Finding Me (28 page)

Releasing my grip, I work to extricate my hand without interrupting their moment, but Sarah’s hand clamps onto mine before I can pull away.

“Please don’t go,” she begs as a fresh set of tears roll down both of our cheeks.

I nod and return to where I was standing moments ago.

Due to the bars closing, a new crowd of patients are brought in. We stand and wait for what feels like days. Sarah cries and grieves, vocalizing her concerns that she may have caused the tragedy.

“No.” The word is firm and sounds much stronger than I feel as I take a step closer to her, stopping her words and thoughts from being completed. Sometimes words need to be said aloud to accept them and clear your conscience; other ones should never be spoken, because once they’re out, they can never be erased. “You didn’t do this. It wasn’t your fault. You did nothing wrong.
Nothing
.”

Hank gallantly stops her when she starts fretting about things and how they’ll tell their boys. Her mind’s locked on to thoughts of loss and sadness, and I’m grateful again that Hank is here, because my own thoughts barrel down the same path, and I don’t know that I can stop them. A movement out of the corner of my eye draws my attention to Max leaning against the far wall, staring at me. He’s been here the entire time, standing silent as a shadow.

When Sarah starts to cry so hard her words are indiscernible I have to look away, not just because of her obvious pain, but also from seeing the amount of love that Hank responds with. It is evident in the conviction of his words and it’s etched across every feature of his face, but the way his upper body curves over her, shielding and supporting her from what can be a very cruel world, leaves me no doubts of his love.

A doctor finally appears and begins discussing what we already know: Sarah had a miscarriage. He goes on to explain the need to test her hormone levels over the next few weeks to ensure that they return to normal and what to expect.

As the doctor wraps up, I quietly excuse myself, desperate to get away for a moment to try and clear the memories from my mind.

I walk down an empty hall outside of the ER with my arms raised, both palms resting on the top of my head as I soundlessly place one foot in front of the other.

I find a vending machine with a small bank of chairs and wander over to them. Resting my back against the wall so I’m between the chairs and the vending machine, I slowly sink to tiled floor with my knees pressed tightly against my chest. My eyes squeeze shut and I cover them with the heels of my hands.

Thoughts flood my mind, the same thoughts that have been haunting me all year: What would my life be like right now if I hadn’t run? If my dad hadn’t died? Where would I be? What would my relationship with my mom be like? All of the thoughts and images that I work tirelessly to stifle hurt individually, yet they hurt even more together because they all keep ending at the same point tonight, reminding me of Kitty because we’ve discussed each of these hurdles with some level of detail.

Lost in thought, I jump when a hand rests on my knee.

“Why don’t we go home? You need to get some rest.” Max is squatted down in front of me, looking as tired as I feel. “They just released Sarah. She wanted me to thank you. Hank’s taking her to our mom’s so she can be with the boys.”

“She’s gone?” I stand up, nearly knocking Max over in the process. I’ve failed her.

“Let’s go home,” he repeats.

We set off down the long hall that I had wandered down. Max places his hand on my lower back as we approach an intersection of hallways. I don’t verbalize my objection. Instead, I take a few steps to increase the gap between us as we continue toward the waiting room.

“I didn’t figure Kendall would mind if they borrowed her car to drive back to the house to get their rig,” Max says.

She wouldn’t of course, but this news sets me into a panic that I don’t have the energy to fight.

When we reach the doors to the parking lot, the air is filled with a damp mist, and I slow my steps to allow Max to lead me to where he parked. His hand brushes against me again, making my body go rigid.

“Don’t touch me!” I hiss in warning, pulling away and glaring at his offending hand.

“Ace…”

“No, Max!” I cry, shaking my head in frustration.

He surrenders with a heavy sigh, and I wait for him to walk a few paces before following him.

Although my arms and legs are covered in goose bumps, I roll down the passenger window. I need the fresh air and small allowance of additional space.

When he pulls into the driveway, I wait for him to get out and unlock the door before I follow. I need to create a physical barrier between us right now because my emotions feel so raw and overpowering, I’m concerned I won’t be able to suppress them, and I don’t know what that will entail. I don’t know if I will scream, or throw things, or what. I’ve never lost control, at least not with pain and anger. I’ve lost control in love before—Max had evoked those feelings from me—and tonight, I fear he may be my undoing, and I’m not ready for it.

Max either understands my need to be alone, or is in need of his own solitude and goes straight up the stairs to his room. The isolation triggers something inside of me that has me gripping my cell phone and heading to the backyard with determination in each of my steps. As much as I want to be alone right now, I don’t want to be alone with myself.

The phone rings four times before she answers in a hoarse, sleep-ridden voice.

“Are you dying?” I demand.

“Harper?” Kitty asks.

“Answer me. Are. You. Dying?” The words come out spaced, not because I’m trying to emphasize them, but because I can’t lace them all together again.

“Yes, Harper, I’m dying.”

“Why?” I whisper as my body tingles with chills, and tears fill my eyes before instantly running over my lower lids.

“Why is another person that you care for leaving you?”

I don’t respond. My throat feels so constricted that I don’t think I physically can.

“The only inevitable fact of life is that we’re going to die. If they don’t leave us, we leave them. It’s reality.”

I hate her words more than anything I’ve ever heard.

I hang up.

I don’t know how long I’ve been on my hands and knees, scrubbing the bathroom tile when Max grabs my wrist. My hands feel slimy and raw from repeatedly dunking them in the bleach, and my lungs ache from the stench.

“It’s clean,” he says as I pull my hand from his.

“It’s clean!” he repeats, grabbing my arm again. His voice is calm and filled with concern, and for some reason it only makes anger replace my pain.

“I’m not done.” I try to pull away again, but this time his grasp tightens.

“You’re done.” He grabs the sponge from my hand and drops it into the bucket of bleach with a splash.

Scowling, I turn my back to him and move to grab the sponge again. His arm wraps around my middle and lifts me, pulling me from the bathroom.

“Stop it, Max!” I yell, thrashing until he releases me. “I don’t want you to touch me!” I shove against his chest with both hands to free myself from where he has me pinned against the wall.

Rather than it creating space, he takes a step closer to me and grabs both of my wrists and holds them at my sides. “Talk to me,” he demands, his voice still calm. Too calm.

I stare at him defiantly, waiting for him to release his grip and let me go. I know that it’s useless to fight against him. There’s no way I’ll win.

“Ace, talk to me.”

“I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity when someone cares about you.”

“YOU DON’T CARE!” I scream. Tears of anger and sadness escape my eyes in thick streams. “You don’t care,” I repeat, staring at his face through the blurriness of my tears.

“You’re the one that left, not me.”

“You hated me until my dad died.”

“You left me, Ace. You got scared and left me in the middle of the fucking night. I didn’t hate you. I needed to know what was going on! What was I supposed to do?”

“I wasn’t leaving you, Max! I was freaked out. I was twenty and you were talking about us moving in together, and all I could see was my future becoming what someone else expected of me. I felt like I was going to fail you. What was I supposed to do?”

“I wanted you to work for us!”

“I did, Max! Every day I worked for us! I gave you my freaking virginity!”

“You gave me your virginity!” Max repeats with a dark chuckle. “I gave you my fucking heart! You didn’t break me when you left—you destroyed me.”

“You gift wrapped your heart six months later for another girl,” I snap.

“What did you expect me to do? You moved across the country! You met someone new.”

“You let me go!” With each word, my volume lessens until it’s nearly a whisper, my tears coming in thicker streams. I’m crying so hard, I’m not sure what Max’s reaction is to my outburst. I’m still attempting to process the revelation myself.

As my body begins to slide down the wall, I feel his arms encircle me, and I welcome the comfort, crying a million tears for what we had, and what we both let go of.

I continue mourning as he holds me on the couch. I hear the soft rumble of his words that are imperceptible over my own grieving. Occasionally, my crying dissipates, and then a new wave hits me, and I cry for Sarah losing her unborn child and for Kitty being sick. I cry about loving Max and not being able to let him go, and for my father dying and not grieving properly when he did. I cry again for the pain that I’ve caused my friends and family, and the relationship that I now have with my mom. Each time a new wave of tears racks my shoulders, Max holds me a little tighter.

When I wake up, the clock on the cable box informs me it’s just before noon. I don’t know what time I finally fell asleep, but I know it wasn’t long ago, and my head aches with the excruciating pain that comes after you sob as I had.

I look over to see Max asleep on the longer side of the sectional, looking peaceful and content. I stare at him for a moment without the fear of being caught. His face has the shadow of stubble from not shaving for a couple of days, and his hair’s longer than I’ve ever seen it before, making him look slightly less intimidating. My eyes fall to his left hand and trace over the tattoo that’s just as apparent as it was the day we got them.
Hers
. The word feels like it’s mocking me.

I have to stand up to prevent myself from reaching out and following the contours of his cheekbones like I used to when he was mine and I had that right.

In the kitchen I fill a glass with tap water and rummage through the cabinet that I know they keep medicine in and find something to help with the throbbing in my temples.

The yearning to touch Max returns as I approach the couch and without reason or thought, I slide in beside him, pressing my chest to his.

Quiet murmurs stir me from my sleep, and I know from the giggle that one of the voices is Kendall. I yawn and nestle my face against my pillow, and realize with a jolt that it isn’t my pillow, but Max’s shoulder. My eyes fly open as I recall how I got myself into this compromising position. I remain perfectly still and work to devise a plan to sneak out unnoticed.

Max’s right arm is beneath me. His left, however, is draped around my waist and his hand currently rests on my right butt cheek. Max used to always intertwine our legs while we slept, usually securing his place by hooking his foot around my calf, just as it is currently.

I know Max is a fairly light sleeper, and therefore my chances of getting out undetected are low, but I have to try.

Slowly, I begin to pull my right leg out, causing him to stir nearly instantly when our bare skin pulls free from one another like removing a Band-Aid. In turn, Max tightens his grip on my backside, making me jump and his right arm to flex against my lower back, pulling me even closer to him.

I press my lips together, realizing what a dumb idea my dire need for closeness had been. I should have cuddled with Zeus. At least that wouldn’t have caused me to explain to my ex-boyfriend why he’s about to wake up with me glued to him.

I slowly crane my neck to see if I can see how our legs have repositioned and notice the cranberry colored throw covering part of our legs. I’d been using that blanket last night—on the other end of the couch.

My thoughts of this morning fire back in rapid succession as I retrace my steps and come up with the confident conclusion that I’d left the blanket on the far side of the couch. Meaning that at some point Max had woken up and retrieved it before returning to cuddle with me in this too-small space.

Rather than slowly, I quickly try to pull my leg free, expecting more resistance than what I’m met with, causing my weight to shift backward and reminding me that trying to avoid inevitable and awkward situations like this is useless.

A small scream followed by a rather loud thud caused from me hitting the floor alerts Max, and has his body shoots up from the couch.

“Are you okay?” he asks, looking down at where I’m sprawled on the floor.

I nod quickly and climb to my feet, feeling my cheeks heat. “I’m okay.”