“You care about her,” she states. It’s not a question. “I think you may even love her. And don’t try to argue because I won’t have it.”
I nod, driving when the light turns green and hoping Winter is at her apartment when I get there. “I know,” I finally reply, getting closer to the turnoff that leads to the shitty apartment building Winter loves so much.
“I’m sorry,” she offers softly. “I’m sorry for letting this go on for so long. It shouldn’t have. Not for you. Not for Ronnie. Not for Winter. We all deserve to be happy.”
I want to tell her she shouldn’t be sorry.
That it’s me who should be sorry.
Sorry for her.
Sorry for Winter.
But not sorry for myself.
I’m the creator of my own downfall.
A cancer to society.
Sickness to everyone who comes into my life.
“You fuck everything up,” my father says before backhanding me until I’m lying on the dirty tile floor of the kitchen. He looms over me, reeking of alcohol and cigarette smoke. “You always fuck up everything.”
I was six, and it was the first vivid memory I have of the man who looked twice his age because of the pills and booze. Since then, his hand had been a common occurrence against somepart of my body when he’d get mad. If I were in his way, which was too often, he’d make sure I knew what an inconvenience I was in his life.
I did my best not to come out of my room unless it was an emergency. Usually, that left me nearly having accidents in my bedroom because I was terrified of going to the bathroom. It wasn’t until some of the bruises from my father’s anger became more visible that the school stepped in.
Some people were terrified of foster homes and the experiences they had in them. Mine brought me relief, even when I had nothing but a garbage bag full of clothes and a thin mattress to call my own. At least there was peace from the monsters with whom I shared my blood.
And, eventually, my time away from my parents brought me next door to Emaly.
The woman who took me in didn’t care where I was as long as I behaved myself and didn’t bring trouble to her door, so I made sure to keep my head down. I spent time at the local skating rink in the summer and the frozen pond in the winter, and learned my passion for skating thanks to the young dark-haired girl.
Emaly was my salvation from the harsh words that had always been locked in my mind.
You fuck everything up.
It’s a cruel thing to believe your entire life, and Emaly made me wonder if they were wrong. Until, inevitably, I realized that maybe they weren’t.
“Little Bear?” Emaly asks quietly. “Are you still there?”
I wet my lips and turn onto Winter’s street. I know now where her apartment is and don’t see any lights on through the far window. But she could still be there, sitting in the darkness and worried that someone with a long camera is waiting for her out here.
I grip the steering wheel, hating that I brought that into her life. “Yes,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m still here.”
She takes a deep breath. “I think it’s time.”
I’m still staring at the window when I register those words and frown. “Time for what?”
“Time to end this.”
I sit back against my seat. “There’s no point.”
“When it comes to love,” she counters, “there is always a point.”
And then she tells me she loves me and hangs up the phone.
I don’t call her back.
