Gods & Monsters(95)

“I was worried when you didn’t call,” she says. “You always call.”

“Yeah. I don’t ever leave you alone, do I?”

“You don’t.”

My body feels weak and my head hangs. The only reason I’m standing upright, instead of falling to the floor is because I need to tell her. I need to confess my sins, and until I do, I don’t deserve relief.

“You were right,” I whisper.

“About what?”

“All of it. I was running and I lost all control. I…” I sigh, scrunching my eyes shut. “I was angry. I was angry at the world, at everything. I was angry that we don’t get to choose our parents. We don’t get to choose where we’re born, who we’re born to. I was angry that I was held responsible for their sins. I was just… angry.”

“And at me? Were you angry at me? Mad about the fact that you fell in love with me and you had no control over it?”

“No.” My voice is fierce, so fierce it shakes me to the core. It steals my breath away. “Never. I was never mad at you, Pixie. I can… I know I said some things in the heat of the moment. I keep reliving them. Keep reliving our time here. I keep watching those tapes, how I pushed you and pushed you. How I punished you when all you did was love me. All my life, I questioned my existence. I questioned what my parents had. What that made me. And then, I wondered whether or not what everybody said about me was true. Whether or not I was deserving of any love. When I should have had faith. I should’ve had faith in the fact that my Pixie loved me. What else can I possibly need in the world other than that? What else can possibly matter? You chose to love me, no matter what and I blew it. I fucking blew it because I just couldn’t ever move on from the past. My parent’s past. My past.”

There’s silence; it’s fitting. What can you possibly say after you admit to your worst crimes? I’ve never been to a confessional before. But I get it now. I get why people choose to confess their crimes and why they need a partition, why they need silence, the darkness.

It’s not God who’s judging them. It’s not even the priest. It’s them. They judge themselves. In their eyes, they have committed a crime and what can be worse than that?

It’s not the judgment of others we should be worried about. It’s the judgment we place on ourselves. It’s the fact that it’s you sitting in the dark, inside a small box, all alone. It’s you who’s gotta bear the shame of your sins while the world is moving on.

“I should’ve looked into your eyes,” I whisper, resting my forehead on the cold glass.

“What?”

“Your eyes say everything, you know. It’s how I knew that you didn’t really wanna run away from me back when we first met. I mean, I hoped that I was reading you right but… it was your eyes that told me you wanted to be my friend even when you couldn’t be.” I nod. “I should’ve been looking into them, rather than looking into the past, into the camera.”

Her breaths escalate. “Abel, I— ”

“I know that now. You did the right thing. You were smart, Pixie. You’ve always been so fucking smart. You were right to run from me. You were right to leave me when you did. I would’ve destroyed you. I-I would’ve destroyed everything. You were right. I won’t…”

“You won’t what?”

“I won’t call you after this. I won’t bother you. I’m letting go. Because you deserve that. You deserve someone who’s not blind. Who can see. Who can understand things, gauge things. Who’s not prone to mistakes. You deserve someone perfect.” I blink my stinging eyes and shake my head. “I never thought I’d say this but I’m letting you go. I love you, Pixie. I love you enough to set you free.”

It will kill me but if she wants a divorce, I’ll give it to her. It’s the least I can do.

“Abel, I…” Her breaths are loud, so fucking loud. “I’m pregnant.”





Pixie opens the door of the café and immediately, freezes on the spot. She glances around the space, frowns, sort of barfs before covering her mouth with her hand, and running back out.

I jump up from my seat, clattering the table and almost sending the chair crashing down to the floor. My heart’s in my throat as I dash out after her, and find her hunched over on a trashcan, puking her guts out.

“Pixie? You okay? What the fuck…” I trail off as she stands upright but stumbles on her feet.

I catch her by the shoulders and bring her flush to my heaving chest. She grabs hold of my cross, stopping my heart altogether.

“Thank you,” she whispers into my shirt — yellow shirt — without lifting her face. I can only see the top of her head.

I’m still reeling from her proximity, the fact that she threw up and then, almost fell to the ground. I’m reeling. I don’t think I’ll ever stop reeling.

The old lady with a checkered apron approaches us from the café; she’s working the counter. Frowning, she asks, “You okay, dear?”

Pixie sighs and moves away from me. Every fiber of my being tells me to not let her go, but I defy every single one of them. My fingers loosen around the delicate lines of her shoulder, and she slips through my hold.

“I’m okay,” she says in a voice that keeps me up at night. It’s a voice I’ll probably hear even after I die. “It’s just the coffee, I think. Can’t stand the smell of it. But I thought I was doing better today.”