Elizabeth Finn - Unforgiven

Michelle helped her slowly hobble down the stairs, and Darren did nothing but stare at the floor. He gave her little reaction at all as she left, and Michelle looked back once to defend her. “Stay away from her.”

Bailey sank into the seat of Michelle’s car, letting her head drop back against the headrest. She owed Michelle an explanation, and she wasn’t looking forward to giving it to her. But she did, speaking a hundred miles an hour on the way back to her cottage. Michelle’s shocked expression was flashed to her every time she could safely take her eyes off the road, and by the time they pulled up to her house, she had to take a deep breath just to keep herself from screaming.

“So, you slept with him or no? Sorry, you were speed talking, and I heard some stuff that sounded questionable about birth control and penises and toothbrushes, but I got lost.”

“No.”

“Well, thank God for that much, right?”

“Yeah.” But as Michelle’s door slammed and she rounded the car to the passenger door, Bailey’s heart sank. She’d wanted to. So much so. She thought he did too, really did. Not just the sex, the physical act, but them. She thought his desire to make love to her had meant something. Something important, something other than the pain from their pasts. She’d dreamed of giving herself to that man from the moment she figured out what sex was. She didn’t want to think that was one life experience she would have to live without. But it was no doubt safer for her heart.

Her anger got her through Michelle’s short stay, but the moment she left to return to the furniture store and Bailey was faced with her empty cottage and empty heart, the hurt caught up to her again. She sat on the floor of her shower with the water raining down on top of her and cried. She couldn’t let herself think there could ever be anything but pain between them—regardless of the mixed signals he might give her. Sex was just sex, and it certainly didn’t mean anything beyond the physicality of it to him.

But truly hating him wasn’t possible. He was incapable of being anything but hurt by their past, and she understood that. He’d wanted to move beyond that or, at the very least, see if he could. She believed that. His intent hadn’t been malicious, even if his feelings about her were. He’d wanted more, but it just wasn’t in him anymore.

She talked to her mom for an hour on the phone, filling in the details of her most recent catastrophic decisions, minus the juicier bits.

“Oh, hon. Please come to Memphis, baby. There’s just no reason for you to be there.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You tried. You gave it a shot. You can walk away knowing you’re not the one who gave up on him. That has to be enough to give you peace. I know how much you cared for him.” Care. “But he’s gone.”

She sighed. It was overly long and overly loud. Her mom was right. There was just nothing left to stay for. “Okay.” Her insides clenched tight, and she heard herself moaning in pain in her head. It hurt. But staying would hurt more.

They decided on a week and a half later. Her parole officer was going to think she was insane. But the decision was made.

* * *

The next time Darren had to work, Bailey asked Michelle for a lift to his house. They hadn’t spoken, and she wasn’t going to assume she was no longer expected. She let herself in, cleaned up the kitchen, tossed some laundry in, including her own from her abandoned bag of clothes, and hobbled around aimlessly after that. She found herself in his bedroom, staring down at his bed. It’d taken her a ridiculously long time to get upstairs, and there was no real pressing reason she needed to be up there. But she’d gone up anyway.

His bed was made and the nightstand drawer was ever so slightly cracked. A rush of jealous pain stabbed her, and she instantly pulled the drawer out. It was pathetic that she was studying the box of condoms to see if it had been moved, and it was even more pathetic how very relieved she was to see that it was in exactly the same position it’d been in when she’d gone snooping before.

But once her heart rate returned to normal and the anxiety and paranoia faded, she noticed something else. The picture wasn’t wedged up against the side of the drawer as it had been before. It was lying face up in the middle, staring at her. The Bailey and Darren in that picture were taunting her with their smiling, carefree, and happy existence.

She picked up the picture, caring not at all that he’d know she was rifling through his nightstand, and she started the slow trek back downstairs. She could walk again, but it didn’t mean it felt very good, and when she finally made it to his dining room table, she collapsed exhausted into the chair. She started writing him a letter.

Darren,

I’m going to be leaving for Memphis the Friday after next to be with my mother. It’s time. I’ll continue to take care of Macy until then, and I hope that will give you time to make other arrangements for her care. She’s a peach, and I’ll miss her. As for us, I hope someday you can remember us as we were and not what we became. There was a time when everything you did made me smile. You’ve changed so much since then, but there’s still so much good in you. My words have changed too, and while I miss the old ones, you should know there’s no shame in the new ones. Hurt. Heartbroken. Sad. Strong. And I hope someday soon: Healing.

Yours always, whether you believe it or not,

Bailey

She set the picture by the letter, and after reading it over, nearly destroyed it, but then changing her mind and deciding it was perfect, she finally left, biking herself home slowly and awkwardly. He didn’t call that night, and it hurt that he gave her no acknowledgement, but she supposed that was just easier for him. Whatever he needed was what he should get. He’d suffered long enough.

Crying wasn’t something he enjoyed doing or that he’d done in front of anyone for more years than he could recall, but it was exactly what he did when he found her letter. She was so right to leave, but it felt like an utter failure. He’d been so certain that he needed her near. He hadn’t been sure why, only that nothing else felt right.

It’d taken a while to sink in after she’d left him that day, but she was right. His mother was right. Hell, Michelle was right. He had no business touching her, no business trying to be close to her. All he did was cause her pain. But to think nothing had changed since she’d returned to town and he was still bitter and angry at the world wasn’t entirely true either. He cared. He couldn’t pretend he wanted to hurt her or that he relished her anguish in anyway. Just thinking about her in pain caused him grief. He might not be able to quiet the past enough to put it away yet, but he’d learned not to hate her. How could he ever have? She was his Bailey.

He sat at the dining room table, holding that fucking picture and reading her letter over and over again. He had tears on his lower eyelids for some time before they finally fell, and when they did, it was silent. He stared back in time at where they’d come from and let himself feel the pain of losing her all over again. Knowing the woman he loved was responsible for the most devastating loss a person could endure had broken him. He’d learned to push it away and to let the pain feed his anger and hatred, but he didn’t feel any of that now. He just felt the sadness, and he soaked it in. It was at least honest. Anger had just been a façade that hid the hurt for him. He needed to feel the hurt, and so he did. He sat there, remembering every last amazing memory he had of her, and he let the grief of losing his sister and then Bailey wash over him. He gave himself over to it in a way he never had before, and when he finally pulled himself up from the table, he found his way to bed and collapsed in a stupor to stare at the ceiling for half the night.

* * *

She avoided him her last week in Savoy, and he let her. He didn’t communicate with her in any way, though he was dying to. He stayed away from her and tried to deal with the fact that very soon it wouldn’t even be difficult to stay away from her. She’d just be gone—likely forever. There was nothing at all keeping her in Savoy at this point, and he made sure not even he could. He wasn’t going to ask her to stay again. It had been an impetuous and selfish mistake to ask to begin with. None of it made him feel better about what he’d done.

“Darren, you’re making the right decision to stay out of her life.” His mother hadn’t given up her opinions on the matter, and she really didn’t care that they were already on the same page. He knew she was trying to make him feel better. She’d come over a few nights after they’d fought, nearly in tears, and he’d been civil this time. He didn’t hold much back from her when he brought her up to speed on exactly how Bailey had ended up naked in his bed with a sprained ankle, and his mother’s anger faded quickly when she saw just how distraught he was.

“I know. I know you think I want to hurt her. It’s my fault. I let you think that, but it’s not true.” He owed her more of an explanation than that. “I was in love with her six years ago.” His mom froze in place. She stared wide-eyed at him as he tried to hold her gaze. “Maybe if she’d just been some casual acquaintance, even just a friend, I could have just hated her the way I thought I was supposed to.”

“You say hate like it’s this requisite thing. Why are you so certain that’s what you’re supposed to feel? No one’s setting some expectation that you despise her. And frankly, you’re not doing a very good job of it.” She smirked, and it was the first break in the tension.