Torture to Her Soul
Page 117

I wait, but he doesn't elaborate.
He offers no explanation.
"I don't understand."
Shaking his head, he looks away from me. "I'm not surprised."
My confusion runs deep, my worry only growing as he stares at his hands fisted in his lap. The silence is stifling. There's so much more to say. I know there is… I just don't know what.
What am I supposed to say?
Before I can come up with something, Naz stands. I think he's going to leave, that he's going to walk away, and his name is on my lips to stop him when instead he turns my way.
All that escapes is a gasp of surprise.
Naz drops to his knees. No, to a knee. Just one. Right there, beside the bed, completely naked in the darkness. The man gets on a single knee beside me. My thoughts are a hellacious blizzard I can't see through to get a grasp on my surroundings. I don't know where I stand. I feel like I'm floating, hovering, my feet no longer on the ground. Knocked on my ass by this man for the second time today.
"Naz," I say, my voice with a panicked edge to it. "Oh God, Naz, what are you…?"
"Just be quiet and let me do this, okay?"
"But—"
"Please, Karissa."
Please. The man said please.
That alone silences me.
"I've been thinking about doing this all day," he says. "All fucking day it's been pestering me. Should I do it? Should I not do it? I didn't know what was the right choice. I still don't know. But I can't think about it anymore. So I'm doing it, and hoping like hell you know the right choice, because I don't."
I'm speechless.
Fucking speechless.
Naz opens his hand, and in his palm is a ring. I can't see it in the darkness, not really, but I can tell it's modest, not at all like the ring he gave me once before. That ring was gaudy and extravagant. This ring looks nothing like what he'd choose.
It looks more like what I would.
"You threw away the last one I bought you," he says quietly. "I could buy a hundred more like it. A hundred more flashy diamonds, bigger, brighter, each ring more expensive, but it would mean nothing, because it would just be a ring. A ring I bought with money I earned doing things I'd never want to admit to you. I wouldn't marry me with a ring like that either. I wouldn't marry the kind of person that bought that kind of ring."
"Naz…"
"Just… don't."
I shut up again.
"So I went to my father," he continues, "and I asked him for the ring he used. He worked himself half to death saving up to buy it, and it took him years. Decades. I was a teenager by the time he could finally afford a real ring. And it was nothing, barely a carat, but it was a lot for them."
My stomach sinks. His mother's ring. Michelle Vitale died a few months ago, passed away unexpectedly in her sleep. I never got the chance to meet her, but I went to the funeral with Naz… and although he kept his distance, not going too close, never once approaching his father or participating in the services, I know it meant a lot to him that he could be there. That he got the chance to say goodbye.
He blames himself, though.
I know he does.
Death takes away everyone I love, he said to me that day. My only response was, I'm here to stay.
"I went to him, and asked him for this ring, because this ring means something. This ring was bought with money a man worked hard to earn, for a woman he loved more than anything. This ring is a sign of respect, and loyalty, and honesty. This is the kind of ring given by a man with integrity, a man like my father… a man, I realize, I was a fool for not wanting to be like. I asked him for it, and I expected him to say no, but he gave it to me. He gave it to me, and he said, 'if you do it, you gotta mean it, and it's gotta be right'. And I mean it… God knows, I mean it… but I don't know if it's right."
He stares at the ring for a moment before meeting my eyes.
"I'm not a good man," he says, "but I'm trying. I'm trying. I can't make you any promises of perfection. I can't promise I'll be what you deserve, or what you need, or even what you always want. All I can promise is that I'll love you until the day I die, and I'll spend every moment I'm alive trying for you."
He pauses, eyes studying my face.
"So I'm asking you to…" Shaking his head, he lets out a groan, backtracking. "Will you marry me, Karissa?"
He looks at me like he thinks I might say no.
Like he expects me to say no.
I should.
I know I should.
Rationally, I should reject him, run away from him, stay as far away from the man as I possibly can. But love is anything but rational. Love is ugly, and messy. Love makes no fucking sense. And I love him, as impossible as that may be.
I love him.
It's ridiculous.
But when I think about my life now, I can't imagine him not being in it. When I think about my future, I always picture him. This man is down on one knee, stark naked and vulnerable, and I could kick him while he's down, I could hurt him just a fraction of how he hurt me, but I would only regret it, because this, I think, is right. As wrong as it actually is, it still feels right to me.
"I will," I whisper. "I'll marry you."
Relief overcomes his expression as I hold out my hand. He slips the ring on, and it's slightly too big, but it feels like it belongs on my finger. Standing up, he leans toward me, hands on both sides of the bed beside me, as he smashes his lips to mine. He kisses me hard, kissing me deeply, climbing over top of me.