Near and Far
Page 39

My immediate answer was one thing, my non-selfish answer the other. After going back and forth a few times, I decided I wasn’t in the right state of mind to make that decision. Of course I wanted to spend my life with Jesse—I’d never known life could feel so big and hopeful before experiencing it with him at my side—but after witnessing the damage I’d done to him after my mega “fuck up,” I was pretty sure if I had to witness those expressions on his face again, it would kill me.
Apparently my deliberation was taking too long for the impatient person hovering above me because she let out an exaggerated sigh, snagged my phone off the counter, and tossed it in front of me. “Why don’t you call him already? Apologize, help him work through whatever shit he’s going through, then get back to being the cutest, most nauseating couple on the planet.”
“I can’t,” I replied, staring at my phone.
“Bok, bok, bok,” was her intelligent reply.
“Alex . . .”
She grabbed her backpack from the counter and made her way to the door, wagging her elbows and repeating, “Bok, bok, bok.” After another dozen boks, she finally closed the door.
Alex’s words and encouragement were making me weak. Or were they making me strong? At that stage, it was hard to tell. I couldn’t stop staring at my phone, but I managed to keep from grabbing it and speed dialing Jesse.
My cereal was soggy when the will to call him finally tipped the scales on the will not to. My arm snapped toward my phone, and right then, my phone buzzed.
Other than Jax, who I’d ignored, and Alex, who I’d tried to ignore, I hadn’t had many calls the past few days. I held my breath, hoping Jesse was calling to announce his need for space was over. The number wasn’t his, but it was almost as familiar.
“Rose?” My heart leapt into my throat before she said a word. I felt the tension on the line.
“Rowen, it’s Jesse. Something’s wrong,” she said in a rushed voice. “Can you come to Willow Springs? Please?”
I was halfway to the door when I replied. “I’m coming.”
Chapter Twenty-One
I BROKE.
I knew that with absolute certainty because it had happened before. It might have been years since I’d lost my grip on reality, but I’d never forget the way it felt. Feeling like I was holding on by my fingertips, then just barely by my nails, before falling. I fell for so long, I lost track of how long I’d been lost. It was an inexplicable feeling, and the only thing I was more sure of than I broke was my desire to never experience it again.
Given I’d been certain that part of my life was long behind me, but it had managed to creep up and surprise me, I wasn’t confident it wouldn’t happen again. That was paralyzing. I knew the person I’d been before all of it started, how strong and sure I’d been, and it took all of a month to revert back to the boy I’d been years ago.
I knew control was an illusion. I’d known that for a long time. However, I also knew control was an illusion I could manipulate. I’d been manipulating it for over a decade. I might not have been able to control the people, circumstances, and environment around me, but I could control myself. If that was the only thing I could control, then I’d take it. That was infinitely better than claiming no control in one’s life. I couldn’t control what happened around me, but I could control what happened within me.
Or . . . I had been able to control what happened within me.
After that sober version of a major bender, I couldn’t even say that. I had about as much power over myself as I did the rest of the world: none. If I couldn’t control myself, I wasn’t safe to be around, especially not when I could spiral downward so rapidly. It would be one thing if my span from good to bad was a few clipped words and a night to wake up and feel better in the morning. It was something different when my good to bad was here I am one day, gone the next.
It was too extreme. Too intense. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt the next time it happened.
After Garth shot the yearling, I remember about one minute of consciousness, and the rest is a big blank. That night, those wolves, and that yearling had been the proverbial straw that broke my back. Everything had been building up, and when I had to watch an animal I felt a connection with suffer before dying . . . Well, I lost my grip on that ledge I’d been clinging to and fell into the blackness that had been waiting for me for weeks.
I remember feeling like everything I cared about was slowly slipping away, Rowen especially. What I realized when I came out of it was that those things I held dear weren’t slipping away from me.
I was slipping away from them.
Maybe it had been my way of protecting them from the storm I felt coming, or maybe it was something totally out of my control, but despite being conflicted about it, I knew one thing: I was relieved it had happened. I didn’t want Rowen in the same state as me. Not until I figured out what was happening, why it had happened, and if it could be prevented in the future.
I could imagine only one thing worse than losing her forever, and that was hurting her. I’d take myself totally out of the equation if I couldn’t be certain I wouldn’t hurt her. In any way.
My break from reality could have been worse, I guess. After jerking awake that morning, feeling like I had the hangover to end all hangovers, I fumbled for my phone and saw I’d only been out a day. After sitting up in bed and looking out my window to see the sun just rising, I realized it hadn’t even been a full twelve hours.
But from the look on Mom’s face when she came in to check on me . . . I would have thought I’d died and been resurrected. She was still hugging me when Dad and my sisters came in. She was finally thinking about letting me go when Garth and Josie popped their heads in.
What I’d gathered from the party camped outside my door all night was that I’d blacked out and Garth pretty much had to manhandle me up onto Rebel in order to get me back to Willow Springs. Garth left out most of the details, to spare me or my family I wasn’t sure, but I was thankful regardless.
After about five minutes of everyone firing question after question at me, I felt like I was suffocating. I asked everyone if they’d leave, using the need for sleep as my excuse, and everyone agreed. Mom was the last to leave. Looking at me with that meaningful expression I’d seen on her face so many times, she said, “That was just one bad day out of the thousands of good ones you’ve lived, Jesse. One weak day to countless days of strength. Don’t let one day set the backdrop for the rest of your life.”
Something told me she was right, but something else told me she wasn’t. Comparing bad days to good days was like comparing apples to oranges. I couldn’t justify having one bad day with having a thousand good ones. They were inherently different things. My concern wasn’t the bad days outweighing the good days. My concern was the bad days taking over. If that was a trend I could expect in my future, the good days of the past were a moot point. Try telling a starving person to focus on the fullest their stomach had ever been. Mom’s words felt about as encouraging in that moment.
The rest of the day passed in silence. No one knocked at my door, although I lost count of how many times I heard a pair of footsteps stop outside my door for a few seconds before walking away quietly. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. All I could do was think. I thought until my brain felt like it was about to liquefy.
I pushed the thoughts of my childhood and the woman who’d given birth to me aside. I knew from experience that no amount of thinking could make sense of what had happened to me back then. I didn’t want to think about the past month either. I’d thought about the torment of my dreams and worries for so long those last weeks that I couldn’t do it anymore.
So I thought about Rowen. What it meant for us. What my past meant for our future. If we could have a future at all. And the question that stopped, sped up, and broke my heart every time I asked myself it.
What was best for Rowen?
I could no longer say that I was it. If I stepped back and looked at her life in a neutral light, I couldn’t say with certainty that I wouldn’t hinder her from living the life she wanted to. As a college freshman, she was already creating what was sure to be a promising career. She’d managed to bust free from the weight of her past to get on with her life. She’d grown, evolved, and was setting the world on fire.
I, on the other hand, was digressing, shrinking, and setting myself on fire.
One year and everything had changed. Everything but the way I felt about her, and that was why I would make the right choice when it came to the hard question. The love I had for her made the decision easy. I was reaching for my phone, about to make the call I couldn’t put off, when I heard her voice. Double-checking my phone to make sure I hadn’t dialed her yet, I heard her voice again. Getting closer.
I dropped my phone and barely had a chance to stand up from where I’d been camped out on the floor of my bedroom before the door flew open. No knock, no greeting, no words at all. Rowen rushed toward me and threw herself in my arms, almost knocking me off balance.
My arms formed like vices around her as I tucked her head under my chin. For those few minutes when Rowen held onto me and I held onto her, my whole world brightened. Everything didn’t seem so gloomy and unsure. Life didn’t seem so irrevocably screwed up. I was hopeful again.
But I wasn’t a fool enough to believe that feeling could last. It didn’t, either. Once I noticed how incredibly fragile she felt. Once I felt her shudder from keeping her tears contained. Once I saw how devastated she was, thanks to me, the moment of brightness was eclipsed.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered into her hair. I knew I needed to let her go, I needed to set her free, but I couldn’t execute it quite yet.
“Your mom called me. Then I called Garth. Then I borrowed Alex’s car. Now I’m here.” Her fingers curled into my shirt like she was afraid I was about to be ripped away from her.
“Why did you come all this way? You’re missing school. You’re missing your . . . life . . . in Seattle.” I paused, having to clear my throat. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t, Jesse. Please don’t.” The last time I’d attempted to placate her with the I’m fine routine, she’d said those exact same words with so much conviction she had made me a believer. Now, her voice was so small I had to lean in to hear her words. “Garth told me what happened. All of it. I’m sorry, Jesse. I can’t imagine dealing with the things you’ve gone through this month, but even if I can’t know exactly, I know enough that it doesn’t make a person fine. Devastated, sure. Depressed, hell yes. But fine . . . I don’t think so. Please don’t try to sell me on it again.”
I sighed. To be known intimately the way Rowen knew me was one of the few special things life allowed us. Right then, though, it only made things harder.
“How are you really, Jesse?”
I wanted to be honest with her. I’d made that a priority from the beginning of our relationship, and I didn’t want to lose that. “I don’t know. I’m not sure.”