It Ends with Us

Part of me wishes I could forgive him.
He unwraps his arms from around my waist and presses a hand into the
mattress next to us. He pulls himself up and then sits on the bed. His
elbows rest on his knees and his hands are drawn up to his mouth.

---

I sit next to him, knowing we have to have this conversation, but not
wanting to. “Naked truths?”
He nods.
I don’t know which one of us is supposed to go first. I don’t really have
much to say to him at this point, so I wait for him to speak first.
“I don’t even know where to start, Lily.” He rubs his hands down his
face.
“How about you start with, ‘I’m sorry I attacked you.’ ”
His eyes meet mine, wide with certainty. “Lily, you have no idea. I am so
sorry. You have no idea what I’ve been through these past two months
knowing what I’ve done to you.”
I clench my teeth together. I can feel my fingers as they fist around the
blanket beside me.
I have no idea what he’s been through?
I shake my head, slowly. “You have no idea, Ryle.”
I stand up, the anger and hatred spilling out of me. I spin, pointing at
him. “You have no idea! You have no idea what it’s like to go through what
you’ve put me through! To fear for your life at the hands of the man you
love? To get physically sick just thinking about what he’s done to you? You
have no idea, Ryle! None! Fuck you! Fuck you for doing this to me!”
I suck in a huge breath, shocked at myself. The anger just came like a
wave. I swipe at my tears and spin around, unable to look at him.
“Lily,” he says. “I don’t . . .”
“No!” I yell, spinning around again. “I am not finished! You don’t get to
say your truth until I’ve said mine!”
He’s grabbing at his jaw, squeezing the stress out of it. He drops his eyes
to the floor, unable to look at the rage in mine. I take three steps toward
him and drop to my knees. I place my hands on his legs, forcing him to
look me straight in the eyes while I speak to him.
“Yes. I kept the magnet Atlas gave me when we were kids. Yes. I kept the
journals. No, I didn’t tell you about my tattoo. Yes, I probably should have.
And yes, I still love him. And I’ll love him until I die, because he was a
huge part of my life. And yes, I’m sure that hurts you. But none of that
gave you the right to do what you did to me. Even if you would have
walked into my bedroom and caught us in bed together, you still would
not have the right to lay a hand on me, you goddamn son of a bitch!”
I push off his knees and stand up again. “Now it’s your turn!” I yell.

---

I continue pacing the room. My heart is pounding like it wants out. I
wish I could give it a way out. I’d set the mother-fucker free right now if I
could.
Several minutes pass as I continue to pace. Ryle’s silence and my anger
eventually just fold together into pain.
My tears have exhausted me. I am so tired of feeling. I fall desperately
onto my bed and cry into my pillow. I press my face so hard against my
pillow, I can barely breathe.
I feel Ryle lie down next to me. He places a gentle hand on the back of
my head, attempting to sooth away the pain he’s causing me. My eyes are
closed, still pressed into the pillow, but I feel him gently rest his head
against mine.
“My truth is that I have absolutely nothing to say,” he says quietly. “I’ll
never be able to take back what I did to you. And you’ll never believe me if
I promise it won’t happen again.” He presses a kiss against my head. “You
are my world, Lily. My world. When I woke up on this bed that night and
you were gone, I knew I would never get you back. I came here to tell you
how incredibly sorry I am. I came to tell you I was taking that job offer in
Minnesota. I came to tell you goodbye. But Lily . . .” His lips press against
my head again and he exhales sharply. “Lily, I can’t do that now. You have
a part of me inside of you. And I already love this baby more than I’ve ever
loved anything in my whole life.” His voice cracks and he grips me even
harder. “Please don’t take this away from me, Lily. Please.”
The pain in his voice ripples through me, and when I lift my tear-
soaked face to look at him, he presses his lips desperately to mine and
then pulls back. “Please, Lily. I love you. Help me.”
His lips briefly meet mine again. When I don’t push him away, his
mouth comes back a third time.
A fourth.
When his lips meet mine the fifth time, they don’t leave.
He wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him. My body is tired
and weak, but it remembers him. My body remembers how his body can
soothe everything I’m feeling. How his has a gentleness in it that my body
has been craving for two months now.
“I love you,” he whispers against my mouth. His tongue sweeps softly
against mine and it’s so wrong and so good and so painful. Before I know

---

it, I’m on my back and he’s crawling on top of me. His touch is everything
I need and everything I shouldn’t.
His hand wraps in my hair and in an instant, I’m transferred back to
that night.
I’m in the kitchen, and his hand is tugging my hair so hard it hurts.
He brushes the hair from my face and in an instant, I’m transferred
back to that night.
I’m standing in the doorway, and his hand is trailing across my shoulder, right
before he bites into me with all the strength in his jaw.
His forehead rests gently against mine and in an instant, I’m
transferred back to that night.
I’m on this same bed beneath him when he slams his head against mine so hard I
have to get six stitches.
My body becomes unresponsive to his. The anger begins to roll back
over me. His mouth stops moving against mine when he feels me freeze.
When he pulls back and looks down on me, I don’t even have to say
anything. Our eyes, locked together, speak more naked truths than our
mouths ever have. My eyes are telling his that I can no longer stand being
touched by him. His eyes are telling mine that he already knows.
He begins to nod, slowly.
He backs away from me, crawling down my body until he’s at the edge
of the bed with his back to me. He’s still nodding as he comes to a slow
stand, fully aware that he’s not getting my forgiveness tonight. He begins
heading toward my bedroom door.
“Wait,” I say to him.
He half-turns, looking back at me from the doorway.
I lift my chin, looking at him with finality. “I wish this baby wasn’t yours,
Ryle. With everything that I am, I wish this baby was not a part of you.”
If I thought his world couldn’t crumble more, I was wrong.
He walks out of my bedroom and I press my face into my pillow. I
thought if I could just hurt him like he had hurt me, I would feel avenged.
I don’t.
Instead, I feel vindictive and mean.
I feel like I’m my father.

---