by E. S. Maria
Me.
Why me?
But I don’t feel comforted, or relieved. I don’t feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders.
I thought that finally telling Atticus the whole story would help liberate me from my self-hate, that maybe I’m on my way to forgiving myself.
But it doesn’t help at all.
In fact, I feel shittier than ever.
Because hearing myself speak the words out loud just magnified exactly how awful a person I am.
I still loathe myself, and I still can’t trust Atticus enough to feel secure that he won’t hurt me again.
One night of passion and a morning’s worth of revelations can’t change everything in an instant.
But if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t think anything will.
I was naïve to think that giving Atticus something so precious like my virginity would make him rethink his priorities; that maybe he’d change his mind and stay…or at least wait for me until I’m ready to go with him. I thought it’d make him love me more and he’d wait.
And since I developed a severe case of amnesia with a side of stupidity, I slept with Atticus again last night because I thought that remembering how we felt together would be the key for me to justify the clusterfuck of events that happened before the accident.
It’s Atticus … my body just responds to him in some cosmic level.
But I was foolish then, and I’m even more foolish now.
Did I really think that making love to Atticus would miraculously heal me? That being with him would cure my damage?
I still feel so broken, so afraid, so … guilty.
I’m doing this all wrong.
And if I don’t approach this the right way, I have a feeling there’s a chance that I’ll end up an even worse state.
“I wish I can make this pain of yours go away. I wish I had that power, Hannah,” Atticus sounds despondent, resigned.
I squeeze my eyes shut, stopping tears from falling down his chest.
I wish you could too, Atticus … I really do …
I know now what I need to do to truly make this sadness, this guilt, this pain go away.
I know now what I need to do to move forward so I can finally start to live this second chance at life I’ve been gifted.
I have to let go of everything that seems to be weighing me down.
I have to free myself of all the baggage.
I have to let go. I have to let him go.
So I pull away from Atticus’s embrace, ignoring the way my body cries for his touch. I turn around and place my feet firmly on the floor so I can stand up.
“Atticus, please take me home. I need to go home now.”
“Are you sure? Okay. Of course. And I’ll stay with you until you feel better.” He guides me near the door where my shoes are, and he hands me my purse.
“Thank you, but I just need you to take me home, please.”
It takes him a moment before he answers, “Okay.”
I keep my silence while carefully using the walking stick as we make our way to his car. Somehow, it just doesn’t feel right to hold on to Atticus, but I do let him hold me by the arm so he can guide me in the right direction.
The short ride home is a welcome relief because the silence between us has become too uncomfortable to bear. He tells me I’m home as he drives up my driveway and finally stops.
“So …” he starts, sounding a little hesitant, “when can I see you again?”
I try to sound composed, even though my head hurts, and my eyes and throat feel swollen from all the crying.
“Never.”
“Excuse me?” Atticus sounds perplexed at my answer, so I close my eyes and breathe deeply.
“The first thing I did when I woke up this morning was panic. I panicked because I thought you left me again without reason.”
“I didn’t, Han—”
“Please, just let me finish.”
“Okay,” Atticus relents.
“Thank you,” I pause to regain my composure. “When I woke up this morning, and I didn’t find you there, I thought you walked out on me again, and it scared the living shit out of me. The first time you left was so devastating, I didn’t know if I was ever going to get over it. But I wanted to so badly because I didn’t want to live with the pain anymore. I thought Paul was my remedy. He was your opposite, and to me, that was a good thing to me because it meant that he would never do what you did to me. But now I realise that a broken heart can’t be tricked into loving someone else. It’s like you’re taunting fate. I forced this love to happen before I was truly ready, and that, I admit, was my undoing. Looking back now, I’ve realised I was unfair to Paul. I even fucking cheated on Paul with you, for goodness sake! I was ready to walk out on him, and you only had to say the word. And now … and now Paul’s dead because I could not, for the fucking life of me, forget about you. I’m living with the consequences of that accident every single day because I let myself become completely obsessed by you.”
I wipe a single tear that has fallen, continuing, “So I’ve decided to stop taunting fate. I’m going to help my heart to heal completely first. And only when it’s finally whole will I allow myself to move forward. But a big part of healing is learning to forgive. I need to forgive you first before I can even consider forgiving myself. But forgiving you means eliminating your power over me. It just hurts too damn much knowing how much I love you, and knowing how much it scares me when you decide to leave me once again. I need to do what I should’ve done before. I need to learn to be on my own. And when I’m ready to love again, who knows? But I’ll be realistic enough to understand that you probably won’t hang around for me when it happens.”
I hear him whisper my name, but I stop myself from reacting, “So this is it, Atticus. This is goodbye. But before I go, I want to thank you for a memorable night. And yes, I’m even thankful for our heart-to-heart this morning. But you were right in the first place. We are better off apart. I was just too stubborn to see it back then.” I turn to unlock the car door, pulling the lever so it’ll open. But his arm shoots across my chest, and he slams the door shut.
“No. You don’t mean that,” he tells me adamantly, “hear me out before you decide anything.”
I try to remain steadfast, holding my ground as calmly as possible. “For once, I’m going to decide what’s good for me. I have to let you go so you can live your dream and finally live your life without constraints. All I ask is that you let me live mine in the same way. After all, isn’t that what you wanted for me in the first place?”
“You don’t mean that, Hannah. You don’t mean to let me go now. Please. Give me another chance.”
“I’m giving myself another chance. And if you really do love me like you say you do, then you will let me. You will set me free just like you did before. And I will do the same with you.”
“Please don’t do this,” the anguish in his voice almost breaks my resolve.
My hand reaches for him until I’m touching his face, and then I lean forward and I kiss him gently on the cheek. Then I close my eyes and breathe him in for the very last time.
“Goodbye, Atticus. I will be forever grateful that you wrote me those songs. Now go, be the star that you were meant to be.”
I don’t wait for him to respond. But then again, he stays quiet, which makes me feel oddly thankful. So I open the car door again, and thankfully this time, Atticus doesn’t stop me. I unfold my walking stick first before I step out of the car, closing the door behind me. I’m relieved that he doesn’t open his car door, but I know that he’s following me with his eyes.
I can feel it.
I always do.
I finally make it to the front door of my house. Using my keys, I unlock the door, but quickly locking it as soon as I’m inside, just in case Atticus changes his mind and decides to storm in.
And yet he doesn’t.
I stay put, standing right next to the door, and I wait.
I wait until I hear the car engine hum. Then I listen on until I hear the car leaving the driveway. My ear is still pressed against the door as I listen to the distant echo of the vintage engine as it drives off away from me and to goodness knows where.
Once I’m in my bedroom, I pop a couple of painkilling tablets and crawl to bed, needing something to numb the pain I know would take a long while to get rid of. Thankfully, the pills take effect in no time, and before I know it, I’m closing my eyes, and I succumb to a deep, and thankfully, dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Eight Months Later
Mum is crying … again. This is probably the third time she cried that I know of since we left our home over two hours ago. I’m just counting the ones I can hear, and I think I may have heard her sniffle way too many times in-between.
Now I know why I’m such a damn crybaby. It’s genetic.
“Mum, you’re breaking my heart here,” I reach forward to squeeze her shoulder, but she grabs my hand and keeps it there.
“I can’t help it. I’m sorry, but I can’t help it, mi corazon,” she sniffs.
“It’s not like Hannah’s never coming to visit us, dear. And it’s too late to turn back around now, seeing we’re a block away from her new home.”
I can’t help but smile at Dad’s attempt to lighten up Mum’s mood.
“I texted your friends. They are outside now, and they’re waving like crazy,” Mum tells me in-between the sniffles.
As soon as Dad parks the car, I ask, “Is it okay to open the door now, Dad?”
“You’re good to go, Han,” Dad answers.
I let myself out of the car, welcoming the chance to stretch my legs. I haven’t even unfolded my stick yet when I hear two sets of squeals, and they’re coming from my best friends, the same best friends who stuck by me.
“You’re here!” Patty screeches, jumping up and down and taking me with her.
“We are going to have so much fun!” Brook adds straight after. “Group hug!”
“I still can’t believe this is actually happening!”
“Okay, how about we all take this inside? Nancy looks like she’s about to break down again,” Dad tells us laughingly, just as I hear the car boot closing.
“Oh, shoosh, mentiroso! I’m trying my best here, but this is my unica hija so I will cry if I want to,” Mum places her arm around me. “Como estas, girls? I brought your favourite empanadas!”
My friends let out a whoop, then they usher me inside the house― the new home that the girls and I will be renting … just like what we planned to do when we talked about our college life back then.
Except, I’m a little late in the take, a year late to be exact. But that’s okay because I’m more ready now to take on this next chapter in my life than I was back then.
Breaking up with Atticus was probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. He was my greatest love, but he was also my ultimate downfall. Not having him around helped me to finally focus on myself, but more importantly, to depend on myself. I finally gave in to Mum’s request and checked out the guide dog option, but I decided that having a guide dog wasn’t for me. I needed to be able to do this on my own without getting emotionally attached to another living being, especially when I’m rebuilding my emotional state in the first place. I decided to go for this thing called Independent Living Training, which was run by an organization that assists the blind to live with least assistance as possible. They taught me all the skills I needed, and they trained me to do achievable day-to-day tasks without assistance. My trainer even came with me here before my actual move to help me with navigating around the house. She also taught me how to take public transport to travel to and from the university. So even though I’ll still be needing some form of assistance in some aspects of my everyday life, I’m feeling quite confident that I can do this in my own capabilities.
I have made my peace with the fate I’ve been given, and because of this, I’m finally able to feel like my old self again. My true self.
And my true self is happiest when I have music in my life.
So I played my guitar more often, and I’ve started writing songs more. I took my cues, not only from memories both painful and happy, but also from my journey of acceptance.
These original songs I created led me back to Sydney University.
Not the School of Law. In fact, it’s far from it.
After an admittedly nerve-wracking audition, I have been accepted at the prestigious Sydney University Conservatorium of Music.
When I told my parents that I’ve decided to go to uni, I told them both that I wanted to earn a degree in music instead of law.
I was expecting my dad to be against it. He had a precedent― Brodie. But to my surprise, he was proud that I’ve made this choice, even telling me that he should’ve been more supportive of Brodie back then instead of pushing for what he personally wanted.
Maybe my own father had his own breakthrough, I’m not sure, but his change of heart was the catalyst that brought us closer once again ... just like we were before the accident.
I’ve never been this happy in a long time.
Funny what a mere eight months could do.
“So, I placed all of your bags in your bedroom,” Dad says. “Did Brodie tell you what time he’ll be over, Brook?”
“He’s in the studio with the band, so I’m assuming … in a couple of hours?” Brook answers.
I’ve got to hand it to Brook. She got my wayward brother in line, and they’re still together.
“Okay, well … maybe we should just allow our daughter to get settled with her friends.” I feel Dad’s hands on my shoulders, and a wave of melancholy washes over me.
“Oh, but we’re in no hurry. I can prepare a little something for the girls. So wh—” Mum’s voice goes a pitch higher, and that only happens when she’s trying to swallow her feelings.
“Nancy, dear, I know what you’re trying to do. But it’s time to let go. Hannah’s more than ready to do this, and she’s got her friends with her.”
“Oh, but―”
“Mum,” I interrupt, reaching out in her direction until she’s holding my hand, “Dad’s right. I’ll be okay. And you’ll come get me after the term ends, won’t you?”
“Of course, mija. Try and stop me!” she answers back with conviction before practically suffocating me in her embrace.
“Te amo mucho, Mum. I’ll miss you, but don’t worry. I’m going to be fine.”
“Te amo mucho tambien, mija. Use your phone and call us whenever you can, okay?”
“Okay. I will,” I answer back, before feeling Dad’s arms around me … followed by friends cooing at the public display of parental affection in front of them.
I would probably be embarrassed by my parents―if these were normal circumstances, but it isn’t. I will miss them … so very much.
After several more hugs, mostly from Mum, they’re finally in the car and on their way home. That’s when my friends and I head to my new bedroom. The layout of the room and where everything is going, have been preplanned so I’ll know exactly where everything is. This makes it easier for me, and I won’t have to rely too much on Brook and Patty.
“So, are you excited, Han? I know I am!” Patty tells me from one side of the room.
“We should go out to Gilroy’s once the boys are back from the studio,” Brook adds from the en suite. “Actually, let me text Brodie now.”
“Yeah, we should. I don’t mind getting to know the local,” I answer back, smiling to both of them.
I didn’t really bring much, so it doesn’t take me long to unpack. Eventually, we find ourselves in the dining room, eating the empanadas that Mum brought for us.
“I tell you what, these empanadas are just bloody amazing. I should learn how to make these. I’m asking your mum for the recipe.” Patty loves to cook and has been considering auditioning for the TV show, Masterchef. We told her to go for it, but I think
she just needs to get over her nerves first. Even with her show of confidence, Patty’s probably one of the most insecure people I’ve ever met.
But girl can cook like nobody’s business.
“So did you visit Paul before you left?” Brook asks from out of the blue.
“Yeah. He knows that I finally made it here,” I answer contemplatively.
I went to the cemetery and said goodbye to Paul the day before I left Avoca Beach. It may sound a little on the crazy side, but I still went to visit him whenever I had some good news to say, or when I had to vent out after my group therapy sessions or my Independent Living Training. In one of those occasions when I visited Paul, his parents arrived while I was still sitting next to his headstone. It scared me at first. I never had the guts to face them since the accident. The only contact I had since, was a heartfelt letter I wrote a few days after I awoke from the coma. It was a difficult letter to write because I couldn’t distinguish the difference between sorrow and guilt. They lost their only child because of me. How can a letter make them feel any better? How can a letter make up for the fact that I lived and their son never even had a chance?
I came to the cemetery that day with Mum. She would usually leave me alone, staying in the car and watching her telenovelas on her iPad or reading another historical romance. She’d give me the time alone so I could talk to Paul. But that time, she came up to me and told me that Paul’s parents had just arrived.
I was bracing myself for a throw down. But instead, I got two sets of arms hugging me and thanking me through their tears for the letter. But what broke me down was when they told me how they understood why I never showed up at their doorstep. They said they understood that we all grieve differently, and that I had my own issues to overcome. When I told them that I had been visiting Paul on a regular basis, they were pleased, and told me that Paul would’ve been happy about that. I made it clear however, that I didn’t do it because I was obliged to do so, and that I will continue to visit him because I still love him, and I always will.
