Cadaverous Love

Chapter Thirty-Six

"Emily Marie," Darry's stern voice breaks through the fuzziness in my mind, "what's going on?" But it was much more of a demand than question.

"To be forgiven," I rub my forehead and blink the tears from my vision, "all that he wanted was for me to forgive him and now he's dead." The words are poison in my mouth.

"Who?"

"My father. He's dead." There's a gap of silence that stretches and claws at my soul.

"You're kidding, right?" Dallas spits out, "you're crying because the guy who hurt you is dead? Emily, you tried to kill him."

"What is he talking about?" Darry asks, eyes still glued to me.

I get quickly to my feet, my shoes squeak beneath me as I try to ignore the black that forms in the corner of my eyes and thoughts in my head. "Are you kidding me, Dallas?" I retort, "you act like you have some sort of right to tell me how I should be feeling. He wanted forgiveness, just like you want, just like Darry wanted after he yelled at you. Just like everyone wants," my voice raises, "to not live so full of regret for everything you've done, to not live every second of your life beating yourself up for your mistakes and I took that away." My words choke up inside of me and my throat tightens. Each and everyone's eyes stab through me like swords. I can't stand it. I can't stand their judgmental eyes and their pity. I turn, fumbling for the doorknob. I step outside and half trip down the porch steps, my thoughts going so fast my body can't seem to keep up.

My insides burn to explain to them, but a deep part of me knows they could never understand. A deep part of me knows that I hardly understand.

I believe that everyone has anger and that most of the time, you can't control your actions and words when the anger takes over.

I believe that just about everyone deserves second chances.

I believe that people should be willing to forgive, that over time, they should forgive just as they wish to be forgiven. Just as they were forgiven.

But now, I am only a hypocrite. I tell people they should forgive when I haven't done so myself.

I believe that I am selfish, that I am evil, that I am a hypocrite and a fool.

I believe that I am a monster of my own doing.

"Where do you think you're going?" Dallas steps down into the muddy lawn a few feet away from me, his face sketched into serious angles and lines, and it's quite possible that I simply over looked the fact that maybe his frustration is born from his struggle to understand.

"Dally," his name slips out of me like a plead for life, "Dally, I'm a horrible person. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I always thought people should try and be kind and forgiving, but I can't even do that. I try to be nice most of the time, but I've realized I'm just evil."

"Glory, Emily," he half shouts at me, exasperated, "you expect so much of yourself. You're human," his hands move in expression of his frustration, "like the rest of us."

Vexation digs into me, "but I want to be better. I want to be good. I don't want to live with the guilt of not forgiving when I know that I constantly want to be forgiven too."

"He's dead, he no longer cares what the hell you do."

"Maybe not... but I do."

"Why?" His anger grows with his voice and his fingers dance at his sides- fists clenching and unclenching, "why do you care so damn much?"

"Because it hurts. I care because it hurts."

He freezes for a moment and looks around the yard, mumbling, "well, great. I guess that means I care too." I let out a long breath, but it hardly covers up the want to scream. "Just pick somewhere to go, Em, and we'll go there. You can clear your mind and figure it out, 'kay?" He says, gathering his nerves.