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Chapter Eighteen

Salt

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Walking to the car, Berlin was a few steps in front of me. She looked so sad when I closed the door to the hotel room. But there was nothing more I could for her.

At least I gave her one night, one night that was just for her and no one else.

Stopping, I plucked a white lily from the garden walkway. Spinning the stem between my fingertips, I watched the petals spiral. It was such a simple thing, but beautiful, just like her; soft, delicate, but so easily damaged.

Looking up, Berlin was still walking towards the car, so I jogged to her side. “Here,” I said, holding out the flower.

“What's this?” she asked, taking it warily as if it was poison.

“It's a flower.” My voice drew out long and playful, trying to make her smile. But there was nothing for her to smile about. A flower to most woman would give them butterflies and make them blush. For her it signified an ending.

“I can see that, but why are you giving it to me?”

“Because it's beautiful, just like you. I want you to keep it, so you can have something to remind you of me.”

Lifting the flower to her nose, she smelled it. “Thank you,” she said as a light smile teased her lips. It wasn't the same smile I had seen the night before and that cut me deep.

Berlin looked up at me, her eyes glazing over as if she was going to cry. I hated that she was about to cry because of me. The tears she was holding, the ones she was trying to keep in, they weren't from the pain of going back.

They were because of me. They were because I wasn't the person she wanted me to be.

Pulling her in, I hugged her tight, pressing her face into my chest. I felt her lungs as they started to inhale heavy breaths and her muscles as they shook.

All the pent up frustration and sadness came out as she sobbed in my arms. I wasn't going to let her go, not yet. She needed this.

“Don't cry, my flower. Life isn't always kind, sometimes you only have a handful of memories you can look back on that make you happy. This is one of them.”

Her body melted into mine, and she felt perfect there, like she was made to fit in my arms. Clearing my throat, I pushed her away, not allowing her to see the pain I felt about having to bring her back.

“Come on, it's time to go.”

The drive back was long and silent. There was nothing for either of us to say. She wanted something I couldn't give her, and I wanted something I could never have.

What was there for us to talk about?

Sitting in the car outside the Canary, I could see the tension in Berlin as her eyes fell on the building. Her hands were clasped around the flower, her back was stiff, and her face was slack, full of torment.

“You don't have to do this,” she said as water bubbled over the surface of her eyes. “We can just leave, we can go somewhere else. We can become different people, no one would find us.” She tried so hard to sound confident, but I could tell she knew it wouldn't be that easy.

Reaching over, I took her hand, braiding our fingers together. “Berlin, you know I can't do that. It won't work, there's no place for this in my life.”

“For what?” she asked, letting her eyes fall over my face. “For me? You can't find room in your world to help? You only have room to hurt?”

“No, that's not what I mean.”

“Then what? What the hell do you mean? Why can't you just help someone for once in your life?” Her voice pleaded with me to save her, to steal her away and not look back.

But I couldn't.

“There's no place for all the other shit that comes with helping; for the feelings, for the emotions, for. . .” Pausing, even the thought of using the word made my throat close up.

She didn't want to go back, no more than I wanted to bring her back. But I was right when I said the world I lived in wouldn't allow me to have her.