Page 40 of Shade
There’s a man standing beside a grave site.
Do you see him? Is he invisible? I guarantee you today, hewantsto be invisible. Look closer. He’s the one with hunched shoulders and a look of disbelief behind shattered eyes.
How could she do this? How could she leave me thinking I somehow played a role in all this?
Didn’t I?
Of course I did. We all did.
You know by now, I’m a numbers guy. Like I said before, when I’m performing, I’m judged on my ability to put on a show and given a score in return. A number determines where I finish.
Today, I’ll give you some more numbers. Pay close attention to them.
Four. The number of times Rhya got herself knocked up and had abortions.
Three. The number of times I paid for them because I didn’t know what else to do for her.
Two. The number of times I sent her to rehab.
Six. The number of times she landed me in jail.
Seven. The number of people at her funeral.
Sometimes I think she killed herself for the attention. Didn’t she? Wouldn’t she?
As I stand here staring at her casket, I’m reminded how today I’m letting go when for so long I held on selfishly. The only selfish part of suicide is the aftermath. The survivors thinking it’s their fault. In someone’s case, it’s their fault. Maybe. Not all of it, but they certainly played a role.
Rhya destroyed me in more ways than one. She lied, cheated, stole. . . anything to make me believe she had the intention of staying clean. Sheneverdid.
She tore me apart until there was no repairing the damage and then removed herself from my life just as quickly as she forced herself into it.
Where does this leave me now? I don’t know the answer just yet. I’ll get back to you on that one.
Standing next to me, Auden blows out a breath, a set frown gracing his face. We’re the only ones left at the cemetery. I should leave, but I haven’t. Our shoulders brush. “I wasn’t sure when to give this to you.”
I don’t look at him. I’m strangely focused on the fresh mound of dirt covering her grave wondering what this means now. Who am I if I’m not the person saving Rhya Morgan from herself? “Give me what?”
He reaches into his suit pocket and hands me a note.
My heart clenches. I know what it is. She left a fucking note? For a girl of very few words she left a note?
“It has your name on it.”
I take it from him, but I don’t look at it. “She mailed it to me the day before she killed herself,” he tells me after clearing his throat. “I got it the day after.”
My fist clenches around the paper. I wad it up and toss it on the dirt. Then I walk away.
Fuck her and her stupid fucking reasons.
I know what you’re thinking. At least I can assume you'd think this. Jerk move, right? I should read it.
No. I shouldn’t. I don’t give a shit what her excuse was. Why should I? She didn’t stop to consider us before she pulled the trigger. Why should I take the time to consider her why?
TWO. THE NUMBER of months that have passed since Rhya killed herself.
Notice how I skipped some time? It’s all irrelevant.
Am I over her death? Is that even a question you ask anyone who’s ever lost someone close to them?
