Page 58 of Falling For Alaska

Her palms rub up and down her arms, comforting herself. I remain on her couch, next to her, watching. The last pieces of the puzzle are sliding into place, revealing the whole picture, the real Alaska. I see it all now, the distance in her laughter, the sadness that never quite leaves her, the way she hides behind books as if reality is too much to bear. Her feeling responsible for her brother’s death doesn’t surprise me. I know what grief does to a person. I’ve seen it over and over: people who survive accidents but never forgive themselves. It doesn’t matter how fast they reacted; seconds stretch, time blurs, and afterward, they torture themselves over what they should have done better, quicker. Truth is, people react the best way they can. No matter how much she blames herself, Alaska couldn’t have stopped the ice from shifting. Even if she’d broken through, even if she’d reached him, what makes her think she could have pulled a full-grown body out of the water alone?

I want to take her in my arms, kiss her hair, hold her together while she’s falling apart. I would, if she’d let me. Instinct tells me to wait. We stay like this for half an hour, her eyes never meeting mine as she stares at the trees swaying in the wind. Words build up in my throat, but I keep them there, my jaw clenched from the effort of holding them back. How could I tell her? That it doesn’t matter, that opening up to me was the most precious gift she could have ever given me.

“You can leave now, Jack,” she whispers. “Or arrest me. I…I don’t want to fight this anymore.” A tear rolls down her cheek.

My Alaska. Why would you ever think that I would do such a thing ?

“T-thank you f-for t-telling me,” I say, wishing I could turn back time and be her shelter when she needed me the most. “Look at me.” She refuses, her wild brows pulling together in a frown I’d die to kiss.

“I can’t,” she chokes out, wiping a tear. “I…I can’t face your disgust.”

“Hey.” My hand finds the small of her back. “N-never, Alaska. Nothing you s-say, nothing you’ve done, c-could ever disgust me.” She’s been carrying this alone for years, with no one to tell her she wasn’t to blame. She’s still there, trapped under the ice. Her blue eyes flick up to mine, full of doubt. “It wasn’t your f-fault,” I tell her. “It’s not.” She flinches as if the words hurt. I rest my hand over hers, tracing the white threads of her scars. “M-most people would’ve gi-given up, but you didn’t. You… you tried b-breaking the ice.” I draw in a shaky breath. “You t-tried with your bare hands, Alaska. If that’s n-not proof enough…” My voice trails off. She’s the living proof of her innocence, her scars a reminder of her courage when most would have given up. Very few could have turned desperation into a weapon. She didn’t fail; she fought the best she could. Brave doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“The c-county’s responsible for this,” I say, anger rising in my chest. “They c-couldn’t put up a-a-a damn sign and expect p-people to follow it? They should’ve done more. You-you were just a kid. This isn’t on you.” They’re the ones who should’ve carried the unbearable weight of losing a child.

She inhales, her gaze drifting. “For a few seconds, I was relieved he was there,” she confesses. “For a few seconds, I let myself imagine what it would be like if…” Her breathing uneven, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I’m a terrible person, Jack. You need to stay away from me.” Her hands tremble as she grips the sides of her head. This time, I don’t wait for her to calm down. I grab her waist, lift her onto my lap, and hold her tight, both arms wrapped around her as she cries into the crook of my neck. I can’t stand it. I can’t see her torture herself like this.

“Do…do you still s-see him?” I ask quietly, because I need to know how far this goes, how much help she needs. She sobs, but I feel it, the smallest nod.

“In my house, at work and…at my parents’,” she sniffs, “only there.” I wait for her to continue. “It started a few days after the accident. I…I was crying on his bed one night, and I heard him talking to me. I sat up and…he was there, in the room, in the same clothes from that day, dripping wet, with his Christmas sweater on. That’s the only thing he wears in my… Because…because that’s the last thing he wore. Every now and then, I see puddles of water too, in my house, at work, but they disappear on their own. It’s…it’s been so hard, Jack. I’m…I’m not right for you. My mind is...” My girl has been living a nightmare, denial, grief, pain, hallucinations. I hum softly in her ear, kissing her hair. “Don’t,” she murmurs. “Don’t think you can fix me, Jack.” But she couldn’t be more wrong. This isn’t about fixing, it’s about being there for the woman I love.

Love.

I guess most people realise that at the corner of a street when they’re holding hands, kissing, or laughing. Under different circumstances, it could have happened to us this way. But the word took its full meaning when I watched her tape. A metallic taste filled my mouth; her pain became my pain. Her sorrow, my sorrow. I’m in love with this woman, so deeply in love that I won’t back down, even if she begs me to.

I love her like I need air to breathe.

I love her like the sun won’t rise tomorrow if she stops talking to me.

I love her unconditionally. That’s it.

Unconditionally.

Taking a deep breath, I clench my forearms, remembering the exercises I’ve been doing at home, trying not to stumble over what I’m about to say.

“I…love…you,” I say, kissing her temple. She lifts her tear-streaked face to mine, her cream shirt damp with tears.

“How…how can you love me after knowing this?” Her voice trembles with shame.

“You’re n-not hard to love, Alaska.”

Her breath catches. “But…I’m sick,” she whispers. “My mind is-”

“You’re n-not sick,” I say firmly. “You went through hell, al-alone, with n-no one to help you. You did what you had t-to do to s-survive. Now it’s time you st-stop carrying this all by yourself. You need help and you deserve it.” Her pupils widen, taking in the words. Maybe no one’s ever told her this. Or maybe they have, but she wasn’t ready to hear it. She’s spent so long believing she was irreversibly broken, that this was simply how her life would be. Only she can heal. And if she doesn’t, I’ll still be there, holding her hand.

“Jack,” she breathes. “I…I love you too.”

My heart stops, watching her lay herself bare, her brave, battered heart, raw and open for me. Leaning in, I press my lips to hers. I’ll take all of her, the light, the dark, every shattered, beautiful piece. I’ll be her anchor, her support. She won’t have to be afraid of that. I’ll make sure the one who did this suffers the consequences.

“Stay tonight,” she breathes. I hum in response and tighten my hold on her, standing with her in my arms and carrying her upstairs. She’s exhausted, dark circles blooming beneath her eyes. Did she eat? She’s already half-asleep when I tuck her into bed, slide in beside her, and let her curl against me, her fingers clutching my shirt. Food will have to wait. Pressing my lips to her hair, I whisper the words over and over, letting them sink into her skin.

“I l-love you, Alaska.” She falls asleep in my arms, but I stay awake. Carefully, I ease out of bed and kiss her forehead. Without making a sound, I grab a spare key, lock her door, and head to my car.

Someone has been feeding me lies since I got here.

And before she wakes up, I’m going to get answers.

Alaska