Desire and Despair

Chapter 26

"Nathan!" Rochelle called. "I have pictures for you!"

Part of Nathan wanted to hang back. Looking at the place was just another box to check on the list protecting him from making a true decision. He was safe until all of it was done, then only he would stand between himself and the terror of decision. But he went anyway, because Rochelle had worked hard, and she didn't deserve his indecision.

"Hey!" he exclaimed like he was truly excited.

She smiled and he thought he'd gotten better at this game. He was afraid to love it, afraid to be conflicted, but even more afraid to hate it, because it would make him feel even more trapped. But his fear was masked with a smile, so she knew none of it.

"Hey," she answered brightly, and he reflected absently that she'd do a lot for him. "Here, take a look."

His hands shook slightly and he wasn't sure why. What was there to fear? He ruled his world now, he had a choice again. But now he had all the pressure of making the right one. His life was on him now, for better or for worse.

But when he found the courage to look it was beautiful. Her apartment was open and spacey and painted like his old house. Of course, he'd be an ocean away, there were certainly downsides, but it looked like the past and for that, he nearly loved it already. He'd never wanted to move on, and now he knew he'd been right. He hadn't gotten back his old life, but he'd found something better than what he had now at least. It was beautiful and nostalgic, and he knew it would have its flaws but it looked like home. It terrified him because he hadn't meant to want it yet. He knew he was stupid to get his hopes up before Rochelle had even worked out all the details of his release. But he couldn't help it, he'd gotten attached already, after almost a year of being careful not to put down roots where he was. He'd done what he'd sworn he wouldn't. He'd never accepted his reality, no matter how hard it got, and now here he was attached to a reality he might not ever get because that made sense.

"What do you think?" Rochelle asked.

"It's beautiful," he said, because, undeniably, it was. But it wasn't just that it looked nice, it looked like the past, and that was all he'd ever asked.

"I'm glad," Rochelle said, because she truly was, she had some strange kind of investment in his happiness. He couldn't say why, it wasn't like he'd earned the concern in her eyes. But he had it anyway, and he had to admit even in a life where he'd had such bad luck he'd always had people who cared and that counted for something. It was always odd when people truly cared about him, so strange to imagine all the people back home who still had a good impression of him. He'd fallen so far, but then they weren't here to see that. All they knew was the polite, smiling man he'd used to be, the man who always had a joke on hand, who never once got mad. He'd been told by one fellow golfer he was the nicest person they'd ever met. It was such a strange compliment, he wasn't nice, he was a murderer, but he treasured it nonetheless. What a bittersweet thing to never be truly known. It was a lonely thing to never be understood, but it was beautiful that others could see good in him from far enough away. How strange that they might think well of him sometimes, still think he was the smart businessman who played a mean game of golf and had tons of potential. In that way he was half glad he'd gone so far, he wanted that pretty picture preserved, unmarred by his current failures- another victim of tragically wasted potential, trapped by iron bars and scowling guards and his own weakness. To everyone left behind he was still that bright twenty-something with the world at his brilliant fingertips. He couldn't help wishing that would never change.

A sign on one of the English buildings by her apartment caught his eye. "The Heather J. Coralline Library," he read.

Rochelle nodded. "When you donate enough they'll name a whole building after you. Just a stupid rich-people custom. Not enough to name their kids after themselves, nothing less than a whole building will do." But she paused when she noticed he wasn't laughing along with her like he usually did at the lives of the elite, the lives they were forced to mock because they could never live them. Mocking what they couldn't have was easier than admitting they wanted it. Clinging to moral superiority was more fun than living in unrequited longing. "What's wrong?" she asked.