Every Bright and Broken Thing

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Ezra

I should have seen it coming. I shouldn't have let it happen. It didn't have to go this way.

Pulling into the parking lot of a small park, I turn off my car to conserve gas and just sit there, soak in the last of the heat. My stomach twists inside of me and I feel like my heart has turned to lead, weighing me down. Already, I miss the warmth and safety of The Sanctuary. I miss Papa Wilbur's laughter and Mama Gracie's wisdom. And the golden light in Elaine's eyes.

You had to go and ruin it.

Anger claws at my chest, gripping me in its fury, suffocating every measure of life that I have left. This anger runs deep. Deeper than anything I've ever known, submerging me beneath waves of bitterness until the currents of anger draw me to the depths of hatred. Only, I can't direct this electrifying, paralyzing hatred at anyone but myself. There's no one on this planet that I can blame for who I've become. There's no excuse I could possibly make that could bury again this self-loathing I've tried for so long to ignore. Everything good in me has turned rotten and all that's left is hate. I wonder, as my body is wracked with tremors like an internal earthquake, if this is what it feels like to truly, deeply break. I imagine the hate tears cracks and canyons in the soil of my life, far below the surface of the sea where nothing but the dark lives.

I call to mind all the things I hate – myself most of all. I hate what I've become. I hate my failure, my weakness, and every wrong choice that has led me to this moment. The bars that once promised freedom have now become my prison. The empty nights spent giving all of myself to girls who don't even know my name. The painkillers, gripped so tightly in my fist now that the lid pops open. All these things, all these choices have led to this moment of deep, intimate breaking.

Elaine is worth more than that. Mama Gracie and Papa Wilbur are worth more than that. Dad and Liam are worth more than that.

Defeated, I realize that there's nothing left of me, there's no good thing inside of me that I have to offer.

Like a dagger, Mama Gracie's words pierce me to my core. I remember every word she said. About the mural. About not running anymore. And I wish I could take her advice. I wish I knew how to stop running. But the things that chase me – the guilt and the fear, the anger and the hate – they're too fast. Every time I stop to catch my breath, I lose ground.

And I can't keep up with it anymore.

So, why fight it?

Shaking, aching, I watch as the round, white pill traces the lines of my hand and comes to rest at the center of my palm. And with no resistance left in me – no more ability to rebel against the thorns of anger that have wrapped themselves around me – I drop it down my throat.

Everything else just falls away.