Wilder is sitting on a tall stool, guitar laid over his lap as he bends to write on a piece of paper on the island counter. He scribbles for a moment, and then pushes the pen behind his ear, returning to the guitar and starting the music that I'd heard when I entered.
He closes his eyes, and his fingers move quickly over the strings. Sound pours off the instrument, and even though I hear it, it’s somehow silent in my head at the same time. Something divides inside of me, peeling apart. Half of me stays here in the moment watching him, and the other half retreats, pulling deeper and deeper into myself, trying to hide.
No. Gods, no. Please.
Wilder opens his mouth and begins to sing, and at the sound of his deep, raspy voice, the dizziness implodes and I don’t know which way is up or down or in or out. I don’t even know if there’s still a world beneath my feet.
There was a moment when you laughed and your eyes met mine
Your cheeks were flushed, eyes bright from the wine
That’s when I felt it start, not quite a twist in the heart
But a step, a leap, over some imaginary line
Is this how it feels to fall?
Not so complicated after all.
I expected a tempest. Relentless. Maybe even senseless.
Is this how it feels to fall?
Inevitable. Immeasurable. Unforgettable.
But born in a moment so small.
The music picks up speed, and I swear I can feel every pluck of the string like a whip against my skin. I flush cold and then hot, and my insides feel like they’re being wrung out, twisted and pulled inside by some imaginary grip.
“It’s been nearly a year since he’s played,” his mother whispers to me. “He had a band and everything. I told him he didn’t have to give it up for us, but he wouldn’t listen. He was working so hard to care for Gwen and me. I only wanted him off the road. I didn’t want him to give up music completely.”
I lose all my words when I’m with you
It might frighten you baby, if you knew
How you own my heart, have from the very start
And it’s yours til time is through
Is this how it feels to fall?
Not so complicated after all.
I expected a tempest. Relentless. Maybe even senseless.
Is this how it feels to fall?
Inevitable. Immeasurable. Unforgettable.
But still so small.
“It’s you,” his mother continues, unaware that I’ve forgotten how to breathe, how to speak, how to do anything but stand here and listen to my heart break between gentle thrums. “He’s been so different since his father’s arrest. He was here and supportive and wonderful, but there was always something a little hollow in him. I thought it was the music. But he’s been different since you came along. I’ve never seen him as happy as he is with you. He’s become stronger and more vibrant these past few weeks, like you’ve opened his eyes to a whole new world, and he’s finally learning to move on. He loves you.” Her hand touches my shoulder and slides over my back as she pulls me into a hug. “Both my children love you.”
I should be rejoicing at her worlds, at her acceptance of me (especially considering how we first met), but the weight of the moment slams into me, pressing down on my shoulders. Everything about my time with Wilder that lifted me up—the love, the joy, the hope—those things turn to stone. And I want to them to crush me, want to die beneath them because I don’t know how to live with this.
His mom is still talking. Her mouth is moving, and so is Wilder’s, and I want to hit pause. I want to stop and rewind. I want to never know this about him. I want to never … gods, I want—I want—
I want everything to stop.
“I’m going to be sick.”
I don’t know how I move, but I do. It feels like I should have to learn how to walk all over again. Like my body should be as crippled as I feel. I don’t understand how gravity still exists, and the sun is still in the sky, or how my heart is still beating.
How is my heart still beating?
I throw open the bathroom door and dive to my knees moments before my stomach convulses. Everything is stripped out of me then. Not just from my stomach, but from all of me. I lose my hope in that bathroom. My faith. My future.
This is what it is to die.
Maybe not in body, but in spirit.
“Kalli?”
Oh gods, please no. Please don’t do this to me.
I don’t realize I’m sobbing until he kneels beside me and says, “Sssh, sweetheart. It’s okay.” Then I hear it, the awful noise coming from my chest, and finally something in this world matches how I feel. His hand touches my back, and I throw myself sideways, slamming into the hard porcelain of the tub. I don’t feel the pain. I’ve got too much of that already in me.
“Kalli? What’s wrong?”
“Don’t touch me.” The words break up as they leave my mouth, sprinkled between gasps and sobs. I cannot let him touch me. All this time, I thought I had it under control. I thought I was keeping him safe.
“Kalli, you’re shaking. What’s wrong? Does something hurt? Mom, call 911.”
“No!” I have to get out of here. I have to get far away from Wilder. From his family. I climb to my feet, and he’s right. I am shaking.
“I need outside. I need air.”
I flinch away from first Wilder, then his mother as they try to help me.
Out in the hallway, I nearly run into Gwen. She’s combing out her wet hair, and she looks up at me with wide, confused eyes.
I can’t do this. I can’t.
I ignore her when she calls my name, pushing through the pain to tell myself to walk, just keep walking. Get to your car, and you can leave. You can drive and keep driving.
I stumble over the stairs leading down from the porch, and I hear Wilder shout as I barely manage to stay on my feet. Once I start running, it doesn’t seem so hard. In fact, it makes it easier to breathe. So I run down the sidewalk, through the parking lot, and to my car. I throw the thing into drive, and slam on the gas.
Just keep running.
And if I look in the rearview mirror and see Wilder jogging after me, I don’t let myself acknowledge it. I scream to fill up the small cab with sound so I don’t have to hear him yelling. But I keep screaming long after I’m out of the parking lot, out of their neighborhood, out of the city. I scream until my throat is too raw to make a sound.
PART FOUR
“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.”
Oscar Wilde
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kalli
Three months later