Page 87 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

She told me to tell you she knows you don’t want to be with her, and it’s okay. So congratulations, son. You’ve done it.

Okay.

The hope was there that she would hit a limit and be done with me so I wouldn’t have to be the one to be done with her. It sounds like she’s there. And now that it’s happening, I…can’t stand the thought of it.

I miss her, desperately. In a way I’ve never felt before. Foranyone. It emanates from a deep part of my being that I keep trying to bury. It comes from a place only Emma has ever touched.

Without thought, I grab the keys hanging on the wall beside the garage. I give Georgia’s house a quick once over, making sure all the lights are off, and then I’m out the door. Driven by desperation.

It’s like I have no control. Every good intention is gone. I have one need left. I only have one purpose. And it’s to see her. It’s to tell her what she can’t remember. The truth of it. And then I want to hold and love her and beg her to take me back. If she’ll have me.

When the gate opens to my house, the sun is just setting. The air bites as I step out of my car and into the cold January night. Staring at the house, lit up from within, a choice lingers in the back of my mind, but I push forward. I push against the instinct to turn away.

When I push down on the latch, I expect to hear something. Talking, cooking, life…anything. But the house is ominously quiet. No movement, just a few side lamps lit. No one in sight.

Shutting the front door as quietly as possible, I walk deeper into the house, turning towards her room. The door is cracked, but it’s dark, and my heart races. Will she look the same as she did in the hospital? Worse?

I push on the door gently, and it swings in silently. Emma is curled up on top of the covers, sound asleep, while Blanks sits in a chair beside her, scrolling through his phone. He looks at me sharply and makes no attempt to move.

The odd feeling comes back, the same one I felt bringing her home.

Not mineflits through my mind like lightning.

We stare at each other in some odd faceoff, wondering who will be the first to break. It’s a game of will. I withdrew before. But now, faced with the very real end, I couldn’t. I won’t. Eventually, Blanks stands, passing me brusquely but without a word.

At the sound of his exiting footsteps, Emma rolls to her back, flinging her arms against the bed in exasperation. Her eyes are wide open, as if she’s just been waiting for him to leave this whole time. Like she wasn’t asleep at all.

I take one more step into the room, and she shoots up at the now unfamiliar sound of my boots.

“Alex,” she whispers, sitting up in bed.

The knot in my throat feels tight. Even in the dim light, her pale skin practically glows. She looks only moderately better than the last I saw her. I fucking hate what I’ve done to her.

“Em,” is all I can manage back, each swallow more uncomfortable than the last.

“W-what are you doing here?” she continues to whisper.

“I-um…” I struggle to find the right thing to say here. Because there is no right thing, that’s the problem. “I’m sorry.” It comes out gravely, my voice hoarse.

She seems to visibly swallow.

“I’m sorry, too,” she whispers back words that damn near break me. She has not one thing to be sorry for. Not one fucking thing.

I take a few steps closer.

“You will never need to be sorry to me. Ever.”

“I feel like I do-”

I stop her, though, “You don’t.” I stand there, and she sits in silence for more than a minute.

“Did you just come to say goodbye, or….” she chokes on her own words.

“No,” voice is gruff, even worse than before. I take another step, then one more, until I’m standing beside her bed. “I’m not expecting to be forgiven, but I couldn’t let go without at least telling youwhyI can’t be here.” This is it. I would tell her the truth, ask forgiveness, then make peace with whatever her decision is.

“I forgive you,” she says, no longer in a whisper.

“I haven’t even-” but she stops me again.