Page 16 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
“The first couple weeks that I lived here,” Jack says, “I had so much anger, so much guilt inside me that I wanted to—no, I needed to—hurt myself. At first it was physical exertion, denying proper hydration and rest. I rationalized it as training for the worst. But my head wasn’t in the right place. And it wasn’t enough. I hated that I could fight death better than . . . better than—”
“Better than who, Jack?” I brush the hair from his forehead gently moving my fingers through it, hoping he won’t notice that my hands are shaking. I’m so afraid of hearing the rest.
“My parents,” he says, emotion filling his voice. “And my best friend. I lost them seven months ago and instead of being allowed retaliation, I was forced to come here and hide out. But why should I be allowed to survive, you know?”
I nod, but I don’t know. Of course he should be allowed to live.
“After torturing myself for weeks, I finally hit an all-time low.” His gaze diverts from mine. He’s ashamed. “It was just a matter of deciding how to do it—a chair and rope, a gun, physical torture and starvation. That’s how my parents and my friend died, but starvation is very hard to inflict upon yourself. Survival instincts kick in and take over.”
I can’t believe he’s saying these things. I saw the sadness right away, bu
t this . . . I never saw this. It isn’t the Jack I know. Still, I touch my lips to his forehead briefly, urging him to continue.
“I sat on the floor in this apartment, right in front of my record player, my pistol aimed at my head.” His voice is low and even, but his eyes are glossy with unshed tears. “And then you knocked on my door.”
I did? When?
He pauses, allowing me a moment to absorb. “I’d been drinking shots of whiskey for hours and when I opened the door, the sun was beaming behind you and you had a white dress on. You were glowing right in front of me. For a second, I thought I’d already pulled the trigger and I was in heaven.” He tucks my hair behind my ears and lets his fingers linger on my cheeks. “Your car wouldn’t start, do you remember? You had class and needed a jump start.”
“I remember,” I whisper, scared my wavering voice might stop him.
“The whole act of getting your car working again, it’s so fuzzy, I can barely recall the details.” He takes my face in his hands more firmly, forcing me to look in his eyes. “But I felt this undeniable rush of life spilling from you and bleeding onto me. By the time I went back to my apartment, seeing my gun lying next to the record player . . . it made me sick to my stomach.” He laughs darkly. “Well, the whiskey contributed, too. But I knew, after seeing you, that I had a choice. I could either let myself sink back to that low point, or be surrounded by you, by your family and hope that you could bring me back to life.”
I’m crying now even though I tried so hard to be cool about his confession. I can’t help it. Piecing together all of our early conversations, it makes so much more sense now. Everything makes sense.
Jack wipes the tears from my face for the tenth time tonight. “I told your father this, when I asked for his permission to marry you.”
“You did?” I swipe the back of my hands across my eyes, trying to dry them. “What did he say?”
“He said that many people believe a good man wouldn’t take someone’s heart knowing they were leaving, but the opportunity to be changed, to let your future actions be guided by love instead of anger and sadness, was not something anyone should pass up.”
So my parents, or at least my father, know that Jack is leaving. What else do they know? Did he tell them where he’s going?
He smoothes the wrinkles in my forehead with his thumb. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but I don’t want to take your heart with me, Audrey. I want you to give it to whomever you want or keep it for yourself.”
I smile even though more tears tumble out. “That isn’t a decision you get to make, Jack Sanders. I’m not even sure it’s a decision I get to make.”
I think our heart latches on to whomever it chooses and there’s nothing we can do about it. If it comes back on its own, maybe, but if not . . .
He cracks a smile and pulls our mouths together. “I love you so much.”
When I come up for air a few minutes later, I blurt out a question without thinking, something I’ve held on to for so long, “These people you work for? Are they . . . are they good?”
Are they good? What does that even mean? Do they help feed the homeless and donate to charity? Of course Jack is good. I’ve never doubted that. Is it the military? I think subconsciously, I’ve always assumed it was the military he worked for.
Jacks surprises me by laughing—a beautiful booming laugh. “Is that what you worry about all the time? If I’m a secret mobster?”
Yes, I’ve consider the mobster thing. But again, Jack is good, so that theory was quickly thrown out after we became close.
“No mobsters. The people I work for are very good, trust me.” He touches my cheek and guides it back to his chest, then wraps me in his arms again. “I would never lie to you about something like that, Audrey. I promise.”
WHEN THE MORNING comes, I know this is my moment to be brave. If ever there was a time to hold in my real emotions, it’s right now. My best defense is to feign sleep, listening to the sounds of Jack moving around, dressing, possibly packing a bag. I work so hard to keep my breathing even and slow as he leans in to kiss my cheek and whispers, “I love you.”
Another voice—an unfamiliar male voice—joins Jack’s on the landing outside. I wait until I hear the sound of a car backing out over the gravel road before I let myself fall apart. Before I let myself think, He’s gone. I curl into a ball, pain stabbing every inch of body, as heavy sobs are pressed into his pillow, his scent filling my head with every breath.
Finally, after a long while, I roll over ready to face the world with my head up, my eyes dry, just like I promised him I would do.
A small wooden box rests in Jack’s empty spot. I open the lid and remove the white envelope with Mrs. Sanders written on the front in Jack’s careful cursive.
