She takes two steps toward me, stopping just in front of me. “I can help… and there’s grief counseling…and groups to help people going through things like this.”
My response is a sardonic laugh and I can see immediately it’s the wrong reaction. Elle’s face quickly changes from concerned to pissed off. She crosses her arms in front of her chest and it looks like she is ready for a fight.
“You think it’s funny that I want to help?”
“No I think it’s funny that you think you can help.”
“I can help. But you have to let me.”
“Elle, run while you have the chance. You can’t fix me. I’m not some project for you to take on like charity. You’re better off with someone who is more like you.”
Here eyes widen to saucers. “More like me? What does that mean? William? Is that what you’re telling me, I should go back to someone like William?” Her voice is growing louder with each response.
The mention of William’s name from Elle’s lips strikes me harder than any physical blow. The thought of that pretty boy anywhere near my Elle makes me froth at the mouth. I’m angry. Angry at just hearing her say the words. But maybe that’s really where she belongs.
“You want William, Elle?” Seething, the words make me sick to even her myself say them.
“I want you. I want to help you, damn it!”
“You can’t help me, Elle. I’m fucking broken. I killed a man. With my own two hands, I took another person’s life. Only a monster does that. A monster that will rot in hell. It’s where I fucking belong!”
“It was an accident!” We are screaming at each other now. Completely and totally screaming at the top of our lungs, each trying to get our point across by yelling louder.
“It was my hand that dealt him what killed him. That’s not an accident, it’s murder. And murderers are unredeemable.”
Elle looks up at me and she’s pale as a ghost. For a second I think she might pass out.
“You really think there’s no forgiveness in what happened?” She’s no longer yelling, her voice is low and breaks mid-sentence.
“Forgiveness from who, Elle? The only person that could grant me absolution is dead.”
Tears are streaming down her face as she runs out of my loft and rips the elevator door down. I watch as she frantically presses the button to make her escape. She’s desperate to get away from me, and I don’t blame her one bit.
Chapter 36
Elle
I have no idea how I even made it home. The tears blurred my vision so badly, I could barely see. Panic seizes me as I think about how much worse it could have been. The only saving grace is that I never got to carry out my plan to tell Nico why I can help him, what makes me so uniquely qualified to understand what he is going through. I sob as I recall his words over and over in my head, “It was my hand that dealt him what killed him. That’s not an accident, it’s murder. And murderers are unredeemable.”
I don’t know why I thought we were the same. We’re not. I’m so much worse. Yet, he thinks he’s a monster for what he did…and what happened to him was truly an accident. Unlike me. I’m the one who is unredeemable. If he hates himself so much for what he did when he didn’t intend for it to happen, what would he think when he found out about me? Mine wasn’t an accident.
I’ve suppressed emotions for so long, that it’s like a dam breaking when the tears start to come. They flood me like raging waters. Uncontrollably, I cry and cry until I finally feel like I’m drowning and sleep takes me as I surrender, my mind hoping to find peace at rest.
“You stupid whore. I told you not to go running to your sister’s house again.” My father grabs a fistful of my mother’s hair and yanks with all his might, sending my already frail mother across the room. The pot on the stove makes a loud clank as she hits into the stove. My mother’s face is already black and blue from last time and her nose is probably broken. Although she can’t be sure since she stopped going to the doctor a few years ago. Doctors ask too many questions.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find you, you worthless cunt? I’ll always find you. When are you going to learn your fucking lesson?” My father takes two long strides toward my mother and she folds her body into a ball to protect herself, bracing for what she knows is inevitable. I watch as he rears his leg back and kicks her in the side with all his might. Her body falls to the side, but she’s still huddled into a ball, her tiny arms straining to cover her own head.
It’s not difficult for my father to lift my mother, he’s six feet tall and well over two hundred pounds and she’s tiny. The last year has been so bad that she keeps getting tinier. She thinks I don’t notice, but I do. Her clothes are all too big and she barely eats anymore. She’s always sad lately.
He reaches down and grabs her off the floor by her neck, lifting her upright and off her feet in one swift motion. Even when he’s this drunk, it doesn’t seem to lessen his strength. Sometimes I think it gives him more. More power. More hatred. The evil that’s always lurking in the depths finds its way to the surface and then it’s even worse. Almost as if the evil gets bottled up so long that it explodes when it finally comes out.
It wasn’t always like this. My father wasn’t always the monster he is today. I remember him coming home after work and sitting on the couch. He would playfully pull my mother onto his lap when she came to bring him a drink. She would giggle and they would kiss. I thought it was gross. But I’d give anything to go back to those days now. We were happy. And he wasn’t drunk and angry all the time.
But then things changed. He lost his business and we had to move. Move out of our big house with the pretty green lawn and into a small apartment with a concrete patch for a yard. My father hated to move, it made him really angry. At first he would just yell a lot. And drink. He started to drink a lot. Sometimes I would get up for school and he’d have liquor in his coffee mug instead of coffee.
Then one night mom burned dinner while she was trying to give me a bath at the same time. And when Dad saw the mess, he smacked her across the face. Hard. I remember him telling her she was wasting his money. She cried and apologized. The next morning he was still passed out. Mom told me Dad was under a lot of stress and he didn’t mean to hurt her. It was just an accident.
But then it happened again. And again. And again. And the hitting got worse. The smacks turned into punches and punches turned into kicks. Until it got to the point where he was beating her almost every day. She almost always has bruises and she didn’t go out much anymore. We tried to leave a few times. But he always found us and brought us back. He would apologize and say it would never happen again. Then when we went home, it usually got worse. Like this time.
Mom’s feet are dangling and her face is turning bright red. I’m afraid and I don’t know what to do. He really may kill her this time. “Stop! Stop! You’re going to kill her.” Desperately, I beg my father. Tears are streaming down my face as I grab his arm, frantic to get my mother air. He swats me away and I go flying through the air, but at least I’ve managed to make him release his death grip on her throat.
My mom falls to the floor, her hands holding her neck as she gasps for air. She’s making a loud wheezing noise with each breath as she tries frantically to bring air into her lungs. My father turns and looks at me, sitting where I’ve landed after his push. His eyes are dark and crazy and I begin to tremble. I’ve never been so scared. He’s going to kill us. Both of us. I can see it in his eyes. Whatever semblance of a man that remained from what used to be my father is gone. A monster has replaced him.