“You tried to help them,” Marie’s voice broke the silence, and my teary eyes met hers as I nodded slowly.
“I had to try. It was my fault.”
Marie shook her head, and Abel took a step toward me, but Marie cut her gaze to him, and he stopped. “Brock was troubled, Delilah. You didn’t cause his problems, and you couldn’t stop him. No one could have after he made the decision to do what he did.”
“That’s not true. He did it because they bullied me.”
“So you think they deserved what happened?”
I shoved myself up from my seat, enraged. “Of course they didn’t!”
“Exactly my point,” she replied calmly. “You wouldn’t have wished that on them. You aren’t to blame. Not for what happened to them and not for what happened to you.”
I fell back into my seat, but the aching in my stomach only grew more painful as I struggled for a breath that wouldn’t come.
“Let me get you some water.” Abel fumbled with the paper cups at the water cooler, but Marie held up her hand.
“She’ll be fine.” Her voice was assertive, unlike I’d ever heard her before. Abel froze, cup in hand.
I doubled over as my gasping grew louder, and tiny crimson drops fell on the knees of my jeans. I looked up to Marie for help, but she sat unmoving. My trembling fingers ran over my lower lip, and I pulled them back to examine the smattering of blood.
“I’m bleeding. Why am I bleeding?” My voice was shrill with terror, but Marie and Abel seemed unconcerned.
“You’re doing great, Delilah. Tell me what happened next.”
I shook my head as my body trembled like a leaf in a hurricane. I squeezed my eyes closed and tried again to fill my lungs. When my chest expanded, the sound that left my throat was that of a crying child, and I was able to once again speak.
I reached my injured hand out to my left, toward where Shelly hid, the bright overhead lighting causing me to squint. Her head was propped unnaturally against the bench, and her eyes were half open and fixed on nothingness, her skin ash gray.
The bright light slowly faded, as if we were in an eclipse, as Brock knelt over me, his tears dripping onto my face and running over the bridge of my nose.
“Bird! Bird, I’m so sorry.” He pulled me roughly into his chest as I gasped for air. His body shook, and I closed my eyes, lulled to sleep with the thudding rhythm of his hammering heart. “I love you so much, Bird.” A sob cut through his words. I tried to open my heavy eyes, so I could tell him it would be OK. It didn’t even hurt anymore. But I was unable to form any words as his arm rose, quivering as he pressed the handgun to his temple. “I’m so sorry.” His finger pressed the trigger, his eyes locked on mine.
Bang.
My body fell to back to the hard tile, sprawled over Brock’s legs in a twisted heap of broken hearts and unkeepable promises. The steady beating of his love faded into silence along with our future.
I glanced at my trembling hand, which still clutched my stomach, the blood gone from my fingers. The small crimson circles that had spattered on my jeans had vanished. I took in an easy breath as I looked up at Marie.
“It wasn’t your fault, Delilah. You couldn’t save them. You couldn’t save yourself.”
A chill ran through me, and it felt like the temperature had dropped at least ten degrees as realization settled in.
A warm, strong hand wrapped around mine as Abel sank to his knees next to me. He brushed my hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. It was then I realized the dark‐chocolate curtain that had blocked him from view. I looked over at him through uncertain eyes, and he smiled that heart‐ melting smile.
“You don’t need to hide anymore,” he said.
I pushed myself to my feet and studied my face in the mirror that hung above Marie’s filing cabinet. Sure enough, my hair was as dark as the day I was born, hanging perfectly straight and framing my sad face. Abel stepped behind me, his head over mine, and it reminded me of the day we’d brushed our teeth at the apartment. Trish…Abel…I spun around and looked up at him, unable to ask the question that hung like thick humidity between us. He smiled sadly as he ran his knuckles softly over my cheek.
“You? The boat…” My eyes searched his as he shook his head and looked at the floor between us.
“I know I have boyish good looks, but I don’t look thirteen, do I?” he joked, but his smile fell. “No. That night Becca cheated on me, I couldn’t cope. I lost it when I confronted James, and it cost me my life.”
“The gun,” I whispered, as my eyes searched his. “Did you…”