Still Beating

by Jennifer Hartmann

“That creep touch you?”

“Or wondering how you’re going to sabotage my next relationship.” His eyes flicker with something I can’t exactly pinpoint. It’s not guilt or remorse. It’s not enjoyment either.

Look at me, Cora. Focus on me. Nothing else is real. It’s only me and you. I sink underwater once more and let myself drown.

“Any day now, Dean.” A sigh escapes him. “All right. Fine.” His eyes look even bluer as they hold mine. “I had a thing for you first.” What?

Dean has always fit into a very specific box in my life. Dean, the asshole. Dean, my sister’s dumb boyfriend. Dean, my mortal enemy. But… “You don’t feel like my enemy anymore,” I finish. You feel like my lifeline.

“I told you her heart was still beating. As long as it was beating, she was okay.”

“You were only down there for three weeks, Dean,” Mandy continues, still avoiding my eyes. “I thought you would… you know, bounce back by now.” Only three weeks.

Okay I officially hate her and don’t feel bad for what is inevitably going to happen to this relationship

It was only three weeks, but it’s burned into every cell, every vein, every tainted pocket of my soul. Forever. And so is she.

She laughs. She fucking laughs and it’s the best gift ever.

“Open it. It’s a locket.” Cora blinks, surprised. I can see her fingers tremble as she unclasps the two pieces of gold and fixes her eyes to the inner contents. Still Beating. She doesn’t say anything. I wonder if maybe she doesn’t understand, so I start to explain. “I was thinking you can wear it over your heart as a constant reminder of everything you survived. As long as it’s still beating, you’re okay.”

I think my goddamn heart might explode.

“Cora, listen to me,” I say, still holding her face in my hands, still clinging to her like it’s the very last time. “Those were the worst three weeks of my entire goddamn life and they will haunt me forever.” I swallow. “But I’m glad I was there. And I’d do it all again, a thousand times over, just to keep you from going through that shit alone. I’m glad I was there with you.” A gasp-like whimper escapes her. I’ve never seen her look at me like this before.

“And don’t ask me what that means, Corabelle, because I don’t have a goddamn clue. All I know is that I’d kill that son-of-a-bitch over and over again just to keep you safe—hell, I’d kill a hundred men if I thought that would chase away your nightmares and bring you peace. And I know how fucked that sounds, trust me, I know, but I can’t let you go another minute feeling guilty or responsible or weak. You’re a warrior.”

I wonder if she likes the ocean.

Cora glances over in my direction and our eyes meet for the very first time. Green. Angels have green eyes. She smiles at me, that same sweet smile, and this one is all mine. It fills me up and lights me on fire, and I know, I just know… I’m going to marry this girl one day.

Cora: I sort of adopted a serial killer’s two dogs. Meet Jude and Penny Lane.

They’re very attached to each other, so they came as a bonded pair.” A bonded pair. They aren’t the only ones.

It’s funny how home can mean one thing one day and something entirely different the next. I think that’s because home isn’t a place—it’s a feeling.

“You love me. You fucking love me, Cora.”

But I know it’s love… it has to be, because if this isn’t love… Then I’m certain it does not exist.

“How horrible it must be to forget the love of your life.” Now, I can’t help but wonder if it was the only way for her to cope.

Maybe there is no recovering from something like that. Maybe there is no healing or moving on. There is no forgetting. Not unless you truly forget.

“Every love story is worth writing, no matter how messy it might be,” Holly says absently, still stroking my hair. “I would like to read your book.”

“I had a terrible nightmare once. It was a lot different than yours, though.” She squeezes my fingers and releases a small sigh. “I was all alone.” I wait for her to continue. I wait for the story to unfold, the horrors to play out, the nightmare to come to life. But she doesn’t say anything else and I realize… that was the nightmare.

don’t you ever try to take away the one thing you fought so goddamn hard to keep.”

You can’t tiptoe around your heart in fear of pissing people off or hurting their feelings. Sometimes we need to be a little selfish in order to avoid a life of complacency.”

“The partially nude man discovered on the side of Abbington Road near Pembrooke has been identified as thirty-year-old Oliver Lynch, the Libertyville boy who went missing on the Fourth of July almost twenty-two years ago.”

This is who Lotus is about right?

wish you fought for me as hard as you fought to get out of that basement.”

love doesn’t exist without sacrifice. Sometimes those sacrifices are waking up ten minutes early to make your partner coffee. Sometimes it’s taking on a second job to support your family. Sometimes it’s staying up all night with a newborn so your significant other can finally sleep. Sometimes it’s shoveling the other person’s car out of the driveway after a snowstorm.” She places her palm against my wet cheek and smiles softly. “And sometimes it’s making the ultimate sacrifice and walking away for the greater good.”

This isn’t necessarily an end… think of it as your chance to start over.”

Maybe love is singing her favorite song in the dark, just so she can sleep. Maybe love is giving away the shoes on your feet to help keep her warm. Maybe love is coming over in the middle of the night when the power goes out because you know she’s afraid of the dark. And maybe love is walking away because it’s the only way she’ll find the light again.

I wanted to believe our situation was the reason our feelings changed—shifted and swayed like a high tide. But feelings like this cannot be built in the course of three weeks. They are created over time, blooming and growing, manifesting into something bigger than us both.

We can’t give our heart to another without loving our own first. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.

“Corabelle… that was me fighting for you. That was me fighting for your healing, your joy, your smile, your laughter… your beautiful, broken spirit. I never stopped fighting for you and I never will.”

“Are you still mine?” Cora doesn’t hesitate. She reaches for my hand, placing it above her heart. “It’s still beating,” she says. Her face lights up with a radiant smile that looks exactly like how her heartbeat feels. “As long as it’s beating, I’m yours.”

we have raised devious little pranksters, much like ourselves.

It’s November 8th. Every year on this day we go to the ocean.

And then I broke down. I collapsed against his chest, overcome by the power of it, the beauty of it—the reality of finally conquering my lifelong fear. And as I sobbed in his arms, shaking from the cold and from the sheer intensity, Dean dipped down onto one knee and proposed. Right there in the middle of the ocean as I cried my heart out, tears mingling with seawater, and my skeletons washing away for good with the crest of each wave, disappearing to the ocean floor.

We stand there, hand-in-hand, much like we did all those years ago as we awaited rescue, unsure of what our future held.