I ate the food Karen insisted on bringing with her on visits, even though I had no appetite. Everything tasted like ash in my mouth, but I chewed and swallowed, thankful for her concern. I smiled and nodded when she asked if I was all right, hoping she wouldn’t delve too hard, or stay too long. Her salon was busy, so she rarely spent the night, usually only coming down for a day. I listened to her stories and laughed when I was expected to, so she would believe I was doing better. I walked every day and went into town when I needed to. I chatted to Ashley, smiled at Jonathon. I was pleasant and friendly to the people at the pharmacy and café. I slept, although it never relieved my exhaustion, and functioned, being sure to keep the pain hidden unless I was alone and my pen was in hand. Then it leaked out of me, drop by drop as the ink and tears flowed, filling the pages.
Most of the time I felt like a walking corpse: weary, only existing, barely able to make it from one day to the next, but still, I pushed on. Some days, I even managed to convince myself I was fine. Other days I admitted I wasn’t, but I knew one day I would be. There were moments of sudden anger when I allowed myself to rage at Jared, the situation, and even Zachary. I cursed his lack of faith; how easy it seemed to be to cast my love and me aside. To walk away from me—from us—without question, not looking back, locking my memory from his heart. I wondered if he ever, in the deepest, darkest moment of the night, questioned his decision to leave, or if I ever crossed his mind. If he missed me at all the way I missed him. I wanted to know if his chest ever ached with agony, so strong he wanted it to burst open, hoping the poison would leach out and cease destroying him little by little. Then, guilt would seep back in, and my anger would dissolve. He ran away from his life because of me. I brought him pain and regret. It was my fault his simple existence was shattered.
It was far easier to remain angry at Jared.
Karen was upset over the fact I’d still done nothing in regards to the situation I was in. In truth, I had no idea what to do. I knew I was hiding from my problems, yet I couldn’t figure out the next step; most of the time I couldn’t find it in me to care. Jared had my book; he had destroyed any chance of my claims being credible by throwing Zachary to the proverbial wolves and pointing the finger of blame toward me. He had withdrawn his offer of money, and now I had no clue what to do next; even Bill was flummoxed. His last email stated we needed to sit tight for a while and see what happened next.
I sighed, scrubbing my face in the early morning light. The last journal was open; its pages spread, the lines empty, waiting for my words. For the first time, my mind was as blank as the paper I was looking at. The other journals all contained our story—the unexpected beginning and the tumultuous middle. This one would contain our end. My mind went over and over all the things I had missed those final days—things that were so obvious now. Zachary’s constant disbelief, which I should have paid more attention to at the time, instead of assuming it would ease off the longer we were together. I never really accepted the fact our time could be limited. I should have made sure he knew, without a doubt, how much I cared for him. I thought of his overreaction to the pictures on my laptop, which caused the seeds of doubt to be planted in his head. Seeds Jared liberally watered and fed, so they bloomed strong and fierce when he encountered Zachary that day in the gallery. Maybe if we’d been even more strident in our own honesty, we could have withstood Jared’s poison.
I thought of the dark sedan with the tinted windows that flew past me on the highway when I was returning after the last terrible meeting with Jared. I remembered muttering about impatient drivers and assholes behind the wheel as it sped by. I saw a similar car parked on the street, but never once gave it a second thought or even assumed it might be the same one. I never even considered the fact Jared had overheard enough of my conversation to know where I was staying or that he would follow me. I thought I had fooled him, when in fact, he had fooled me. Again.