A Reckoning of Chaos and Mercy

Her breath comes in slow gasps as she pushes through the maze of tangled branches. Her control is ripping apart, and she uses what little strength she has left to hold herself together by the seams. Meanwhile, the branches slash at her face. They claw at her mud-stained dress. Their eagerness to rob her of herself all too apparent as she forces her way through the thicket.

Her own thoughts are merciless as they, too, slice at her from the inside.

Stupid, wretched girl.

Her eyes dart around, taking in the dense fog that has settled in. She hears the coastline, can smell the salt in the air. She is so close to her destination, yet it seems eons away. It does not escape her notice that there is no one ahead of her. There is no one following her. She is, truly, alone.

The realization is a sword to her heart. She can feel the heaviness of it in her chest, weighing down on her with every gasping breath. Tears finally blur her vision as she can no longer impede their flight. They rush out now, flowing relentlessly. The salt rivers stain her cheeks as the wind rips her hair and blows stabbing cold over the cuts on her hands.

There’s nothing left but to sit with the weight of what she has done.

At some point, she becomes aware of the light shifting from pale yellow to a rusty copper. She resumes her painful trek through the thicket. She wants to at least feel the soft rush of the sea water over her hands before she succumbs to the darkness within.

She lumbers on, each footfall heavy and every breath stabbing, until, at last, she breaks through the bramble.

The air is cooler here, but gentle. The wind doesn’t slam into her body as before. And though the water in the bay is choppy, the lullaby emanating from the gray frothy waves is serene and soothing.

But there are remnants of him in everything here: the crisp wind, the gentle waves, the sunset spilling over the water.

And a deeper agony rips through her already broken heart.

She kneels at the water’s edge to soothe her massacred hands. The salty water is both refreshing and excruciating to her scarred and scratched flesh. But she welcomes the small relief, despite the added discomfort.

Anything to aid this brokenness to dissipate.

Her eyes follow the ebb and flow of the waves as they gently roll over her knuckles, singing their soft lullaby to her aching heart. Her tears have (thankfully) stopped by this point but still simmer threateningly.

She was really hoping he would be here. She knows she has no right to hope for him to be here. But still...

Her voice whispers his name softly. So softly, in fact, that she is almost certain she thought it instead. And though her eyes are fixated on her hands, her mind wanders, reflecting on every mistake that led to this moment here on the shores of her life.

No redemption. No connection. Not a single lifeline left.

So, she couldn’t blame him for keeping his distance. Not when her betrayal was directly against him. Nevertheless, she yearns to make it right, to restore all that was lost so rapidly.

Her thoughts race until there is no more track for them to run. And she is finally left to quiet tranquility; the only noise now stemming from the tide. It’s here in the quiet she hears the definite shuffling of sand, then the soft splashes of water—water being pushed rather than pulled.

Footsteps.

Her heart plummets and then races with terror at the uninvited company. This sudden presence immobilizes her. Her eyes stay fixed on her hands, her breath slow and forcefully silent. In a matter of seconds someone is standing just inches away. All she had to do was stretch her arms a little and she would meet flesh with flesh.

The water ripples through a reflection of familiar brown hair. Her heart gives a hopeful leap as recognition sets in.

Emotion swirls in her brain: joy that she was no longer alone, at the fact it was him. But there is also terror at the confrontation she knows is inevitable. He couldn’t have failed to notice all the damage she caused.

She braces for impact.

“You’re hurt,” he whispers, and she tries to detect any meaning that may linger in his tone.

She could sense him stooping down to reach for her hands, and she flinches as his fingers brush hers. Not out of pain, but shame and fear...and regret. But his hands are gentle as they scoop hers from the soaking sand. Their warmth is complementary to the coolness of the water.

She can feel his even breath on the top of her head, feel the weight of his gaze as he takes in her disheveled appearance. She lets her hair fall over her face like a curtain, shielding her eyes from him.

He lingers there in this way, kneeling through the pain in his knees and cradling her hands and forearms.

Why is he here after all she has done?

She feels him shaking his head then, as if he hears the questions her mind won’t cease to speak. She flinches, catching her breath. But when he speaks, his words are tender.

“I never left, you know.” He pauses, letting his thumb gently stroke her knuckles, the caresses as soft as velvet.

“I am not here to punish you,” he continues when she does not respond.

“You should.” Her voice is cracking as the tears finally break the dam. She waits on bated breath for him to agree, for the rage to come. But his fingers continue their gentle skimming.

“No.” His response is absolute. He is rising now, pulling her reluctantly up with him.

She catches a glimpse of his hands as she stands. The scars on his own palms expose themselves in the twilight sun. Her head immediately turns away, new remorseful tears spilling out of her eyes. Any response to fight, to stand her ground, is nonexistent. The urgency for flight is overwhelming.

But he does not let her go. His hold is magnetic.

“Look at me,” he whispers. His tone, though dripping with authority, is pleading. There is longing in his voice, and maybe a touch of…what? Sadness?

She doesn’t react.

“Look at me,” he says again, this time with firmness.

A command.

One she could disobey if she wanted to…

But she doesn’t. Her face slowly rises to meet his, feeling both apprehensive and joyful. His face is a work of breathtaking beauty. The wind swirls his hair gently, as if the breeze itself were combing its fingers lightly through each chocolate brown lock.

His eyes seem to be every color at once. The light shifts them from gray to green to blue, a kaleidoscope of irises. They meet her own muddy brown with acceptance and pride. There are no traces of grief or disappointment.

Only…relief and connection.

Hers, however, shoot daggers of skepticism, despite her best efforts to believe his words. Every instinct she possesses screams at her to run from the blow he will surely give, whether by words or action.

But instead, they stand there, silent, drowning in each other’s gaze. The shadows stretch toward sunset, gracefully splattering purple and navy across the billowing clouds. The water circles their ankles, shifting the sand beneath them, its rhythm calming her still-rapid heartbeat. Soft music begins to hum in her chest.

Dumm… da…

Dada… dumm…

Dah… dah…

Dumm… dumm…

The notes rise and fall languidly, the tide keeping in time. A deep smile spreads across his face. It grows with every crescendo, as if he can hear the melody in her heart.

“Believe me,” he says. “Let me be your anchor.” His fingers interlock with hers.

“Believe me.”

And she does.

Trust blossoms inside her as he slowly begins to pull her out to the water, leaping through the darkness that has now settled in the world around them.

Her very soul is shifted to safer ground, to firmer foundation. To him.

He pulls them both out to deeper places, to true knowing, to healing. And she trusts as she never has before.