Page 78 of Pages of My Heart
They stare at each other, chests heaving with rage. “Allwe’vebeen through? You haven’t been through fuckin’ shit, O’Reilly! How many times do I gotta tell you—I’m not the same man I was! I’m broken! A fuckin’ cripple. You ain’t got a clue what I’ve done or what my fuckin’ nightmares are like.”
Thomas hovers between wanting to hit Charlie and wanting to take him in his arms. His fingers curl into fists. “Then fuckingtell mewhat you’ve done! Tell me about your nightmares!Please, Charlie, let me help you.”
Charlie shakes his head, feeling utterly defeated. His eyes fills with tears and the anger drains out of him like a receding tide. When he speaks, his voice wavers, laced with despair. “Tommy, if I tell ya . . . if you know what a monster I am, everything we had before . . . everything will be ruined. I can’t live with that. I just can’t. So no, I can’t tell ya.” Charlie pushes past him, head bowed. “I’ll sleep in the spare room tonight.”
For a moment Thomas stands motionless, then he walks to their bedroom, slamming the door behind him and sliding down to the floor.
Day 34: Charlie
The following morning when Charlie rouses from sleep his first thought is one of relief—he didn’t have a nightmare. Then the unfamiliar bed, the cold sheets, and the absence of Thomas lying next to him jolt him back to reality. Is he really going to move back home with his mother? He knows it’s the right thing to do, because he knows he can’t keep treating Thomas this way. Thomas deserves better than the mess Charlie has brought into their lives. If he truly loves Thomas, he should let him go find happiness elsewhere.
The tightness in his chest is oppressive and dense, but he hauls his body upright and walks to the kitchen. It’s already 7:45. Thomas will be leaving for work any minute now. He wants to say he’s sorry, so Thomas doesn’t have to spend all day thinking he did something wrong. Thomas needs to understand that this is Charlie’s fault and that he takes full responsibility.He also needs to tell Thomas he loves him and always will, until the day he dies. This is going to be the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.
The house is quiet though. Thomas isn’t in the kitchen, nor, he discovers, in the sitting room or the bathroom. He assumes Thomas has left early for work, and both disappointment and relief wash over him. After taking a morning piss, he walks to their bedroom, wondering how he’ll get himself dressed before deciding he won’t bother. Returning to bed is a better option anyway.
As soon as he opens the door, heknows. His body turns cold, and goosebumps erupt in a wave over his skin like a spark rushing up a fuse wire. Thomas is still in bed, his body curled into a tiny ball and the blankets pulled tight around him like armor.
“Tommy?” he whispers, approaching tentatively. “Tommy . . . are ya sick?”
Kneeling beside the bed, he runs his hand through Thomas’s hair, then gently shakes his shoulder. “Sweetheart, are ya feelin’ sick?” Thomas’s eyes flutter a few times, never focusing, and then close again. Charlie places his hand to Thomas’s forehead to check if he has a fever, but his temperature feels normal. He tries to remain calm. “Sweetheart, please wake up and talk to me. Is it . . .? Are you—” He doesn’t want to put words to it, but he forces them out. “Are you having an episode?”
Thomas doesn’t move, doesn’t respond, and Charlie’s panic rises and rises, climbing up his insides until it’s choking him. He backs away from the bed, taking his hand to his forehead. “Tommy, get up. Wake up. Please . . .” He paces the floor, never taking his eyes off Thomas, looking for any sign of movement. “Sweetheart, get up . . . get up, please.”
The corners of Thomas’s mouth curl down and his chin quivers. “Go away,” he whispers, voice barely audible.
Charlie dives forward, crouching once again beside the bed, then leaning forward and pressing his shaking lips to Thomas’s forehead. He cannot be responsible for Thomas having another episode. “Please, Tommy. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Please don’t be sick.”
“You don’t love me.” Thomas’s voice is dead and emotionless.
Charlie’s voice pitches higher, nearing hysterics. “I do. I do love you. More than anything.”
“Leave me alone.”
“No, I won’t leave. I’ll stay. I’ll look after you.”
“And keep shutting me out?” Thomas finally opens his eyes. “I think I want to die.”
Charlie cannot take another second and collapses down onto the floor, mournful wails escaping from that wounded beast trapped within him. How will he be able to look after Thomas when he cannot even look after himself?
“Tommy, please, you can’t do this. You gotta find the strength.” Through tear-blurred eyes he watches Thomas begin to sob, tears silent and face twisted in pain.
“Please, Charlie, please tell me what happened to you.” Thomas crawls out of bed and grabs at his neck, climbing half into his lap and crying into his collarbone. “I don’t care what it is. I know you did something . . . something that haunts you.” Thomas pulls back and holds Charlie’s face in both hands. His eyes are full of fear and anguish. “Please let me help you. Tell me, please! Please . . .” Thomas pleads in desperation.
“I killed a kid!” Charlie sucks in a breath, horrified at the sound of those four words spilling from his mouth. He knowsdeep in his soul that this moment right here will determine the rest of his life. “I fuckin’ murdered a goddamn kid.”
Thomas gasps, eyes darting frantically over Charlie’s face. “But by accident?” Thomas shakes his head in disbelief. “Not deliberately?”
He pulls Thomas closer, so their foreheads meet. “No, not deliberately, but what fuckin’ difference does it make? She’s still dead cause of me. Cause of my mistake.”
“Charlie, I don’t care . . . I don’t care. It’s awful, and it’s horrific, but I know what’s in your heart! And if you need forgiveness, then I give it to you.” Thomas pulls back, rubbing his thumbs over Charlie’s cheeks, holding his gaze. “You must forgive yourself. It was war, and you made a terrible mistake. God will forgive you. And I know you are sorry. I see every day how sorry you are! But you can’t let this kill you, too. Please . . . please just stay with me. Please let me help.”
Charlie doesn’t think Thomas has really thought through what it is he’s forgiving, but he cannot bear to leave Thomas now—not after seeing what could become if he did. He will have to trust that Thomas means what he says, and that he can live with what Charlie has done. “I’ll stay,” he says. “Of course I’ll stay.”
Thomas kisses his forehead, his eyelids, and the tears on his cheeks. Then Thomas’s mouth covers his, tenderly, once, twice, three times. “Are you able to talk about it? Can you tell me what happened?”
They help each other off the floor and get into bed. Charlie allows Thomas to hold him close and then he begins.
“We were moving through an abandoned village in Northern Italy. We’d been warned there might be a group of German soldiers hiding out in one of the houses. But it was so quiet, Tommy. No signs of life. No smoke comin’ outtaany chimneys, no animals—just silence. I was so damn tired. We were all so fuckin’ tired. We’d been advancing for almost two months, always on high alert. We were overdue a good blanket drill by at least two days. I was strugglin’ to concentrate. Sometimes it felt like I was blinkin’ in and out for a few seconds . . . like there were these little gaps in time.” He stops talking, bile rising into his throat. His breathing becomes increasingly labored.