A Lover's Lament

Slowly, I move toward him. His face tilts up, his glassy eyes finding mine, and it’s impossible to miss the tearstains on his cheeks. Instantly, my nose burns—the kind of burn that comes right before I turn into a blubbery mess of tears and snot. We watch each other for several seconds, and when I’m confident that I have some control over my emotions, I push the ring into the palm of his hand.

Wyatt looks down at where I have my hand wrapped around his, and then his eyes dart back up to mine. “You are an amazing person, Wyatt. You are kind and generous”—I swallow hard past the lump in my throat—“and smart and funny, and I am lucky to have had you in my life. One of these days you are going to make someone very, very happy. And I don’t deserve your friendship, but I’m selfish enough to ask for it, because the thought of not having you in my life is terrifying.” Wyatt’s jaw clenches, a fresh batch of tears collecting in his eyes, and I suck in a shuddery breath. “You may not believe it right now, but I never meant to hurt you. You were my very first friend and your happiness means the world to me, which is why I need to do this.” Wyatt’s lips pinch into a thin line and I know that he has something to say, but I need to get this out or I may never get the chance again. “My only regret is that I didn’t do it sooner”—he flinches and I rush to explain—“because I knew months ago that my feelings had changed. But I was greedy. I was scared to lose you … scared to lose your strength and your friendship. I see now how unfair that was to you, and for that I’m so sorry.”

Wyatt’s chin trembles, the movement so slight that I almost miss it. Then in the blink of an eye, his face transforms, almost as though he’s slipped on a mask. He wrenches his hand out from under mine and stands to his full height, shoulders back and chin up. “I don’t want the damn ring.” He shoves it at my chest, and I scramble to catch it before it falls to the floor. “And I don’t want your friendship, Katie. I don’t want your apologies, I don’t want your fucking excuses and I sure as hell don’t want you.” Brushing past me, he rushes toward the door. Gripping the knob, he flings the door open and then comes to a dead stop.

“You know what?” Twirling around, he stalks toward me. His cerulean eyes are nearly all black and they’re burning with hatred—and quite possibly disgust. I stand frozen as he rips the ring from my hand. “I do want it. I want to destroy it,” he seethes, “the same way that you’ve destroyed me. And then I’m going to throw it away, along with every fucking memory of you.”

Speaking isn’t an option. I have no defense, no argument and I certainly have no right to beg for absolution. My lungs ache as I fight to suck in air. I broke him. I actually broke him.

“Don’t give yourself that much credit.” Holy shit! I’ve got to stop doing that. “It’s going to take a lot more than you to break me.”

“Wyatt—”

“No!” he growls, his eyes bouncing around my face. I feel like he’s looking for the girl he fell in love with, but he’s not going to find her. She died months ago.

With a heavy sigh, Wyatt turns and walks out of my room without a backward glance. Seconds later, I hear the front door slam shut.

He’s gone. My hand reaches for my chest, ready to rub the ache I felt the last time I lost a man that I loved. But the pain isn’t there like it was before, so I drop my hand to my side.

I stand motionless in my room, waiting for regret to smash into me. I clench and unclench my hands, expecting them to feel numb and tingly, but they don’t. There are no tears bursting to break free, and my heart isn’t threatening to bounce from my chest. The only thing I feel is a sense of calm that I didn’t know I possessed.

Okay, I obviously haven’t given it enough time. It’s coming, I know it’s coming…

Feeling surprisingly at peace, I walk into the kitchen, passing right by Wyatt’s running shoes sitting by the back door. I’ll have to worry about those later because this is just the calm before the storm. Any minute now I’m going to go into full panic mode.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator, I twist off the cap and chug half of it. My gaze drifts toward the clock and my jaw nearly drops. It’s only four o’clock in the morning … no wonder I’m fucking exhausted. Well, that was about the shittiest possible way to start the day. On the plus side, my day can’t get much worse. I hope.

Hooking my foot around the leg of a chair, I tug it out from under the table and plop onto it. With an exaggerated sigh, I close my eyes and tip my head back, letting a sense of nothingness wash over me. My body is relaxed, not an ounce of tension to be found. My pulse, calm and steady, creates a gentle thud in my chest, and my breaths are slow and easy. I want to feel bad, or guilty, or something, but I can’t because I know I did the right thing. I just wish that it didn’t take breaking Wyatt’s heart to feel this sense of relief.

With languid movements, I sit up, chug the rest of my water and look aimlessly around the kitchen. Normally, I wouldn’t head over to mom’s to take care of the horses for another hour or so, but I’m wide awake and a sunrise run with Mac is just what I need.

Pushing myself up, I toss the empty water bottle in the trash and then I turn to grab the wine glasses left out from last night. My eyes catch on the stack of mail sitting at the edge of the table and I sift through the envelopes, sliding each one to the side just enough so I can see the next. Phone bill, utility bill, car payment …

Everything inside of me stills. My heart literally stops beating before kicking into overdrive, and I slowly drag the tattered envelope out from the middle of the stack.

Tilting my head to the side, I examine the messy penmanship of Sergeant Devin Ulysses Clay. My finger runs a deliberate path along the worn edges and a slow smile builds, tugging at the corners of my mouth. The urge to rip it open is strong and I bite down on my bottom lip, trying to determine whether or not I should read it. A tiny shiver runs through me, and I decide that, for once in my life, I’m going to do something without overthinking it.

So what if I pissed him off? So what if the hope blossoming in my chest completely contradicts the bitterness I still feel toward him? Scooping up the envelope, I toss it in my messenger bag, along with my notepad and pen. I run to my room, quickly changing into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and then I slip on my coat, grab my keys and bag, and dart out the door.

“Be Still” – The Fray

A THIN FOG BLANKETS THE rugged landscape, which is lit only by the dull glimmer of the moon. My hair whips around my head, the cool air stinging my cheeks, and for the first time in a long while, I feel the urge to smile.

Mac breezes past a cluster of familiar trees, and on instinct, I duck my head for three beats to avoid the branches I know are hanging low enough to knock me in the face. Slowing down would be the smart thing to do, but Mac loves to run just as much as I do. Plus, I’ve been riding this path my entire life, and I’m certain we could take it backward and blind without so much as a stumble.

The soft glow of the sun peeks out over the horizon and I push Mac faster. I’ve been making this ten-minute trek to the edge of my parents’ property nearly every morning since being cleared by the doctor, because it’s the only place I seem to find solace. As a child, my dad would bring me out here to watch the sun rise, as a teenager, Devin and I claimed it as ‘our spot,’ and as an adult, I come here to drown in the memories of the two of them.

Mac slows to a trot when we hit the clearing, and I know we’ve made it in time. I tug on the reins and we come to stop at our usual spot next to an old oak tree that sits several feet from the edge of the creek. Orange and red hues kiss the earth, and it’s in this brief moment, when everything is neither dark nor light, that my anger and sadness seem to fall away. Everything around me is quiet, and I tilt my head up to the sky, close my eyes, and breathe in the crisp morning air. The fresh rays of sunlight should hold promises of a new day, but for me they’ve been a reminder of what I’ve lost—until today. Something inside of me has changed. I can’t pinpoint it exactly, but there’s a tiny sliver

of hope that wasn’t there before.

My face warms as the minutes tick by, and only when I’m certain that the sun has risen do I open my eyes. Twisting, I slide off Mac, walk to the oak tree and plop down. That damn letter has been burning a hole in my bag since I ran out of the house, so I waste no time pulling it out. Unable to wait a second longer, I slide my finger under the lip of the envelope, rip it open and pull the letter out. Tiny smudges of dirt are scattered around the edges of the stark white paper, and I immediately picture Devin sitting down after a long day of work, trying to decide how to reply to his best friend-turned-lover-turned … nothing. My stomach churns at the thought of what he could have written, and for a split second I wonder if I’m better off not reading it at all.

Will his words give me peace? Did he decide to come clean about what happened, or did he simply write to finally tell me goodbye? I don’t want to care, but that last thought doesn’t sit well with me.

Screw it, I tell myself. It doesn’t matter what he wrote. His words won’t change a thing. Because when it comes right down to it, he still left, my dad is still gone and no words or misplaced apologies are going to fix either of those things. And with that last little pep talk—depressing as it may be—my trembling hands unfold the letter.

Dear Katie,