Page 38 of Redeem

Seventeen

Ciprian

Three weeks later, I lay with Dana in my arms as I listened to the hard patter of raindrops on the roof.

It seemed impossible to fathom that less than three months ago, a rain like this had been the turning point. But it had been. I’d known how much that moment mattered, but I still marveled at it. Each day since had brought Dana and me closer, the physical connection we shared still growing, something that seemed as thin as gossamer but was as strong as a spider’s web.

These days with her had been the best of my entire life.

Still, I couldn’t shake my unease, couldn’t quite reconcile the pleasure and happiness I found with her with my guilt.

Having listened to her talk about not wanting to be alive, trying to process what that would have meant was something I didn’t want to contemplate. But knowing the inevitable conclusion that faced her was hard to think about too. So I tried to stay in the moment, collect, treasure them, while I had the chance.

I held her a little closer, moving almost involuntarily as though I needed to remind myself that she was here and that she was fine. And when she stirred, breathed out and then squeezed me back, it was the most perfect moment I had ever experienced.

She didn’t speak, but I sensed she was fully awake.

She pressed a kiss against my shoulder and then began to touch me, letting her fingers linger on the scar that ran down my neck, across my chest.

I stiffened, and she pulled her hand away. “I’m sorry,” she said.

I shook my head. “No, it’s fine,” I said.

“Okay,” she replied.

But she didn’t touch me again, and when I reached for her hand, she had balled it into a fist.

I worked her fingers open and then laid them on the scar, using my fingers to move hers. She was stiff at first, but then resumed, and I let her hand go.

She probably thought I was embarrassed about it, but it wasn’t that. Having Dana touch me was welcome, always would be.

But it also made me remember what I so desperately wanted to forget. Made it impossible for me to ignore the pain I had caused so many people, that I had caused Dana.

I had to tell her.

I couldn’t tell her.

Before, the time hadn’t been right… Now, I knew the consequences. Dana had shown me so much of herself, and I knew how vulnerable she was. How close she’d been to going over the brink. I’d pulled her back. If I told her now, I’d destroy that, maybe destroy her.

If I didn’t, all of this time would be little more than a lie.

I had no idea how to solve this unsolvable problem. For now, I focused on Dana.

She paused, lingering on the scar, her fingers asking the question her words did not.

I didn’t answer the question, didn’t open that door. Couldn’t, not yet. It wasn’t fair, but it was true. Still, I wanted to give her something, didn’t feel right with her having shared so much with me while I gave nothing.

“I do understand,” I whispered.

I had told her that before, but I felt the need to repeat it, hoped she understood what was behind it.

She sighed. “I know.”

When I looked down at her, I could see the frown that marred her face, the tense way she had set her lips.

“It’s just hard, you know? I don’t share things with people,” Dana said, sounding tired, and more than a little annoyed.

“Why?” I asked.