A Different Blue(72)

”

“I assume we are speaking hypothetically.”

“Yes! I messed up! I can't fix it, I can't go back, and I have no idea what the crap I'm going

to do.” The sob broke from me once more, and I covered my face, regaining control of myself

almost immediately.

“Ah, Blue. It can't be that bad, can it?”

I didn't answer, because that would require telling him how truly bad it was.

“Nobody died.” Not yet. I pushed the guilt away. “No laws were broken, I'm not suddenly

growing a mustache, I don't have terminal cancer, and I haven't gone deaf or blind, so yeah, I

guess things could be worse.”

Wilson reached over and gently swept a strand of hair from my eyes. “Are you going to tell me

what the problem is?”

I swallowed, fighting for composure. “I have tried to change, Wilson. Remember when we talked

about redemption? That night my car wouldn't start, that night we were rescued by Larry and

Curly?”

Wilson grinned and nodded, tucking my hair behind my ear. I tried not to shudder as his fingers

touched my skin. He was trying to comfort me, and I welcomed it, wishing I could lay my head

against his shoulder while I unburdened myself. He pulled his hand back, waiting for me to

continue.

“That night . . . something happened to me. Something I've never felt before. I was heartbroken

and sick inside. And I prayed. I cried out for love, not even knowing that love was what I asked

for. I needed to feel loved, and it was just . . . just poured down on me. No strings, no

ultimatums, no promises required. Just freely given. All I had to do was ask. And I was . . .

changed by it. In that moment, I felt . . . healed.” I looked at him, willing him to

understand. He seemed engrossed by what I was saying, and I felt encouraged to continue.

“Don't get me wrong. I wasn't perfected by it. My trials weren't even taken away. My weaknesses

weren't suddenly made into strengths, my struggles weren't any different. My sorrow didn't

miraculously become joy . . . but I felt healed all the same.” The words poured out of me,

words that described a feeling I had pondered over and over since that night. “It was as if the

cracks were filled, and the stones around my heart were broken up and swept away. And I felt . .

. whole.”

Wilson stared at me, his mouth hanging open slightly. He shook his head as if to clear it and

rubbed the back of his neck like he didn't know what to say. I wondered if I had made any sense

at all, or if he would start insisting I was knackered all over again.

“That is possibly the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.”

It was my turn to stare at him. His eyes held mine until I turned away, embarrassed by the

praise I saw there. I felt his eyes on my face, clearly pondering what I'd said. After a minute

he spoke again.

“So you have this incredible experience. You call it redemption. You've obviously thought about

it a great deal . . . and now you're convinced that you've messed up so badly that, what? You

can't be redeemed again?”

I hadn't thought about it that way. “It's not that . . . not really. I guess I just believed

that I had moved beyond my old self. And now . . . I find that I can't escape the mistakes I've

made.”

“So redemption didn't save you from consequence?”