by Riley Jean
“It’s like… I didn’t want to let myself be happy, so instead I got consumed by the darkness. Except, no matter how far away I go, I still feel him there, guiding me. Like a light.” I paused, wondering if any of this made sense. “Does that sound totally stupid?”
“It’s not stupid at all! It’s beautiful,” she said. “Your distant light in the darkness… Like the stars.”
I smiled, convinced that rooming with Claire was proof of divine intervention. Vance was right about one more thing after all—with the right people, it’s totally worth it.
“Exactly like the stars.”
* * *
[Journal]
What is the perfect love? Could we know enough to wager?
Is it butterflies and fairy tales, an instant spark with a stranger?
No. The perfect love is patient. It challenges and grows
Derived from song and pancakes, and in the beauty of a rose
The perfect love is laughter. Selflessness. Respect
Anything that makes him smile. A dance with my best friend
The perfect love is passion, intimate and heat
Kindness and trust in his eyes of olive green
The perfect love is intricate. Messy. Real. Raw
Forgiveness and humility. Vulnerable and flawed
The perfect love is hope, faithful and pure
Destined to last, built to endure
* * *
Meeting with my counselor was helping. The more I talked, the uglier it got, but the more I began to find my strength.
It wasn’t easy. At times I clammed up. At times I cried. Some days revealing my skeletons was therapeutic and some days it tore me apart. But she was patient and understanding. She made me look at things in a different light. Slowly we worked to make sense of my past and understand the me beneath the surface. When I depended too strongly on either my heart or my logic, she provided the balance.
“And did Miles attempt to get you back after his infidelity was exposed?”
I shrugged. “He called and texted for awhile, tried to draw it out or pick fights, but I never responded. It was already over for me. Black and white.”
“No temptation to give him another chance?”
“No.”
“Here’s what I find interesting. It seemed all too easy to dismiss your relationship with Miles once you found it to be unhealthy. Why do you think this is harder to do with Gavin?”
I bristled. It was still so strange to hear his name.
“I guess… sometimes I still see them as two different men—Gavin and Gabriel. He made me believe a lot of crap, but at the same time, a lot of the things he told me were true. About his world. And his loneliness. I feel like, on some level, he was Gabriel. Or he wanted to be Gabriel.” I fiddled with my own fingers and spoke quietly. “Gavin was the sinister version. But Gabriel… he cared about me.”
Despite everything, something inside me still wanted to believe our connection was real. How could it be completely fabricated when he showed me mercy in the very end? And his life… I’d looked it up once after the investigation was closed and all the dots were connected. I remembered wishing he would tell me all about who he was and where he came from. I remembered falling even harder when he finally did. I remembered hating him when I discovered everything he ever told me was a lie. What I found was more than I’d bargained for… truth.
He grew up in the English countryside. When he was still but a young boy, a fire burnt down their home, killing his mother, and driving his father away. Homeless and abandoned, Gavin and his younger brother, Graham, bounced around all of Europe until they fell off the radar. Years later they resurfaced in America.
Records were picked up over multiple states following the two troubled young men. Gabriel was never apprehended while alive, but Graham had a record miles long. Violence. Theft. Gang related crimes. He did a stint in jail one summer, while Gabriel stayed nearby, working on a ranch.
All was calm for a while. Graham got released, and it looked like they had both settled into their new country life.
That was, until the family that owned the ranch was murdered by members of Graham’s biker gang.
“He used to tell me about all the places in the world he’s traveled to. He told me about his favorite summer working on a ranch near San Antonio. He never lied about that. He never lied about Texas.”
“So what if that’s true?” she pried. “There’s a little truth in every lie, manipulated slightly to fit its purpose. Maybe he did have a hard life, and maybe some part of him did care. That’s still no excuse. When the opportunity presented itself, he made his decision. He chose to be Gavin. He chose to hurt you.”
“I just wish I knew for sure.”
“Tell me how that would make you feel, knowing whether he cared for you or not. Help me understand why that makes a difference.”
I steeled myself to bring it all full circle.
“When Vance first pursued me, I had a hard time trusting his intentions. I’ve never really considered myself desirable. I’ve always been the cute, awkward friend. And my less than stellar track record with the three evil ex-boyfriends didn’t exactly help.” I chewed my lip. “So I guess I had a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that someone like Vance could actually love me.”
“Were you worried he was lying to you? Like Gavin?”
“It’s not that… I figured out that Vance was a good guy. That was never the problem.”
“Then what is the problem?”
I looked down at my open palms. “It’s me,” I whispered. “I have the blood of three men on my hands. I am capable of rashness and terrible violence. What happens when I get into a fight with the next boyfriend? What if that part of my mind takes over again… what will these hands do?
“That’s why it makes a difference. If he was just a ruthless bad guy, we could argue justice. But it isn’t black or white. When it came down to it, yes he went through with the robbery, but he wasn’t just a cold-hearted thief, he was also the man that spent his last breaths keeping his promise… saving my life. If some part of him really loved me… it was first degree murder.”
My counselor sat motionless, watching me from her chair.
“Vance is the best person I’ve ever known,” I told her. “The way he looked at me… I didn’t deserve that. Not after what I did to Gabe—I mean, to Gavin.”
“And what did you deserve? To die? To be kidnapped? To be sold? What do you think would have happened to you if you hadn’t fought back?”
I blinked a few times and licked my lips. “Sometimes… I wish I hadn’t lived through it.”
That was the truth. I never believed my actions were a display of bravery or valor. My fight that night came solely from a different place… from darkness.
I had taken a life out of vengeance. It gutted me. It frightened me. It stopped me from wanting to love anyone or anything ever again, including myself. This was my penance.
“Am I supposed to hate him?” I asked. “Because I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. I just can’t.”
“No, Scarlett,” she said gently. “You aren’t supposed to hate him. You’re supposed to forgive him. And you’re supposed to forgive yourself.”
I sighed. Here we go again. There was freedom in forgiveness—I got that. But why did the concept seem so much easier than its actual execution? “Is it messed up that the second part sounds harder than the first?”
She leaned forward in her seat. “May I be frank with you, Scarlett?”
“Yes, please,” I nodded. Part of me wanted her to tell me that I had done the right thing, by pushing Vance away. Another part of me knew it was wrong, even if that didn’t change the way I felt. But she never just told me what I wanted to hear. She gave it to me straight.
“I’ve always believed that the worst injustices are committed when good people fail to take action. You got angry. You fought back. Good. This situation did not call for complacency. But no matter what you
’ve done, or what you think you’ve done, your death is not the answer. You walked away that night for a reason. God still has a purpose for your life. And we will keep at this until you believe that.”
* * *
It sat there. Mocking me. The acoustic guitar that Claire had given me permission to use whenever I wanted. She had classes this afternoon, which meant the dorm was all mine for the next three hours. It was the perfect time for me to practice my chords.
Cautiously, I picked up the guitar, situating myself on my bed with the instrument in my lap. My newly calloused fingers ran over the strings along the neck, switching through the notes between each few strums. I’d picked up a lot in the last few months of practice with Claire. But lately something more than scales had been tickling the back of my mind…
‘Love is like music,’ Claire had said.
If love were a song, what would mine sound like?
I had loved four times. I didn’t have a type, per se… I’d dated a musician, an athlete, a thief and a golden boy. I fell hardest for the worst of them, and broke the best man’s heart. So if I had to pick a type, I guess it would be poor judgment.
One part haunting. Two parts regret. Three parts enormously blessed.
I bet that would sound totally emo.
One deep breath.
It started with a simple riff. Slow. The kind of melody that made you want to close your eyes and sway. I pictured his face, that soft smile of his. I longed to tell him all the things I was never brave enough to say.
I missed having someone who gave a damn. I missed his cheesiness, and his fingers in my hair, and even the way he sometimes looked at me when I was being ridiculous.
I’d thought about him every single day since I boarded that plane. Did it make any sense that the longer we were apart, the deeper I fell for him? So many times I’d just sit and wonder if he was thinking about me, too. Was he missing me? Or did he hate my guts for leaving? Were we really better off?
And it wasn’t just the questions; I wanted to tell him things, too. I wanted to share all about my life in Texas, and the good and bad parts of each day. Most of all I wanted to see his smile. I’d do whatever it took to put it there myself. Gosh, what I wouldn’t give just to hear him call me Rosie one more time…
Pathetic, right? I mean, this was my choice. I knew he wouldn’t be here. I knew I’d miss him.
But I had no idea it would hurt this much to be apart.
Even though he wasn’t here with me, I could picture his olive green eyes. His smile. His golden skin. His freckled nose. Healing bled from my fingertips as every wound up emotion inside me found its release. I hummed along. And before I knew it, those hums turned into words…
Only in your arms, I can see the stars that dot the night
Let’s make a wish for one last kiss and hold on tight
You are the one that gives me beauty
The only one that gives me beauty
This bitter mask, a troubled past you found worthwhile
To break my wall, to make me fall, to make me smile
You are the one that makes me lovely
The only one that one that makes me lovely
Because of you…
“Ya know…” I jumped at Claire’s voice. I hadn’t realized she was back. Had it been three hours already? “They been lookin’ for a new singer in the Sunday worship band.”
I was already shaking my head before she finished. “I’ve told you,” I insisted, carefully ditching the guitar, “I don’t sing in public.”
“I’m just throwin’ it out there,” she teased as I hurried past her. How embarrassing. She couldn’t resist leaving me with one last thought.
“Don’t deprive him of your song, Scarlett Rossi! There’ll never be such a thing as too much music in this world!”
* * *
“I decided I hate that,” I admitted. “I hate when people say everything happens for a reason. Is that wrong of me? To question why this was God’s plan for me? What good has this done situation possibly done for me?”
“The strongest steel comes from the hottest flame.”
I blinked. “What?”
“It’s given you a testimony. Life never promised to be fair, and it never promised to be easy. The way we deal with our trials is how we reveal our character. You’ve been through something traumatic and we may never have all the answers. What I do know is this… you survived. You can share your story, Scarlett. You can help others who have been victims of violence. You can empathize with people, especially those struggling to find forgiveness.”
I chewed my lip in thought, wondering if it would’ve made a difference if I’d had someone there. Someone who experienced something similar. Someone who understood.
“You really think I can help people?”
“Your situation is unique, but guilt is something everyone can relate to, in one way or another.” She stopped writing and eyed me. “Let me pose a question. What would you say if that had been someone else? Another young girl who was taken? What if she had to choose between her life or her captor’s?”
“Are you trying to convince me I did the right thing?”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I agree that those men deserved justice—”
“That’s not what I asked either.” She leaned forward and eyed me over her desk. “If this happened to someone you knew—if this happened to Claire—what would you to say to her?”
I’d never looked at it that way before.
Sure, when it was personal, it was an impossible choice. One which I’d second guessed a thousand times. But if that had been another girl—Claire, or Gwen, or Kiki—and someone had threatened their lives… I’d tell her to fight back. I’d tell her to give it all she’s got.
If it meant protecting them, I’d do it all over again.
“I’d say… she deserved to live.”
Her eyes crinkled just the tiniest bit. It was barely a reaction. And it was everything. “I wholly agree, Scarlett. And I’d call that progress.”
* * *
[Journal]
Who is Scarlett Rossi?
The girl beneath the mask?
After so long of pretending, hiding, distracting and wandering, her identity is something I’m still trying to figure out.
I am a girl. One who tries not to gossip. One who will never own a designer purse. One who wants a lot but needs little. One who wishes she could distinguish between true strength and being emotionally numb.
One who has seen a glimpse of the life she would live if she chose not to forgive herself.
There are many sides to me, many complex layers. A convergence of feelings and experiences. Hope as well as inner discord. Good days as well as bad. Even though I’ve come leaps and bounds here, I still have a long way to go.
The real Scarlett Rossi is a work-in-progress. The trick is learning to be okay with that.
* * *
I was soon to learn that life wasn’t about dodging landmines; it was about standing tall even when the world does everything in its power to annihilate you.
And that for better or worse, I was not fully immune to feeling. My emotions were still, in fact, in working order.
And finally, when it rains, it pours.
Something felt off the moment I heard my phone ringing. It’s not like I got lots of calls in general. Given that someone needed to reach me at three in the morning, well, that was my first clue.
I rolled over and reached for my cell buzzing on my desk.
“Hello,” I answered sleepily.
“Scarlett…”
Top three for most heartbreaking sound in the world: my name as a sob.
“Lexi?” I said in a daze. “What’s wrong?”
I waited while she sniffled and cried into the phone, baffled at what kind of trouble she’d gotten herself into. It’d been a long time since she came crying to me, and we both knew I was through enabling her.
“It’s…” her voice
broke. “It’s Phoenix.”
“Phoenix?” I repeated. What was happening?
“Our Phoenix! Scarlett… He overdosed!”
“He what?” I gasped into my shaking hand, immediately more alert. Within seconds my panic matched hers. This wasn’t even in the realm of my expectations. “Oh my… Where is he? Is he okay?”
“Can you come over?”
“I’m… not in the area, Lexi, just tell me what’s going on. Is Phoenix okay?”
A lamp turned on. My eyes shot to my roommate. I felt bad for waking her, but she only gave me a look of concern.
“You have to come home, Scarlett. You have to.”
A chill crept up my spine. Why wasn’t she answering me?
“Lexi. Focus. Where are you? Who’s there with you?”
Shuffling. Murmuring.
Memories of our ten-minute hug in my driveway…
“Scarlett.”
“Dirk?” I said, recognizing his voice on the spot. But it didn’t sound right either. He sounded exhausted.
“Are you at home?”
I had to swallow, but it felt like forcing down shards of glass. “I’m out of state. Lexi’s got me freaking out and I need somebody to answer my question. Now. Is Phoenix okay?”
Runner up for the most heartbreaking sound in the world: grave silence.
Every blood cell in my body slowed down to a crawl. I didn’t even want to hear his answer. Silence was limbo. Silence was maybe. Silence was hope. As much as it crushed me to prolong that uncertain silence, I held out for the very last few seconds.
Because I didn’t want to believe it. It couldn’t be true. Not now. Not Phoenix.
Grand prize for the most heartbreaking sound in the world: Dirk’s choked out answer to that question.
“No.”
Chapter 45
