Strong Enough(75)

When he doesn’t continue, I have to prompt him. “And are you going to tell me?”

“Muse, I think it’s better—”

“Dad, no! I need to know. I’m not a little girl anymore. You can’t protect me from everything in life.”

“But this is different. Knowing the details won’t change the fact that she’s gone, that she’s no longer a part of your life.”

“No, it won’t, but I still want to know. I need to know the whole truth about my life, Dad.”

“Muse, honey, please.”

“No! Don’t you do this to me. Tell me, Dad. Tell me right now. I need to know.” I’m on the verge of some sort of conniption. I think he must know that.

He takes a deep breath. “They wanted her brought into custody for questioning. I knew what that meant, what they’d do to her.” His pause gives me too much time to fill in the blanks, to complete the imagery with the most horrific ones that I can conjure. “No matter who she really was, no matter what she’d done, I could never let the mother of my child live out her life being tortured. No matter how short that life might’ve been. I couldn’t do it. So I went after her. When I found her, she didn’t try to run. I think she knew I couldn’t hurt her. Not really. I told her they knew. I told her what they’d do. She just nodded. She knew, too. When she reached for my gun, I don’t know if I thought she was going to kill me or herself. I don’t know if she knew for sure either. We just stood there, staring at each other. My gun in her hand. When she raised it to her head, she said five words that have brought me more heartache yet more comfort than I could ever have thought they would.” My father’s eyes are distant as he looks over my shoulder, almost like he’s looking into the past.

“What did she say? What five words?”

“‘Don’t tell Muse about me.’ I knew then that she loved you as much as I did. I knew then that she was taking the only way out that could save us all, especially you.”

“S-so what did you do?”

My question brings his sad, tormented eyes back to mine. “I . . . I gave her the only mercy that I could. I let her choose her own fate.”

My stomach sloshes with a queasy feeling that only adds to my exhaustion from this day. My mouth is uncomfortably dry and my head becomes lighter the harder I try to think and process.

“You . . . you let my mother kill herself.” Not a question. Not an accusation. A statement. An attempt to assimilate this information into the life I thought I knew, into the life I thought I was living.

“I had no choice. Not really.”

I raise dull, watering eyes to his. “You could’ve taken us away. Far, far away. To another country maybe.”

“They wouldn’t have rested until they found her. Whether her people or mine, they never would’ve stopped coming for her. And that would’ve put you in danger. Every day for the rest of your life. She didn’t want that. Neither did I. We couldn’t risk you, honey. I couldn’t risk you. Not my Muse.”

My eyes sting with unshed tears. I don’t try to stop them from falling. They just don’t. I think they can’t. Maybe I’m in shock. Or maybe I’m just all cried out.

“I hope you can forgive me for keeping this from you. I just didn’t want you to have to live with that in your head. In your heart.”

At this, I stand up, straightening my spine and raising my chin. “I’m stronger than you think, Dad.”

“I never thought you were weak.”

“Yes, you did. You just never wanted to admit it.” He starts to argue, but I cut him off by moving past him. “I’m going to bed. If this is a one-bedroom, I hope you don’t mind the couch.”

With that, I walk numbly to the first bed I come to and I fall face-first onto it.





THIRTY-TWO


Jasper

Rogan and Tag have long since faded down the street, yet still I sit here in my car, thinking. Avoiding. Trying not to feel. Failing miserably.

I’m agonizing over what I have to do. I know it’s the right thing to do. It’s really the only thing to do. I never would’ve imagined myself in this position. I didn’t think I was capable of . . . all this. But even if I had, I wouldn’t have imagined it being this hard.

Finally resolute, I get out of the car and open the trunk, taking out the small black duffel. I never thought I’d use this in such a way either. These days “never” isn’t as absolute as it once was.

I never thought I’d lose my mother the way I did. I never thought I’d have to worry about betrayal from one of my own. I never thought I’d hesitate to do my job. I never thought I’d meet someone who could make me feel so much—desire, frustration, guilt, regret. And probably even love. I don’t want to start labeling things; it just gets even more complicated. Best not to go there. I just need to get this over with and move on. She’ll be better off and that’s what’s important.