, and I worried he’d be rougher with her after they left than if they never came at all.
But that night, her eyes were desperate, and she let me lead her to the door. I took away Aaron’s whiskey, replaced it with water, and put it next to the chair he was about to fall into.
Then, without a backward glance, my mother and I walked out of our house, unknowingly for the last time.
“She was hurting when we drove to the diner.” I flash back to the memory, the images as strong as if it were yesterday. “Her arms were bruised. She looked over at me, and she said she wished we could leave him. Finally. I’d been waiting forever for her to be ready. But she was afraid he’d never stop looking for her. She worried I’d be in danger too.” I suck in a sob. “And I…”
“You what?” Jared’s voice is so gentle, so soft, I can barely hear him.
“I prayed—I actuallyprayed—to God to make Aaron disappear.” I remember that night in my dreams—the nightmare of all nightmares because it was actually real life. “The fact that my prayer was answered…it was a human life.”
“He doesn’t deserve to be called human,” Jared says with raw anger.
“But he was. We all are.” I ball my hands into fists. “And yet, when I looked at my mama and realized how much she wanted to finally be free of him, I prayed. It was like I saw a whole new reality for her if he was no longer on this earth.”
“And she deserved that. So did you,” Jared says. “Darling, you were seventeen years old trying to make the best of a shit situation. You didn’t kill anyone, do you hear me? No matter what happened with the heater…”
“Karma,” I say simply.
“No.” He knows where I’m going, and he cuts me off. “Not karma. Not in this case.”
“Yes.” I pull at the ends of my hair in frustration. “I wanted him dead. I sometimes wonder if, maybe subconsciously, I left the heater on purpo…”
“Not true.” Jared’s tone is fiercely adamant. “Don’t go there. It’s not true.”
I stare at him. “I was sure you would look at me differently for this. I blame myself for his death. I always have.”
“I’m sorry you’ve held onto the guilt. But it’s not your fault.”
“I know I didn’t commit arson. Nothing was premeditated. But the truth is that…I felt relief.” I choke on those last three words. Laced with guilt and indecisiveness.
