For Those Who Don't Believe in Love Songs

Chapter 15 - Irrational Thorn

April 14, 1996

The hallway was wrong. It was longer than it was supposed to be. But the lockers were right. But none of them were hers. And she was late for a test. But where was the classroom? And why was the hallway empty? The bell rang. She wasn't going to make it. Then someone was pounding on a locker. She spun around but the hallway was still empty. The bell rang. The stranger pounded.

Martha blinked and everything was black. Her hand ached. Someone was ringing her doorbell. She stuck her head out from under the covers and squinted to read 3:15 on her bedside clock. The doorbell rang again.

She crawled out of bed and headed downstairs. The doorbell stopped but was replaced with violent knocking. Still half asleep, Martha couldn't imagine what was so urgent.

She reached the door and opened it. Before she saw who it was, his arms were around her.

"Dammit, Martha," James whispered. "Goddammit."

The embrace jolted Martha awake and the previous evening came back to her – the letter, the pills, and the phone, still dead on the kitchen table. "I'm sorry," she whimpered.

"No, it's okay," he said. His hold tightened for a moment then he released her. "I'm just relieved."

They stood in silence for a few moments before it occurred to Martha. James was standing in front of her. Not only that, he'd flown across the country for her, all because she'd thrown a tantrum like a child. She was overjoyed to see him and ashamed to see him and heartbroken from the letter and dizzy from it all...

Apparently, the emotional overload was evident to James. "Why don't you sit down?" he said and led her to a chair at the kitchen table. He hung up the phone then filled a glass with water from the sink.

"I'm sorry I... did that..." Martha fumbled.

"It's okay. It's behind us," James reassured as he handed her the glass and sat next to her. "But... you can't ever do that again." He held her gaze silently as the ultimatum set in. "I'm sorry to say that. I don't ever want to tell you what to do. I want you to think freely and act freely. I encourage your dissent. I love your dissent. And if you ever get tired of me, you have every right to leave me. You just can't leave me."

Martha nodded quietly then James continued. "That said, I cannot apologize enough to you. None of this is your fault. None of this is fair to you. Your parents and I betrayed you. Can you forgive me?"

Martha nodded again. She took a drink from her glass. Her temples throbbed. "I..." she started. For no apparent reason, the school hallway popped into her head. "I..." But she had no idea.

"Why don't we talk after you've gotten some rest. It's been a night."

"Okay," she said.

He walked her upstairs and to the bathroom. "We should clean this," he said, referring to the small cut on her hand. While Martha lathered hand soap over the wound, James returned the bottle of Vicodin to the medicine cabinet and found a bandaid. After she finished rinsing off the soap, he took her hand and blew the wound dry. He applied the bandaid and they walked to her bedroom.

She climbed into her bed. He gathered the scattered sleeping pills by hand and tossed them, along with their bottle, into Martha's trash then picked up the letter and set in on her desk. Martha lay her head on her pillow and watched him move about the room. She remembered how mundane her weekend was only hours before. All of it felt unreal.

He lowered the blinds then sat on the side of her bed. His face was placid but for a faint smile. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I'll see you in a few."