My fist is clenched on the table. Just thinking about the way everyone acted after she died has me pissed off all over again.
“What did he say about her?”
I lean back in my chair and my eyes drop to the table between us. I don’t really feel like looking her in the eyes when I’m only thinking about stuff that infuriates me. “I heard him laughing, telling his friend that Les took the selfish, easy way out. He said if she wasn’t such a coward, she would have toughed it out.”
“Toughed what out?”
“Life.”
“You don’t think she took the easy way out.” She doesn’t say it like it’s a question. She says it like she’s truly trying to understand me. That’s all I’ve wanted from her all week. I just want her to understand me. To believe me and not everyone else.
And no. I don’t think she took the easy way out. I don’t think that at all.
I reach across the table and pull her hand between both of mine. “Les was the bravest fucking person I’ve ever known,” I say. “It takes a lot of guts to do what she did. To just end it, not knowing what’s next? Not knowing if there’s anything next? It’s easier to go on living a life without any life left in it than it is to just say ‘fuck it’ and leave. She was one of the few that just said, ‘fuck it.’ And I’ll commend her every day I’m still alive, too scared to do the same thing.”
I look at her after I’m finished speaking and her eyes are wide. Her hand is shaking, so I clasp my hands around hers. We look at each other for several seconds and I can tell she has no idea what to say to me. I attempt to lighten the mood and change the subject. She said that was the last question, then we get dessert.
I lean forward and kiss the top of her head, then walk into the kitchen. “You want brownies or cookies?” I watch her from the kitchen as I grab the desserts and she’s staring at me, wide-eyed.
I freaked her out.
I just completely freaked her out.
I walk back to where she’s seated and I kneel down in front of her. “Hey. I didn’t mean to scare you,” I tell her, taking her face in my hands. “I’m not suicidal if that’s what’s freaking you out. I’m not fucked up in the head. I’m not deranged. I’m not suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. I’m just a brother who loved his sister more than life itself, so I get a little intense when I think about her. And if I cope better by telling myself that what she did was noble, even though it wasn’t, then that’s all I’m doing. I’m just coping.” I allow her time to let my words sink in, then finish my explanation. “I fucking loved that girl, Sky. I need to believe that what she did was the only answer she had left, because if I don’t, then I’ll never forgive myself for not helping her find a different one.” I press my forehead to hers, looking her firmly in the eyes. “Okay?”
I need her to understand that I’m trying. I might not have it together and I might not know how to move past Les’s death, but I’m trying.
She presses her lips together and nods, then pulls my hands away. “I need to use the bathroom,” she says, quickly slipping around me. She rushes to the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.
Jesus Christ, why did I even go there? I walk to the hallway, prepared to knock on the door and apologize, but decide to give her a few minutes first. I know that was really heavy. Maybe she just needs a minute.
I wait across the hallway until the bathroom door opens up again. It doesn’t look like she’s been crying.
“We good?” I ask her, taking a step closer to her.
She smiles up at me and exhales a shaky breath. “I told you I think you’re intense. This just proves my point.”