Collins. His house. His bedroom. His bed.
I’m here.
He’s here.
My arms reach out instinctively and wrap around him. Warm, safe.
“I’m so sorry, Collins. I’m so sorry.” I squeeze my eye shut and nuzzle into his bare chest. “I know now, that there’s no way I could have known whose baby it was.”
I clear my throat, and attempt to clear my mind. Pushing the sleep haze and nightmare hangover to the side, I attempt to continue.
“I was so consumed with the most blinding darkness. I couldn’t see anything past the pain. I would have sworn I was going to be stuck there forever. And nothing mattered. Except trying to grasp onto whatever would make it hurt less.”
I feel his arms gather me more tightly, and a tepid breath on my cheek.
“I was broken into a million pieces, so incredibly haunted by what happened to me, it took over everything, dominated my thoughts, my emotions. It lingered, shaping everything after.”
His thumb grazes the skin beneath my ear as the rest of his fingers wrap around the back of my neck—saying everything that needs to be said without saying a word.
“And then there was the guilt of what went through my mind. What I thought about doing. About ending my pregnancy willingly. I was disgusted with the person I was. I hated myself…and the one person I loved more than anything in the world, didn’t love me back the way I thought he did—or so I thought. I was irrevocably destroyed. I wanted to die. So…I tried.”
He flinches at my words—physically flinches, like I assaulted him.
Then the reassuring warmth of him dissipates as he sits up, and slight panic wretches through me.
What’s he doing?
It’s hard to see in the near darkness, but he reaches over beside him, and I hear the lamp on the nightstand click on, color coming to life around the room, and it’s a sudden jolt to my eyeballs. He’s too far away from me, as he scoots back against the pillows, adjusting them between his back and the headboard. I don’t know what to say, I can’t judge the emotion radiating from him, and it scares me.
“If only I would have known.”
His voice startles me, carving its way through the silence.
“I should have been there for you, Johnnie. If you’re saying what I think you’re saying. I could have lost you forever. Did you try to kill yourself? Please tell me I’ve misunderstood.” He turns to me, pain seeping from his soul, it’s clear in his eyes.
“I’m better now.” That’s all I manage to say. It sounds weak, weaker than I know I am.
So, I clear my throat and try again.
“I got that letter from you right after. I think it saved me. My parents really stepped up after that, too. They got me the help I needed. I started going to therapy. I read your letter over and over. Every day. And slowly, very slowly, I climbed my way out of the darkness.” I try my damndest to sound as strong as I now feel. “I’m okay.”
Based on how he reacted before we fell asleep, I was sure he was angry with me—quietly, deeply angry in the way that doesn’t need to be spoken to be felt. I told myself I deserved it. That there was no version of this where he forgave me. No version where I didn’t lose him. He laid beside me, but it felt like he was miles away. Like his body was here, but the rest of him was lost somewhere I couldn’t reach. I could feel it in the silence, in the way his breathing never quite settled, like his mind refused to rest.
And yet…this doesn’t feel like that.
Nothing between us feels sharp or punishing like I thought. It’s something else completely. Hopeful.
Maybe…
Just maybe, there’s still something left to hold onto.
Hope flickers, fragile and uncertain, but alive.
He didn’t tell me to leave. He didn’t turn his back on me.
Collins pushes up now, situating himself in front of me. The movement pulls me fully into the moment, my chest tightening as I stare at him, unsure of what’s coming next.
“You’ve been through more shit in your lifetime than any person deserves.”