The Road to Hell Is Paved with Journal Entries

Chapter 3

Before I ever crossed the line with Dylan, I watched with an extremely jealous eye as they shared many intimate moments. Intimacy between them was rather complicated. From the outside, every they touched or kissed seemed mechanical like it had become on obligation rather than a desire that burned with intense passion. The more I watched them, the more frantic and chaotic my feelings about Dylan became. I probably shouldn't have, but I picked up the journal and read it aloud, thinking it was safe to explore the past while Gen was fast asleep on the couch.

"There is a quickness and sense of duty that oozes from him when he kisses her. I shouldn't be jealous of that, but I have to admit that it tears me apart inside. I was the one who introduced them years ago, yet I'm forced to watch them fumble through kisses like they're washing the dirty dishes. How obscene. Does Dylan realize what he's missing?"

I looked over at Gen, wide-eyed and alert, watching me as I read quietly from my journal. "Is it true?" she asked.

"Is what true? What do you mean?" I stumbled over my words as I worked to come up with an explanation for what I'd read.

No response. Her eyes went dead, and she stared straight ahead. Sometimes it was like a light switch. She'd be exactly who I remembered her to be all these years, and then in one flash, she was dead and gone. I hated to see her floating away like this, but at least I could hide away my deception for a bit longer. Of course, it killed me to think of it that way. I've always been around to support, protect, and shield her from all the bad things in life. That's all I've ever wanted to do for her, but who would protect her from me? I wanted to protect her from our past together, but I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep my secrets.

Neither of us really remember how we became close, but I remember why. The precise moment in life I met her is etched into my brain deeper and more permanent than a tattoo. The first time I noticed her, we were both sitting in a hospital waiting room as kids. As it so happened, both of our moms were waiting to be seen by the triage nurse when I recognized the deep sadness in her eyes. Even at that young age, I could feel the darkness spread over me from across the room. It hung above me like a cloud and told me her story.

She was born into a dark and dysfunctional family and never really had a fighting chance to escape that darkness on her own. And even since before she was born, that same dark cloud surrounded her mother, holding her captive by a man who would later murder her in an abusive, drunken stupor. He beat her daily, and those beatings didn't stop when he discovered she was pregnant. If anything, they got worse, but somehow, Gen survived that nightmare. But she only barely survived. By the time I met her, she was hiding in closets to shield herself from her mother's agonizing screams and the sexual attention of her father. And because both her mother and father were estranged from their families, there was no one she could turn to.

"You're the only who believes me," she once said to me as we both sat in her closet one afternoon, holding hands and shedding tears. "Why don't my teachers believe me?" she said through hysterical sobs. Moments like that were hard to take, and they are even harder to remember without feeling the trauma all over again. Like her, I was merely a child, and the only thing I could do for her was to listen to her pain and shield her from as much negativity and brutality as I could.

Now I'd stepped out of that role as her protector and into one as yet another one of her deceivers. I suppose there was no way to hide it much longer, so I felt like she deserved brutal honesty from me for the first time in our lives.

"I don't know if you hear me or understand me, but I need to be completely honest with you if we're going to survive this together like we've always done." I looked deep into her glassy eyes, half-hoping she understood and half-hoping the Gen I knew was still gone. It hurt me deeply to be the one to break her apart even more in her fragile condition.

"Before Dylan died. Before the miscarriage. Before things really got bad, I did something awful that I regret now, but I thought you deserved to know the truth." I stopped to catch my breath as my heart tried to beat out of my chest. "Are you in there? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Gen looked directly into my eyes, and a solitary tear found its way down her cheek. That was as close as I was going to get to lucidity in this stage of her life. So, I continued with my confession.

"Dylan and I ... well ... we had an affair before he died. To say I'm sorry now is a slap in the face, I know. But I am. I truly am. Don't forgive me. I don't deserve it. But please forgive yourself."

Her face lit up and she sat up to speak to me. "Are you saying that everything is my fault?"

"No, quite the opposite. I'm saying it's my fault. I knew what I was doing. I manipulated him into loving me, I think. And I think I might be the reason he killed himself."

If she said anything to me after that, I don't remember what it was. Because the sickness—the one I hadn't felt in decades—was upon me again. My heart raced fast enough to explode in my chest, and I lost consciousness. And when I woke up, I was sitting in a chair in the hospital next to a bed where Gen lay with all kinds of machines attached to her body. Nurses and doctors came and went without acknowledging me, but Gen never woke up that day. She lay in a coma for several days before her eyes finally opened—much to everyone's surprise. And when she sat up in the bed, she was as lucid as I was. Angry and hurt—but lucid. The truth had set me free, but it had threatened to kill the woman I loved more than anyone, even myself. Yes, I should have burned that damn book. I should have erased those memories no matter what it cost me. I felt the fate of two dead bodies hovering over my head—Dylan Hall and Gen Hall. Maybe she wasn't dead yet, but the world seemed to be doing exactly that. It was only a matter of time.