Emilia

 It’s crazy how one tragic event can derail the rest of your life. How circumstances outside your control can thwart even the best-laid plans. It wasn’t until he left me standing in that parking lot yesterday that I realized how true this is for us.

For him, Jen, and me, that one event forever changed the course of our lives. It shifted our world, skewing our individual realities and turning them into something foreign. Nothing made sense after what happened and our paths, which were once joined, veered apart in ways none of us saw coming. Even now, almost 15 years later, we haven’t recovered. I suspect all of us are still a little lost, doing our best to navigate a world that will always feel wrong.

For Lucas and me, the fire and subsequent death of his parents signaled the beginning of the end. It was a prelude to the actual end, which came seven days later on the night after the funeral. I don’t know what woke me, but I found him sitting alone in our living room. A broken boy sobbing into his hands. Though the room was blanketed in darkness, I could see him clearly. His shoulders slumped in grief. Elbows on his knees. His hair was a frazzled mess like he’d run his hands through it repeatedly.

Next to my father, he was the strongest person I’d ever known. Someone unshakable, who no matter the predicament, would stand tall and steadfast in the face of it. It’s why seeing him so crushed and defeated that night was as shocking as it was heartbreaking.

With tense muscles, I hurried to him, kneeling at his feet as I pulled his hands from his face and brought him into my arms. I remember holding him, both of us clinging to one another like we were keeping the other afloat. The uncertainty of a future we’d never imagined hung heavy in the air like a poisonous cloud threatening to suffocate us.

I remember closing my eyes and praying between sobs that somehow this was all a dream. That life as we’d known it and the security we’d taken for granted was still our reality. But the shuddering agony mixed with the feel of our tears as we purged our grief left me no choice but to accept the inconceivable truth.

His parents were gone.

Life as we’d known it was over and there was nothing I could do to fix it. But I could be there for him. Like he’d done for me a thousand times before, I vowed to help him get beyond the grief.

After what seemed like forever, our tears stopped. Together we sat back on the couch, holding hands as we talked. The conversation kept to lighter topics at first. Funny stories he brought up, probably to lighten the mood. At one point, he grew somber again. It was then that he shared his version of events that night…

“My parents went to bed early. I’d told them I’d be home. That I wouldn’t be attending the bonfire after all. I was so sure keeping my distance from you was the best thing for everyone, but as I sat in my room with the walls closing in, I couldn’t do it. The thought of you with Parker, of him being the one to hold you that night. To kiss you… I just couldn’t. Without thinking, I grabbed my keys, wrote my parents a quick note, and then rushed out the door. I never imagined that would be my last time walking out of our house. The last time I’d share a roof with my parents. The last time I’d feel completely at ease and safe in my own existence.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Lucas. The fire marshal said…”

“For god’s sake,” he springs to his feet. Running a hand over his face in frustration, he adds, “I know what the fire marshal said. I know I couldn’t have stopped the fire, but if I’d been there, the three of us would have made it out.”

“You don’t know that, Lucas. You can’t know what would have happened.”

“Yes, I do,” he raises his voice to a loud whisper. With eyes like icy daggers, he stares me down. “I do know because that same fire marshal told your dad that my mom made it out, that my parents had a chance to escape, but that something drew them back into the house. They thought I was home. They went back in to save me and I wasn’t even there. They suffocated and burned in a scorching inferno trying to save a son who, by all accounts, is the only person who deserved to die that night.” His words are spoken with such certainty and contempt that I’m left gasping for breath.

 “I killed them. Me going after you that night is the reason my parents are dead!”

And that was the biggest tragedy of all. That the boy I loved, the boy who’d rushed to the bonfire that night to tell me he loved me and wanted to be with me, would forever connect one of the best moments of my life with his parent’s death. That he blamed himself wasn’t the worst part. No. The worst part was that deep down, I could tell that he blamed us. What we had. The feelings that drew us together and bind me to him still.

I was so distraught after he confessed his thoughts that all I wanted was to erase it all. His guilt over that night. His regret. The ache that pounded in our chests with the harried beat of our grief-stricken hearts. So I reached for him. Using my words at first, before finally taking his face in my hands. I wanted to force him to look at me, force him to listen to my words so he could see that nothing about us was a mistake.

When he did, those sea-green eyes peered through me with an intensity I could feel like a caress down to my core. And when he kissed me, when he finally let go and gave in to the inevitable pull between us, I thought the slate had been wiped clean.

At 17 and 16 years old, we weren’t old enough to understand the repercussions of that kiss or how grief impacted our decisions that night. I gave him my virginity right there on my parent’s living room floor, on the night of his parent’s funeral. It was a gift he told me he’d cherish for the rest of his life. As he leaned down to kiss me when we were done, he told me he loved me. The sincerity behind his words struck deep and imprinted onto my soul. I knew at that very moment that my heart would always belong to him.

When I left to go back to my bed, I had no idea that would be the last time I saw him. All I knew when I closed my eyes that night was that in him, I had found someone who trusted me to be their savior. Someone who looked at me like I could make everything in their world right again. Never had I felt anything like it. By trusting me that night, he made me feel like I was so much more. But then, by that next morning, he was gone.

I thought I knew heartbreak when I walked in on him that night, but waking up to find out he’d disappeared was when I realized how deep that pit of despair can go. From that day forward I grieved mostly for him, the sad boy who carried the burden of his parent’s death. The broken boy who chose to go it alone, leaving behind all those who loved him. All those who’d give anything to be there for him.

And then I grieved for Jen, who lost everything there was to lose that week. Her parents were dead, and her brother was missing. She had nothing left in this world but a best friend who failed her. I missed the signs that he was getting ready to flee. I was the last line of defense, the one who should have stopped him but didn’t.

Who I refused to grieve for was me. Carrying the guilt and allowing it to swallow me whole was my penance for not recognizing the signs. I didn’t tell anyone what happened between us that night. Mainly because I wanted to keep his secrets, but also because I was ashamed that I allowed lust to distract me from what was important.

Him.

I missed the opportunity to help when he needed me and hence, I forced myself to suffer alone. Pretending I was helping to track him down for Jen’s sake when it was me that needed to find him. Me, who needed to know he was okay so I could lighten the burden of that guilt.

In any case, I understood his reaction when we ran into each other yesterday. I recognized the shame and sadness in his eyes because I carry it just the same. Like kindred spirits, it’s branded to our souls for us to share for all eternity.

It’s why when I texted to confirm the time of our meeting today, part of me thought he wouldn’t respond. It’s also why, as relieved as I am that he did, I’m also afraid. Terrified that if he shows up, he’ll tell me he wants to be left alone. That he doesn’t want to be a part of our lives or worse, that it’s because he blames me. That he still blames what we had for the mess that became of our lives.

And then there’s Jen. Keeping this secret from her is making me sick. He’s her brother, her only living relative whom she hasn’t seen since she was 16. And here I am, her supposed best friend, hiding things about him from her yet again. I can’t imagine what would become of our friendship if she knew. Especially after what happened between Nic and me two nights ago. I know firsthand how much it hurts to be kept in the dark by someone you love and trust. It’s why somehow I must convince him she needs to know.

Pulling into a parking spot at the rest stop, I turn off the ignition. To quiet the butterflies, I place a hand over my belly, close my eyes, and take several deep breaths.

“He’s alive. Regardless of what happens today, that needs to be enough.”

I say the words out loud as a reminder. A necessity, since seeing him yesterday transformed me back into the heartbroken 16-year-old girl he left behind. The anguish I felt when he disappeared, the desperate need to find him to fill the gaping hole he left behind. Those feelings are still there, sparked back to life in a burning blaze of misery after just one glimpse of him. It’s a longing so strong that I feel it like this tangible thing crawling over my skin. The 16-year-old girl inside my head screams that “We need him,” while the adult woman that I am struggles to make sense of all these muddled feelings.

Determined to push past the confusing emotions, I step out of the car, focusing instead on how I want this meeting to go. There are years of unresolved questions that need answers, including why he never came back. Why, after 15 years, he never once reached out. There’s this bitter part of me that wants to dump raw honesty at his feet and make him feel the hurt he inflicted when he left. But the more rational side of me, the one who’s relieved to have him back, wants to shower him with love and understanding. That part wants us to move forward. To leave the past behind and bring him back into the fold of our small, makeshift family.

The only thing I know for certain is that I must go into this meeting with my heart sealed tight behind an indestructible wall. Twice now—by two different men that I loved—I’ve been discarded. I almost didn’t survive the first time he left, and I’m barely hanging on since Creed did the same. There’s only so much heartbreak a heart can take before it’s forever changed. Forever scarred. Forever unable to trust enough to love freely again, and my heart…well, it’s almost there.

NOTE: Chapter 6 Continues in the next episode.

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