I met his gaze. Those dark brown eyes, a source of familiarity, I think I’d crave for all eternity and then, another century for the hell of it.
“Am I wrong?” he asked, offering me the floor with grace.
“No.” I shook my head and couldn’t help but add teasingly, “For once. We should probably alert the press. We could make good money off this story.”
He sighed, the sides of his mouth twitching in an almost smile. “Appreciate the acknowledgement.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I warned and directed my attention out the windshield to avoid the awkwardness of meeting his gaze as I confessed, “My accident involved me, my sister, another car, and a ditch. It was my fault. I... it was rainy, and I was going too fast. Logan was trying to help me get some experience on the highway. When it rained, she wanted me to pulloff to the side. But no, I was… me. I thought it couldn’t be that dangerous. When we started hydroplaning, I turned away from the skid. I knew I should have turned in. I read everything I could before the written test. Repeated all the warnings to myself day after day. But information means nothing if your body won’t…. won’t listen to you when it’s time.”
The wind outside picked up, pressing against our doors loudly as if it wanted to be let in. A cold seeped through the windows, drowning our shared silence and my hot shame.
“I wasn’t hurt too badly. Just a couple of bruises.” My voice lowered, weighed down by recollection of the bloody cut on the side of Logan's head. “But my sister… she’d hit her head and didn’t wake up till the next day in the hospital. She had a concussion. And messed up her hand so much that she had to take a semester off from school. She’s better now, but… I can see it in her eyes every time she gets behind the wheel. Logan’s not where she wants to be in school. She says it’s just because grad school’s difficult, but I know that’s not the only thing. I know that accident took something from her I can never give back.”
I sucked in a breath. Oxygen lodged in my throat, strained against the muscles as it made way to my lungs.
“Yara.” David's hand covered mine, calloused fingers offering me a protective squeeze. “It was?—”
“An accident,” I interrupted, eyes hot with tears. “Yeah, I know. I know. Everyone has told me that over and over. And that it could have happened to anyone. And it’s not my fault.”
“Maybe it was your fault,” he said.
My gaze snapped to him, chest tightening so much I expected a crack. His words gave me a kind of frustrating shock I couldn’t process.
“I can’t dance around it,” he reminded me.
“Right.” I may as well bury myself in the darkness.
“But that doesn’t mean you can’t or shouldn’t forgiveyourself for it,” David continued. “Doesn’t mean you can’t move forward. More importantly, it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to move forward. A mistake doesn’t make you any less than, Yara. Just because something may have been your fault doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to heal.”
I wanted to believe that. Him. Prayed his words broke shame’s ironclad grip. But anxiety remained lodged in my throat. I parted my lips, breathing through my mouth in hopes it’d breed better results.
“Doesn’t it, though?” I blinked more than necessary, looking everywhere but him.
“It doesn’t.” David squeezed my hand again to affirm the new belief. “What you don’t deserve is what you’ve been doing. The picking. The terror. The self-doubt. None of that will change what happened. But it will change who you are.”
I twisted my mouth to the side, giving it everything I had not to break down in front of him.
“The Yara I know lets nothing get between her and the goalpost,” he said. “It’s the Yara I’ve learned to like. The Yara I want to love. The Yara I plan to protect.”
I met his gaze then, a million and one sparks traveling through my bloodstream.
“Don’t let this change who you are. Who you want to be. You deserve to move on, no matter what happened,” he said. “I know it’s easier said than done, but it is possible. With some help, it’s possible.”
“I’ve tried to get help. And talk about it. And do all the meditations, exercises, and journaling. But none of it works like…when I pick,” I confessed. “The repetition, the pain, it’s a ritual. If I do it enough times, I’ll…”
My skin burned as I realized how open I’d become. I vowed forever ago to lock away this version of myself, in fear that whoever came across it would insist I needed to be lockedaway, isolated in case I was contagious. I wouldn’t blame them.
“You’ll?” David encouraged me.
“Pay penance. And earn another chance to be worth it. When I do it, I’m consistent. I’m not forgetting what happened. I’m?—”
“You’re punishing yourself,” David said firmly. “Again and again. Tell me, when will it be enough? How long? How much harm will you inflict before it’s enough?”
I shook my head, chin trembling. The words wouldn’t make it out of my mouth, so I just shrugged.
“If one of your sisters or your brother were doing something like this to themselves, taking on judge, juror, and executioner all day, every day, what would you think? How would you feel?”
“I’d… feel awful… and I’d want to make sure they didn’t feel so alone. I’d do anything to make sure they weren’t hurting.” I traced the bumpy stitches on the leather console, trying to ground myself.
