by Kat Ransom
I wish any of it made sense, that I could explain it away. But there is nothing I can say or do to chase these demons away, this time.
“What the fuck is this, Cole?” She rages at me.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I manage to creak out.
“What are all these letters, why do you have letters from my mother?” She rips one out of its envelope, her hands shaking. I want to pull it away like it’s a hot pan that’s going to burn her fingers, but there’s nothing I can do.
The portal to her hell has just opened up.
I don’t even know which letter she’s reading right now, and it probably doesn’t matter—they’re all terrible. She looks at me, her head jerking back, and her face twisted up in confusion, her eyes growing glassy.
“I, I don’t understand,” she whimpers.
“I never wanted to leave you, Em. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”
“You love me? What the hell is this? Why do you have this?” She holds up a copy of an award she got at MIT for building a mini eco-friendly thermodynamic engine.
“It was,” I hesitate because fucking hell, there is no right way to say it, “it was part of the deal.”
“The deal?” She says the word like I’m the biggest piece of shit on the planet. “And this?” She holds up a framed photo of her graduating from MIT, her wearing a black gown and waving her diploma proudly over her head on stage.
“I took that picture,” I mumble as I stare at the carpet wishing it could swallow me up. It’s framed because it sat on my nightstand for so many years until I had to put it away when she showed up at my door.
“What do you mean you took it?”
“I was there.”
I was always there, no matter how much it killed me to be so close to her, to watch her, to not be able to be a part of the life she was excelling at. I had to stand back and watch because at every opportunity, there she was, succeeding at everything she ever did because I wasn’t around to drag her down. “I was so proud of you,” I mutter, and, for the first time that I can remember, I feel my eyes watering.
“You were there, like, like some sort of fucking stalker? And you didn’t say anything? Why? Why would you do that?” Emily is shaking, and her face is red. She’s breathing hard. All I want to do is hold her and make it go away. Fix it. But it’s going to get worse.
“I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing,” I hang my head.
She keeps rifling through the box and pulls out packets of “research” her mother sent me. She holds up a psychology paper entitled Reality Check: Sex Crimes are Genetic, and then another titled Sex Offending is Written in DNA, Studies Find. There’s dozens of them. “Where did you get this crap?”
And here’s where it’s going to get worse for Emily, and thus, for me.
“Your mother sent them.”
“What? No, she didn’t. Why would she do that? My mom loves you.”
I can see the confusion in her eyes, and it guts me. I never wanted to take her family away from her, no matter how much I hate them. No matter how much they hate me.
She goes back to the letters, her hand covers up her gasps, and she wracks with sobs reading the confirmation of what I’ve been trying to keep from her. All the emails, all the letters poisoning us against each other. Years worth.
“Has she been calling you, Cole?” She looks up at me, tears streaming down her face, daring me to answer.
“Not for a long time, but recently again, yeah.”
“I don’t understand, this isn’t right. Why would my mom do this? None of this makes sense. How could you not tell me this? How could you keep all of this from me?”
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I repeat and try to explain, but she cuts me off, caught somewhere between livid and destroyed.
“You were never going to tell me? You were just going to let me go on thinking everything was okay?”
“I tried to warn you, but I couldn’t make myself do it, I couldn’t make myself hurt you like this. Look at you,” I call out what I knew was going to happen, Emily’s world is turned upside down, the illusion pulled out from under her.
I can’t stomach the thought of Emily experiencing even a fraction of the pain I went through because of my family, much less do it to her. No one should have to feel the kind of pain that comes when your parents willfully destroy everything you love. It’s not something you get over.
Emily’s voice elevates another octave and her face grows impossibly red, “You could have stopped all of this! Six years ago! We could have worked through this together years ago! Instead, you left me. You let me live a lie and you’ve still been lying to me! Were you ever going to tell me, Cole? You know what, never mind, fuck you!” She screams at me and throws all of the papers, the photos, in their box. She tucks it tight to her body like it’s a treasure chest instead of Pandora’s Box. “Get out of my way!”
“I know what I should have done, but I did what I thought was best. You were in school. You hated me, but you were doing exactly what you were born to do. You’re asking me now why I couldn’t hurt you even more? I can’t do that, Em. I won’t do it.”
“Get out of my way,” she tries to shove me, but I don’t budge. I can’t let her go. I can’t lose her again.
“I’ve felt nothing but shame and regret for six fucking years, and I could not hurt you more. Take your family away from you, prove her right that everything I touch is toxic and I’d ruin your life,” I point to the letters. “I won’t fucking apologize for not hurting you more.”
“You promised me! You promised you’d respect my decisions, but you’ve been lying all along! All of you! You’ve made a complete fool of me!”
“No…”
“Yes! I’ve felt naive, ugly, plain, nerdy, a thousand things. But I have never felt stupid before. Before now. Let me leave, move.”
“I can’t, Em. Please.” If I move out of this doorway, I could lose her forever.
“Move,” she wails at me, her face bright red, a vein in her temple pulsing. “Or are you going to force me to stay here against my will?”
Her eyes squint. She says the words with so much venom it nearly brings me to my knees.
“Oh fuck, come on, don’t say that shit.”
“Move.”
I step out of her way, willing my bones and muscles to move against everything they instinctually want to do—keep her here safe with me forever—and she brushes past me out of the closet.
Watching her storm away, I chase her down the hallway, my heart racing and panic pumping through my arteries. Her horrible words reverberate through my ears. “Jesus Christ, when did you become so fucking cruel?”
She spins around, strands of brown hair wet from tears, and stuck to her face, “When you ripped out my heart and made me this way!”
“Where are you going?”
“Away from you!” She’s still clutching the shoebox full of nightmares and tries to put shoes on with shaking hands before she grabs her car keys off the kitchen counter.
“Don’t leave. It’s pouring, you’re not even dressed,” I’m grabbing at any excuse, but it’s true, she’s still in her pajamas, and the rain is coming down in buckets now.
“I am not staying here with you, stay away from me!”
“Then I’ll leave, you stay,” I say, putting up my hands, offering her some space to cool down. She can’t drive an hour back to Cambridge in this weather.
“Yeah, you’ve got a lot of experience in leaving, don’t you? Do you need my parents to make an excuse for you this time, too?”
I run my hands over my face and bite back the anger bubbling up inside me, my lizard brain desperate to call her out on the hypocrisy, for making me believe she didn’t think differently of me, making me think that she could love me despite everything.
When I open my eyes, she’s almost to the front door.
“If you leave now, Emily, you’re doing it with the knowledge that I don’t want you to. When I
left you, I thought I was doing the right thing. I know I was wrong, but I was eighteen. I thought I was helping you. Right now, though? You’re an adult, and you’re walking away knowing you’re hurting me. Hurting us! That isn’t what you do to someone you love.” I make air quotes to drive my point home. “There’s no way for you to rationalize running now.”
Her chest heaves for two breaths, just enough time for the pit in my stomach to consider the possibility that she will stay, and we can work this out. Just enough time to allow hope to sneak in. There’s so much more to tell her.
“I was smart enough to make my own decisions then, and I am smart enough to make them now.” She reaches for the doorknob as tears run down her cheeks harder than any thunderstorm outside.
“You know what?” I put my hands on my hips, and adrenaline surges through me, knowing this will be the fight of my life. “You want to give up control, surrender to me, make me chase you around, wear you down? Fine. Fine, baby. Let’s do it. You will not win.”
“What? I’m not… you’re insane!” She screams. “Do not come to Cambridge, do not call me, leave me alone!”
“No, goddamnit, I will not leave you alone. I lost you once, and I will burn this fucking world to the ground before I let you go again! You can fight all you want, Emily, you can push me away and say terrible, shitty things—and fuck you for that—but I promise you will not win!”
Her eyes are enormous, and she’s clutching the shoebox like it’s going to save her.
I pace to her, she takes one step back for each of mine forward until her back is up against the door. Resting my elbows on the wooden door aside her head, I look down at her.
“I love you. I have always loved you. I waited six years, and I can do another sixty. You need to run from me right now, baby? Go ahead. I fucking dare you.”
Pushing off the wall, I take two long strides back from her. She was out of her mind and not even hearing me, at least now she’s caught off guard and might come to her senses.
The look in her eyes says she’s thinking about it.
I try to convey with my own that I’m dead serious—there’s no fighting this between us anymore, and I will spend my every last day on this earth fighting for her.
Don’t think, Em. Just feel.
“I hope you’re happy. Now I have no one, just like you.” And then she grips the doorknob again, twists it, and shatters my heart into a million pieces as she turns and runs out.
Twenty Six
Emily
The alarm on my phone goes off, the buzzing and noises breaking my blank stare at the bedroom wall. I turn the alarm off and ignore the long list of texts, missed calls, and notifications.
I haven’t looked at any of them. I don’t need any more lies.
In desperation, I tried the twenty-four-hour trick Cole taught me. I gave myself twenty-four hours to wallow like he did. I barely moved from my bed the whole time, and wallow, I did.
Unlike for him, hour twenty-five feels no better for me. I can’t switch it off like he can. I’m not built like that. Maybe I don’t have the discipline or the strength, or maybe I just don’t have the will anymore.
I have absolutely nothing, now.
I don’t even have my clothes or belongings. They’re all at Cole’s apartment. I’m still in the same pajamas in my empty Cambridge bedroom. If I didn’t leave my bed here, I’d be lying on the floor like an even bigger loser.
All the little mementos, photos of him, those are all gone, too. There is literally nothing left to cling to.
I’m too embarrassed to call Makenna. I wouldn’t know where to start with Klara. Every few hours, I can hear her stop outside of my bedroom door, listening to hear if there are sounds of life inside, then she moves on, smartly leaving me alone inside my chamber of misery.
My parents—I don’t know what to do. All I feel for them is anger, betrayal, rage. I would never believe it if I didn’t spend all night reading through every letter and email I found in Cole’s closet. They’re scattered across my room like shards of broken glass that pierce my skin each time I move.
My whole life, I was the smart girl. I had that going for me if nothing else. It was my identity. But now, I’ve never felt so stupid.
For six years, I’ve been played. I’ve been a marionette dangled on strings, pulled all around the world by puppeteers.
And for what? Why is it so goddamn important to my parents that Cole and I stay apart? How could he let them manipulate us like this? If he loved me, he wouldn’t have let it happen.
My skull throbs with every beat of my pulse. My eyelids are swollen and raw. Still, I’m drawn to the letters and emails, the horrible, destructive words before me laid out by the woman who gave me life.
Cole,
Or should I call you Stanley? Emily said you called her last week. We were able to undo your harm, once again, not that you seem to care. Every time you call, email, text her, she regresses. YOU ARE HURTING HER. It’s not bad enough I have to live with what your sick family has done to me, I will not watch Emily suffer, too. Do us all a favor and jump off the London Bridge while you’re over there. STAY THE FUCK OUT OF OUR LIVES!!
Ava
Cole,
Attached is a photo with her new boyfriend. He’s a PhD student, will be a pediatrician. Look how happy she is. She’s on the Dean’s list again this semester. She loves her new dorm and has a host of amazing friends in her life. She hasn’t spoken of you in over a year. You’re doing the right thing, I’m proud of you.
Ava
Cole,
I don’t know what game you’re playing, but this needs to end. She cannot work with you. How could you be so stupid? Haven’t you learned anything over all these years? You’re still you, nothing has changed. Stop avoiding my calls, email me back.
Ava
Bile creeps up my throat again as I reread everything for the hundredth time. All these years, it was my dad who was hellbent on keeping Cole and me apart. But even he never said such horrible, manipulative things. Mom was supportive, listened when I talked about Cole, watched his races, kept up with his career.
It was all lies. She was manipulating me as much as him.
Like an idiot, I fell for it. I told her everything about Cole, my new job, and it only gave her intel so she could hurt us worse.
Why? How could she do this? She knew how badly I was hurt when he left. She knew my pain when he stopped calling, when never wrote me back—all the letters he never got. She must have intercepted them after I put them in our mailbox.
My fingers are shaking when I push the call button, but I can’t call Ava right now. I don’t even want to refer to her as my mother, right now.
I call the Major General.
“Sweetheart?” He answers after two rings.
I can hear sounds of the military base in the background, engines whirring, soldiers barking out orders.
I haven’t spoken to him in months, but the sound of his voice enrages me.
“What the fuck, Dad!” I’ve never spoken this way to my father, no one has. Grown men, battle-hardened soldiers, live in fear of the Major General. But I can’t control it, it comes out on its own, like a burst dam.
There’s a pause, he’s clearly caught off guard, which is unprecedented. Nothing gets past the Major General. No-one gets the jump on him.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay? I’m at work, sweetheart.”
“I don’t give a shit where you are, DAD,” I growl the word. He’s as far from a father to me right now as Ava is a mother, as far as I’m concerned.
“I suggest you remember who you’re speaking to, Emily, and tell me what is going on.” I hear him cover the phone and issue an order to someone nearby, then the sounds in the background grow faint like he’s walking away to get privacy.
Good.
“I am your daughter! How could you do this to me?” Tears stream down my eyes, my voice shakes.
As angry as I am, I’m so hurt. But I can’t deny there is
also a little girl still inside of me who is panicked and filled with fear speaking to her father like this.
I have been a prisoner to fear for so long. Fear of disappointing him, fear of hearing his harsh words and tone like I’m one of his cadets who has just screwed up. Fear of any minor imperfection, anything less than excellence.
I feel sick.
“Do what? What are you talking about?”
The Major General is many things, but stupid is not one of them. It infuriates me all the more that he’s going to play dumb now, treat me as if I am dumb. “You know exactly what. You and Mom have made me feel stupid for the last time. How could you?”
He pauses, “He told you.”
“He told me everything,” I lie. I know there’s more. The letters prove it.
“I only want what’s best for you, you know that.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re lying. You and Mom are nothing but filthy, manipulative liars! For six years, you watched me suffer for nothing!”
“You will watch your tone, Emily Walker,” he barks. “It wasn’t for nothing, Cole had good reasons for leaving. I have good reasons for wanting him to stay away from you. That’s the end of it.”
I leap up from my bed, my fists balled. So help me, if he were in front of me, I would pummel my fists into his face. “The end of it? Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t get to decide…”
“I am your father, and you will talk to me with the respect I deserve!” There is no longer any ‘Dad’ on this call, I know. There is only the Major General present now.
“Respect is earned, DAD, and you don’t deserve any of it! You or Mom, I hate you both!”
“You will not hate your mother over this. It isn’t her fault. You hate me if you need to, not her,” his voice drops an octave.
“Why? What the hell are you talking about? What is wrong with both of you?” My whole body is shaking, I don’t know if I’m going to throw up or explode.
“You should come home,” he huffs, and I can picture him in his uniform, hands on his hips, issuing commands. “We’ll talk all of this through.”
