that was a metaphor,
but Bon Jovi had known. They’d called it. It’s all part of this game that we
call love. But maybe it wasn’t really love, this thing I felt for Luke. Just a
pale shadow, because I hadn’t been shot through my heart, just near it. Just a
loud sound in my ears and a sudden pressure in my chest.
I had no idea how close the bullet had come to the organ now
pumping liquid thick as mud. Certainly my whole midsection felt tight and too
large. It was like the time with that man who must have weighed over two fifty
and not in the good-shape kind of way, which hadn’t been so bad until I had
started to panic. But the face above me wasn’t his. It was Luke, and he was
talking to me.
“Expect a full recovery,” he finished in his cop voice. That
was the fake voice, the one he used when he needed to hide the truth. It was
the booming mirage, and he was the man behind the curtain.
I shook my head slightly, and for a half second, the whole
world shook too before righting itself. I didn’t want a full recovery. I wanted
this body broken and bleeding. I wanted it unable to perform. That was what I
deserved. It was what I longed for, maybe more than I longed for Luke.
“How long?” I pushed through my cracked lips.
His brows drew together, and I sympathized, because even I
didn’t fully understand the question. How long until I made this miraculous
recovery? How long would he stay?
But he answered something different entirely. “Five days.
You’ve been here for a week. You woke up a few times, but nothing coherent
until now.”
It took me a few minutes to process that. In fact, it was
possible I’d blacked out sometime during my study of what he’d said. For five
days, I had been laid up in this hospital bed, and he had been by my side often
enough to see me wake, incoherently, and coincidentally been here when I woke
up just now.
“This whole time?” I asked, incredulous. He had been here
this whole time?
He looked me in the eye, and it was like the curtain lifted,
not because I had nosed my way back and exposed him, but because he was
revealing himself, the man behind the curtain. All that earnestness was made
more potent by the slight tilt of his lips. “Where else would I go?”
And then, like a dam breaking, he unleashed it all. “I’m so
sorry, Shelly. It was my fault, not yours, not yours at all. I should never
have gotten you involved in this. I should have protected you, not put you in
danger. I should have convinced you to get out, and this never would have
happened.”
Maybe the bullet had gone higher than I’d thought. It felt
like there was swelling in the vicinity of my throat, making it hard to
swallow. And some sort of malfunction too, in my eyes, causing them to water
and spill down my cheeks. But he was there to fix it, drawing the tears away
with his lips. Kiss it where it hurts.
“But you’re done with them now, aren’t you?”
His voice sounded thick, like maybe he was afflicted too.
Like maybe it was contagious, this horrible, hopeful feeling.
“You won’t go back to Philip now, or anyone else. You can
start a new life. Anywhere you want, doing anything you want.”
“I can’t— I don’t know—”
“You can, Shelly,” he said fiercely. “I know you can do
this. I believe in you.”
He couldn’t know how much I wanted to quit. For so long I
had dreamed of leaving, like drifting away on a cloud—nothing practical, no
concrete plans that would disintegrate into dust the minute sunlight touched
them. But how could I… And then I looked into his eyes, and I thought, how could
I not? He was the goal here; he was the prize. All I had to do was the
impossible. Walk through fire, and I would win a chance with him. Be a normal
girl with a normal job, and I would be worthy of it.
“I will,” I said. “I’ll quit, I swear it. I’ll find a new
job and a new apartment, where they can’t find me. I’ll never…do that…“
Suddenly I couldn’t say it.
but Bon Jovi had known. They’d called it. It’s all part of this game that we
call love. But maybe it wasn’t really love, this thing I felt for Luke. Just a
pale shadow, because I hadn’t been shot through my heart, just near it. Just a
loud sound in my ears and a sudden pressure in my chest.
I had no idea how close the bullet had come to the organ now
pumping liquid thick as mud. Certainly my whole midsection felt tight and too
large. It was like the time with that man who must have weighed over two fifty
and not in the good-shape kind of way, which hadn’t been so bad until I had
started to panic. But the face above me wasn’t his. It was Luke, and he was
talking to me.
“Expect a full recovery,” he finished in his cop voice. That
was the fake voice, the one he used when he needed to hide the truth. It was
the booming mirage, and he was the man behind the curtain.
I shook my head slightly, and for a half second, the whole
world shook too before righting itself. I didn’t want a full recovery. I wanted
this body broken and bleeding. I wanted it unable to perform. That was what I
deserved. It was what I longed for, maybe more than I longed for Luke.
“How long?” I pushed through my cracked lips.
His brows drew together, and I sympathized, because even I
didn’t fully understand the question. How long until I made this miraculous
recovery? How long would he stay?
But he answered something different entirely. “Five days.
You’ve been here for a week. You woke up a few times, but nothing coherent
until now.”
It took me a few minutes to process that. In fact, it was
possible I’d blacked out sometime during my study of what he’d said. For five
days, I had been laid up in this hospital bed, and he had been by my side often
enough to see me wake, incoherently, and coincidentally been here when I woke
up just now.
“This whole time?” I asked, incredulous. He had been here
this whole time?
He looked me in the eye, and it was like the curtain lifted,
not because I had nosed my way back and exposed him, but because he was
revealing himself, the man behind the curtain. All that earnestness was made
more potent by the slight tilt of his lips. “Where else would I go?”
And then, like a dam breaking, he unleashed it all. “I’m so
sorry, Shelly. It was my fault, not yours, not yours at all. I should never
have gotten you involved in this. I should have protected you, not put you in
danger. I should have convinced you to get out, and this never would have
happened.”
Maybe the bullet had gone higher than I’d thought. It felt
like there was swelling in the vicinity of my throat, making it hard to
swallow. And some sort of malfunction too, in my eyes, causing them to water
and spill down my cheeks. But he was there to fix it, drawing the tears away
with his lips. Kiss it where it hurts.
“But you’re done with them now, aren’t you?”
His voice sounded thick, like maybe he was afflicted too.
Like maybe it was contagious, this horrible, hopeful feeling.
“You won’t go back to Philip now, or anyone else. You can
start a new life. Anywhere you want, doing anything you want.”
“I can’t— I don’t know—”
“You can, Shelly,” he said fiercely. “I know you can do
this. I believe in you.”
He couldn’t know how much I wanted to quit. For so long I
had dreamed of leaving, like drifting away on a cloud—nothing practical, no
concrete plans that would disintegrate into dust the minute sunlight touched
them. But how could I… And then I looked into his eyes, and I thought, how could
I not? He was the goal here; he was the prize. All I had to do was the
impossible. Walk through fire, and I would win a chance with him. Be a normal
girl with a normal job, and I would be worthy of it.
“I will,” I said. “I’ll quit, I swear it. I’ll find a new
job and a new apartment, where they can’t find me. I’ll never…do that…“
Suddenly I couldn’t say it.
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