15-05-2021-052358It-Ends-with-Us

Worry? Panic?
He slowly pulls up his right hand and it’s covered in blood. Blood
is trickling out of his palm, down his wrist. I look at the floor—at the
shattered pieces of glass from the casserole dish. His hand. I just
pushed him onto glass.
He turns around and pulls himself up. He sticks his hand under
the stream of water and starts rinsing away the blood. I stand up, just
as he pulls a sliver of glass out of his palm and tosses it on the counter.
I’m full of so much anger, but somehow, concern for his hand still
finds its way out. I grab a towel and shove it into his fist. There’s so
much blood.
It’s his right hand.
His surgery Monday.
I try to help stop the bleeding, but I’m shaking too bad. “Ryle, your
hand.”
He pulls the hand away and, with his good hand, he lifts my chin.
“Fuck the hand, Lily. I don’t care about my hand. Are you okay?” He’s
looking back and forth between my eyes frantically as he assesses the
cut on my face.
My shoulders begin to shake and huge, hurt-filled tears spill down
my cheeks. “No.” I’m a little in shock, and I know he can hear my
heart breaking with just that one word, because I can feel it in every
part of me. “Oh my God. You pushed me, Ryle. You.. .” The
realization of what has just happened hurts worse than the actual
action.
Ryle wraps his arm around my neck and desperately holds me
against him. “I’m so sorry, Lily. God, I’m so sorry.” He buries his face
against my hair, squeezing me with every emotion inside of him.
“Please don’t hate me. Please.”
His voice slowly starts to become Ryle’s voice again, and I feel it in
my stomach, in my toes. His entire career depends on his hand, so it
has to say something that he’s not even worried about it. Right? I’m so
confused.
There’s too much happening. The smoke, the wine, the broken
glass, the food splattered everywhere, the blood, the anger, the
apologies, it’s too much.