I'm Here to Fix You

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Chapter 80



“It was true, you know. What you said.” Jake claimed casually.

I frowned, turning to him. “I say many things.” I chuckled, switching channels on TV without looking. This was a particularly heavy day for us, some nonsensical show can only do us some good. Anything not to use our overworked brains. Although, I know myself, I’ll probably switch again after 20 seconds. My brain physically suffers in the presence of ignorance.

“I’m a murderer.” Jake claimed, dead serious.

I actually gasped, which I never do. “What?”

“Remember that time, at the hospital?” He said, nonchalantly playing with my hand while cuddling me. “You called me a-”

“Please, don’t say that word again.” I cut him off, feeling ashamed of myself. I’ve said many stupid and rash things in my life, but that one is the one that makes me feel the worst. I’ve never really felt ashamed of myself except for that time. “It was a terrible thing to say, and I wish I could take it back.”

“But you were right.”

“Jake ...”

“No, listen to me,” he sat up, letting go of me. Somehow that sounded way more literal than it should have. “You know what I did.”

“Jake ...” I tried, knowing where was his train of thought headed.

“I killed her, Silvia. I did.” Jake leaned back against the sofa, closing his eyes, covering his face with his hands. I bet it was not to let me see the impending tears he was about to shed. Told you it was a heavy day. We dug up much more than we were ready for. I should have known he lied when he said he was okay. “And I probably pushed Mike into it, too. I mean, what kind of brother wouldn’t see the odds?”

“You were a child, you could have done nothing.” I reminded him. He was 9, for God’s sakes. He was 9 when his brother jumped out of a window, what could Jake have done to prevent that from happening?

“I was his only friend. His only hope. And look to what it got him ...”

“You were just a kid!” I protested, taking his hands off his face. He was crying, oh, he was, but silently and shamefully, as he always does. It’s as if he doesn’t even deem himself worthy of tears. It’s as if, no, it’s exactly that: Jake sees his own tears as crocodile ones. To him, the tears he sheds are not sense of guilt, but the result of a dirty conscience that does not deserve redemption.

“You say that because you love me.” Jake claimed, wiping away the drops that had stained his face. “What you feel for me blinds you, Silvia, you know that.”

“Listen to me,” I grabbed his hands, tired of seeing him always so down the gutter. Why does he keep on blaming himself? There was nothing, nothing he could have done! “It is not, never has been your fault, Jake.”

“Silvia ...”

“It’s true.” I went to straddle him, just so I could look straight into his eyes without him looking away. I cupped his cheeks, and forced him to keep eye contact. “I’m gonna lay down some truths for you here, and when I’m done, I want you to take a deep breath, and let it all go. Or at least try to. It’s not going to be easy, but we can do it.”

“You don’t know what-”

“You have no blame in what happened.” I stated. “Actually, you were not even a player in the whole thing.” I stated. “Michael had a problem, and it had nothing to do with you.”


“No buts. He was, sadly, sick. His schizophrenia had nothing to do with you. You didn’t implant the sickness in his head, you didn’t push him into anything. It was NOT your fault, Jake.”

“But my presence, you know it was my sole presence to make it worse!”

“No.” I inched my palms closer as well as my face. I felt every single bit of my insides burning, but this has to stop. Ever since he told me his truths, we started trying to overcome the burdens, but while sometimes it seems we’re making progress, day by day, other times he just ... breaks down.

Believe me when I say, there is nothing worse than to see the love of your life basically hurt himself not to cry in front of you. He’s come a long way, 2 months ago he wouldn’t even let me see those few tears that fell against his own will. Before that, after our heavy sessions, like he calls them, Jake would crack the fakest smile, and claim he needed a shower. I soon learnt that shower was code for crying under the stream of water, far from my eyes.

“Listen to me, Jake, your birth was NOT a mistake.” I stated peremptorily.

“Silvia ...”

“Your birth was NOT a mistake, Jake. Your birth did NOT bring any pain to your family. They were happy to have you.”

“Not as happy after-”

“NO!” I nearly shouted, clinging onto him. “No, no, no! You were a gift to them, as you are to all of us, whatever you may believe. I don’t care whatever absurdity your self-destructive subconscious down there wants you to believe. Your whole existence has been paved in sufferance not because of what you allegedly did, but because of things THEY did to you.”

“You weren’t there, Silvia, you can’t-”

“I can understand all too well, instead.” I scoffed. “I understand that your brother was mentally ill. His own illness drove him to suicide. Not you, not your own existence, nothing of what you did. If anything, you helped him. By being a brother, you did all that was in your power to help him.”

“I could have done more.”

“Of course not! You were just a kid!” I sighed, lowering my gaze for a moment. I felt like I was burning. We’ve been doing this for so long, yet every time there is something that pushes him back down. For every 3 steps forward there’s one backward, and even though it’s a relatively good balance, it does him no good. Because every time he breaks down, it happens at full force. And the worse is, he just won’t let me be there.

He’ll pick up the pieces of my damaged soul every time, he’ll break down my door if necessary, anything not to let me cry on my own. Yet when it comes to him, Jake keeps on trying to keep the tough façade. I would blame patriarchy for this toxic idea of masculinity, didn’t I know that it goes deeper than that.

Jake has had to provide for his own family since he was a child. At the age of 9 he had to grow up, and learn to take care of a whole family. That is bound to leave a trail in a little boy. It’s where he takes this urgent need to take care of me and his sister, of everyone he cares about. It’s where he takes this determination to lift everyone’s pain off their shoulders. The trouble is, he won’t let anyone, not even me to some extents, lift his own pain off his shoulders.

“Listen to me, Jake.” I said for the umpteenth time, forcing my own tears to hold back. I cannot even cry for him. He won’t let me. “Michael did what he did because his own illness pushed him. You did nothing. Hardly you could have jumped through the glass door to save him.”

“At least that would have been something.”

“Don’t be stupid.” I blurted out. “It was a mass falling from a height, and you were just a kid, it would have killed you.”


I slapped him. I swear, I did. “Don’t you even dare say it.” I hissed.

“Silvia ...”

“Damnit, Jake, why can’t you see it?! Your whole existence has been stained by faults that were never yours!” I reminded him. “Your brother was sick, and that’s it. Your father couldn’t cope with the loss of his son. Your mother couldn’t cope with the loss of her son and her husband. It had nothing to do with you. You did everything that was in your power to help them, but not even you can do miracles, Jake.”

I really wish I wouldn’t have to do this, but unless I do, he’s going to keep on clinging onto this self-destructive routine of self-imposed hatred. “As a matter of fact, they were the weak ones. They were the culprits.” I inched closer to his face, keeping eye contact to make sure he was listening. ”They did this to you. They hurt you more than any other human could possibly endure. They turned you into a self-loathing mess. If there’s anyone to blame here, I’m sorry to say it, that’s your parents, not you.”

Jake opened his mouth the slightest, which is his own version of a gasp. Clearly, he didn’t see this coming. I stroked his cheeks with my thumbs to wipe away the tears that had stained his cheeks, and all the while he stared at me. I wasn’t even sure what was he thinking.

Would he tell me off for insulting the memory of his parents? Did I inflict only more pain on him by reminding him what happened?

Slowly, he closed his mouth, and his muscles started relaxing. I thought he was finally coming around, but, after 5 long minutes of silence, he said: “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to blame the victim?”

I clenched my jaw. If she was here, I’d have a word with that so-called mother of his. Dead or not, I don’t care. She gave her son the last blow. What kind of degenerate mother does that?

"You are the only victim here, Jake.” I pointed out, trying to talk calmly. I caressed his cheek, and left my forehead against his. “You once told me that I ought to keep fighting, because my demons, they’re wrong. Now I tell you the same. Keep fighting, always. Because they’ve never been right, nor will they ever be.”

“How can you say that?”

I closed my eyes, my throat clogging up. “Because they’ve never been right about me. And they aren’t about you.”

“Silvia ...”

“It wasn’t my fault.” I finally admitted out loud, looking straight into his hazel-green eyes. “It wasn’t ... what happened to Matilde, it wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t have stopped it. You told me that, you taught me to believe that. And now I finally do.” I inhaled deeply, a lonely tear falling, as if to seal the broken deal between me and my deepest demons. “So now it’s my job to make sure you do, too.”



I took a deep breath, still not too sure as to why am I doing this. Or rather, I do know why I’m doing this, I just don’t know what good could it bring. Jake seems convinced this letter of his will entirely change my mind about him, and I don’t understand why.

I mean, if everything Tess told me, if all the things Ryan said, if everything everybody said about him didn’t change my mind, why should a letter work? And why, why, why is everybody so dead set on keeping me away from Jake Watson? Heck, even Jake himself wants that.

I understand we’ve been through a lot. I understand there’s a lot of history between us, and the fact that he, apparently, cheated on me for no reason at all is still hard to digest, but ... aside from that?

I seriously don’t get it. Everybody acts as if he were the Devil personified. As if I’ll rot in the deepest meanders of Hell even only for getting close to him. And I don’t get it. It’s not like I want to start a whole life with him. My goodness, I’m not saying I want to marry him, people, I just want to be around him, talk to him, to see if he can help me with this conundrum I’m in.

I know he can. They all know he can. And I’m starting to think that is exactly why they don’t want me to be around him. Safety, protection, all he did to you ... bullshit. This is not about what he allegedly did to me. This is about them, all of them, from my parents to Tess, and even Ryan, not wanting me to recollect all my memories.

They want to keep me in this ... limbo, this weird state where I am one person, while I’m pretty sure I was the exact opposite. They hide things from me, and I’m sick and tired of waiting for the time they’ll realize I don’t need protecting. Jake is the only one that understands I need to recover my full memories, yet, paradoxically, he’s the most determined one not to let me.

I feel like I’m fighting a war against all the people in my life other than against my own brain. What unnerves me the most is this ... smug presumption of theirs, that they can easily fool me. Oh, sure, she doesn’t know anything, so why don’t we just purposely feed her partial or fake information? After all, what’s at stake? Nothing more than her own mental sanity, right? Ugh.

Sorry, I’m ranting. Upon coming here I fought with Tess about this for the umpteenth time. She just doesn’t understand that, this way, she’s not doing my good, but hers and everyone else’s. She, as well as my parents and everyone, doesn’t understand that I’m not pursuing Jake Watson simply because he’s some hot dude I want to be with.

This is not some cliché love story where the good girl fights with all her might to be with the bad boy. This is me needing to take back my life, and all those that try to keep me from it may as well fuck off, because I’m not giving up.

God, I’m so tired of it all. I have a freaking functioning brain, and, amnesia or not amnesia, I know how to use it. Just because I don’t have the slightest clue as to what my 27 years of life have been like, doesn’t mean I can’t put two and two together. Goddamnit, it’s the very foundation of my problem! I know how things work! I know everything there is to know, even if I don’t remember having it, I did have an education, so I’m not a stupid child that doesn’t understand anything.

But that’s exactly like how they treat me. Like a child in need of protection from the big bad wolf there. And the most paradoxical part of this, is that big bad wolf himself is utterly convinced I need protecting from him.

This whole shenanigan is so unbelievable that I wouldn’t even take it as reality, weren’t it my life.

But if I basically had the man abducted just to talk to him, I certainly won’t give up now that I’m close as ever. Luckily, at least Joe understands my pursuit of truth.

He doesn’t ... exactly like that I pursue the man that, basically, is my ex and therefore his rival, but he understands that I need to do this, so even he doesn’t say anything when I tell him I plan to visit Jake in prison as often as I can, he doesn’t argue when I say I’m determined to spend as much time as possible with the man ... I wanna think it’s because he’s a good guy and knows he doesn’t own me, so he can’t tell me what I can and cannot do, but ... I think it’s mostly because, well ... he hasn’t seen Jake Watson.

Set our past aside, any man would see him as a threat to the relationship. I mean, ok, I want to be the adult person, but ... come on, guys, have you seen him? Have you seen Jake Watson? If there ever was a mold for male beauty, I think he was the model for it. Any man would feel threatened if Jake Watson spent time with his girlfriend. It’s not even about trust, it’s about the very objective fact that ... well, the man could probably lead nuns astray, and I’m sure he has.

It’s true that I don’t remember any of the sex I had in my prior life, but I can definitely tell you that the one night I had with Jake has set the bar so high that I think he spoiled me for the rest of the male population.

I know, I should say Joe. I should even feel sorry for basically cheating on him, but ... I can’t say I regret it. Aside from the mild heart attack Jake gave me with that vocal message, our only night together was indescribable. And, goodness gracious me, if I remember right, and he gave me such a first time, then he should be on the market and virginity-taker.

I know, it’s about feelings and whatnot, but believe me when I say, feelings or not, Jake is the kind of man that would make your first time more than unforgettable, he would carve it into your soul so deep that nothing else could replace it.

On second thought, maybe it’s not a bright idea. I mean, Jake Watson as first time would definitely spoil you for the rest of your sexual life. Unless you’re the lucky woman that gets to take him to bed every night, that is. Which, apparently, I was. I may not remember it, but I definitely envy old life me for that.

Anyways, maybe I should stop ranting, otherwise you’ll get bored. The point was, I got the key from a very eager Serene that had no idea what did my brother told me to read, and came all the way here to his place. Tess and I fought badly because of it, everybody has advised me against it, but screw it, I’m doing it. Just how bad can it be?

With newfound strength, I inserted the key in the lock, and went ahead. The first thing I did, upon entering, was awe. I guess I definitely underestimated his wealth. Gosh, this place is four times bigger than my apartment. But it’s also so cold. It’s as if nobody ever inhabited it.

Either he recently moved here or he was moving out, because furniture was scarce, and there were boxes scattered everywhere. I actually tripped into one, which made me drop to my knees. Upon standing up, I read the writing on it: Angel with Horns.

I frowned, confused. What kind of name is that? Definitely a nickname, but I wonder for whom. It sounds like a name you would give Jake, to be honest. After all, Lucifer was a fallen angel, I guess that’s the metaphor here. Although ... it sounded kinda familiar. Did I call him that?

I gazed around. A mess, a complete mess. Boxes, clothes, books, tech stuff scattered everywhere. I take it back ... he didn’t move in, nor was he about to move out. He was in the process of destroying his every belonging.

“Jesus ...” I gasped when I noticed the large shelf beside the kitchen door. It was big enough to fit most part of the wall, but almost every book was lying on the floor, and the shelf itself was upside down. When I neared it, I gulped, bringing a hand to my mouth.

Blood. There were stains of blood on some pieces of the shelf, as if he’d punched it off the wall. It looked old, the blood, I mean, so this probably happened a long time ago. Was I to guess, I’d say somewhere between my coma and my amnesia.

I moved past the whole valley of destruction and chilliness that was the living room, and headed to the master bedroom. Given the premises, I expected nothing less of what I saw.

If the living room was a mess, the bedroom was even worse. There were all sorts of things scattered on the bed. A box had been definitely ripped apart and the content had been thrown there. The weird part is, in this whole chaos, the only thing that seemed to have been kept almost religiously safe was that box, the Angel with Horns one. I wonder what’s in there.

I neared the bed, eyes on the stuff all over it. There were all sorts of things: books, t-shirts, shirts, sweats, even socks, but also a toothbrush, toothpaste, heck, even hair products ... “Oh, no ...” my eyes widened when it hit me.

Breakup stuff. Things you leave at your partner’s house and are given back when ... since the clothes were male, I’m gonna guess this is stuff he left at my place.

I gave it all back, huh? So the breakup was more permanent that everyone led me to believe. I mean, I’ve watched movies, too. I know that when you take a box, and fill it with the things he left at your place, then you’re definitely ready to move on from him. I guess I was.

I turned around, and gazed at the corridor, mentally seeing the box in the living room. Angel with Horns. Oh. So if this is him, then ... then that’s me. “He tore the things I gave him back, yet kept my stuff like a relic.” I murmured to myself, finally putting it all together.

I know, I shouldn’t focus on such details, but ... it means more than you’d imagine. Maybe it’s that I work with words, that my job is to pay attention and read between the lines, but ... all things considered, the parallel is self-evident, and it also offers insight into our breakup.

It tells me two things. One, our relationship was much more unbalanced than I ever believed. Two, guilt is eating him away.

I mean, I know he did all he did, prison and everything, out of sense of guilt. I just ... never imagined it could be so deeply rooted within him. Maybe it’s because, with all that’s happening to me, I’ve started taking an interest in Psychology manuals, but the way I see it, this was his subconscious emerging. And it’s more dangerous than I could dare fathom.

Self-destruction, people. All those jokes about being shanked in prison, and how he has a ranking of ways to commit suicide. I thought it was just dark humor. I thought it was just his twisted sarcasm, the kind I’ve learnt to get used to lately. I dropped to the bed, the realization weighing me down.

He ... he deems himself responsible. For everything. I mean, yes, he did say it was his fault, I just ... never believed guilt could be so deeply rooted within him. How stupid of me. Jake actually preferred prison to me. My idiotically presumptuous ego had me believe it was an extreme act not to let me develop feelings for him, but it was more than that. He actually thinks he deserves it.

Jake actually, truly believes his place is amongst the scum of the Earth, because that’s how he sees himself.

My eyes bulged out of their sockets when those words slipped out of the tight cage my own brain set up for my memories. “I’m a murderer.” I whispered, my breaths hitching.

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