Authors: Charlotte Stein
Beyond Repair (18 page)
“That’s why I was asking, honey. That’s why I’m asking you
all of this. I’m not questioning how you came to be here…I’m wondering how you
managed
it. How did you…how did you get down the steps of your porch? How did you drive—you
gotta be terrified of driving. I would be fucking terrified.”
“I
am
terrified. I was terrified.”
“But you did it anyway?”
“I did it anyway.”
“And you did it because…”
“I did it because I don’t want to be like this anymore. I
did it because I want to be alive and in the world, not frightened and hiding
from it. And finally I did it because I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I…I
didn’t mean to make you think you’d hurt me. I really wish you didn’t think
you’d hurt me. I just hurt myself, that’s all. I always—”
He didn’t even wait for her to finish. She was only halfway
through her big speech on how much he meant to her and how foolish she was when
he took two big steps to her and just hauled her right into an embrace. Not
even an embrace, really. It was more like a huge, desperate bear hug that
pushed all the air out of her.
But she gladly sacrificed it. She would have sacrificed
nearly anything to feel that stroking, soothing hand on the nape of her neck,
and the tight, tight way he pressed the side of his face to the top of her
head. It was so full of relief and love and everything good, and once he was
done with that part he led her over to a crop of stones so that she could sit.
He knew she needed to sit.
Probably because he’d already heard what he was about to
say, in a tone so tender it was nearly unbearable. “You don’t have to be sorry,
love,” he said, as he stroked hair away from her face and took her hand in his
and all the other lovely things. Oh, he always made it so easy, so easy.
Did he know how easy it was with him?
She didn’t think he did, judging by his next words.
“Please don’t think you have to be sorry. It was all my
mistake. I was just shocked, I should have handled it better. I’ve handled it
better a thousand times in my head—with gentle questions and respect for
boundaries,” he said, while she tried desperately to come up with a way to
explain. To make him understand that he already did those things. She hoped at
least that it was in her eyes, even if she didn’t quite get it out in the
following bunch of jumbled sentences.
“You
always
respect my boundaries. It’s just that my
boundaries are really fraught and surrounded by tigers with lasers for eyes and
there’s probably a moat filled with lava and lots of unexpected scorpions
springing out of the ground.”
“Yeah, the scorpions did kind of take me by surprise.”
“You could never have prepared for scorpions.”
“It’s true, I couldn’t. But even so…I don’t know why I
yelled. I feel like I yelled at you,” he said, because he was an idiot. He was
such an idiot. He was almost as much of an idiot as she was, in the
inventing-things-that-didn’t-happen department.
“You didn’t yell at me. I yelled at you and you just had to
get louder to be heard,” she said, though she could tell he still didn’t get
it. He wasn’t seeing all the love she could feel just pouring right out of her
body—he kept turning away and shaking his head and rolling his eyes over what a
fool he’d been.
“Stop absolving me of everything. I did some stupid stuff.”
“Name one truly stupid thing you did,” she said, but only
because she was sure he wouldn’t be able to come up with one. It threw her a
little, when he did.
“I shouldn’t have thought you meant
go forever
,” he
told her, and yeah, okay, he had a small point there. He probably knew her
enough to know that she’d just been scared and lashing out, rather than
serious. Yet still, she couldn’t quite accept the blame he seemed to be
levelling at himself.
“In your defense, it did kind of sound like I meant never
darken my door again.”
“Well, what about the interview? I said live on national
television that I thought I’d hurt you. You can’t say that was a good idea.”
“Even though it’s partly responsible for getting me here?”
“
Especially
because it’s partly responsible for
getting you here. You could have careened off the edge of a cliff. Do you even
remember how to drive? When was the last time you actually did it? I can’t
believe you even have a car that works and had gas in it, I…Christ.” He
stopped, even more frustrated than he’d seemed before. And after a second of
tutting at himself he explained why. “Sorry, I’m doing the thing. I’m doing the
caring thing that you fucking hate. Five minutes in and I’m doing it.”
“Don’t say that. I don’t hate you caring.”
She squeezed his hand, but it didn’t seem to make a
difference. He was still wrestling with some invisible problem. She could
practically see its hands around his throat, as he did everything he could to
fight back. He forced out words—words that he clearly felt were clumsy—stumbling
and fumbling over most of them until she could hardly stand it. It was as if he
were doing this in the dark.
He was being attacked by it in the dark.
“You know what I mean. I don’t mean caring, I mean…making
you into a victim who can’t even drive a fucking car,” he said, and there it
was as plain as day. That look on his face like someone searching blindly for
something in the pitch black. He had no idea he’d already found it.
She had to show him he’d already found it.
“Stop, stop, this is…unbearable. I don’t want you to have to
struggle like this to think of the right thing to say. Can’t we just…can’t we
just go back to how we were at the beginning? Can’t we just watch movies and
eat garbage and do all the sex?” she asked, and for a second she was hopeful.
He looked at her at least, instead of staring off at some unfathomable thing
that could never be solved. And when he did, his eyes were full of that warmth—that
good, familiar warmth.
He even stroked her cheek with the curl of one finger.
But when he spoke, his voice was sad and wistful.
“The weird thing is…I should want that. But I don’t. I want
to
know
you. I want to know all of you…not just the parts that are easy
and fun. You were okay with the not-easy and not-fun parts of me, when we first
met. You didn’t mind reviving someone who’d tried to kill himself—because I did
try. Maybe a little halfheartedly, but that was there in me. And you didn’t
want that to go away. You kept asking, kept checking, kept bringing me back to
life. Why shouldn’t I struggle a little to do the same for you? Why shouldn’t I
want to find the right words?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.”
She did know. She just couldn’t speak for the rising emotion
in her throat and the sting behind her eyes. He wanted to know her. Even after
all that mess, he still wanted to know her. He wasn’t searching for the right
solution—he was asking for permission to try. He was asking to go out into the
darkness, as though the darkness were something a person might want to make
their way into.
And though that sounded crazy in her head, it was less so
when he actually said it.
“One of the biggest lies out there is the one that says you
have to be whole to be loved—that if you’re not it’s a miracle anyone would.
But my love for you is not some flimsy miracle based on whether you’re okay or
not. Love is something you deserve. More than anything, Enid, you deserve love.
You deserve it so much I sometimes ache to give it to you.”
She didn’t know what to feel first—amazement and joy that he
could say something so beautiful, or despair that her first instinct was to
shake it off. It almost broke her in two to do it, but she had to. He had to
know completely, if this was really going to work. He had to see just how
beyond repair she was, no matter how much it hurt to say. Oh God, it hurt to
say.
She almost couldn’t get the words out, around the glut of
tears. Her voice was high and strained and full of pain.
“I don’t know if I do, though. I don’t know if I do deserve
it. Why am I the one who deserves it? Other people would have done better than
me with this life. They wouldn’t tell a movie star to go away. They wouldn’t
pretend they’re happy with nothing. They’d live their lives to the fullest, I
know they would. But they’re gone, and I’m here, and that just doesn’t seem
fair. I want them to have more than that. I just want to give…I want to help…I
want—”
He stopped her there, though not with his tone. He spoke so
quietly she could hardly hear him, but hardly was enough. If anything,
hardly
made it more devastating—as if he didn’t need any extra emphasis. The point was
clear and obvious all on its own.
“It isn’t the people who died who need something, honey,” he
said, while inside her the music reached some terrible crescendo. “It’s the one
who survived.”
She didn’t know what she was saying, after that. The words
just tumbled out in a way they never had for her first shrink or her second
shrink or the man from the airline who’d tried to counsel her right out of the
millions of dollars they’d eventually handed over. She’d never been able to say
it—not even to herself.
But it came out now.
It came out like someone screaming at the sky.
“I just wish I’d held on tighter to her hand.”
“Like you’re holding on to me now?”
“Yes, yes. God, yes just like this,” she said, because there
was something about it that seemed the same, even though they were safe. There
was always a chance after all, that everything could fall apart. That she might
lose her grip again.
And she knew he could see that too.
“Can you feel the fire raging?” he asked, and when she
closed her eyes she could. She could see the flames rolling along the ceiling,
as though a dragon had breathed down the body of the plane.
“You know I can.”
“And you’re falling, and everything is going so fast,
everything is so loud, everyone is screaming,” he said, as though he’d been
there with her.
He was there with her.
“Oh God, they are.”
“And what are you doing, Enid? Tell me what you’re doing.”
“I’m holding on,” she said, and somehow it was true. His
hand was in hers and she was squeezing so tightly, so tightly as the plane
inside her went down. The fire roared and the metal screeched and the people
fluttered away like pieces of paper into the vast blue beyond, but she hung on.
She saw his face, and knew she could hang on. “I won’t let go. I swear I won’t
let go,” she said.
And he told her the only thing she’d ever needed to hear.
“I know.”
Charlotte Stein has been writing for over ten years, and
perving on hot dudes for even longer than that. However, it’s only recently
that she’s had the courage to pair the two together and pen some critically
acclaimed, steamy-hot erotic romances. She lives in Brit-land with her very own
hunk of manbeef, and their imaginary dog.
You can find her at
http://www.themightycharlottestein.blogspot.com, usually in the middle of
rambling about nonsense, squee-ing over her totally unexpected life as a
writer, and generally lusting after seriously sexy men.
Charlotte welcomes comments from readers. You can find her
website and email addresses on her
author
bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
.
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Beyond Repair
ISBN 9781419991141
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Beyond Repair Copyright © 2014 Charlotte Stein
Edited by Grace Bradley
Cover design by Victoria & Syneca
Cover photography by JeffThrower/shutterstock.com
Electronic book publication April 2014
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