Pieces of a Mending Heart (29 page)

             
A few moments pass by. “Tristan?” I whisper, unsure if he fell asleep.

             
“Yes, angel?”

             
I hesitate. “Don’t sleep in the chair, please. I just… just want to feel you holding me,” I squeak out, choking back tears yet again.

             
He doesn’t object, just moves the railing down on the left side of my bed and takes off his shoes. I scoot over until my hip bumps the right railing, but there is a surprising amount of room for a hospital bed. Tristan climbs in next to me, sharing my pillow and gently wrapping an arm around my stomach, using his other arm as extra support under his head. I turn on my side, which isn’t an easy task due to the shooting pain in my chest. Tristan must sense this because he shifts, leaning over my body and pressing the red button on the bed.

             
“Yes, Katherine?”

             
“She needs some more pain medicine, please,” Tristan says, speaking for me.

             
Not a minute later the nurse comes in, using the light from the open door to inject medication into my IV and, almost immediately, drowsiness settles over me. The nurse doesn’t say
anything about our intimate position; just bids us a goodnight and shuts the door behind her.

             
Our legs intertwine, our breaths mix, and I fall asleep with his lips on mine.

             
I’m woken the next morning by sunlight hitting me directly in the face. Tristan is still curled up next to me, looking very uncomfortable. In two chairs next to my bed, not speaking to one another, are my Aunt Rachel and my mother. I blink a few times, feeling stiffness in my neck and back. The pain in my chest is still present every time I inhale, but I can’t not breathe so I better get used to it because, according to Doctor Colson, ribs take at least six weeks to heal.

             
“Katherine?” my mother says, keeping her voice low.

             
I look over at her and our eyes connect, a secret and silent message being sent between us. Something in her eyes says more than any sentence we’ve ever shared before. The inner conflict raging within her green eyes, so like my own, speaks volumes: she’s sorry, she loves me, and she wishes she could take everything back. Every time she stood by as my father broke a
piece of my heart with his words or his fists. Every time she should’ve comforted me when instead she ignored the truth.

             
If I wasn’t God’s child, if I rejected his love and is word, then I would not have the strength to do what I am about to do. I would simply walk away and let the bitterness consume me. But instead, I take God’s love and use it to the fullest.

             
“Hi Mom,” I say, but my voice crackles from disuse.

             
She must see the forgiveness in my eyes, because she starts to cry. I’ve never actually seen my mother cry in person, only in the vision I had of my suicide. It’s disarming to see her vulnerable, but it’s about time.

             
“We’ll go get the doctor, Katherine. It’s time you get out of here, huh?” Aunt Rachel says as she stands and plants a kiss on my forehead. I smile up at her through the drowsiness and she exits the room with my mother on her heels.

             
I put my hand on Tristan’s face, inches from my own. Almost immediately he stirs, groaning as the light from the window hurts his tired eyes. He moves his arm and his shoulder pops, showing me how poorly he must have slept last night.

             
“Good morning,” I say as he rubs his face with his hands. There’s a bit of stubble on his chin, which adds to the rugged look of his face. How does someone so beautiful, even in
the early morning with bruises all over his face and bags under his eyes, belong to me? I don’t know, but I’m sure glad he does.

             
The doctor comes in with nurses and in the next hour, I’m being rolled to the car in a wheelchair. It’s cramped in the backseat with Tristan next to me and my mother in the front, but we manage to get home in one piece.

             
The sun makes its way across the sky, signifying the passage of time. Tristan and I sit on the porch, staring at the mountains, not speaking. I don’t think there are words right now, so we comfort each other in silence.

             
My brother is responsible for the deaths of multiple people, and for the nearly fatal injury of the girl I share some sort of connection with. The girl who risked her life to save mine and my angel’s. My brother, the boy I took baths with, lived with, slept a room away from,
cowered
with as our father beat our mother in front of our eyes, is capable of
murder
.

             
I am ashamed to be of his homicidal blood. I am angry that he took the lives of so many people for no reason. I am confused as to what made him snap and decide that the lives of others were worthless. Trying to get inside the mind of a killer is useless, so I must stop attempting to understand. Because the truth is, we’ll never know. The sibling I thought I loved and missed and understood is no more. Perhaps he never was; he was merely
a figment of my wishful thinking. Perhaps he was always lethal and he finally decided that he was tired of hiding his need for blood.

             
Of course he would go after our father. I should be mourning his death, like any good daughter would do. But he was not a good father, so I don’t owe him a single tear. As God’s child, I’m trying to find it in my heart to forgive his soul for the abuse he inflicted on his family for so many years. The abuse that led to my self-loathing and, ultimately, attempted suicide.

             
No, I do not mourn the death of the man who drove me to such pain. Who broke my heart into a hundred tiny pieces, some lost forever in dark pits, never to be found again. I mourn for a life lost at the hands of a psychopath, but I would be lying if I said he didn’t deserve it. No one deserves to die, but this is his own form of punishment. I had intensified emotions, but he gets an eternity to reflect on his atrocities.

             
I wonder what my mother is feeling. What went through her mind as she watched her son lose whatever was left of his sanity? What does she think of the miraculous recovery her suicidal delinquent daughter made? Does she blame herself for David’s acts? Wonder how I was healed and her son wasn’t?

             
The love of God saved my soul and brought me out of the darkness that almost swallowed me. His love, his pure
unbiased
love
filled my heart with a brightness that no amount of therapy or medication or alcohol could ever compete with. The peace inside of me is only there because he believed in me enough to give me life after I took it away.

             
I feel a sudden urge to take a hike, but my body is in no shape to walk all the way to our spot.

             
“Tristan?” I say, shattering the silence that formed a bubble around me.

             
“Yeah?”

             
“Does my aunt still have that ATV?” I ask, remembering her talking about the machine many years ago.

             
Apparently she does, because not ten minutes later I find myself seated on it in front of Tristan, who surprisingly didn’t object to taking a ride.
Maybe he feels the same need I do
, I wonder to myself.

             
The ride is slow and bump free, not jostling my broken ribs any more than absolutely necessary. The pain is bearable with the amount of medication in my system, and when we arrive at our cliff, with the lake reflecting the sunlight like a mirror, I feel an instant calmness.

             
This is where Tristan and I learned to share. This is where I learned to love. It’s only appropriate that this is the place I make the most important declaration of my life.

             
We sit, him carefully helping me place my feet over the edge of the rock structure. The sun blinds me momentarily, but my eyes soon adjust to the light. The landscape is still stunning, taking what little breath I have away for a second. It’s a crystal clear day, not a cloud in the sky. The storm from a few nights ago is nothing but a distant memory as I listen to the leaves rustling, a sweet and loving breeze causing the trees to wave at us.

             
“Thank you, Tristan. Thank you for saving me. For protecting me,” I say, voice showing no sign of cracking or breaking; completely and totally firm.

             
He puts his head in his hands, not replying. After a few minutes, I grow anxious.

             
“What’s the matter?” I ask, which is a stupid question because there are a number of answers.

             
“I pushed you, Katie. You fell and almost
died
because of me! I’m so sorry,” he says, sounding anguished.

             
I’m shocked. Misplaced guilt is tearing away at him; I can see it in his beautiful blue eyes. My heart aches at the sight of
him so distressed, and I wonder if this is why he’s been so quiet and remote.

             
“Tristan, you saved my life. I tripped on my own two feet because I was dizzy, you didn’t push me. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this,” I warn, pointing one finger at him.

             
He says nothing, just stares at me, his eyes roaming over my face. Whatever he finds there must be enough to satisfy him and relieve a bit of the guilt imprinted into his baby blues. His hand reaches up to cup my cheek and his thumb caresses my lower lip. I smile a little, unable to help it.

             
I lean over and kiss him,
really
kiss him, for the second time since our first kiss only a few days ago. He flinches and I pull back, forgetting about his injured lip. I open my mouth to apologize, but he closes his lips over mine before I can speak.

             
This kiss is much sweeter than anything before it. He touches me softly, careful not to disturb any random injuries on my body. Soon enough, I end up lying on top of him, the sun beating on my back, warming my skin through my shirt. The pressure on my ribs hurts, but I don’t care. His hands roam and so do mine as the thought of losing him shoots through my mind again, causing me to push myself closer to him, wanting to consume him.

             
The kiss goes from innocent to heated as the minutes pass, something I haven’t experienced in quite some time. I can feel his emotion pouring out of him, but only through his actions. There is absolutely no reminder of my punishment at all, except for the dull memories. It seems like a distant dream, my life before God. My life before Tristan. Before salvation.

             
A bird swoops dangerously low to our tangled bodies, and I break our kiss out of shock. He grips the back of my head and I think he’s about to pull me back in, so I just spit out what I brought him here to say.

             
“I love you,” I say, but it melts together with his words, the exact ones that just came from my heart to his ears. He loves me.
He loves me.

             
I gasp as my vision suddenly cuts off, sending me spiraling down a black tunnel into nothingness.

Chapter 18

             
My eyes spring open and I find myself sitting on a park bench, dressed in my favorite sundress. Water laps at the rocks by the shore in front of me, and I recognize the beach from my dream; the dream where Tristan told me he loves me.

             
I blink, and when my eyes open, Tristan is sitting beside me. We look at one another, utterly confused but unafraid. A magnificent, familiar feeling washes over us simultaneously. My head turns without my permission towards the man standing in front of us, dressed in a
turquoise
robe with blonde hair and bare feet. I bow my head, instantly aware of whom the man is.

             
The man is God.

             
“Children,” he says, his voice sweeter than any sound I’ve ever heard. It’s as if every symphony ever played, every song ever written and every lyric in the universe joined together to create a most precious sound that usually falls deaf on human ears.

             
“Father,” Tristan and I say in unison, reveling in the warmth coming off the man who gave us a second chance at life.

             
“I know you’re confused, but I thank you for your faith and trust in knowing that I will help you understand,” the Lord
says, grabbing my left hand and Tristan’s right. “Come, let us walk,” he says, so we walk.

             
The water doesn’t seem so beautiful now; it pales in comparison to the man walking between us. My entire body feels better than it ever has before, like there are no broken ribs or broken pieces of my heart. I feel utterly and completely happy.