The Wrong Kind of Love

Reluctantly, the doctor leaves.

I sway slightly, and flinch when Jude moves to my side. “Tor. I think you should stay. Let them make sure that—”

“I’m sorry. About Caleb.” My voice catches, and I close my eyes, picturing Caleb’s face in those last moments. I know his death will haunt me for the rest of my life, and though I can’t offer Jude anything right now, I can give him this. The truth. “He tried to save me.” Because he was good, kind, and brave.

“Please, stop talking, Tor.”

Jude’s arms wrap around me. I don’t know if he’s comforting himself or me, but I allow him the moment. His hold feels safe, familiar, grounding.

“You’re all I have left,” he says.

And that might be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard, because I’m not worth having.

Chapter Jude

I guide Tor through the house, and when we walk past Caleb's room, she picks up her pace. I purposefully keep my eyes trained ahead of me, refusing to let my mind go there. I cannot drown in the shitty feeling trying to swallow me whole, because I can't take care of her if I do. My chest goes tight, and I tell myself I have to live in denial that Caleb is actually gone.

Denial is the only way I can manage this.

We step into my bedroom, and I close the door. Tor moves toward the dresser, and I hate that the evidence of Tom is stamped all over her. The sight of the bruises all over her stokes an anger so bright it threatens to incinerate me. But Tor doesn’t need anger right now.

I know I should say something to her, but what should I say? Everything has been taken from her, and the thing that terrifies me the most is that I know what happens when a person has had all meaning ripped from their lives. I damn well know what the violence bleeding through this world does to even the strongest of people. It makes a person numb. It breeds hate. It makes the best of people a monster.

She picks up the framed photograph of my mother and sister and stares at it.

For the first time since I lost them, I'm thankful Tom killed them. It was actually an act of mercy. I see that now, because had he not, they would be in the same place Tor is right now. And one look at her eyes tells me she's in a place worse than hell. I want to take all that fucking pain away from her. I would be a martyr for this woman if I could.

"I'm sorry," I say. But sorry doesn't touch on how I feel. It's just a word, but it's the only word I can think to say to her. My mind is so jumbled. I want to punch something or someone, but I can't. “Tor…”

She flinches when I swipe a piece of hair away from her bruised cheek.

"I understand now," she whispers, her finger slowly tracing over the picture.

"Understand what?"

She looks away from the photograph, and her empty gaze meets mine. "You.”

I swallow around the lump in my throat. I don't want her to understand any of this. Touching her chin, I pull her dead gaze to mine, searching for a flicker. Something. Anything.

I wish she would cry, or blame me, because I can't deal with the nothingness.

"I don't know how to help you, Tor."

"You can't.” She pulls away from me, then climbs onto the bed and draws her knees to her chest. “No one can."

She looks so small and weak, an empty shell. And I feel so damn helpless.

Tom has murdered my family. He killed my brother and kept Tor alive for the mere fact that he knew watching her like this would be the cruelest form of punishment he could ever inflict on me. Watching someone you love suffer is worse than burying them, especially when you know there's no way to mend them.

On a sigh, I lay down beside her and wrap an arm around her waist. Holding her, listening to her breaths, feeling the heat of her body. “I promise you, it will get better, doll.”

I’ll do whatever I have to to bring her back to me. She’s still alive, still here, and I cling to that because it’s all I have.

Jude

It’s been three days since we’ve been back. Three days without my brother.

Warm air wraps around me as the sun slowly rises behind the woods. And that sunrise is what I focus on when I grab onto the coffin handle. Marney rests his hand on my shoulder as he steps in behind me. "He was a good kid. A real good kid."

The rest of the men fold in around the wooden box, taking their places. Then we lift.

This is where I feel myself slipping. This makes it all too real. The trajectory of my life has been forever changed, stained by a guilt I’ll never rid myself of because I didn’t protect my kid brother. I’ve carried my mother and sister and father to their graves, and this coffin is too light.