I just hoped that by the time my surprise happened, he would be receptive and not angry that I’d overstepped my boundaries.
“Whiskey.” Wes pointed us toward the door. “It’s time for whiskey.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
If God meant for us to carry baggage around, he would have made our skin have little pouches like kangaroos. Or maybe he would have just made it so that each and every one of us were born with huge- ass shoulders to carry the load. Clearly, we weren’t made to carry the weight of the world, kinda makes you wonder why we do it anyway, huh? —Wes M.
Gabe
For the first time since Wes punched me, I drank. I didn’t drink a ton, because I wasn’t optimistic that my body would actually forget the trauma of that day, let alone my mind.
When Wes drove the car toward the dorms I asked him to turn around and drive me to the house instead.
Saylor offered to stay with me.
I turned her down.
Not because I didn’t want company, but because I knew I was in bad shape. I was a bit buzzed, emotionally distraught, and she just looked so damn pretty that I knew I’d make a giant ass out of myself and either try to seduce her in order to feel better, or end up weeping on her shoulder. Maybe both.
At this point, it was a toss-up.
I still felt pissed. I still felt angry, but that’s the thing about feelings. They don’t have to force you to make choices you know may sound good at night but ruin you come morning.
So I went to bed — by myself.
I punched my pillow a few times, letting the alcohol soothe my nerves as I closed my eyes. Sleep. Sleep would cure everything. With a sigh, I let myself fall off the ledge into a deep slumber.
I would have followed her anywhere.
It’s funny isn’t it? People claim to know what love is — yet the minute they’re given the opportunity to prove it — they bail.
I wish I could have bailed. I wish I could have walked away four years ago, then maybe I’d have the strength to walk away now. To look her in the eyes and say, “Sorry, but I can’t do this again.”
People rarely mean what they say. To me, sorry was just another word in the English language that people misused, just like love.
I love ice cream, I love pancakes, I love the color blue — bullshit, because when I said love — I meant I bled for you. When the word love actually leaves my lips — I’m speaking it into existence. I’m empowering my soul — I’m joining with yours.
I’d always heard about crossroads, how people are given choices in their lives, choices that either make or break them. I never realized that I’d be given that second chance. I never realized I’d fail to take it.
Her eyes pleaded with mine. My heart shattered in my chest, my lips moved to speak — to say anything to get her to understand the depth of what I was feeling, but I knew the minute I told her how I felt — it would be all over with.
My heart, my soul, it couldn’t survive anything happening to her. If she wasn’t in my world, my heart would stop. I knew it was killing her — because it was destroying me.
But going back to that life.
Even for her.
Was out of the question.
Falling in love, jumping out, even knowing full well that she’d catch me. It wasn’t an option. Because everyone knows, when it comes to love, it’s not the fall that hurts… it’s the landing. And I knew it was only matter of time before she gave up on me too and allowed me to break.
Because in the end… that’s all I was — broken. A shell of a human.
“I don’t understand!” She beat against my chest with her fists, “You promised me! You promised you’d never leave!” Tears streamed down her face, the face I used to love. I closed my eyes then looked behind me as Saylor clenched the keys in her hand, waiting for my decision.
I was at a crossroads all right. One path led to my future — the other to my past and utter self destruction.
I couldn’t look at her. I ignored every thread of feeling — and relished the pain of my heart breaking into a million pieces as I held out my hand in front of me, “You’re right, I promised.”
“Gabe!” Saylor yelled from behind me. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“Don’t you see?” I said quietly without turning around. “It’s always been like this. It will always be like this. I warned you.”
“But—”
“Enough.” I yelled, tears threatening to stream down my face. “I said enough. You should go.”
I heard the door slam behind me.
“It’s okay!” she said, cupping my face. “It will finally be okay!”
“Alright, Princess.” I choked on the word. “Alright.” I tightened the pink scarf around her neck and put my arm around her.
“Thanks.” She sighed happily. “You always promised you’d take care of me. You can’t leave. You can’t—”
“I won’t,” I vowed, because it was my fault. Just like everything else.
“Can we go play now, Gabe?”
“Yeah, sweetheart, we can.” I folded the blanket around her legs and pushed her wheelchair out of the room, knowing full well that I was choosing the wrong path — with every step I took.
I jerked awake in a cold wet sweat. It wasn’t real. It was just a dream, but why did it feel so real? I really did believe all those things.
Sick to my stomach, I barely made it to the bathroom before I lost my dinner and those four shots Wes had fed me.
As the water flushed down the toilet, taking the remnants of Wes’s good idea with it, I grabbed a towel and wiped my face, then sank down onto the cold tile.
I missed Saylor.
I also missed Princess.
I didn’t want my choosing Princess to make it so that Saylor left me. How selfish could I be? I wanted both? Did I even deserve both? I knew I didn’t, but that didn’t make me want her any less. It didn’t make the cravings for her kiss, for her touch, go away.
“Damn.” I wiped my face again, stripped off my soaked clothes, and jumped into the shower. I’d only gotten six hours of sleep, but at least I’d slept.
Today was the day I had to decide whether or not to call hospice, and I still wasn’t sure what I was going to do.
After my shower, I walked numbly across the cold slate floors that led into the kitchen.
The sun was just starting to peek over the city.
It was beautiful — I wished Saylor could be there to watch the sunrise with me. I wished so badly that I was whole for her.