“I broke because I lost my brother and I couldn’t handle it. Neither could you. What can I say? We have shit coping mechanisms.” I gave a low laugh, trying to make light of the shitty situation we were in.
He chuckled back and it made my heart hurt less to see him open up to me somewhat.
“I have no coping mechanism. I just am. I learnt from an early age that you have to be there for yourself, ‘cos no one else is going to help you.”
“You helped me. At least you tried to. In your weird fucked up way.” I grinned, hoping he saw how I meant it.
“And look how that turned out.”
Nope. He wasn’t getting it.
“Yeah, look. I’m out for the first time in months, drinking with friends, having a good time, and standing here in the dark with you. Who’d have thought this would’ve happened a few months ago?”
He bit his lip and then looked right at me.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Will you ever forgive me?”
And that was the million dollar question.
“It isn’t about forgiveness, Brandon. What happened, happened. It could’ve been anyone in that ring with him that night. I know that now.” I sighed. “It’s about finding peace. I’m getting there, slowly. But I’m not sure you are.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever find peace. I’m used to living in my head with the constant noise and feelings of shame, inferiority, guilt, disgust… the list is endless.” And that list I could see etched into his face, in the wrinkles on his brow, the clench of his jaw and the pain in his eyes.
“You’ve lived with that all these years? How are you still functioning?”
“I don’t. I fight. That’s the only time I feel any sort of calm. Well, it was.”
He clenched his fists at the side of him and I could feel the tension in his body.
“And after the accident, you lost all that. You don’t feel that calm anymore, do you?” I knew the answer, but I asked the question anyway
“No. That’s not what I’m saying.” He frowned and leaned towards me. “I feel the calm, but I have another outlet now. I have you.”
My heart skipped a beat.
“I don’t know what to say to that.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I know the way I feel. I also know you’ll never feel that way about me and I’m okay with that. I’m used to rejection. I’ve lived my whole life with disappointment. It’s second nature…”
I didn’t give him the chance to utter another word. I leant up and planted a kiss on his lips. A soft, gentle peck that told him he didn’t need to keep making excuses. That messed up, confused but calm feeling he was experiencing, I felt it too.
I pulled away but stayed close to him, looking deep into his eyes. He blew out a low breath and whispered, “You don’t have to feel sorry for me.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Isn’t it? I don’t want you to use me for some kind of fucked-up therapy, Harper. A way to prove to yourself that you’re moving on.”
“I’m not.”
He reached forward and cupped my cheek and I leant into him. His hands were rough and calloused, but I liked the way they felt against my skin. The rough with the smooth. I looked up at him, seeing the confusion in his eyes, the way he was toying with his emotions.
“I have thought about you every day since that night,” he said. “You are the first thing I think about in the morning and last thing on my mind at night. I lie awake and wonder if what I did will ever get any easier for me to deal with.”
“It will, if you let me help. We can help each other.”