Drawing Blood

Chapter Thirty-Six

Adam would not go back to the store. No-one knew where he went. The hours until I spoke to him again would be long and unimaginable. I would miss him terribly, during that time. I would wonder where he had gone. I would think about him constantly. I would be weighed down with remorse.

His disappearance would cause some anxiety for Annie. She would speak to me when she could not reach him. She would be unable to mask the panic in her voice. She would go on to ask me all those questions I had been dreading. She would not like the answers I gave her. She would become angry with grief.

I guess Adam had wanted to be by himself, that day. I could only imagine he needed to process what had occurred. I can only think he needed to mourn his loss. As it would happen; I too, needed to come to terms with what I had seen. I had watched him leave the amphitheatre a broken man. Rather cruelly, I had made no attempts to stop him. You see, it did not seem real to me at the time. I believed I had dreamt the entire scene in my head. I had conjured it out of thin air, as an author would. Anytime soon, I would wake up and be sitting at my typewriter, and go on to stare at that blank piece of paper in front of me. It would be then, that I would begin to write the ending I craved. Not what had actually taken place.

Adam would have had a lonely walk down that corridor, I suspect. He would have kept his head fixed upon the floor, shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, ignored his surroundings. Perhaps, he thought I would run after him. Perhaps, he had hoped for it. I suppose, when he realized I hadn't left Luke's side, he would have climbed into his Jeep and sat there for a short while, before deciding to drive off. One day, he would tell me where he had gone. One day he would allow me into those thoughts he'd had. But it would be an agonising wait. And it wouldn't be how you and I would sit down and have a conversation.

It would be at a time when we were both fighting for our survival.

I don't recall walking to my own car, that afternoon. Nor do I recall going home, climbing into bed. What I do recall is that I cried once I was alone. I cried great big sobs which had my shoulders lurching, and left my eyes swollen. It would seem a lifetime before those tears would stop. It would seem a lifetime before I was able to come to terms with my actions. That feeling of helplessness, and the reality of what I had done and lost, would suddenly overwhelm me. I would curl into a ball when that happened, and remain that way for a very long time, waiting for sleep to relieve me of my pathetic existence. When sleep did come, it wouldn't last. I would wake at intervals, only to start crying, again.

If I had known how it would end, I would have stopped Adam in his tracks. I would have offered to talk the past through with him. I would have apologized. I would have listened. I would have taken his side. I would not have left events the way they were. I would have gone with him. Quite possibly, though; everything would have remained. Our lives would still have hurtled towards that unforgiving fate which awaited us both. We would still become intertwined, if only in our minds. We would still be entangled, in some way.

Adam would return, but he wouldn't be the same. There would be a distance surrounding him - a distance I would never be able to accept. What people don't explain is that once you destroy somebody's trust, there is a part of them which goes missing. A part of them you never see again. It's almost as if they become afraid of being hurt, and retreat into their shell. They stay there, and it doesn't matter what you do, they never come out. They don't look at you in the same way, as you would hope. They do not feel as much when they touch you. The words they speak are careful, and thought-out. The secrets they keep become unshared.

On those occasions when I am on my own now, and the house is empty and everybody has left, I can feel Adam standing behind me. Sometimes, I can even feel him stroke my hair. He shares those secrets with me, then. When he does, I close my eyes and whisper his name. I tell him I love him. As always, he answers me, and begs me to remember how he was, not what he had done. He begs me for forgiveness, although I need not forgive. I reassure him and tell him it was the Greek Gods which had decided to punish us. It was never his fault. They had grown bored with the games they played. It was them who had decided to spice up our lives for their own amusement. It was them who I hated. That game of chess they had played with us no longer satisfied them. They were no longer content with how things had developed. Oh, but what had we done to anger those Gods, I wondered. What could they possibly want with our little lives? It is something I still think about to this day. It's something I still despise them for. How could they possibly think I was strong enough for what they had in mind? How could they possibly think he was the one who should end my life, as it was?