What I Still Cannot Take Back

I wanted Ben to turn around when Ellis finished confessing. I wanted the truth to be enough to move him, even though I know that is not how forgiveness works. He gave me nothing, and I stood there wanting more anyway.

The worst part is that I had already made my peace with the possibility of doing it myself. If Ben had not come, if Ellis had not handed me that confession, I would have reached the crane and forced the choice. I keep calling that practical, but it is a clean word for the ugliest thing in me. I wanted the whole rotten mess to end, and I was prepared to make certain it did.

~~I hope Ben was ashamed.~~ No. I hope he knows I came. I hope being left with the choice was worse than being trusted with it.

By the pub, the mood had lightened enough that I could hear people laughing near the eastern wharf. Their relief felt indecently bright. I wanted to distrust it, as though happiness had been stolen rather than returned, but even I could not call their relief a lie.

My ribs are swelling properly now. That should be good. It means the damage is where it is instead of spreading through me. When I changed in the ute, I noticed how quickly my first instinct was to leave, bag packed and engine ready. Even after everything settled, the road still looked easier than staying where somebody might ask what I did.