When I'm Gone(67)

Over the past nine weeks, I had dealt with moments of weakness. Once I almost convinced myself that I had imagined that text message. And when I couldn’t make myself believe that, I tried to convince myself that I could live with him having sex with other people. If I had him in my life, that would be enough. I would forgive him for needing sex so badly that he had to get it elsewhere.

Then, at my lowest points, I blamed myself for being screwed-up in the head. For not being able to give him what his body needed. I had pushed him into her arms.

He loved me, though. He had yelled it at the top of his lungs.

After weeks of no word from him, I had to accept that he had moved on. I had sent him away, and he had gone. Not easily, but he had gone. Now someone else, probably Cordelia, was taking care of his needs. She was loving him and making him smile. She was everything I hadn’t been to him.

So I just survived. Every day, I got up and survived the day. Every night, I survived the nightmares. Then I did it again. Over and over.

And alone.

Because I’d made him leave.

“Earth to Reesey-poo. Where did you go, woman? I asked you a question.”

I shook my Mase thoughts away. They’d be back to fill the void later. “Sorry, what did you ask?”

“I asked if you wanted to go take your written test and get your driving permit tomorrow since we’re off work.”

Dr. Munroe had been helping me study for two weeks now. I was as prepared as I’d ever be. “Yeah. That would be good,” I replied.

The excitement didn’t come. I had thought once that I would never drive a car. Now I was close to achieving that goal, and I couldn’t manage to feel even a little joy. Because the one person I wanted with me, the one person I wanted to share this with, wasn’t here.

I had pushed him away. I had loved too much. With a broken mind and body, I had loved completely. And he had needed more than that broken mind and body.

Images of him touching a faceless woman and doing things to her that he did to me shredded me every time I let myself think about it. I wanted to be whole. I wanted to be enough for him.

“Don’t get too excited. I might have to pull over until you calm down,” Jimmy said sarcastically.

I forced a smile for him.

“Not buying that fake shit, Reese,” he replied.

It was all I had. Fake shit.





Mase


Swinging the ax, I split the piece of wood I needed to mend the fence. But I couldn’t stop. Lifting the ax, I swung again, ruining the perfect piece I’d created. Then I swung again. And again. And again.

I wasn’t sure when the yelling started, but when I looked up to see my mother standing across from me with her hands on her hips, frowning at me disapprovingly, I knew I must have gotten loud.

Shit.

She had been waiting for me to snap. I had been careful to work through my day without emotion as long as her attention was on me. Getting Maryann Colt off your back when she thought you needed to talk was near impossible.

I dropped the ax and stared down at the small chunks of wood that were now only good for firewood. I’d annihilated it. I would have to go get another piece now so I could fix the goddamn fence.

“Don’t reckon that wood did anything to you,” Momma said, cocking one of her eyebrows.

I didn’t respond. I just dropped to my haunches and started picking up the mess I’d made.

“I’ve had all I can take, Mase Colt Manning. You’ve been a shell of my boy for months, and now you lose your mind and begin yelling and beating the shit outta that log with an ax? You have to talk to me. You’re giving me anxiety attacks. I’m worried about you.”

For nine weeks, I had managed to live without my heart. This wasn’t a life. My life was a woman who didn’t want me. This was an existence. An empty, shallow existence.

I hadn’t told my mother about Reese, but Harlow had. Momma had asked me about her the week after Reese sent me away from her. I had been so overcome with pain from just the sound of her name that I had jumped up and fled the table. Momma hadn’t mentioned her again.

But now I needed her to. I needed to talk about Reese. I wanted to tell someone about her. To fill my emptiness with the memory of her.

“I love her,” I said simply.

She raised both of her eyebrows now. “I kind of got that already, sweetie. When you ran like the fires of hell were after you the day I asked you about her, you gave that away.”

“She’s my life, Momma. Reese. She’s it. My one. But she doesn’t want me.” Just saying it sent a bolt of agony through me. I winced, unable to hide it from my mother.

“Then she’s a fool,” Momma said, with all the conviction of a mother who loved her son.