Peter spent
weeks in a coma. He eventually woke up, but he had no memory of what happened. He
was never quite the same mentally. He dropped out of school. He didn’t know
that I was the one who’d attacked him. Kill was the only one who knew. He still
is the only one who knows. Well, until now.” He squeezed my hand, his blue eyes
trained on mine. “If it wasn’t for him, I would have been a murderer too. Regardless,
if Kill had told the truth, Peter’s family would have ruined me. I’d have gone
to jail. My whole life would have been over before it even started. That’s why
I owe Kill. In a way, he saved my life too.”
“I understand,” I said
softly. “And the four elements – the tattoos – are because of Rosie?”
“Yeah, but it’s not what
you think. It’s not just a memorial. It’s a warning. Rosie was into all of this
New Age stuff. She was always talking about balance in the universe and balance
in the body and soul. When I was pummeling Peter on the cold ground, I completely
lost control of myself. Afterwards, I realized what lurked within me. I had a
capacity for rage that had almost led me to take another man’s life. One more punch,
and I would have done it.”
He paused, as if
uncertain whether to say everything that came next. He closed his eyes, breathed
deeply in and out, and nodded, more to himself than to me.
“It was a rage born of
love. I needed to control it. I started getting the tattoos as a tribute to
Rosie’s spirit. But it was also a reminder to maintain balance within myself,
to never again let my rage take over so completely. I can work out some of my
aggression in the ring, where there are rules to stop me if I go too far. But
mostly, I maintain balance by keeping my feelings in check, by avoiding love.
When I find myself caring too much about a person, I have to step away.”
He bowed his head. The
rain pattered on the marble and granite in soft splashes.
“That’s what I did last
week,” he said, lifting his eyes to mine. “After I kissed you on the rooftop, I
needed to step away, for both of us.”
The thunder crashed close
overhead. The rain soaked into my hair and dress. It ran down Trent’s temples
and chiseled cheekbones as he watched me with a searing intensity. I swallowed
hard. My heart nearly beat out of my chest.
“Do you think that’s what
Rosie would have wanted for you?” I ventured. “She was your friend. She cared
about you. Would she have wanted you to spend your life avoiding love?” My
voice cracked on the word love , betraying my surging emotions.
“No, I don’t think that
she would.”
The daytime sky had
turned as dark as dusk. Huge thunderheads blocked out any trace of sun. Peals
of thunder crashed in close succession, one after another. The rain pelted our
bodies in great slanting sheets. The lightning crackled with alarming nearness.
Trent faced me and
stepped forward, one strong hand gripping the sodden fabric around my waist.
Another peal of thunder reverberated in my bones. A flash of lightning split
the heavens.
“I know where we can go,”
he said. He pulled me after him, our shoes slapping through puddles. The wind
tore at my dress, pasting the wet hem around my thighs. We soon found ourselves
on the edges of a pond with a gazebo at one end. We hurriedly skirted the pond
and climbed the gazebo steps, taking shelter from the rain that thumped on the
small roof with the steady rhythm of a drumbeat.
Trent still held onto my
hand. A charged magnetic force flowed between our two bodies. I was elated and
scared at the same time. He ran one hand through his wet hair and stared out
onto the storm-ravaged cemetery. The blackened sky, slashing winds, and chilled
rain falling on cold gravestones made for a poignant scene.
“Why do people always
think graveyards are so romantic?” Trent said, as if musing to himself. “What
is romantic about death?” He turned to me, his eyes luminous in the shadows of
our temporary
weeks in a coma. He eventually woke up, but he had no memory of what happened. He
was never quite the same mentally. He dropped out of school. He didn’t know
that I was the one who’d attacked him. Kill was the only one who knew. He still
is the only one who knows. Well, until now.” He squeezed my hand, his blue eyes
trained on mine. “If it wasn’t for him, I would have been a murderer too. Regardless,
if Kill had told the truth, Peter’s family would have ruined me. I’d have gone
to jail. My whole life would have been over before it even started. That’s why
I owe Kill. In a way, he saved my life too.”
“I understand,” I said
softly. “And the four elements – the tattoos – are because of Rosie?”
“Yeah, but it’s not what
you think. It’s not just a memorial. It’s a warning. Rosie was into all of this
New Age stuff. She was always talking about balance in the universe and balance
in the body and soul. When I was pummeling Peter on the cold ground, I completely
lost control of myself. Afterwards, I realized what lurked within me. I had a
capacity for rage that had almost led me to take another man’s life. One more punch,
and I would have done it.”
He paused, as if
uncertain whether to say everything that came next. He closed his eyes, breathed
deeply in and out, and nodded, more to himself than to me.
“It was a rage born of
love. I needed to control it. I started getting the tattoos as a tribute to
Rosie’s spirit. But it was also a reminder to maintain balance within myself,
to never again let my rage take over so completely. I can work out some of my
aggression in the ring, where there are rules to stop me if I go too far. But
mostly, I maintain balance by keeping my feelings in check, by avoiding love.
When I find myself caring too much about a person, I have to step away.”
He bowed his head. The
rain pattered on the marble and granite in soft splashes.
“That’s what I did last
week,” he said, lifting his eyes to mine. “After I kissed you on the rooftop, I
needed to step away, for both of us.”
The thunder crashed close
overhead. The rain soaked into my hair and dress. It ran down Trent’s temples
and chiseled cheekbones as he watched me with a searing intensity. I swallowed
hard. My heart nearly beat out of my chest.
“Do you think that’s what
Rosie would have wanted for you?” I ventured. “She was your friend. She cared
about you. Would she have wanted you to spend your life avoiding love?” My
voice cracked on the word love , betraying my surging emotions.
“No, I don’t think that
she would.”
The daytime sky had
turned as dark as dusk. Huge thunderheads blocked out any trace of sun. Peals
of thunder crashed in close succession, one after another. The rain pelted our
bodies in great slanting sheets. The lightning crackled with alarming nearness.
Trent faced me and
stepped forward, one strong hand gripping the sodden fabric around my waist.
Another peal of thunder reverberated in my bones. A flash of lightning split
the heavens.
“I know where we can go,”
he said. He pulled me after him, our shoes slapping through puddles. The wind
tore at my dress, pasting the wet hem around my thighs. We soon found ourselves
on the edges of a pond with a gazebo at one end. We hurriedly skirted the pond
and climbed the gazebo steps, taking shelter from the rain that thumped on the
small roof with the steady rhythm of a drumbeat.
Trent still held onto my
hand. A charged magnetic force flowed between our two bodies. I was elated and
scared at the same time. He ran one hand through his wet hair and stared out
onto the storm-ravaged cemetery. The blackened sky, slashing winds, and chilled
rain falling on cold gravestones made for a poignant scene.
“Why do people always
think graveyards are so romantic?” Trent said, as if musing to himself. “What
is romantic about death?” He turned to me, his eyes luminous in the shadows of
our temporary
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