At No Time || Bruno Mars

31

"One afternoon, she wanted to go running. Diane was at work, Pop was wherever, and it was only me. It was freezing out, but she didn't care. She just loved the exercise." Peter laughed in spite of himself, and though Trystan heard the humor, she saw not a trace of it on his face. "She asked me again, and I told her no, that I was busy with homework. I wasn't really. I never did that stuff. I just wanted to play video games and stuff my face with cheese puffs. And despite that, I remember her smiling when she left my room. She always had a beautiful smile; could light up the damn world."

Peter paused, the rugged memory he had entombed resurfacing, gasping for air to stay alive. "She goes, One day, I'm gonna get you to go running with me. And . . ." He choked up, and Trystan's own tears threatened to spill as he finished.

"I never got to. She died that same day."

Peter collapsed into a fit of sobs, and Trystan pulled him into her embrace. He didn't fight her comfort. He permitted her fingers through his hair and his tears to stain the front of her coat. He did not have to finish his story. Trystan knew the rest. It had been on the news.

"A woman was found by passersby in Central Park earlier this evening, who appeared to have suffered from a heart attack during her run. Joggers along the path said they knew of this woman and had seen her routinely. She was taken to the nearest hospital, but was pronounced dead arriving on the scene . . ."

The news reel that had been hidden in the fragments of her mind hit Trystan full force. She remembered, coming home from dance practice that night and seeing it all on T.V. She thought it awful, someone having to die like that, but she never would have dreamed it was Miss June who suffered such a fatality. Her heart broke for Peter, just as it had when they were fifteen.

"She never asked for much. Did everything a mom should do and all she ever asked of me was my time. All I had to say was yes. Maybe she would have still be here if I'd just gone with her. I could have helped her. Got her to the hospital in time and they could have saved her. But I was being selfish piece of shit and told her no. I told her no, Trystan! I told her . . ." Peter held onto Trystan as sobs wracked his entire body, the berating and frustration and heartache he'd held within him for eleven years finally falling into the lap of a woman he knew his tears would be welcome.

Trystan made him sit up and held his tear-streaked face in her palms. His hessonite eyes looked at her for an answer, one he had not been able to find. He struggled against her gaze, and ultimately let his fall.

"Bruno, listen to me. I don't care how cliché this sounds, but that heart attack was not your fault. Her dying was not your fault."

"But-but I-,"

"Look at me." His cheeks grew warmer in her hands, and his eyes returned to hers. "Nothing could have prevented what happened and nothing can change it. Don't you dare blame yourself for it. You can wish all you want to return to the past, but time moves forward, and that's what you have to do. Miss June would want you to do that. It was just her time to go, Bruno, and that had nothing to do with you, okay?"

Peter stared at her for a moment longer, neither affirming or denying her claim, but lied his head back into her chest as the cold around them became less bothersome.

Trystan wrapped her arm around Peter's waist as they trekked out of the park, the dastardly occurrence that had taken place mixing with the wind. She hailed another taxi, and she was sure the driver had side-eyed her for being in the company of Peter, who only looked a tad better than the homeless citizens on the sidewalks.

"Where to, folks?" he asked as he looked between the two odd couple with an arbitrary gaze. Trystan wanted to tell him to mind his business, that there was nothing wrong with either of them, but instead, she disclosed the location and gathered Peter back into her arms, hoping to warm him as he nestled close to her. She noticed how small he appeared then, how fragile. She had never seen him so vulnerable, the uptight-turned-affable man she was growing used to transformed into an image that could break anyone's heart. She did not like it, did not like having him be other than what satisfied her, but she held on, just as he had held onto her. Two brokenhearted people held on together to feel whole.