Bonnie and Clyde

Chapter Thirty- Six: The Pain Of The Truth

Her sketchbook was on the table where she'd left it the night before, tantalising, tempting. My fingers itched to flip it open and see what was inside, what she'd been so intent on the night before.

It wasn't right, I'd told myself, to look through it. She hadn't wanted me to, which, of course, meant that it killed me not to know what was hidden inside those pages.

She still hadn't come out of her room, and I'd paused by the closed door several times that afternoon, hesitating, before walking away.

She was still mad, not that I expected any different, but getting in her face wasn't going to  help at all. Instead, I went back to the kitchen and paced some more, trying to ignore the sketchbook, the way it just sat there like it was waiting for me to open it up and see what Bonnie had put inside it.

At last, I gave into the temptation, and drew it toward me on the table.  I stood and stared at the black plastic cover for a moment, the impending guilt weighing on my chest as I traced the edge with a finger. It seemed so intrusive, invasive, but my curiosity won out in the end, and, tentatively, slowly, I opened it.

The pages were alive with lines, dark and light, white, grey, black, shapes and shades making up features, faces, all overlapping, so many expressions.

It's a study, she'd explained, and it hadn't meant anything to me then.

But now, I understood.

There was one in particular that I was fixated on, sketchy outlines a little more defined than the others, which might have been what drew my eye to it over all the others in there.

I recognised it, recognised me, like all those times she'd been studying me were so that she could do this. I couldn't drag my eyes away from Bonnie's rendition, but it made me sick. The icy breaths I drew choked me, my stomach churned with nausea, despite being empty, and I crossed an arm over myself, like a child's pathetic protective stance, and stared down at the page in front of me.

Horrifying, twisted and malicious. That's how she saw me. I was finally seeing myself through her eyes, and I looked... evil.

I couldn't bare it anymore, looking at that depraved version of myself, recognising it and understanding, now.

No wonder she's afraid of me.

If she left, ran away to take her chances on her own, I could have hardly blamed her. And maybe, maybe it would be for the best.

As it was, for me, life would carry on, Jordan might forget I ever existed if I stayed away, stayed on here with Dana, helped her out around the place. Or, better yet if I carried out the plan of going to Ace and laying low from here on out.

If Jordan couldn't forget, he might at least forgive me for fucking everything up on him. I could go home, and life might go back to normal, how it had been before, just me and Jordan.

But I couldn't fool myself. Jordan, as cold and unfeeling as he could be, might be able to put this behind him, but I never could. For the rest of my life, I'd always wonder, always search for a glimpse of her, that beautiful, broken girl, hope beyond hope that she made it, that she was well, being cared for and loved the way she deserved to be.

As long as I didn't know, I couldn't settle.

Dana found me pacing when she got home. She took one look at me, and knew, in that way of hers, that something was wrong.

"What?"  She came to stand right in front of me, reached up to place her hands firmly on my shoulders, stopping me in my tracks. "What's happened?"

I gestured toward the bedroom that Bonnie had locked herself in, hoping that might clarify it, knowing it wouldn't. If I didn't have to say it out loud, it wouldn't seem so real.

I'd been dreading this moment. It was always inevitable, that she'd find out, and I'd regretted the lie the minute the words left my mouth that night.

"Bonnie knows," I explained haltingly.

I'd tried to keep the exasperation out of my voice, but it was there, and I watched Dana press her lips together.

"What did she-"

"She hates me," I cut in with a shrug, stealing a glance at her expression to try and work out what she was thinking, hoping it might help me make sense of my own self, but knowing it wouldn't.

She didn't look annoyed, or reprimanding. She didn't look surprised, either, but it was sympathetic

"I'll try and talk to her," she offered, then looked at me seriously again, "try and see this from her point."

I didn't need to try, I already knew. I'd offered her safety and protection, somewhere to go when there was nowhere else. And that illusion had been shattered along with everything else it had promised. I was the piece of shit that had made it happen.

I didn't hold much hope of Dana emerging with Bonnie in tow, but I was still disappointed when she came back only a few minutes later, alone.

The disappointment didn't last though, totally eclipsed with apprehension when I saw her expression, already knowing by her face, just the way Dana had known by the look on mine, that something was wrong.

Her eyes were wide with worry, movements sharp and stiff as she handed me a scrap of paper, and at first, I couldn't make out the words scrawled across it.

The writing was small and neat, that wasn't the problem, but it took so long to process what she had written, like my brain refused to let me believe it.

Instead of Bonnie, Dana had brought this note back, and any hope I might have had of her forgiveness was completely crushed.

There was a humming drone in my ears, and it was growing louder, overwhelming, everything else fading out. Then it became more than sound, it took on its own shape and shifted all around me, pressing against my mind and ruining all perspective, left me reeling.

I realised that it was the sound of my heart hammering, my pulse racing as I stared uncomprehending at the words on  the paper of was holding, unable to believe it, refusing to.

But there it was.

Thanks for everything.

-B

Bonnie was gone.

It was like kick in the guts, like the breath had been ripped from my lungs, crushed beneath the weight of an entire ocean, as I churned, whirling, and stood frozen.

Bonnie was gone.

But I wasn't going to let her go that easy.

I'd told her I wouldn't force her to stay with me, but now, after everything, how was I supposed to let her go?

I'd made her a promise, and even if I had to drag her back here and physically restrain her, I was going to keep it, whether she liked it or not.

"Mikey," Dana called after me, and I didn't even flinch, hearing my name so loudly.

It didn't matter, Bonnie wasn't around to hear it, anyway, and, really, so what if she was?

"Where are you going?"  Dana stopped me, fingers firm around my wrist as I snatched up my keys.

"She can't have gotten far." At least, I hoped she hadn't.  "I'm going to find her."

And then, when I had her safe again, I was going to find the bastard who'd started this, end it, and him.