Confessions in the Dark (24 page)

A fresh sob tore its way out of her throat. Giving in, she braced her arms against the sink, letting the tears come. She was just so tired. She'd never felt so alone.

It took a while to cry herself out. When the pressure on her chest and behind her eyes finally started to ease, she pulled in a shuddering breath and raised her head. Ugh, she was such a mess, her eyes red and her cheeks all blotchy, her makeup smudged. Cupping water in her hands, she tossed a couple of splashes over her face. Getting herself more or less under control, she turned off the tap and grabbed a tissue to blow her nose.

Of course that was when someone had to knock on the door.
Damn
. Iron bands squeezed around her chest again, and her eyes misted right back up.

“Just a minute,” she called, voice breaking.

What was she going to do? She'd completely lost it on her family. They were going to look at her like she was a freak, or worse with pity, and she'd always tried to be so strong.

“Serena? Sweetie?”

And that was the end of that. What was it about her mom's voice that made her crack right open inside, letting all the soft, vulnerable parts of her out?

Hiccuping, she took another swab at her face with a fresh tissue, then went ahead and flipped the lock.

Her mom eased the door open an inch at a time. Their gazes connected in the mirror, and Serena tried to smile, but it was a watery, shivering thing.

Bless her mom. There wasn't any pity in her eyes at all. Just understanding, and whatever walls Serena had still been keeping up came crashing down.

“I'm sorry, Mom. I—” Whatever else she might've said got lodged in her throat behind another sob.

“Oh no, honey.” And then her mother was in there with her, closing the door behind her as she stepped into the room. She wrapped her arms around Serena, tugging her in and melting her resistance until her head rested against her shoulder. Murmuring quiet, soothing nonsense, she petted Serena's head, and Serena shivered into it.

“I ruined dinner,” she said, getting her voice back.

Her mother laughed. “You just made it a little more interesting.”

“Sorry. Max—” She'd had to have her little breakdown in front of the kid and everything. She'd screamed at her sister, who was just trying to get her life together. “Penny...”

“Max and Penny both are
fine
.” She pulled away, cupping both sides of Serena's face between her hands. “The person I'm worried about right now is
you
.”

Serena's eyes brimmed over anew.

She didn't think she'd ever heard her mother say that to her before.

How much time had they spent in therapists' offices for Penny's sake? There'd been little placards with different emotions on them, and they were supposed to talk in those sorts of words.

That exercise came back to her now. “I'm just...” Her mouth crumpled, making it hard to talk. “I'm just really sad right now.”

Her mother's eyes went soft. “Then be sad. It's okay.”

But it wasn't. It never had been.

As if she could hear the voice of dissent in Serena's mind, her mother pulled her close again, wrapping her in a hug and rocking her side to side. “Oh, my sweet little girl.” Even when Serena started to get it all back under control, she refused to let her pull away. “You know, they warn you about this kind of thing.”

Wetly, Serena asked, “What kind of thing?”

“When you have a child who has these kinds of problems, they remind you over and over again to never forget that the other one has needs, too. I listened, and I looked for them so hard. But you...you never seemed to need anything. You were my sweet, strong little trouper. Always chipping in, always helping out.”

“It was my job.”

“You were a child.” She drew away by a fraction, just enough to look her in the eye. “I put too much on you. And I'm sorry.” Her throat bobbed. “You've taken such good care of your sister and your nephew. Of me, even. Now will you please, please tell me how we can take care of you?” She shifted to rub her hands up and down Serena's arms. “Serena, sweetie. I know you're worried about your sister. But what's this really about?”

The instinct was there to pretend it was nothing. She was just emotional or hormonal or something. Except that wasn't it at all. Her lip wobbled, and God, why couldn't she stop crying today? She sniffed, shaking her head and trying to turn away, but her mom caught her, one soft palm pressing gently to her cheek to keep her gaze on hers.

“Nothing,” she managed to creak out. “Just. Just a boy.”

And that was all it took. In fits and starts, the story of her whole affair with Cole poured out of her, how she'd found him sitting at the top of the stairs, barely able to walk and so darn stubborn he was still intent on taking the train. How she wouldn't let him, and she'd convinced him to let her help him by making it out like he was doing her a favor, and he was. He spotted Max's bullying and got him caught up on a year's worth of math in a handful of weeks.

He'd been so beautiful and so broken, and he'd sucked her in from the very first moment. And when he touched her—when he told her about the pain that had shaped his life—she'd been helpless but to fall.

“And I knew,” she said, swiping furiously at her eyes, “he was terrified of kids. He knows he has a temper. But when Penny needed someone to take care of Max and I was stuck at work, I asked him to help, and he didn't want to.” He'd told her as much, basically, hadn't he? “I never should have asked him to.”

“That's not your fault.” Her mother had guided them both to sit on the edge of the tub as Serena had rambled on and on, and she curled an arm around Serena's shoulders, holding her pressed against her side.

“He's so
good
with Max, though.” It was so easy to imagine him with a boy of his own, all dark hair and gangly limbs, snuggled up with him reading or learning how to ride a bike or who even knew.

No one would ever know, because it was an impossibility. It was the last argument he'd ever had with his wife; it was one he wouldn't be willing to have again.

Her heart throbbed. Even if he did, it wouldn't be with her.

“He got mad, and he left Max all alone. I think he thought he'd actually hurt him, and I know he'd...he'd
never
.”

Cole had a temper, sure, but he was the most protective, the most kind. Beneath all that gruffness, he was this lost, lonely man, loyal and true. He'd rather hurt himself than hurt anyone else.

And that was the problem.

“He thinks he'll hurt me,” she said, voice cracking. “And he did. He said he didn't need me anymore. He's off his crutches, and...”

She couldn't breathe. Couldn't say another word against the hole torn anew in her heart.

Her mother hesitated for a moment, as if waiting, but when Serena held her tongue, she let out a long sigh.

“And you believed him.”

Serena shook her head. She didn't know what to believe.

Her mother squeezed her tighter, pressing their temples together. “It's one lesson I never managed to get through to you, isn't it?”

“What's that?”

“You don't need to do things for people for them to love you.” She said it fiercely, voice bright and crackling. “You don't have to earn it. You don't need to make people need you. They'll love you for you. For the sweet, kind, generous girl that
I
love more than the entire world.”

It didn't make any sense, how much it hurt to hear those words spoken aloud and in that tone. The brutal honesty of it pierced clear into the space between her ribs.

“You've done so much for us, Rena. For me and for Max and for your sister, and we appreciate it. But we love you for
you
. Don't you dare accept anyone who gives you anything less than that.”

The pain of it pressed harder against her ribs, because all those times with Cole, in her bed and in his kitchen and crammed together at a pottery wheel, she'd thought he was giving her exactly that.

But maybe she'd been wrong.

They got another minute or so together there, huddled up in that tiny space, jockeying for room with her mother's shaving cream and Max's shampoo. But they couldn't stay holed up like that forever.

The knock, when it came, was tentative. Max's voice called out. “So did you guys fall in, or...?”

Serena laughed and swabbed at her eyes. “No. We're fine.” Her heart still hurt, but she was closer to meaning it than she had been in weeks.

The door cracked open, and Penny's and Max's faces both appeared in the gap. “Can we come in?”

Before Serena could offer to come out instead, her mom waved them in. “Yes, yes, of course. The more the merrier, right?”

The next thing Serena knew, she was crowded in and surrounded by her family, her mom on one side and her sister on the other, Max hugging tightly to her legs, and a part of her wanted to wave them all away. There wasn't any need to make a fuss over her.

But she'd been doing that for too long, hadn't she? They were here, offering to buoy her up. To be here for her the way she was always there for them. And so she let them, soaking in all the love and support she'd kept at bay for so damn long.

Eventually, Max must have gotten bored, because he started rambling on about something he'd learned in science class about recycling and the water cycle. Serena's mom encouraged him, maybe knowing they could use the distraction. Serena listened with half of her attention, but after a few minutes, the guilt gnawing at her stomach had her turning her head.

“Penny?”

Penny hooked her chin over Serena's shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I really am happy for you. About your job. I'm sorry I blew up about it.”

“It's okay.” Penny shrugged. “It was actually kind of nice that someone finally said what they were thinking for once instead of tiptoeing around.”

“I should've been more supportive, though. If you think you're ready, then I believe you.”

“Thanks.”

And they could have left it at that, but although the words Penny had hurled at Serena might not have fully registered with her in the moment, they were sure as heck haunting her now. “You know we're not really better off without you, right?
Everything
is better when you're here.”

Penny hugged her tighter. “I might know it in my head, but believing it...”

“I know.”

“I'm trying, though. And, Rena?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean it. I'm staying this time. I'm not going anywhere.”

Serena wasn't entirely sure she believed that, either, but it felt really, really good to hear. “Okay. I'm gonna hold you to that.”

She might not have everything she wanted, and the happiness in this tiny room might be too fragile for the wider world.

She might still miss Cole so much it hurt.

But this, right here...it was something. And at least for now, it was hers.

Three days in a row, Cole talked himself out of it. He made it as far as his back door and once all the way to the base of the fire escape before turning around. That he was even entertaining the idea was ridiculous. He was inviting disaster, setting himself up for failure and rejection and quite possibly a fistfight. But how much more of a disaster could he really become?

The fourth day, he put on his suit again and tied the tie that Helen had given him on their anniversary. Her voice in his head urged him on, but it wasn't the only one. If he'd ever asked, Serena would have told him to do this, too. He straightened his tie, and grabbed his briefcase and his keys. At the door and at the base of the stairs, hollow pangs of dread made his stomach twist, but he kept his head held high. He kept walking.

It wasn't until the train station loomed that he faltered.

A flickering phantom pain shot through his knee. The last time he'd been here, he'd tried to do something good, and he'd nearly done something terrible instead. He'd paid the price in any case—eight weeks of immobility and a heartache he didn't think he'd ever recover from.

With his ribs tight and his leg dully aching, he passed through the turnstile and climbed the stairs. At the top of the platform, he had to close his eyes. All he could see was the place by the timetable where those men had stood, crowding around a boy who looked like easy prey. His whole body shook with the memory of getting his hands on one of them. For just a fraction of an instant, he'd let the angry, awful thing inside his chest have the chance to run free.

After, weak and crumpled on the ground, nearly sick with himself, he'd wished that it would stop, but it never did. He never changed.

But maybe he could. Not enough to deserve what he wanted, but enough to at least be able to bear the life he had left in her wake.

A train roared into the station, and he opened his eyes.

It was strange enough, just getting on the outbound train. He'd had so little occasion to go much of anywhere these past few years, his pilgrimages to the downtown library aside. The whole ride north, he kept his gaze on the window, watching the city churn past, all red brick and graffiti and newly blooming trees. Rehearsing what he was going to say—if he even managed to make it into the building.

One transfer and half an hour later, his stop came up, and he was this close to just standing there, letting the train carry him off to the end of the line. But he'd come this far. With his heart in his throat, he disembarked, melting into the crowd of people stalking off with purpose in their lives, his hand curled into a fist so tight his nails bit into his palm.

It was strange, really, how little the campus had changed. The twisted dread inside his gut grew stronger with every ivy-covered building he passed until he was standing before the one that once had been his second home. Inside, the halls were dimly lit, and every door was a memory. They threatened to swamp him, leaving him off balance and jittery. None of the students recognized him, of course, and he refused to make eye contact with the people in their offices. But stares burned into him, and he could almost hear the whispers that had followed him out as he had left this place in shame.