The Definition of Time

Chapter 34

I let you leave me
because I knew I could not make you feel
the way I feel.
I hope you never have to know
how badly that hurt.
But don't think that a day goes by
that I don't wonder what would have happened
if we could have been brave
if you could have loved me
oh what we could have been.  

November 6, 2014

Josh and I curl up against the wall of the police waiting room, settling in for the six or seven hour wait before us. There is so much to say, yet neither of us can form the words. Josh takes my hand, and I treasure the sensation of his rough palm against mine. His thumb distractedly traces the back of my hand, and somehow this feeling grounds us. I lean against him, resting my head on his shoulder, and I feel his body shudder in a sigh.

Eventually, he asks hoarsely, "Are you...are you okay?"

"I will be," I answer. "Are you?"

"I will be."

"Josh, you don't know how grateful I am. I...I hate that you have to go through all this, and..." When he squeezes my hand, I suck in a breath. "Just...thank you."

"Anytime," he murmurs.

When I first met Josh, I felt electricity. While that electricity is still there, it's been eclipsed by something deeper and truer. It's almost as if there's a bond tying us together that neither of us can resist. For me, it is the inner knowledge that I love him, that I will always love him, that I would do anything for him. For him, it is sacrifice, compassion, and rare vulnerability. For the first time, I wonder if it's possible that I could hurt him as much as he could hurt me. I know that I would do anything for him, and he would do anything for me. We've crossed a point of no return. As I lean against him, exhaustion quells my turbulent thoughts, and I close my eyes. 

"Someone tell me the meaning of this!"

A harsh voice interrupts my slumber, startling me back into the world of the living. Standing at the doorway of the police station, a terrifying silhouette of ire, is Lyndon Hunter. His fists are balled, and his imposing shoulders are tense and square. Josh and I both scramble to our feet, and Josh stands in front of me protectively.

"Dad, calm down, I can explain..." Josh implores.

"You can explain why you were arrested for disorderly conduct? Bar fighting? What is wrong with you?" His voice jars every bone in my body.

Josh withers under his dad's indignation, "Dad, please, let me tell you what-"  

"No, let me tell you. As you and I both know, this isn't the first time this has happened. Yes, don't think I've forgotten about your little incident in high school." Mr. Hunter seems to notice me for the first time. "Rachel, right?" he asks, voice disdainful. "Did he tell you? Did he tell you how he beat up a handful of middle schoolers and nearly got sent off to JV?"

I say nothing, glancing at Josh. My heart aches at the affliction and humiliation on his face.

"So?" he thunders, "What do you have to say for yourself?" 

Josh remains stubbornly silent, and I can contain myself no longer. "Mr. Hunter, please, it wasn't his fault."

He laughs derisively. "So you're going to tell me he got these bruises from, what, running into a pole? Or maybe you were the one who got into the fight and he took the fall for you? Right."

Anger fills me--this is the second time I've been dismissed, silenced, when trying to speak the truth. "No! Just listen to me." 

Josh touches my arm. "Rach, it's okay..."