A Thousand Letters(65)

Lost to the cracks,

And gone.



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-M. White





* * *



Wade

I stood there on her step, staring at the door in the freezing cold, the madness that had consumed me ebbing as the wall I'd built so carefully crumbled, falling to the ground.

Her questions had hit me in a burst of explosions, each one ripping me apart a little bit more. She was right — I couldn't answer her. I couldn't give her any answers because I was broken. I couldn't be honest because the truth hurt too much to speak. I'd piled up that truth like sandbags and had been hiding behind them for protection.

I'd given her nothing, but expected her to give me everything. But she didn't owe me a thing, and I owed her everything.

I turned slowly and walked down the stairs, my jagged thoughts needling me from the inside.

The whys tormented me, all the whys I'd pointed at everyone else like weapons, holding them in front of me for protection when I should have turned the barbs back on myself.

Why had I done this to her? Why did I keep hurting her when all I wanted was to love her?

Why was I so broken? Why couldn't I do the right thing?

Why couldn't I be who she deserves?

The whys had been on me the whole time.

The truth of the circumstance was a relief and a regret. I'd pushed her to this, forced her to fight, backed her into a corner. All she'd ever done to deserve it was give me everything without condition, without expectation.

I chased the fleeting thought of confessing to Dad, realizing too late that he was gone.

The pain in my chest was unbearable, the loss so complete.

There was nowhere to go but home.

The blocks passed under my feet in a haze until I was standing on the stoop with my hands shaking as I tried to unlock the door. When I walked in the door, I found Ben waiting for me in the living room. His jaw was set and his eyes narrowed.

I kept walking, passing the entrance to the room, not ready to talk. I didn't know that I'd ever be ready.

"Wade," he called after me, his voice firm.

"Not now," I answered as I reached the stairs.

"Stop."

The command gave me pause, and I turned to face him, exhausted and drained. "What do you want from me?"

"Just to talk for a minute."

I eyed him, and he put his hands up in surrender.

"I'm not going to yell at you."

I relaxed only by a degree.

"But I might say some stuff you don't want to hear." He didn't wait for me to respond, just gestured for me to follow as he headed for the kitchen. "Come on. You need a drink."

I watched his back for a second before following him, still wary.

"Sit," he ordered, and I did, at the island bar. He poured us each a neat whiskey and handed mine over, which I took gratefully, sagging into the counter, propped up by my elbows.

I took a sip, and so did he, setting his drink on the surface. Neither of us spoke for a long moment.

He was the only safe place I had left. So I told him the truth.

"I was wrong."

Ben only watched me, letting me breathe.

My eyes were on the amber whiskey. "All this time, it's been me. I've hurt everyone I love with my own words, with my own hands."

"Elliot?"

I nodded. "I went there today. I needed someone to blame, and I chose her. I wanted to blame her for everything: Dad, my life, us." I ran a hand over my mouth, ashamed. "What is wrong with me? Why do I destroy the things I love?"

"Because you don't know how to give or receive love anymore. You've been this way as long as I've known you."

I took a drink, the heat burning a trail down my chest.

"War never healed anyone, especially not you."

I shook my head, still unable to meet his eyes. "I don't know who I am anymore, Ben. Do you?"

He took a long, heavy breath and let it out. "Sometimes I do and sometimes I don't, though the longer we've been away from the war, the more often I feel like myself. But we can't just shake off what we've seen, what we've done, what we've survived. It's a part of who we are now."

I swallowed, my voice low and shaky. "I don't want to feel like this anymore."

"Then you've got to change."

"I don't know how."

"I do."

I picked up my drink to take a sip. "Please, enlighten me."

"You've got to own up. You've got to be honest with yourself and with the people you love. You've got to apologize and make amends." He shook his head. "You're so busted up inside, and still you keep smashing the bits with a bat as penance. To make yourself pay over and over again when all you need is forgiveness. Forgiveness that they'll give you, if you'll only ask for it."

"I don't deserve their forgiveness."

"Your sisters will forgive you. They love you, and they need you, especially right now."

"And Elliot?"

His eyes were sad. "There's only one way to find out. And if you don't feel like you deserve her forgiveness, then maybe you should think about how you can earn it."

I considered that as I stared at the whiskey, looking for answers. "For so long, I've just compartmentalized everything. It was the only way I could survive her, survive deployments. You know how it is. You just pack everything away and focus on the task at hand. And since I've been here, I haven't been able to. I can't pack it away because the task at hand is the thing itself. There's nowhere to hide from it. Not from Dad. Not from Elliot. And all of my feelings were displaced. Today I put it all on her, and part of me, a big part of me, expected her to take it. To look at me with those eyes of hers like it was her fault."