The Tattooed Flower

14. Goddamn Woman

Caleb-

I hate her. I hope that wherever that woman is, she can feel my hate.

Quinn is crying in the bedroom, I can't console her. I don't know if there are even words to say about this. How do you justify any of that? The glass of water she was holding shattered. For awhile it was like she didn't even see it. Like she was somewhere else.

All she saw was the goddamn TV and that goddamn woman. It broke all around her feet, but she didn't move, didn't react at all. Water pooled over her feet, glistening against the dark hardwood floors. When she finally came out of her daze, it was as if she was drowning on the inside. The water never stopped pouring from her eyes. There was only her tears. Only her heart ache.

I cleaned up the glass and the water, but there aren't words to fix this broken girl, this beautiful, broken girl. I'm sitting in the livingroom. I thought she might need some space, room to breathe. It kills me, being away from her. Especially now, when it feels like I ought to be holding her.

I don't know if this is right. If I can justify what she did, because of what he did, because of who she is, because I love her. Is there ever, really, a point where you can justify death? If you asked me two weeks ago I would have confidently told you no. Now what? Can I forget this? I read about the man who married "Americas Youngest Killer". She and her brother killed her dad's girlfriend as payback for the lack of protection after years of sexual abuse. Am I like that guy? Can I justify this... Murder... Beacuse of what he did? Because I love her?

Yes.

Eventually she comes out of the bedroom, seating herself a few feet away from me on the white sofa. Whenever she sits she touches the surface first, then lowers herself down, almost as if she's afraid of it. But that's not true. She's afraid of making an impression, of setting someone off.

I wish that I could erase all that fear, all those quirky precautions. No one should live that way. Constantly fighting to not be seen or heard or noticed in any way, and not because of personal preference, but because the world has beaten you down so brutally. It's in everything she does, right down to the way she breathes.

She isn't looking at me when she speaks. She's looking down at her knees, which her hands are tucked under. "Does it make me pathetic, for still loving her?" My immediate reaction tells me to say "no, absolutely not." I'd say anything to make her stop hurting. But part of me says, "yes", but she needs more than reassurance or brutality. She needs something she can process and chew on, something to contemplate. It's not enough to just say yes or no.

"No, we're supposed to love people. We just are." I say trying answer her honestly and make sense to myself at the same time.

"After all this, I'm still supposed to love her?" She looks at me now, her eyes so sad and far away.

What's left? What's left of her? It's like everything in her is disappearing, vanishing right in this moment, right in front of my eyes. Like she's turning into a hollgram, as if I were to reach out and touch her, only to have my hand pass right through.

"I think you're just too strong." I grab her hand as I speak, partially to demonstrate, but mostly to prove to myself that she's still here, still not a hollogram. She looks at me with this hopeful, yet confused expression. "I think that people should forgive each other. And if you can't make yourself hate her, you're already halfway there."

For a second I think I've reached her. Like I said something that actually matters. But then something changes in her expression. She just looks sad again.

"I didn't forgive my father. I did so much worse. I did so much worse, then anything my mother could have done. Who's going to forgive me? Huh? Who would?" She's crying now. Her cheeks tainted. Her chest is heaving and her breaths are strangled. She stands up, grabbing throw pillows and tossing them, for a moment I think I might just let her have it out with the couch, then she turns to the vase on top of the coffee table.

I stand grabbing her, restricting her arms tightly as she fights me. "No!" She screeches, flailing. "Let me go, lemme go... Let me..." She falls limp in my arms, sobbing tirelessly. I just hold her, rocking her gently in my arms.

"I forgive you." I murmur. "I forgive you." I forgive her. I love her. That's all there is.

***

Thursday

"Mom? Hailey?" Everything is silent. No one calls back, there's just nothing. I climb the stairs of the Tudor my family's lived in for forever. "Dad?" As I reach the top of the stairs I hear something behind the door. It's crying, sobbing. At first I think it's my mother but the voice is deeper. Dad?

"Dad?" I say, my hand on the door nob.

"Don't come in here!" He yells.

"Dad, please, whats wrong?" I've never heard my father cry before. I've never seen either of my parents cry.

"Go away, Caleb!" I twist the nob now, opening the door to find my father, kneeling in a pool of blood. It belongs to my sister. I feel a knot build up in my throat, but its not a knot. It's bile. I throw up across the floor hunched over and weak, I look back to my father. He's crying relentlessly. I crawl closer to Hailey and touch her face, finding the wound in her chest.

"What happened?" I choke out. There are tears on my cheeks but I hardly notice them until the blur my vision. My father shakes his head, sobbing profusly. I see my mother at his side, her face and arms covered in purple and blue, blood leaking from her nose and mouth. She's gone.

My father is still shaking his head. I can't breathe. The sobs are coming heavier and faster and I can't catch my breath. "I'm sorry." My father whispers. "I'm sorry." He sobs more. And all I know is that I'm running. I'm gone...

I wake up, to the rustle of Quinn trying to escape my arms and climb out of bed. As she tries and obviously fails to escape without disturbing me, I pull her tighter against me. I've never been grateful for a beautiful woman waking me up while trying to leave my bed, but today I am.

"Caleb." She says pointedly.

"Yeah?" I murmur into her lavender scented hair.

"If you don't let me go, I'm going to wet myself." She says it matter-of-factly, irritation clear in her voice.

"Oh." I say, releasing her. She stumbles out of the room sleepily and when I glance at the clock I see that it's about 2:30 a.m.. When Quinn comes back, it's not directly back into my arms. She sits at the edge of the bed. And stares out the window, into the starless blue sky.

"We're you having a nightmare?" She asks.

"Yes." I admit. I see her silhouette nod slowly.

"There are no stars here." She whispers.

"That's where you're wrong." I say letting my eyes drift shut. "You're here."

******

;)
Lidi