forty-three: in which she can't go back the way she came

"I can't go on living this way, but I can't go back the way I came; chained to this fear that I will never find a way to heal my soul" –Evanescence, My Heart is Broken

********************************

Out of the hospital, I struggled to return to even a semblance of normal.

I was in Jake's house, with his brother in one spare room and my aunt (who insisted on being with me) in another, and yet, every night when I closed my eyes, I was back in that dingy cell with Sebastian.

I wasn't sleeping, wasn't eating, and I sure as hell wasn't getting out of bed.

It was as if that peace that settled over me the day I left the hospital had been a momentary thing, and had completely evaporated so that I was left in a cloud of depression.

Because that was exactly what I was: Depressed. I didn't need a shrink to tell me that.

I wanted to shut the whole world out and try to process everything that had happened to me and to the people around me. I wanted to wallow, to cry, to yell – I wanted to just be.

It didn't help that every time I walked past a mirror, I was reminded of it all.

The bruises had healed some, but the scars – both inside and out – would remain for a long time to come.

It took me a while to realize just what exactly James McNally had carved along my right thigh but after the gauze came off and I could see the extent of damage to my leg, could make out the letters, it was painfully clear just what message he wanted to send.

David had been etched into my skin in big, block letters, and even when I couldn't see the letters, I could feel them, could trace them with my fingertips and know that James McNally had marked me with the name of his dead brother. That he had intended for my corpse to be sent to Jacob.

Most nights, I cried selfishly for myself. But I cried, too, for the lives that were lost over this whole thing. I cried until my tear ducts wouldn't work, and then I lay awake trying to resist the urge to trace a finger over the D and then the A and then the V and so on...

I could feel phantom hands on my legs during most nights, and if I managed to catch a wink of sleep, I'd end up waking in a cold sweat, tangled in sheets and sobbing loudly. When that happened, Baron or Aimee would come into the room and I'd cling to him or her like a lifeline, grateful to be awake. Without my sleeping pills, falling asleep was virtually impossible, but I didn't want to become dependent on them, so I wouldn't take them.

"Something has to give," I heard Baron saying to Aimee in the kitchen early one morning. "She won't go to therapy because she won't get out of bed, and she won't talk to anyone else because she probably thinks she'll just be a bother."

From where I was standing outside the entrance to the kitchen, I could hear my aunt make a tsk-ing sound under her breath. For some reason, she and Baron got on like a house on fire. "Baron, let her recover physically, first," she told him, looking relaxed in no-doubt designer jeans and a cream blouse. Her hair was even in a ponytail. "Everything else will come later. We have to give it time. None of us could even begin to understand what she went through."

They continued talking about me while I listened outside, before I finally decided that a cup of coffee could wait, and crept back upstairs to my bedroom – Jake's bedroom – careful not to step on the wooden steps that creaked.

Back in the room, I contemplated crawling back under the covers and shutting the world out again, but where would that get me? I would just relive every moment of brutality I'd witnessed, of brutality I'd dished out, of brutality I'd endured. And I'd die a little more inside.

I went to the vanity table and sat on the small white stool, looking in the mirror. Touching a finger to my face, as if I could still feel those agonizing moments when McNally was smashing my head into concrete, a shudder went through my body.

I grabbed a handful of my hair, lifting it over my shoulder. Not straightened, it fell in springy curls. I'd never cut it – ever. But now, I imagined someone's hands in it, pulling me, and I rooted in the drawer of the table for a pair of scissors. I didn't want to think too hard about what I was doing, or what it would look like once I was done, but I went for my hair like a deranged woman, hacking at it for a good five minutes until the locks that had once reached my midsection now hung in a cloud of curls at my shoulders.

There, I thought to myself, closing my eyes, not even caring to survey the results.

I took a deep breath, feeling like a heavy weight was taken off my shoulders, which, in a way, it was. This was therapeutic. Necessary. It was something so small, yet so great at the same time.

I stood, shrugging out of the fluffy nightgown I had practically made my second skin, and went into the bathroom. I even managed to smile at my reflection in the mirror as I waited for the bathtub to fill with water.

Cutting my hair wasn't going to be enough to heal, but it was a pretty damn good start.

*~*

To their credit, Baron and Aimee didn't say anything about the hack job I'd done to my head.

Instead, they pretended that everything was normal. Lunch was on the stove, courtesy of Baron, whom I'd learned had the same skills in the kitchen as his older brother did, and Aimee was just finishing up with the dishes.

Her eyes brightened when she noticed me standing in the doorway. "Hey, you," she said, motioning for me to sit at the island. "Baron has made an incredible pasta dish. You need to eat something."

I felt a pang in my chest. Jake had made me pasta, so many times before. But I gave my aunt a wan smile and obediently sat on the kitchen stool while Baron threw a dishrag over one shoulder and put a plate and cutlery in front of me heaped with pasta and what I knew was the Ford family Bolognese sauce.

I said a quick mental prayer before I dug in. It was only after my fourth forkful of food that I realized that Baron and Aimee were hovering over me, watching me like a pair of hawks.

"Aren't you going to join me?" I asked, putting my fork down.

Baron cleared his throat, returning to the stove. "Sorry, Maya."

"It's just...I'm – we are – so glad you got out of bed today," said Aimee. It was nice of her to ignore the black bags beneath my eyes, my sallow skin, and awful hair.

"I figured it was time." I said this nonchalantly, but it was a definite milestone. Heck, I was even wearing some nice, clean sweats.

Aimee and Baron sat down with me for lunch, which I expected to be weird, but wasn't, and honestly, I was just grateful to be around family. Because they were my family – blood, or not. I was grateful to have them and grateful to be alive to have them.

Since I was trying to make more of an effort than usual, I joined Baron in the living room to watch some TV while Aimee fired up her laptop and sat outside in the sun drinking a mimosa.

"Your new haircut looks good," Baron commented, and because I was leaning against him on the couch, he easily took a hank of my hair in his hands.

"Stop lying," I said with a snort.

"Okay. It's uneven and you should really see a good hairdresser for damage control when you're ready to go back outside."

"Wow. Tell me how you really feel," I responded, but I was laughing.

"Hey, you told me to stop lying."

"Yes," I said, my tone suddenly serious. "I hate lies."

Baron let out a sigh. "Me, too."

We sat in silence for a while, watching bad reality TV, when Baron said, "You remember what I said at the hospital?"

I felt my guard go up. "You said a lot of things at the hospital."

"I mean, what I was saying about you not breaking Jake's heart," he clarified.

"I remember."

"Well, it wasn't my place to say anything," he said, making me look at him. "As much as I love my brother, I love you, too. You're my sister now, whether you're with Jake, or not, and as someone I care about, you should put yourself first. You should make your own choices, choices that are good for you first and foremost. I apologize for putting you on the spot like that."

"Baron," I said after a long moment had passed, "that is so sweet of you."

He grinned. "I try."

"I love you, too."

What I wanted was to be happy, to be loved – and with Jacob Ford, I was happy (for the most part) and I was loved (always). What relationship didn't have its ups and downs? What relationship was perfect?

Yes, but where do you draw the line, Maya?

I returned to my position, and he threw an arm around me, remaining relatively silent until he occasionally joined the voice on the TV when it would say, 'Whose...ex...is next?'

***

"Maya! Jesus, no. Wake up! Fuсk. Fuсk, fuсk, fuсk!"

Someone was slapping me awake, and not lightly, either. I was beyond pissed off when my eyes opened and I saw Jake kneeling at my bedside. The fact that I had actually managed to catch some sleep and he was callously pulling me out of it? Yeah. I was mad.

"Why are you hitting me?" I snapped, eyes at half-mast as I sat up, rubbing my right cheek.

He fell back onto his ass, breathing deeply. "Shit. I thought you OD'd." His gaze went to the empty bottle of sleeping tablets lying on the nightstand.

Now, I was fully awake, eyes wide open. "You think I'd do that? Kill myself?"

He closed his eyes briefly before opening them again and looking up at me. "I don't know," he murmured miserably. "I don't know anymore. All I know is that I just came home from hospital and found my woman with her eyes closed in bed, and an empty bottle of Ambien on her bedside. I jumped to a pretty fucking bad conclusion."

I stared at him, finding the morbid humor in this situation. "What a way to welcome you home, huh?"

He didn't smile. Looking more rumpled than ever, in a creased light-blue T-shirt and faded jeans, he picked himself up from the ground and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"The bottle must've fallen. The rest of the pills are probably lying under the bed. I was just too desperate to have a deep sleep last night." I yawned, picking my phone up from the nightstand. It was only just after ten in the morning. "Twelve hours of undisturbed sleep, until you beat me awake. Not bad."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Maya," Jake was saying, and I knew he wasn't just apologizing for slapping me.

There was no way I could ever say that it was fine. Because it wasn't.

Jake turned at the waist to look back at me, simultaneously kicking his boots off. "Do you think we could ever get it back?" His eyes were searching mine.

I swallowed hard. "Not like how it was, Jacob," I replied. "But I don't want it to be like how it was."

He nodded, his eyes capturing mine.

"I have to shower," I whispered, already getting myself out of bed.

I expected him to say something like, "Can I join you?" but he was nodding again, and by the time I got into the bathroom – not bothering with locking the door – my heart was knocking against my chest and tears were prickling at my eyes.

God, no one told me he was being discharged. Then again, I had been dead asleep until a few minutes ago. I wasn't ready to see him again, wasn't ready to feel so angry and sad and hurt all at the same time.

It was difficult to try to quietly sob and brush my teeth at the same time, but I managed it. At least, I thought I did. The door was pushed open, and Jake was standing there, and I could see his heart breaking just by looking at his eyes. He didn't hesitate for even a split second before he was enfolding me in his arms and hugging me so tight that it hurt, but I didn't mind, because this was the good kind of pain.

"I love you," he was saying, his nose in my hair. "I love you so fucking much it's killing me."

I was clutching at his T-shirt, clutching it so hard the flimsy material would probably tear any second, and Jake reeked of the hospital and sadness, but I could feel his heart thumping away against my wet cheek. And God help me, I loved him, too.

So I said it out loud and he drew back slightly, pressing his lips to my forehead in a gentle kiss. My eyes were closed, my breathing slowing. Peace. Yes.

He let me go, moving to the tub to run me a bubble bath. Patiently, I stood by, watching him get down onto his knees, testing out the rising water by dipping a hand into it. He let the tub get filled halfway before he switched off the water, and then he was standing again, undoing the soft belt looping around my waist to keep my gown from opening. I let him take it off me, only remembering that he hadn't seen my bandage-less body yet when he let out a pained groan.

I didn't want him to look at me with eyes full of guilt – or, worse, pity – so I walked past him and got into the tub. It was a little too hot, but maybe that was a good thing, and once I sat down, my skin started getting used to the temperature.

Jake was still standing, only now, he was leaning against the tiled wall opposite the bathtub. His chest heaved with every breath that he took, until he couldn't stand anymore, and he slid down onto the ground with his knees pulled up in front of him.

"How could you forgive me?" he asked, his voice hollow. "How could you forgive me, when you have to look at those scars every fuking day?"

I leaned against the back of the tub, until I was almost entirely submerged in the bubbles. "Forgive, but don't forget," I said to him, and my hand automatically went to my thigh. D-A-V-I-D. "My aunt Stacy used to say that. She used to say that forgiveness does more good for your soul than it does for the other person's."

Jake remained quiet. Until he said softly, "I will never forgive myself for hurting you."

We were back to square one on that.

"He didn't beg for his life, you know," he said, eyes closed. "James McNally. Ghost found him bleeding out in that basement. He was alive, though. Asked Ghost to shoot him. Ghost didn't want to waste a bullet on that shit. Bullet was too good for him."

I instantly recalled what the cops had said. "So he slit his throat."

"Yeah." He opened his eyes and eyed me, as if trying to gauge my reaction.

"Good." I bit my bottom lip. "Do you want to join me?"

He looked momentarily stunned. "In the bath?"

I nodded. He still looked uncertain. "Are you sure? Because I want to. I really want to," he whispered.

"It's just a bath, Jake."

He rose to his feet, giving me a half-smile. "You called me Jake."

He reached behind his neck and tugged his T-shirt over his head. Seeing the bandages over his wound reminded me that just like how he could have lost me, I could have lost him. His jeans were next to come off, revealing how he wasn't wearing any underwear, and finally, his socks. I sat up and leaned forward, making space for him behind me as he stepped into the tub. Only once he was settled in did I recline against him.

He didn't put his arms around me at first, but when he finally did, putting his palms flat against my stomach, I felt butterflies flutter in that very place. I interlaced my fingers with his, my small hand over his bigger one.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, my eyes on our hands.

Jake grunted. "My lung re-expanded, whatever that means, so the doc was happy. Just gotta take it easy for a week or two. But I don't care about me. I care about you. So how are you? Do you... Are you still in pain?"

He said the last few words against the spot where my neck meets my shoulder, and I shivered.

"I'm just tender in some places. It's bearable." I paused, wondering how much I should tell him. "I'm not sleeping, though, and if I do, I end up having pretty vivid nightmares."

He kissed my skin, inhaling deeply. "I want to take all your pain away. More than anything, that's what I want."

"You can't, Jake," I whispered, taking one of his hands in mine and putting it under water.

With my hand over his index finger, I made him blindly trace the letters that were carved into my skin. It felt like forever until his fingertip pressed over the final letter.

It felt like there was something heavy on my chest, making it increasingly difficult to breathe. No one else – no one but the medical staff who had attended to me – knew about this particular little memento James McNally had left on my skin. And now, Jake knew, too.

It was ugly to look at, ugly to remember, and ugly to touch.

I heard Jake suck in air abruptly, felt his heartbeat accelerate against my back. He snatched his hand back, resting it on my hip

"Maya –"

"No, Jake. Don't say anything for now," I said in a soft voice, squeezing my eyes shut. "Please. Just...be here."

"I c— I don't...I don't..." His voice caught on a sob. "We should never have gotten together. I fucked you up. I fucked you up and that's on me."

"How can you say that?" Turning at the waist, I looked back at him in shock. "How can you say that we should never have fallen in love? How can you say that after every fucking thing that has happened between us?"

His eyes were closed, tears streaming down his hair-roughened cheeks. "I fucked you up. I always fuck things up."

I turned completely, getting onto my knees and facing him. My fingers went to brush his tears away automatically. His eyes flew open at my touch.

"You asked me to wait for you, and I did," I stated, putting my hands on his broad shoulders. He was gazing at me, captivated. "You're my first love. So many people don't get to fall in love, but I'm so blessed because the man I'm in love with loves me back, and he loves me so passionately, so strongly. He screws up, makes bad choices, and makes me so mad sometimes – but I love him. I love you, Jake Ford, and I think I fell a little bit in love with you the day you drank a flask of whisky in my parents' honor and offered me some."

Jake's mouth fell open just a little bit, and I leaned forward to kiss him on the nose.

When I pulled back, he said, "Do you know how much that means to me?"

"I think so."

He let out a sigh of what I hoped was contentment. "I've been in love with you long before I knew that I was. That's a long time." He pulled me onto him, and I could feel his cock between us. "I made an appointment for Friday with a shrink that Ghost has Daisy seeing. I want— I need you to come with me. Please. Please say yes."

How could I say no?

"Of course, Jake." Lord knew I had to see a therapist, too. Being suddenly agoraphobic and insomniac would only lead to my self-destruction. I had to talk to someone.

Jake breathed a sigh of relief, bringing me closer so that my chest was squashed against his. "Thank you, sweetheart."

We stayed in the tub like that long after the water passed tepid and became subzero, the bubbles dissipating.

***

Author's Note

Next Update: June 3 (Next Friday)

Radish Update (Epilogue): June 3

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