Read Online Living With Regret by Lisa de Jong - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lisa de Jong
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Coming of Age, Contemporary, Genre Fiction, New Adult & College, Sports
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they wouldn’t be filing charges unless new information forced them to do so. I don’t think it matters where I am at this point. It’s not going to change the sadness that’s drowning my soul.
He’s been gone for thirty-seven days, but every one seems just as bad as the last. They don’t get easier. I don’t think about him any less. The worst day of my life is on constant replay.
Mom holds my arm until I’m comfortably seated on the bed.
“Can I get you anything?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I just need to be alone.”
“Okay,” she says softly, pulling the pink blanket my grandma knitted from the end of the bed. She covers my bare feet, knowing I’m usually cold whenever the air conditioner is turned on.
When she walks out of the room, I stare up at the ceiling, needing a break from the images of him. But there’s no break; the images live in me, day in and day out. I fight them, not because I don’t want to remember, but because they punish me. My guilt has become a demon, tormenting me whether I’m awake or asleep.
Contrition.
Remorse.
Shame.
I want to repent, but I can’t see through the fog long enough to even begin that process. I’ve wondered if things would be different if I could remember the details of that night, but I know it wouldn’t change a thing. It’d still be my fault. Nothing’s going to change that.
Drawing on the little bit of strength I still have inside of me, I glance at the photo by my bed again. Cory was always smiling in our pictures. The sun was bright on graduation day, letting the brown speckle show in his blue eyes. His light brown hair curled in the humid air, but that was when I liked him most. Clear eyes. Curls. Dimples. That’s when he felt like he was mine. I can tell by the way I’m looking at him in the picture, I was thinking the same thing then … he was the axis to my world.
Now, I just feel like I’ve been stranded on an island, and the worst part is I was the one steering the ship that got me here. I just want to go back to my old life … to our old life. It wasn’t perfect—nothing’s ever perfect—but it was better than this.
My phone vibrates in my purse, bringing me back to reality. Looking at the name on the screen brings me some relief, like listening to the soft, calming melody of a song.
“Hey,” I say, swiping my sleeve against my cheek.
“Hey, are you home?” his voice is soft, like he’s trying hard not to wake someone. It’s how he’s talked to me since the first day he came to the hospital.
“Yeah.”
In a way, being home is worse than being at the hospital. Sure, the scenery is better, and the bed is more comfortable, but having Sam here isn’t really an option. The hospital room felt more like mine than this room ever will.
“What are you doing?”
“Crying.”
I wear my feelings on my sleeve in vibrant color. People who hide them expend too much energy that could be spent solving their problems and living in the goodness that life offers. I’ve never questioned that until now. What if the problem isn’t fixable? What if this is all that’s left of my life?
A minute or so goes by before he replies. I’m sure he’s listening to my soft whimpers, trying to find the right thing to say. Sam doesn’t run from conflict, but he doesn’t technically embrace it either.
“Do you want me to come over?” he finally asks, even quieter than before.
Do I want him to? God, yes. He’s the only person who’d be able to wipe these tears from my eyes with more than his sleeve. Waking up in the hospital and learning what happened to Cory was like a rainstorm, and Sam’s been my rainbow. If you’d asked me weeks ago if I’d ever be friends with him again—like this—I would have seen no chance, but life has a way of bringing people back to us when we need them most.
If I were anywhere but this house, I’d invite him over in a heartbeat. He gives me an escape from the prison my mind has locked me
He’s been gone for thirty-seven days, but every one seems just as bad as the last. They don’t get easier. I don’t think about him any less. The worst day of my life is on constant replay.
Mom holds my arm until I’m comfortably seated on the bed.
“Can I get you anything?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I just need to be alone.”
“Okay,” she says softly, pulling the pink blanket my grandma knitted from the end of the bed. She covers my bare feet, knowing I’m usually cold whenever the air conditioner is turned on.
When she walks out of the room, I stare up at the ceiling, needing a break from the images of him. But there’s no break; the images live in me, day in and day out. I fight them, not because I don’t want to remember, but because they punish me. My guilt has become a demon, tormenting me whether I’m awake or asleep.
Contrition.
Remorse.
Shame.
I want to repent, but I can’t see through the fog long enough to even begin that process. I’ve wondered if things would be different if I could remember the details of that night, but I know it wouldn’t change a thing. It’d still be my fault. Nothing’s going to change that.
Drawing on the little bit of strength I still have inside of me, I glance at the photo by my bed again. Cory was always smiling in our pictures. The sun was bright on graduation day, letting the brown speckle show in his blue eyes. His light brown hair curled in the humid air, but that was when I liked him most. Clear eyes. Curls. Dimples. That’s when he felt like he was mine. I can tell by the way I’m looking at him in the picture, I was thinking the same thing then … he was the axis to my world.
Now, I just feel like I’ve been stranded on an island, and the worst part is I was the one steering the ship that got me here. I just want to go back to my old life … to our old life. It wasn’t perfect—nothing’s ever perfect—but it was better than this.
My phone vibrates in my purse, bringing me back to reality. Looking at the name on the screen brings me some relief, like listening to the soft, calming melody of a song.
“Hey,” I say, swiping my sleeve against my cheek.
“Hey, are you home?” his voice is soft, like he’s trying hard not to wake someone. It’s how he’s talked to me since the first day he came to the hospital.
“Yeah.”
In a way, being home is worse than being at the hospital. Sure, the scenery is better, and the bed is more comfortable, but having Sam here isn’t really an option. The hospital room felt more like mine than this room ever will.
“What are you doing?”
“Crying.”
I wear my feelings on my sleeve in vibrant color. People who hide them expend too much energy that could be spent solving their problems and living in the goodness that life offers. I’ve never questioned that until now. What if the problem isn’t fixable? What if this is all that’s left of my life?
A minute or so goes by before he replies. I’m sure he’s listening to my soft whimpers, trying to find the right thing to say. Sam doesn’t run from conflict, but he doesn’t technically embrace it either.
“Do you want me to come over?” he finally asks, even quieter than before.
Do I want him to? God, yes. He’s the only person who’d be able to wipe these tears from my eyes with more than his sleeve. Waking up in the hospital and learning what happened to Cory was like a rainstorm, and Sam’s been my rainbow. If you’d asked me weeks ago if I’d ever be friends with him again—like this—I would have seen no chance, but life has a way of bringing people back to us when we need them most.
If I were anywhere but this house, I’d invite him over in a heartbeat. He gives me an escape from the prison my mind has locked me
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