Nothing Else Matters

He lay there, breathing softly, intent on his dreams, ignorant of what I had done or what I was about to do. If he had known, most likely he would have stopped me, saving us both from a great bulk of pain. His long body stretched the length of the bed, his feet coming close to hanging over the edge. I stood next to our little bed, crying for my guilt, for the shame I had pressed on myself, observing him for the last time.

I tiptoed softly into the kitchen, my feet sliding on the newly waxed linoleum floor. I picked up the knife I had sharpened just an hour before and scanned the note one more time. In my own intricate hand it read:

Joseph--

I have committed wrong against you, such that I cannot live with myself or face my cruel reflection every morning in the mirror. What I have done can never be forgiven, nor do I have the heart to even admit it to you, to hurt you in that way. Please know that I am sorry and that I loved you.

--Meg

I set the note down on the counter and reached into the freezer for a large bock of ice. I pressed it against my forearm, waiting until it became numb before switching arms. Then, when the second became insensate, I set down the ice, picked up the knife again, and put it into a better position in my right hand. I pressed it slightly against my left wrist, knowing there was no going back once I had started, no going back now. I looked carefully at the knife. The stainless steel shined brightly under the kitchen lights. It was now or never.

I carefully started drawing a line, with the point of the blade, slicing my skin easily, from wrist to mid forearm, along the vein. Immediately, pain swelled within me. I couldn’t stop the tears. It was all I could do to keep myself from crying out, but I knew I had to continue. I put the knife in the other hand, blood pouring onto it, dripping to the clean white floor. Weakly, I grasped it and began to cut the other wrist. A darkness consumed my vision, and I fell to the floor, the knife clanging against the floor with me.

When I awoke, I was surrounded by people--doctors and nurses, rushing here and there. My head was swimming and everything was blurry, out of focus. My ears rang and my hearing was foggy. A loud monitor beeped in the background, I think. Everything was so hazy. I tried to remember, tried to remember what had happened, but I couldn’t. What is going on? I thought to myself, and then I realized, I remembered, what had happened.

“She’s coming around,” I heard a man’s soft voice.

“Is she all right?” Joseph was there. Oh, Joseph, my Joseph, what had I done? Memories ran through my head. Now he would have to know; I’d have to tell him; he’d make me tell him. I shut my eyes tightly, blocking the tears.

I was transferred to a regular room within the hour. Thick, white bandages now enclosed my arms, hiding the scars that I knew would last for a long time, but not long enough, not longer than the pain I had caused with my betrayal; those scars would last for as long as I lived. It was just Joseph and I, and a nurse, who only seemed interested in my vitals, charts, and monitors. No longer could I avoid this fate. “Joseph, I--”

“Honey, don’t,” he began softly. “I don’t care. I love you. I thought I was going to lose you, and nothing could matter as long as you’re safe. I’m glad that knife broke me from my sleep as it hit the floor, or you might not be with me now, and I don’t think I would be able to handle that. Do you understand? I love you, Meg. I don’t care what you did! It doesn’t mater! Do you know how important you are to me? Do you?” His voice rose with each word, becoming more and more evident of his concern and frustration. I began to cry.

“Oh, honey,” he rushed to my bedside, wrapping his thick arms around me, burying my head in his chest with his hand, the other rubbing my back softly. “Please don’t cry, Meg, please.”

“You don’t understand!” I screamed, pushing away from his loving embrace. “You don’t know what I did! I did the unthinkable, Joseph. I can’t tell you. I can’t live with what I did; I can’t live with that pain, and I don’t want you to have to either. I’m sorry, Joseph, I am, but I know you can’t forgive me. I don’t want you to forgive me, because I don’t deserve forgiveness. I love you, and what I did was wrong, but I did it just the same. I don’t deserve you or your love, so please leave.” The pain built up until I couldn’t contain it any longer.

Joseph grabbed me and pulled me close to him. I tried to resist, but found his hold was tight and the effort futile. I conceded and stopped my fight, bawling in his chest. What I had done was unforgivable, but he didn’t care. All he cared was that I was safe.

I learned something that day. I learned that love is stronger than mistakes, stronger than any other force in the world. I held him, and we cried together. Mine were tears of guilt, his tears of relief. It was then that I realized the real extent of love.

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