“How did you keep going?”
“I struggled. I avoided dealing with my grief in ways that hurt me, like you do. I was angry all the time. I got into fights a lot. My dad made me play football, hoping that it would be a better outlet. It helped, until it didn’t. I eventually got kicked off the team for excessive aggression. After that, I lived at the gym. I ran, lifted weights, I worked my body until I could barely stand. My sophomore year of high school, my dad brought home an old car that looked like it came from a junkyard. He told me he wasn’t going to pay for my gym membership, phone, or anything else anymore unless I helped him fix it up. I threatened to get a job to pay for my own shit and he threatened to kick me out of the house if I did. ‘Work on the damn car with me, Knox, and when we’re done you can have it,’ he said to me.” Knox’s eyes were sad. “I hadn’t realized at the time, but working on that car was how he got me to work through my grief. At first, he subtly brought up my mom, just a comment here or there. Then he brought her up more and more, sharing his memories of when they first met, when he knew he loved her. I couldn’t tell you when or how it became okay for me to talk about her, but I eventually let my grief out under the hood of that car.”
“He saved you,” I said.
“He saved me from myself,” he answered. “Then I lost him and all the progress I’d made felt like it was washed away in an instant. I wanted to give up. I wanted to do what you’re doing right now. I wanted to say ‘fuck it’ so badly, but then I remembered I had three people depending on me. It was the hardest thing I had ever done—refusing to succumb to my pain. What helped me a lot was knowing that it would get easier. My dad had showed me that.”
“I don’t have anyone depending on me.”
“You don’t, and the fact that you’ve made it this far is a testament to your strength.”
I sniffled. “I’m not strong. I’ve made it this long because I’ve been jumping from one crutch to another. Drowning myself in the bottom of a bottle. Smoking to calm my fear. Running until it hurt because that pain was better than what I was feeling.”
“If you’re aware that what you’re doing is wrong, why do you continue to do it to yourself? Why haven’t you tried to work on getting better?” There wasn’t judgment in his question. Just the need to understand.
My forehead scrunched up. “Because I’m scared.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“I—” A dam inside me broke and tears began to fall rapidly down my cheeks. “I don’t want to talk about what happened. I don’t want to remember how he hurt me and how he killed them.” My body shook as I cried uncontrollably.
His expression turned pained and he grabbed my hand. “Come here.” He tugged a little and I pushed myself up. He sat up and pulled me onto his lap. I swung my leg over his thighs, straddling him. I tucked my arms in and buried my face in his bulky chest like I did when Colt held me like this.
Knox held me tightly. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but that night is catching up with you in your dreams. I told you before that we all have to face our pain. Maybe your subconscious is telling you it’s time whether you want to talk about that night or not. So you gotta ask yourself…would talking about it and trying to work through what you went through make things any worse than they already are?”
I shook my head. “I’m not brave enough to do it.”
“Look at me,” he said, putting his hand under my chin. I met his brown eyes. “You’re brave enough. You were brave enough to sleep today.”
“I was only brave enough because you were holding me.”
His hands cupped my cheeks. “Then I’ll hold you. We’ll all hold you, Shiloh. I said we would help you, but you have to want to help yourself.”
Could I do this? Alone, no. I was drowning alone—slowly sinking to the bottom of the ocean, because I had given up. The thought of their help was as if their hands were reaching into the water for me. “I need to go back to therapy.”
He went still. “I think that’s a good idea.”
I closed my eyes. “Can I ask you for two favors?”
“What?”
“Don’t go easy on me. Don’t let me slip up, because I don’t want to be back here. I don’t ever want to feel this way again.”
He dropped his hands from my face. “We can all help with that. What’s the second favor?”