Daria
Packing had always struck me as a strange affair. How could anyone fit their whole life into a suitcase? How could anyone decide out of every single thing they owned what was important and what could be left behind? Packing up someone else’s life was considerably harder. It felt like a strange sort of betrayal, deciding that the most important things of Mom’s were a few odd items that I would take with me while the rest would be discarded. If Mom were here, then she may have kicked up a fuss and demanded I take more things of hers to remember her by but she wasn’t here. And I couldn’t take everything, no matter how much I wanted to.
I was several hours into packing up the hotel, a job that should’ve taken less than one hour. It didn’t help that every third or fourth item I picked up was associated with strong memories that I wanted to relive for a moment before I was willing to pack it away. It was a long process and despite how often I kept reminding myself that it was necessary to leave town, I still wanted to delay the inevitable.
Deciding what to keep and what to throw away was made harder by the fact that Mom never really had much of an attachment to material possessions, especially considering how quickly we’d had to flee from my stepfather. The only things of real value in the hotel were photo frames, albums and mementos.
That didn’t at all take into consideration the other little things in the room that weren’t particularly valuable in anyway but things I associated with strong memories of my mother and so I couldn’t bear to part with.
Probably the worst part of the entire packing experience was the moment I realized how few photos I had of my mother. It was saddening but also exactly what is should’ve expected from my mother.
She was beautiful, and not just because she was my mother. But there was something about capturing herself in the moment with a camera that she hated. On the other hand, she had practically glued a camera to her hand when I was a kid. There were hundreds of photos of me growing up. The first tooth I’d lost, riding a bike for the first time, my first day of school. Not all of them marked special events either. There was one that Mom had taken because I’d woken up and she thought the lighting was nice. There was one when I had a fever and Mom was scared I would die. There was one when I tied my shoes for the first time but had put them on the wrong feet. All of it was photo documentation of my entire life until now, but sadly there were only a few scattered photos of my mom.
Oh well. Nothing I could do about it now. It was just another thing to add onto my list of regrets.
I was finally done packing a single suitcase of things that I would take with me to start my new life. It was going to be harder than I’d realized to leave Springville.
All my happy memories of Mom were here. It was where I grew up, the first home I had. It was where Mom was born and where she spent most of her life. It was where we’d fled back to when we needed to be safe again.
But it was also where we’d fled from in the first place. It was where she’d died. It was where she’d sacrificed her life for mine.
Did she not realize how destroyed I would be?
What was she thinking?
She’d died so that I could live. What kind of horrible logic was that? How could she do … I trailed off as the thought continued to grow in my head.
How could she do what every mother would do? How could she protect her only child until her death? How could she put my happiness before her own life?
Mom had spent her entire life trying to keep me safe and she’d died doing the same thing. Like a ton of bricks crashing down on me, I realized just how stupid I was being. Of course, she would trade herself for me, didn’t I know my mother at all?
This was exactly the kind of thing she would do with no hesitation. How many times had she flung herself in front of my stepfather so I wouldn’t get beaten? How many times had she lied to protect me, how many times had she warned me away from dangers and tried to mother me in an overprotective way that I would complain about?
Of course, she’d done what she did.
That didn’t mean I had to like it, though.
“Mom,” I said aloud. “I wish you weren’t so quick to protect me. You could’ve been alive right now.”
As I expected, there was no answer, but I did feel slightly better talking aloud than in my head.
The last words she’d said to me were ‘I love you.’ I wished now that I had returned the sentiment. At the time, I was too busy trying to get away from my captor. What had she said before that? Something about going to Rocky?
She must have been confused in her last moments. She’d never want me to go back to Rocky. Mom didn’t even want me around him in the first place. And she was right. The club was more dangerous than I’d ever know, and it had proven that time and time again.
I should’ve left town then and there, as soon as Mom had told me to run, instead of going back to Rocky. It just made everything more complicated than it needed to be. With any luck, Rocky would’ve thought I was dead as well and now I wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt of leaving him.
The selfishness of the thought made me frown. In reality, I knew Rocky wouldn’t get over my death at all. In fact, he would’ve raged an all-out war with the Nightmares, charging right over there, guns blazing. Whether Mom knew it or not, she’d saved quite a few lives with her sacrifice.
Who was I kidding? Of course, Mom knew that. She’d probably calculated the risks, the problems, the potential outcomes and all the hundreds of variables that might affect the future.
“Shit,” I muttered aloud.
This whole time I’d convinced myself that it was Rocky’s fault for letting my mother go off to her death just to save me but that wasn’t entirely the truth. Mom would’ve gotten her way eventually, even if Rocky had tried to stop her. She’d known that he would have gone crazy and started a war. She’d known that something had to happen to prevent that. She’d known that by sacrificing herself she’d not only save me but the club that she’d grown up in.
Rocky wasn’t to blame for my mother’s decision. It was more my fault than his anyway. If I hadn’t chosen to get caught up in Rocky’s life, then maybe they wouldn’t have taken me to get back at Rocky.
I’d chosen to walk down that path with Rocky. I’d chosen to give it all up for a chance at love.
A tidal wave of guilt rushed over me as I thought about the last words I’d spoken to Rocky. He didn’t deserve any of what I said to him.
I was so caught up in my anger, bitterness and guilt that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me. I’d turned into, well, Rocky.
I’d known from the very beginning that Rocky’s plans for revenge had very little to do with making his father happy in death, and instead very much to do with Rocky himself and appeasing his own guilt that he’d never truly supported his father in the club which was such a big part of Billy’s life.
Rocky just wanted his father to be proud of him and finally chose to go down the path of the club, even though it was too late by then. If my mother’s death had taught me anything then it was that Mom made her own choices and worked hard to give me a life where I could be happy and safe, and if I didn’t go after it and pursue happiness with everything in me then that was the only way that I wouldn’t make her proud. I just wish Rocky would come to the same understanding soon.
I looked down at my packed case and then over at the hotel room door. Mom wanted me to be happy. Wouldn’t that mean I should stay right here? I’d already established that Rocky wasn’t to blame for the loss of my mother, what else was stopping me?
Why wouldn’t I choose to stay here in Springville and go after Rocky? After all, I’d fallen so completely and utterly in love with him.
My eyes shut against the thought.
Did I really love him?
Memories of Rocky filled my mind. Riding on the back of his bike, dancing with him to the radio, lounging around and not doing anything, trying to fight boredom at stakeouts. I’d been with Rocky every step of the way since I’d gotten to town, involving myself in every aspect of his life. How could I ever think it was his fault when I’d worked so hard to make sure I was embedded into his life?
He’d once told me that I was his biggest vulnerability and he was right. But he was my biggest vulnerability, too.
I’d already lost my mother, could I really stand to lose the man I loved too? Would I really make my mother’s sacrifice be in vain? She’d died so I could live, so I could be safe and happy. Was I about to let my one shot at happiness slip through my fingers just because of my stupidity?
No. No, I couldn’t.
I wouldn’t.
###
It was three in the afternoon and I was running down the scorching streets of Springville, shirt billowing in the wind behind me as I raced to Rocky’s workshop. There was a more than good chance he would be there considering the time. I knew he’d closed it for a few days, not that I was keeping tabs on him, but knowing Rocky like I hoped I did, he would’ve returned to work today, if only to preoccupy his mind. That was just the way Rocky was.
Oh God, I slowed my pace down a little. What would I say to him?
‘Sorry I implied that you killed my mother. I didn’t really mean it. I love you.’
That would go over well.
I could see the shop in the distance now and I knew I had to make my mind up quick. I refused to waste any time that we might be able to have together, that wasn’t what I was given a second chance at life for.
Before I knew it, I was standing directly in front of the shop door and without a clue of what to say to him when I walked in.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
I’d have to wing it. There was no stopping me from barging in and that’s what I did, storming into the shop, slamming the door shut behind me and scanning the room. A stunned Rocky was a few feet away from me, anxiously looking me up and down. I knew how I looked; crazy and determined, but probably not for the reason he thought.
“Rocky,” I whispered, overwhelmed by the sight of him and looking him over with new eyes, love-filled eyes.
Rocky must have noticed the change in me since we last met and relaxed his posture a bit, though he was still on guard.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
Running the short distance between us, I threw myself into his arms and wrapped all four of my limbs tightly around him. His hand came to my thighs as he held me in place. A wave of emotion overcame me and I buried my face in his neck, sobbing hard.
“Rocky,” I cried. “Rocky, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He repeated it into my ear in a soothing voice.
“I didn’t mean anything I said. None of it was your fault, it was all me.”
“No, baby. Don’t say that.”
“Will you forgive me for what I said?” I hiccupped.
“Of course. There’s nothing to forgive.”
I pulled his lips down to mine and gave him a scorching kiss, one that would hopefully convey every single one of my emotions.
When we pulled away panting, I could see his eyes were becoming moist.
“I love you, Rocky,” I sighed.
The moisture in his eyes overflowed and Rocky took a big heaving breath.
“Say it again,” he whispered.
“I love you,” I said louder.
He planted his lips on mine fully and backed me into the wall.
“Say it again.”
I looked him dead in the eyes, knowing what he needed was to believe me. “I love you, Rocky. I love you so much.”
I wrapped myself tighter around him until there was not a hairsbreadth of room between us.
“I love you too, Daria. Always have, always will.”
And there it was. He didn’t make me work for it. He didn’t make me second-guess my decision. He didn’t make me feel like a fool or an idiot. He just accepted me for who I was and always gave back to me exactly what I needed.
I made no move to get out of his arms. We just stayed like that, wrapped around each other for perhaps hours. Nothing mattered to us. We were finally together and we wouldn’t let a thing come between us anymore.