Still Beating

by Jennifer Hartmann

He’s a balding, pot-bellied man who smells like cooked carrots. I try not to gag.

Even that jerk face is more tolerable than John Wayne Gacy over here, boring his x-ray vision through the front of my dress.

“Tessie Evans and her clown of a stepbrother said the same dumb shit to me,” he says, pacing forward. Getting closer. “Their flesh is compost out in my barn. Their bones make good chew toys for the dogs.”

Take a sad song and make it better.

My heart is doing the Macarena, and my jaw drops like a comical cartoon.

“You would have adopted both dogs because your heart is too big for only one.”

Mandy starts to panic, and I picture her flapping her arms like a bird in the way that she does when she’s freaking the hell out. “Did you kill my sister?” she demands of Dean. “I didn’t know she was allergic to cornstarch!”

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

We are bound, chained, tied—to our trauma and to each other.

We have no scars, no battle wounds. We haven’t been to Hell and back, or clung to each other in the shadows, crying, shaking, expelling the dirtiest pieces of our soul together.

I can’t help a smile from breaking through my somber haze. “It’s a blizzard.” Cora falters on her porch step, twisting around to look at me with the widest, most enchanted eyes I’ve ever seen. She steps down to join me on the walkway, holding out her arms and looking up with me. “Oh, my God. Do you think…?” Her voice trails off and she starts to laugh. She laughs. Delirious laughter pours out of her as she spins around in circles, her nose pointed towards the heavens. “It’s her, Dean. She’s saying goodbye.” I think my goddamn heart might explode.

“You’re strong as hell. You amaze me.” How can she not see what I see? How can she not know? “Don’t you ever say that again, you hear me?”

“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’ll always care about you, Mandy. Always. And I know you’ll fall in love again and walk down that aisle someday. I know you’ll find someone who sees the scariest, darkest parts of you and loves the shit out of you anyway. Someone who presses your buttons, gets under your skin, makes you crazy in all the best ways. Someone who makes you feel so alive, you can’t imagine going back to the shell of a human you were before you met them. Someone who sees you, really sees you, stripped down and raw, and wants to collect all your broken pieces and cherish them like they are something beautiful.”

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

What?! I didn’t see that coming.

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.”

Awww

“You’re a lion, fearless and strong, and I am just a mouse.” Cora pauses again, then continues, “I’m small and weak, afraid of everything lurking in the dark. The things I want are disguised in deadly traps, and yet, I’m still tempted.”

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.”

“Okay,” Lily says dismissively. “You’re right. My point is, no one is perfect. Everyone is a little selfish sometimes when it comes to matters of the heart.”

“Suicide, though? I mean, really. Way to completely botch up your second chance at life. I can’t imagine surviving something like that and then trying to throw it all away.”

What a bitch!

“Hey, Cora. Can you give Dean a message for me?” I turn to face her on the snowy pathway. “Sure. What is it?” “Tell him I say thank you for pulverizing that evil son-of-a-bitch.”

“Are you going to invite him over?” I scoff, returning my focus to the screen. “No. It’s a bad idea.” “So is drinking Aldi wine, but we do it anyway.” “One bad decision is enough for me tonight.”

Ha!!

“I 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.”

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.

“Just get better. There’s no shame in the struggle, but you can’t stay there forever. We’re all here for you.”

💜

Love is so many things I never thought about, never expected, never knew… and one of those things is being the best version of yourself you can possibly be, no matter how many obstacles stand in your way. No matter how dark, how hard, or how painful the road to recovery may be. No matter how many blows or setbacks try to drag you back down into the mud. 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.”