nine

Tessa

Memories rush at me, most I’m able to dodge like bullets from a gun. Others hit their mark, chinking my armor, bringing forgotten details to the forefront. A memory from long ago surfaces.

I woke to the feel of Trevor trailing kisses down my neck, the weight of his body pressing into me.

“I missed you, T,” he said. “I missed you so much.” His warm breath floated over my skin.

“I missed you, too,” I managed to say through my sleepy haze.

He slipped lower, lifting my sleep shirt over my breasts and sucking a pebbled nipple into his mouth. His teeth grazed the tender flesh. “I need to be inside you,” he said with urgency.

He was gone to Atlanta for two weeks, and we’d had a huge fight before he left. I’m torn. We needed to talk, but he felt too good.

“Please, baby. Please,” he said, tugging my panties off. His finger finding my clit, rubbing slowly, making me wet.

Silently, I spread my legs, granting him access.

He sank inside me, filling me. Rocking deeper, he kept his face buried, refusing to look at me. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, T. I love you. I love you more than anything in the world. I’m sorry.” His apology is desperate and soul-shattering.

“Shh, Trevor. It’s okay.” I tightly wrapped my legs around him, driving him further into me. “I’m here. It’s all right.”

I stand, sending everything in my lap crashing to the closet floor. Outside, a thundering boom follows a flash of lightning. The entirety of that night rains down on me in a torrent of truth. It never occurred to me until now. Trevor always fell straight into bed after a red-eye flight, but that night, his hair was damp, and he smelled of soap. He wasn’t apologizing for the argument we’d had before he left.

He was begging me to forgive him for a sin he never confessed.

The realization is like gasoline tossed onto an open flame. Blinding rage burns me from the inside out. All rational thoughts vanish in a smoky haze before I walk out the door.

Rain beats mercilessly against the windshield as I drive into the dark, ominous night. Every turn of the wheel is purposeful. Reaching my destination, I drive beneath the brick archway along the winding path and come to a stop. Wetness streaks down my cheeks before I even open the door. Anger, not sadness, is the cause of the tears.

I clench my keys in my hand, grab the small flashlight from the glove box, and get out of the car. I have no idea how long it takes to finally get to the spare, but when my fingers wrap around the tire wrench, everything else fades into the background…except the manic compulsion.

I spot the tree and trudge up the hill, my feet slipping on the wet earth. Soon, I’m standing in front of him, reading the headstone without seeing the words. I drop the flashlight onto the ground, the glow illuminating the rock. A savage scream rips from my throat. So loud, it drowns out the thunder. I wrap both hands around the metal rod and raise it over my head. With a downward motion, steel strikes granite. Pain travels up my palms. Stinging vibrations surge through my bones like the tines of a tuning fork. An instinctive reaction sends the tire iron crashing to the ground.

Purpose-driven panic sends me to my knees in search of the weapon. My fingers grasp the tool and brandish it like a hatchet, swinging it into the hallowed ground.

“You motherfucking son of a bitch!”

Whack.

“We made vows, you bastard.”

Whack.

“I hate you.”

Whack.

I’m completely lost within the abyss of my shattered soul. I desecrate Trevor’s grave with the single-minded lunacy of a woman deranged. I don’t register the shouts in the distance. When my arms grow tired, I toss my weapon of destruction aside and use my hands instead.

My fingers curl into claws, ripping chunks of grass from their roots. Wet soil burrows under my nails. I lift my arms to wipe my face against the soaked material covering my shoulders. Snot, dirt, and tears mix together, covering me in a muddy mask of misery.

I don’t stop. I can’t. Not even when the darkness is lit with red and blue lights.

“You bastard! I hate you!” I scream, pounding my fists into the soggy ground.

Large hands wrap around mine, forcing me to still. To feel the pain head-on. It hurts. It hurts so much. I peer into slightly familiar eyes. He says something, but I can’t hear him over my own pleas.

“Please,” I beg. “Please make it stop.”

Weak and soaked to the bone, I’m gently raised into a standing position. My gaze remains focused on Trevor’s headstone.

Almost everything else fades away. The pair of small hands patting me down. The unrelenting rain. I barely register the glide of the metal or the click of the cuffs snapping into place.