The Admirer's Secret (18 page)

Chapter 37

H
aley pulled onto her residential street lined with old-fashioned streetlights and quaint happy homes. She imagined content little families gathering around the hearth sharing warm stories while sipping hot chocolate. Not in her case. She was far from at ease, mentally and emotionally drained. She wanted nothing more than to go to bed and forget the day ever happened.

She pulled into her driveway, seeing her dark, empty house with new clarity, with a saddened realization that she was alone tonight. She was too tired, exhausted, and in no mood to tell Marc what had happened. All that would have to wait until morning. Sleep was what she needed. Lots of
sleep.

Her key found its way into the lock and she promptly let herself in, too numb to realize she hadn’t locked the door behind her. She didn’t bother turn on any lights as she headed straight to the living room sofa, where she fell into the worn cushions. Haley managed to shed her coat while grappling for
a throw blanket, but left her shoes on before falling into an unsettling sleep.

**

Morning followed a night of tears, and she awoke with an achy neck. She had propped her head at an awkward angle on the arm of the sofa, leaving her with a tinge of regret for sleeping on the couch. Her eyes ached from crying. She was sure they were bloodshot, if how they felt was any indication.

Lack of sleep was now catching up to her as she sniffled. Not knowing if the congestion was due to pre-dawn sobbing or an encroaching cold, she wondered what today would bring. Certainly not relief from the nightmare that was now her life.

Pushing off the quilt that was wrapped around her like a cocoon, she hobbled to the table where she had left Marc’s love letters. She had plans for the memorabilia in the form of a scrapbook to present to Marc one day, perhaps for a birthday or an anniversary. An anniversary they may never see. Even if she did forgive him for hurting her, how could she be assured that he’d never do it again? Yet somewhere in her heart, there was a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could end up back together happily ever after. Yesterday she had decided to try to fix things between them, but today she wasn’t so sure he was worth it anymore.

She flipped through the heartfelt poems, the tender prose, her scribbled journal entries
beckoning their future together… it was how she truly felt. If their love for one another was so pure, so deep, how could Marc replace her with someone else? And so quickly? One minute they were in love, and the next he was wrapping his arms around someone else. Did Haley not fulfill him? Something divided them, came between them, and it was her fault. She had let it happen. Haley worried that she would never be able to win him back. 

You will win him back, Haley. You
must
win him back,
a familiar voice told her. It was the voice that had once given her comfort while going through the pain of losing her father. Years later it became the voice that confirmed that Marc was the one for her. This was the only voice she trusted nowadays.

He’s not worth it,
something else within her countered. 

You just need to fight harder,
the voice bristled.

But she was so tired of fighting. Her entire life felt like one perpetual battle. As she considered the command—to keep pushing for what she wanted—a soft whisper winnowed out all the bitterness. Unlike the voice that dominated her brain, branding her thoughts with hot metal, whoever broke into her mind at that moment spoke to her like a warm breeze gently washing over her.

Haley, you can be healed if only you let go of Marc.

The calm in those words took her by surprise. It made so much sense—just let him go. Move on. Let it heal, the hole that first opened fifteen years ago and had been festering ever since. The answer was right there in front of her. The solution to the problem. Let go. 

Let go? That’s what the weak do,
Haley’s flesh retorted.
You screwed it up, so fix it! Don’t let Marc leave you like your father left you. Like Jake left you. This time you can control it! You can have what you want. You deserve to be happy. 

Yes, she did deserve to be happy, didn’t she?

Will that really make you happy, Haley? Marc doesn’t belong to you,
reasoned the voice inside her head.
Let go… just let go and embrace peace for once in your life… 

But her flesh refused surrender. With the threat of losing its mastery over Haley, the voice bit back, this time drawing blood.
You are worthless, Haley! And Marc never loved you!

“Stop it!” s
he screamed out loud, shutting up both voices. Shaking the dispute away, she frantically rifled through the pile of paper looking for answers, solace, she didn’t know exactly what. All she knew was that she wanted to feel better.

Pausing
to study a picture of Marc smiling, she pulled the image to her chest, holding the photo close to her heart. When he didn’t speak up the night she caught him with Julie, his neglect spoke loud and clear. He apparently wanted her to let him go. He wanted something, or someone, else. But why? Why would he do that to her? If he was in front of her at this very moment, that would be all she’d ask: Why had he broken her heart? It would kill her to do it, but she had to move on.

But how?

Her gaze found the fireplace. There was enough kindling to start a fire. She lit a match, placing the red flaming tip against some dry twigs and crumpled corners of paper. The flame took. Then grew, just enough to emit steady heat against her cold ears. She reached over and grabbed the stack of papers, knelt by the hearth, and one by one she fed them into the yellow flames until every last letter had turned to a powdery gray dust.

“Well, I guess this is it,” she said through swelling tears. She swallowed the vomitus taste that hung on the back of her tongue. “It’s over now. I’m giving up.”

Her steady gaze held the image of her lost memories charred to ashes. She could not find the strength to pull herself from its magnetic force. Everything she had grown to love was now stripped from her. No more Los Angeles. No more screenplay writing. No more Marc. In her efforts to hold onto it all, she’d lost it all. Pain sliced through her skull, and she pushed both palms against her eyes, forcing the pain in her forehead to submit to her will. All she wanted was to be numb, to feel no more pain. There was only one way she could achieve the freedom.

Chapter 38

I
t wouldn’t hurt. Just one slice across—not too deep—and it’d be over. Like a paper cut. A very bloody paper cut.

She knew better than to cut herself lengthwise. That would kill her, and that wasn’t her intention. At least not today. No, she just needed to show Marc how serious she was.

One cut. One swift movement across pink flesh. In a moment of desperation it sounded so easy, so quick. But as her hand hovered above her wrist with measured pressure, the cold stainless steel blade taunted her. Her courage waned as her hand trembled with each heartbeat that pulsed beneath the knife’s serrated edge, with only a thin layer of skin containing her precious lifeblood.

In picture-perfect clarity, she imagined the jagged grooves puncturing and tearing her skin. She regretted being so hasty in picking up the first knife she came across. A smoother blade wouldn’t take as long to do the job, and it likely wouldn’t hurt as much. The thought itself startled her, striking her with its ferocity. She was actually deliberating the efficiency of her own suicide.

“No, no, no,” she scolded herself. No doubts, no hesitating. One slice and this part would be over soon enough. 

Haley never felt the blade pinch and then slide into her skin, moving right to left, catching on the tiny bone about halfway across. Her mind blocked out the pain, focusing her thoughts on his face—the only face that mattered to her now. Under the force of her steadied hand, she pulled the blade across and out, and leaned into the cushions of her sofa, watching blood ooze from the cut, then build momentum as it trickled down her palm the way rain collected on a windowpane. The puddled droplets eventually found residence in the quilt beneath her that protected the microfiber cushions, the crimson chaotically adding to the kaleidoscope of colors.   

She still had one wrist to go, but she needed to make the phone call first while she still had the strength and ability to dial. She fumbled to open her cell phone, then concentrated on pressing each of the memorized numbers. The line rang. Voice mail picked up, just as she’d expected.

“I kept my promise,” she said. There’d be no more pain after this.

Marc would hear the message and understand.

Both Marc and her dad had made her promise to find freedom from the pain. But there was no freedom except in pain. Cycles of history attested to this truth as soldiers laid down their lives in the pursuit of freedom—freedom from tyranny, from slavery, from religious persecution. Bloodshed was the only means to freedom. And it was the only solution to this lover’s battle.

A hazy image of Julie flashed through Haley’s mind. If Marc and his newfound lover wanted their happily ever after, they could now have it now, for all she cared.

**

Whether it was due to her throbbing headache or the loss of blood, Haley had blacked out and woke up about a half-hour later. The droplets no longer coursed down her wrist, rather they formed a thick gel-like substance as her body worked to seal the wound. Yet the wound of her heart was still present.

Ever present. Ever painful.

Pulling her shirtsleeve down over the cut, Haley sadly accepted that there was no way to drain away her bitterness. Perhaps suffering wasn’t enough. Cleansing sometimes required exfoliation, and scrubbing took work. It was raw and harsh, but even that could not eliminate all traces of the past. The scars would always remain. She just didn’t know if she could live with the scars, or if she’d have to extinguish the last of the pain for good. Life without Marc was a life not worth living, after all. She just hoped Marc would understand.

This time she’d cut the other wrist right. Down the street, not across the road.

She lifted the knife. It felt oddly heavy.

Her hand dropped back to her side.

Try again.

But still her arm felt so weak.

With every ounce of strength now fully sapped, she couldn’t make the next cut. She hated herself for being so weak. She was too pathetic to even kill herself correctly.

Absorbed in her self-loathing, she closed her eyes and entered her own world where nothing could hurt her. Her eyes shut out the spinning living room and her ears shut out the deafening silence. Mentally tuned out from her surroundings, she ignored the knock at the door, the booming voice outside, and the squealing doorknob that turned with ease. She hear
d the door creak open, then oncoming footsteps.

“Marc?” she whispered, her voice muffled with exhaustion.

No answer.

Dimly aware, she saw a
lurking shadow shift across the room through a haze.

In her tunnel-driven daze, she pictured sweeping images of her bloodstained flesh, Marc’s smile, each letter, each poem, each journal entry, and each picture that she had just sent into the land of no return. Poof! In a cloud of smoke she had destroyed her relationship. She needed to finish what she set out to do.

With renewed energy she willed herself from her trance. She pushed up from her seat and finally her spell was broken—she saw the figure looming underneath her living room archway.

“Haley Montgomery
…”

The stranger moved toward her, but she didn’t know how to stop him. She eyed the fireplace poker leaning upright against the gray and brown stone face, but certainly the man would easily overpower her, even with her weapon. Her hands instinctively took a defensive position in front of her body, as if that would protect her, despite the scabbing skin that stung and stretched taut from her movements.

The man inched forward, uttering calm, collected words that she couldn’t quite make out.

“What do you want?” she screamed, punching her fists into the air, making contact with his chest.

The man didn’t answer. Instead, another one in uniform soon joined the first, and she recognized defeat. She had no other choice than to surrender.

“We’ve got a warrant for your arrest. We’d like to take you in for questioning,” the policeman said. “Do me a favor and put your hands behind your back. You
have the right to remain silent…”

As they Mirandized her, she let the two policemen seize her by the shoulders and grab each arm, forcefully pulling them behind her back and cuffing her wrists. The metal pinched her skin, its cold grip painfully tight.

As they led her to their car, she looked behind her for some intervention, some source of comfort, but no one was there. They ducked her head as they guided her into the backseat of the cruiser behind the barred divider. Panic should have set in at this point; she should have been worrying about her alibi, her upcoming statement, her possible sentencing. But she wasn’t thinking about the drive to the station or of the officers in the front seat. She was thinking about Marc. She wanted Marc.