Reprieve

by A. E. Woodward

  All the while I’ve been talking, we’ve been moving closer and closer to each other. We’re like magnets, he and I; drawn together, but one of us will always spin, pushing the other away at the last second.

  He’s close enough to touch and I wrap my arms tightly around him and he pulls me against his chest, making me feel small, yet safe at the same time. He’s been my strength. My courage. My reprieve. And no matter what, I will always thank him for that. But now I have to be all of those for myself. It’s time for me to jump in without my life preserver. I need to find out if I’m going to sink or swim.

  Heroin wasn’t good for me.

  But neither is he.

  There’s a fine line between love and addiction, and he and I are addicted. I understand that now.

  I’m the fire, he’s the spark.

  But the time has come for me to figure out how to burn on my own.

  I WAKE UP BEFORE my alarm goes off, taking the extra time to ready myself for my appointment with Mr. Wood—sorry, Simon. He’s been great over the last few days, setting me up at a halfway house in the city, a few hours away from here. I’ve asked him to keep my information just between the two of us. I don’t want anyone else to know. He thinks it’s because I don’t want my family to find me, and that’s fine. He doesn’t need to know the truth.

  I throw the last of my clothes into my bag and zip up my suitcase. I lift the handle, waiting for the satisfying click before wheeling it toward the door. With my hand on the knob, I turn, looking over my shoulder at the four walls that have contained me over the last three months. My eyes take it all in before resting upon the window and my heart seizes. Over the years, I’ve often heard the phrase “If these walls could talk” and never really thought much of it, but the significance of it hits me now. Now I understand. If that pane of glass could talk it would tell a story; a story about a girl who’d lost her way, and how she was trying to find who she was again. It would be a tale full of hope and heartache. Spinning back around, I turn the knob and walk through, closing the door on my time here.

  I don’t look back.

  I navigate through the halls. Laughter comes from the TV room. There are raised voices in the common room. The smell of freshly roasted coffee comes from the canteen. I slow up, taking in everything, wondering if this is it for me.

  I reach the reception desk and Simon waits there for mea smile plastered across his face. I hold out my hand but he ignores it, leaning in to give me a quick, awkward hug.

  “Congratulations, Tegan. You’ve done it.”

  “Thanks. It’s still pretty surreal.”

  He nods. “I have the van all lined up to transport you. You should be there by lunch. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve called ahead to let them know you’re coming.”

  “Okay.”

  “Obviously they’ll give you some time to settle in but the staff on call will start working on lining you up with a job. It won’t be anything fancy, but it’ll help you get back on your feet.”

  “Thanks again for organizing all of this for me.”

  “Of course.” He pauses and clears his throat. “I know I’ve asked you more questions than most, Tegan, but I was wondering if I might ask one more?”

  I nod.

  Instead of asking me anything, he starts walking, looking over his shoulder at me. “Please, follow me to the office. We’ll have some privacy there.”

  Privacy? Why do we need privacy?

  He doesn’t stop walking for me to ask so I grab my case and hurry after him, following him through the maze of corridors and security doors, ignoring the memories of Asher and I making the same journey only a short time ago. We reach Simon’s office and he opens the door for me, waiting for me to enter before he pulls out a chair and gestures for me to sit. There are no sandwiches this time but I get the same cold rush through my body.

  Nerves.

  I don’t sit down. Simon waits for a beat but then launches straight into what is obviously a prepared speech. “You know it didn’t make sense to me why you didn’t want Asher involved in this process. Usually patients prefer to have their counselors on board with their after treatment plan. During their time here, it’s not unusual for patients to become close to their counselor, which makes sense. We allow for that, and our staff undergo rigorous training on maintaining boundaries and the like. But then I reflected back on the first time you and I met.”

  My heart thumps in my throat and I twist my hands together, feeling the sweat that coats my palm. I let out a low breath, watching Simon out of the corner of my eye as he walks around the room, head lowered, hands clasped behind his back.

  “Little things that seemed off to me. Before I was promoted to this position, I too spent some time as a counselor. It wasn’t long, granted, but it was long enough for me to learn a little about body language. For example, did you know that when a person is attracted to someone, their pupils dilate? I’ll admit I always thought that was just a made up thing in movies, but it turns out it’s the real deal. And liars always have tells, things that give them away—did you know that? I picked up a couple of tells on that day, Tegan. Like the way you kept looking to him before your answers. That’s seeking approval, in case you didn’t know. And while a certain amount of guidance is expected, this seemed like . . . more. The more I thought about it, I started to wonder if I was getting the full story. Being in my position, you have to make decisions everyday; lots of decisions, decisions whose consequences affect many. Because of this I’ve learned to always have the most amount if information possible available to me. It’s made me a curious person. In your case, my curiosity got the better of me and I spent some time reviewing security footage.”

  My eyes grow wide and my mind races, thinking back to all the times Asher and I ran through the car park, through the grounds. At the time we thought we were being careful but is there a chance . . .

  “I didn’t know my counselors were seeing patients at night . . . in their rooms.”

  “I—I—” I stutter before shutting my mouth, unable to think of anything to say.

  Simon continues, holding my eyes, forcing me to look straight at him as he says, “I apologize for Asher’s behavior and I want you to know that I have spoken with the board and we have dealt with this in the correct manner.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As of nine o’clock this morning, Asher Hughes is no longer employed here.”

  My heart sinks, the chasm in my stomach opening up again to swallow me from the inside. My life is just beginning but the one Asher has worked so hard to build has come crashing down. Because of me. “Is that necessary?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

  “Yes, it is. However, I do think in order for your continued success you need to close this door before you open another.” He moves to the phone on the desk and lifts it to his ear, speaking into the handset but I don’t hear what is said because the blood rushing through my ears drowns out any other noise. I edge toward the seat in front of me, knowing that I’m not going to be able to remain standing much longer. My case is left in the middle of the room.

  The door behind me opens and I don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. It’s not even his scent that gives him away. Asher and I have a bond, one that allows me to sense him anywhere around me. It’s what made me look to my window each night, knowing he was at the glass a split second before his face appeared. It was the tingling I felt across my skin that time he’d spotted Luke and me in the gardens. It’s like we’re somehow connected.

  And as such, a wash of calm rolls over me, and I hear his soft footsteps fall on the carpet. I hear his shallow breaths. I twist in my seat as he takes the one next to me. I don’t look at his face. I can’t. So I focus on his throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob up and down and I fight the urge to lean forward and kiss it.

  “I’ll leave you two for a moment. Mr. Hughes.” His use of Asher’s surname coupled with the warning look he shoots causes Asher’s chin to dro
p toward his chest, like a chastised child. Looking to me, Simon gives a sympathetic smile and exits the room, leaving us alone.

  “Why are you here? I told you I didn’t want to see you again.”

  “Correction.” He turns, closing the distance between us. “You said once you were gone you didn’t want to see me. You’re not gone yet.”

  I look up at the ceiling, hoping that I can somehow find the courage to keep to my word because having him in front of me while I feel weak makes me want to throw in the towel. “I can’t do this with you. Seriously. You’re killing me.”

  His finger gently strokes the back of my hand, and I concentrate on the sensation of his skin on mine. Back and forth he traces a figure eight; or is it the symbol for eternity. I can’t believe he’s here, touching me, so I look down and confirm it. I stare, watching his fingertips sweeping my skin. I want to snap my hand away, but I can’t bring myself to.

  “I’m not killing you,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry, Tegan. For everything. We’re killing each other. You and I both know it. This”—he lifts my chin so that I’m looking at him—“you going off on your own, it’s going to be the best thing you’ve ever done.”

  I don’t tell him that it doesn’t feel like it. I don’t let him know that my resolve is slowly melting away in his presence. Instead I muster up all the strength and courage that he has given me and force a smile even though my lower lips quivers with the effort. “How am I going to make it without you?”

  He smiles back at me, his fingers stilling. “Not only are you going to make it, you’re going to soar.”

  I can’t do this.

  I throw myself at him and just like he has so many times before, he catches me, his arms wrapping tightly around my back, cradling me against him. “I will forever be indebted to you. I owe you my life. You saved me,” I whisper.

  “I know you won’t believe me when I say this, but you saved me just as much—if not more. If there’s one thing I learned in loving you, Tegan, it’s that nothing goes as planned. Somehow in my fucked up game you brought me to life, made me realize that there’s a lot more to living than what I’ve been doing. I’ve got a lot left to learn and I plan to do that and so much more.”

  I swallow back the sadness. A horn sounds outside and I know it’s my ride to the city. “My chariot awaits,” I say into his neck.

  “Right.” He gives one final squeeze and then lets me go, pushing me back so I’m once again in the chair opposite. He bites the inside of his cheek.

  “I should get going.” I don’t move, looking at him looking at me. I don’t want the moment to end.

  “No good-byes right?” he asks with a slight smile.

  Tears threaten to fall, but I choke them back and laugh. “I’m just going to pretend that I’m going to the bathroom if that’s okay.”

  He nods. “I like that idea.”

  I stand up and walk to my suitcase; my steps slow and labored as I fight back tears. Bending down I clench the handle so hard that my nails dig into the palm of my hand, but the pain is nothing compared to the ache inside my chest. “Well, nature calls.” My words come out like a singsong as I attempt to lighten the mood. He stands and crosses the room to open the door, holding it for me, allowing me to pass. I sneak a glance at him. His eyes are glued to the floor, his shoulders slumped in defeat and my heart shatters. It can’t end like this, he can’t think it was all for nothing.

  Without a second thought, I drop my suitcase and run back to him. Shocked, he takes a step back to steady himself but then wraps his arms tightly around my waist and picks me up off the ground.

  “Not only do I forgive you,” I whisper into his ear, “but I will always love you.”

  I feel his muscles relax as the air leaves his lungs with a sigh of relief. As the tension continues to leave his body and he melts into my arms, I know it was right thing to do. He leans down, his head pressing against my chest. I wrap my arms tighter around him and comfort him. Feeling the wet against my collarbone I bite my lip and hold him closer, tighter. I hold him that way for what seems like an eternity before I slowly bend down and kiss his hair. “Good-bye, Asher.”

  He looks up at me, his face stained with tears and gives me one final nod.

  “Good-bye, Tegan.”

  SITTING IN MY weekly meeting, I find myself struggling to focus. My mind is elsewhere and I can’t seem to control it. I’m half listening as the newcomers stand and introduce themselves, but for the most part I’m focused on picking the skin at the bed of my nails.

  And then I feel it.

  The prickle at the back of my neck. The goose bumps over my skin. The sensation of being watched, but not in a creepy way—in a way that makes me want to be seen. It’s been months but I know that feeling. I could be years and I would still know it. That kind of connection never dies. It just waits. Biding its time.

  I press my lips together as a lump forms in my throat. My heart thunders like a freight train when I hear him clear his throat but I don’t lift my head, staring at my hands as he speaks.

  “Hi, everyone, my name is Asher, and I’m a recovering addict.”

  Scared shitless, I slowly lift my head until my gaze falls on him, standing across the room from me. Nothing about him has changed. He looks exactly like I remember him.

  “My first love was cocaine, and then it was this girl. I thought I could play God and save her from herself, but it turned out it wasn’t herself she needed saving from, it was me.”

  Our eyes connect and the corner of his mouth turns upward in a half smile. He doesn’t look shocked to see me—he looks pleased, relieved almost.

  This is no coincidence, of that I’m certain, and for an instant I feel unsure of what my response should be. Do I make a run for it? Do I yell? Smile back? Cry? But instead of thinking about the negativity that lives deep inside me still, I choose to embrace the good and I smile back. In the end Asher saved me, the way he went about it doesn’t matter.

  The group greets him with a chorus of, “Hi Asher,” and then he sits back down. For the remainder of the meeting my eyes continue to flick to him, trying to figure out why he’s here. Once or twice he catches me, each time shoots me a smiling, but for the most part he directs his attention toward the group leader and other members who take turns talking.

  As the meeting comes to a close I begin to panic, my palms sweating, my heart thundering, knowing that I’m more than likely going to have to speak to him. As we’re dismissed everyone stands and makes their way to the door, but he and I remain glued to our seats. When the room is all but empty we look at each other, trying to gauge the emotions surrounding us.

  As the last person leaves, the room falls silent but we don’t move. I’ve spent the last few months missing his presence, thinking about him every damn day and yet, when faced with him I’m frozen in place, sitting in a metal folding chair, mere feet from the man who became more to me in the ninety days I knew him than people who I’d known my entire life.

  In the end it’s Asher who makes the first move, looking at me and smiling that smile I’ve seen a hundred times in my dreams. I don’t return the gesture because I’m still unsure of where I stand. I can’t go to him, but I can’t run away either.

  I hear the screech of metal against the floor, then loud footsteps echo around the empty room. My head whips up and as I watch him walk toward me, every ounce of doubt melts away. He stops in front of me, his gaze assessing and I know this because mine is the same. I take in everything, committing it all to memory in case this is just a dream. His hair is slightly longer but it suits him; he has a few more lines around his eyes but wears them well; his lips are still as full and tempting as I remember and that knowledge makes me happier than I’ve been in a long time.

  “Hey, Tegan.”

  “Asher.”

  “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

  “Of all the places,” I say, trying but failing to keep the teasing tone from my voice, amazed at how quickly I fall back
in step with him.

  See, I told you. Magnets.

  “I’d like to say that this was by chance, but it wasn’t.”

  I knew it.

  He sits in the chair next to me and silence returns to the room, my eyes dropping to my hands. I don’t know why neither of us is speaking: either we’re unsure of what to say, or we’re scared if we talk that our moment will pass and it will be over again.

  I rest my palms on top of my thighs and wait, watching them lift and drop with the bouncing of my knees. Slowly he slides his hand on top of mine and with his thumb begins rubbing small circles on the back of my hand. My legs still and a warmth that I’ve only ever known to come from his touch soaks into my skin.

  “I had to find you. To try and make things right.”

  “I’m not her,” I whisper, knowing that he’ll get my meaning. Knowing he’ll understand that I can’t compete with a ghost. I’ve worked hard to become a person I can be proud of, and I need him to want to love me for being that person. Anything less than that is less than what I deserve.

  “You’re right, you’re not. You’re so, so much more. You always were. I know I made mistakes, but I need you to see that I haven’t given up on you. Not yet. Not ever.”

  I turn my face to him and he stares back at me, lost in thought.

  “There is so much to say, Tegan, but how about we start small?”

  I pause, waiting to see where he’s going with this.

  “You look great,” he finally says.

  Small talk. I can do small talk.

  I can’t help but smile wide. “I feel it. I started running.” My conversation skills are seriously lacking but in my defense he’s still tracing figure eights on the back of my hand and the sensation that comes with feeling his skin against mine, the memories it evokes . . . they’re distracting, to say the least.

  “I can tell.”

  The tension between us is palpable and I start to panic that the awkwardness is going to win and we’re both going to walk away without any sort of closure.