I'll Be Holding on to You

Hannah

We were all painfully conscious of what Friday was, and it was no surprise that I dreamed about it that night.

I woke up gasping, still dreaming of bringing a frying pan down on Robbie's head like in a movie.

Erika was sleeping with me and tried to embrace me but I was still in survival mode and this time it was I who punched her in the face, though not hard enough to do much damage.

Her "motherfucker!", while not directed at me, brought me out of it. I was drenched in fear sweat and couldn't catch my breath and tried to concentrate on her strong arms and the purple rose shampoo. 

"Breathe," she said, squeezing me, which seemed counterproductive but which helped. "Breathe with me, love. Smell the rose, blow out the candle." Our old mantra from therapy. Especially funny to me because of the rose shampoo reference. She smoothed my hair out of my face as air slowly began returning to me.

"She got away," I said, because in my dream he was occupied with me, and Hadley was running for the front door. But in real life I let him get her and they were both dead because of it. And our lives were ruined. 

I also secretly harbored a deep and irrational fear that because of what they'd been forced to do to him, if there was some sort of God and actual heavenly system, what if they were now locked out forever? Even though he'd been evil incarnate? You kill someone, you go to hell. It was pretty simple, according to a belief system I didn't necessarily subscribe to. But it was an ancient belief system, and hard to ignore completely.

My mind wrestled with reality and I pushed away from her so I could make it to the bathroom in time to vomit. I was shaky after. I splashed water on my face and rinsed my mouth out.

She had a Valium for me when I came back and that look of pity that I pretty much hated. Even had I deserved it, I didn't want pity. I let her gather me in her arms anyway after I swallowed the medicine and lay back down.

"It's not your fault, Dorienne." She kissed my head and I was too sad to care.

"It is," I said uber softly, but she heard.

She got mad. "It's fucking not, okay? You can't carry that guilt forever." She hugged me tighter. "How much do you think we have for not being there at all? For being there too fucking late? Walking in on what we could have prevented? That is my worst memory ever, bb. Ever. Out of everything." Her voice broke and I looked at her. She was crying, tortured. "You think we don't have all the guilt for what happened to both of you, because we weren't there to protect you guys?"

"You can't feel that way," I tried, hating that I couldn't fix it for her, hating her tears.

"No! No, you can't say that to me about my guilt but still get to wallow in yours. You have to fucking pick one!" She wiped her arm across her eyes angrily. "Either we're all guilty or none of us are."

"Don't cry, dude," I said. Even though I was too.

"It's not your fault," she repeated. "It's that motherfucking cocksucking fuck's fault, and if I could bring him back and torture him for the rest of his life I would in a heartbeat. I've done it a million times in my dreams, and if that makes me a terrible person and a psychopath like my birth father, fuck it. So fucking be it because I would."

I shook my head, meaning it didn't make her a bad person. I hugged her and she relaxed against me. I could feel her angst. "It's okay," I said, even though it was always going to be at least half a lie. "We all feel like that." Which she knew.

"What if he's wherever she is and she can't get away or something?" She whispered this as if it was too horrifying to voice out loud, because it was. It so was.