The Shadow of Our Past

Compassion

My eyes are locked on Mike, the space behind him beginning to fade out. I can only truly register his horrified and pleading face. My free hand is clinging onto the gun with a steel grip even though my arm feels as heavy as the decision on my shoulders. The four horrified pairs of eyes on me add another, different type of pressure. I take shaky, almost angry breaths as if I've just finished a marathon.

Even with the life of my abuser at my will, I can't help but feel like a coward. The gun in my hands is my shield and hiding behind it feels wrong somehow. Taking Mike's life would be the easy way out that he doesn't even get close to deserving. I can't kill him, but this gun is the only thing keeping him from hurting others.

"Amal," I command without my eyes straying from Mike. "Tie him up." Amal hesitates and I shoot him a warning glare. His eyebrows raise and I return my attention to Mike. His eyes flashes between Amal and I as Amal walks towards him. From the corner of my eye I can see a needle in Amal's hand. Mike opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off before he can get a word out, "move and I shoot." His jaw clicks shut with my warning as Amal kneels behind him. A needle hovers above his neck and finally I feel as though I have the upper hand.

With a steady voice, I address Mike for the last time, "I'll never forget the horrible things you've done, what you've destroyed and hurt. I hope you know that all of those things will never leave you just as much as they will never leave me. But I'm going to move on. I'm going to move on and I'm going to heal the things you've hurt as best I can." I regard the gun in my hands for a moment, mentally solidifying my decision. I look back up at Mike, watching the fear and uncertainty in his eyes as I speak again, "I don't hate you, because that's what you want. I forgive you, not because you deserve it, but because of the selfish fact that I need it." Mike's face doesn't turn smug, he doesn't scowl or even throw a witty remark back. Instead he begins to cry. His tears hit the concrete floor and I just stare at him without pity.

"Ben, grab the rope in that box over there," Amal instructs from his position behind Mike, breaking the stillness that was set over the room. Ben blinks a few times as his mind catches up, then retrieves the rope and brings it to Amal. As Ben ties up Mike under Amal's instruction, I stare forward in a daze. Just as Ben's mom had said, my mind feels at rest having forgiven Mike. When Mike is tied up, I lower the gun hesitantly and slump against the pole. My body feels light, and the relief I saw in Ben's face when he forgave Mike suddenly makes sense. All of that hate that I've built up has fallen away, readying the way for healing and true relief.

I lull my head to the side to watch Ben stand up from his knelt position next to Mike. "Amal, can I have your knife?" he asks in a rough, exhausted voice. Amal complies and hands over a knife, which Ben takes with shaky hands. Ben walks over to me slowly, clearly hurt. He kneels down carefully next to me and flips open the knife. I lean to the side so he can get to my bound hand and he cuts it free. I gasp out with pain, the release of the pressure on my cuts causing a searing pain to shoot up my arm.

Ben pulls away and helps me to shift so I'm laying against his chest. One trembling arm wraps around my waist and another cradles my head, gently holding me against him. His chin rests on my head and he rocks me back and forth. I rest my hands on his waist, utterly relieved to feel the heat emanating from him. I begin to cry both out of relief and the pain in my arms.

"I love you, fuck I love you so much," he whispers into my hair, tears of his own falling onto my head. His words just make me cry harder. They remind me what I got so close to losing, yet what I'm so lucky to still have. The confusing dance of contradicting emotions makes my head feel light.

"I love you too," I manage to stop crying and choke out. "I'm so sorry." He just shushes me, running his hand through my hair. There is a stern knock somewhere upstairs, and I hult my sobbing for a moment to peak my head up.