Chapter 11
"What I came for" (ii)
Emily
Three months prior
It had been years. Not long enough to forget. Though you fooled yourself sometimes, that you had put the entire chapter behind you forever. Erased it from your life.
If you were honest with yourself, you still thought about it. Thought about her. You still turned, without thinking, expecting her to be standing by your side. But for the most part you pushed it aside. Went on with your life. It worked fine.
Up until the point she came looking for you. Until she come came barging into the new life you'd built millions of miles away from her. She had come here, with the audacity to ask you for help.
After the things she'd said, the things she'd done, the things she'd accused you of. You marvelled at her nerve.
"I'm sorry." She told you.
You doubted her sincerity. You wanted to believe it, but you couldn't afford to take her at face value. Not anymore. She needed something. Of course she said she was sorry.
"I know you don't believe me." She added quickly, reading your mind in that eerie way she always seemed able to do.
You had always imagined you'd feel somehow vindicated if this day ever came. Yet her sudden complete change of heart alarmed you. She had always held so tightly to her convictions. There was only one thing that would have swayed her. She had seen it with her own eyes, experienced it herself. And as much as you resented her, as much as you wanted her to know you were right, this thought frightened you. What had happened to her? What had she experienced that made her so sure now that you were telling the truth?
You made no response to her apology. Silence was your way of maintaining power, control, composure.
You prided yourself on the passive, graceful way you dealt with conflict. It was effective enough for the most part. You had enough confidence in yourself not to need to defend yourself angrily or attack someone else.
Somehow, with her, it was always a fight to the bitter death. Maybe it was that you had no confidence with her? Or maybe just that she would push your buttons, and push and push, and she knew how. You'd let her know you. She wouldn't stop until she got a reaction, not until she got to the real, raw, honest feelings.
You thought it was a destructive way to communicate. She never stopped along the way to assess the damage. There were things you both said that you could never rescind. And once she broke you, you always managed to hurt her equally. It was pathetic, vicious, self destructive.
And yet somehow it was the most real thing you had. More real than the relationship you had with your mother. Somehow this was the most stable, precious relationship in your life. For a long, long time. When you think of family, it's not your cold distant mother, nor your father, that comes to mind. It's her. Her and her son who adored you.
"I understand you hate me." She told you.
"I don't hate you." You interrupted her, instantly regretting it. Let her think you hate her. What difference will it make?
"Please." She said finally. "I need you to help my son."