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Shit, I thought to myself.The one time she needed me…
“Sorry. I’ll go grab it.” I turned and headed for Dylan’s room, leaving the door open and her on my front steps. When I checked his crib, I didn’t see it. Despite the wave of nausea that hit, I crawled on the floor to see if he dropped it over the edge. I checked his closet before remembering that he’d been playing with it in the living room as I got ready to bring him to Noa’s.
I found it just under the couch and when I rushed back to the front door, my body hated me. I slowed as I saw that Noa stepped inside.
Her eyes seemed so tired and defeated and I immediately wanted to hold her and say it would be okay, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch her after being with another woman. It felt wrong. I glanced up the stairs and back at Noa, and she caught the flicker of regret even if she didn’t know what it was.
“Thanks,” she said as she pulled the hippo from my grip.
I let out a relieved sigh as she headed toward the door. I didn’t want Noa to know about my nameless visitor. It would kill any chance I had of winning her back from Theo.
She was on my front step when she turned, bumping into me. She stepped back a little and held the hippo to her chest. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you had company. I won’t show up unannounced anymore.” Her words were said in a rush, the way she usually said things that bothered her and wasn’t sure how to proceed.
I turned to look inside but no one was behind me. I was left confused in her wake until I heard her car start. Then I headed inside and upstairs. My bed was empty. The house was empty, I realized, as I checked all the rooms. There was no note. Nothing. She must’ve dashed out when I went to get that fucking hippo.
The hell I attempted to evade last night refused to let up, and those walls that were closing in pushed all the hope from the room.
* * *
The water was so high.But it wasn’t high enough for me to reach her. Every time I touched the tips of her fingers, her hand slipped out of my grasp. Her eyes held panic that confirmed what I thought all along.
Noa never wanted to die.
Even when she thought it’d be easier. Even when her heart was broken. Even when she wasn’t winning her war.
When I saw her face settle with peace just before her hand slipped from her grip on the broken wood, I knew she wasn’t giving up. She just didn’t know how to fight anymore. So, I fought for her and jumped in. I didn’t know if either of us would make it, but she deserved a fighting chance. As did the baby she was carrying—ourbaby.
It was like déjà vu when I jumped in, searching for her, but this time, the water was much more violent. As rain pelted down, I tried to look for her. A few yards away, I saw the fabric of her black dress. I pushed my body against the water, ignoring the burn of my muscles. Once she was within reach, I grabbed her, keeping her head above the surface, and we made our way down the river together until we reached calmer waters.
I carried her to the water’s edge and checked her pulse. She looked like she was just sleeping, her breathing shallow but steady. I picked her up and carried her to the nearest building, a house that looked worse for wear. When an elderly woman opened the door, I yelled to call an ambulance. While we waited, I couldn’t not touch her, not rub my hands on her stomach, not pray to the old man that if he gave us another chance, I’d do better.
It was selfish to ask; I knew it. I’d been given nothing but chances all along.
Only once the paramedics took over did I let her go.
I’d always fight for Noa. Even if it killed me. Even when I hated her. Even when she was a liar, a heartbreaker, a villain.
Even when she took the soul I offered and ripped it from my outstretched hands.
Yeah, I saved her.
Until I drowned.
Untitled
As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge, clad in the light of a pole-star piercing the darkness of time: You become an image of what is remembered forever.
— Rabindranath Tagore, “Unending Love”
Noa
“Fuck you,”I spat at Tim. He looked at me with his sad glassy eyes, and I wanted to hit him until he couldn’t see anymore.
Who was he to look at me that way? We were equally screwed; two sides of a dirty penny. Worthless and covered in the grime handed down to us from our parents who never cared to look back.
“I just want you to be better than me,” he shouted, his words pleading.
I ignored the slur of his words. I was accustomed to it.
