by I. A. Dice
“He’s gone.” I lingered in the doorway. “He won’t bother you again, baby doll. How are you feeling?”
Instead of her, I watched the floor beneath her feet. She stood, came closer and cupped my face, forcing me to look into her eyes.
“I’m scared,” she said, hitting me right where I didn’t want to be hit. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it, and I promised not to hide the way I feel.”
I found the courage to look into her eyes. “You’re scared of me?”
“No, of course not, why…”
Recognition crossed her face, and she pressed her lips to mine. The innocent kiss turned greedy quickly, as if the emotions raging inside of us needed an outlet and showcasing how much we cared was the best route to take.
“I know you would never hurt me.” She inched away. “I’m scared Adrian will do something reckless.”
“It’s his life and his choice. You’re not responsible for him.” I kissed her head, pressing her to my chest. “It’s time for you to let him go.”
Nadia hardly slept that night, tossing and turning, plagued by nightmares. I waited, expecting a panic attack to bring her down, but a whole week went by without as much as one tear.
My phone woke me in the middle of the night, eight days after Adrian came to London. Nick’s number flashed on the screen, summoning a feeling of impending doom.
I sat up straight and slid my thumb across the screen, rubbing the sleep for my eyes even though my heart pounded in my chest. The reason behind Nick’s call at three thirty-five in the morning was obvious.
“Ty just called,” he sighed. “Adrian’s dead. He overdosed.”
I glanced over my shoulder to Nadia, hoping to find her asleep, but her eyes were wide open, face pale. She gritted her teeth, fisting the sheets as if doing whatever she could not to lose it.
“I’ll call you in the morning.” I cut the call.
“Adrian’s dead?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper as if her throat closed tight and it was a struggle for her to speak.
I switched the night lamp on and rested against the headboard, pulling Nadia into my arms. My muscles were tense as I braced for tears and screams, but Nadia just cuddled into me, pressing her cheek against my chest as if the rhythm of my heart could keep her grounded.
“He overdosed,” I said, kissing her head.
I expected her to fall apart the moment I confirmed, but nothing happened. Her behaviour didn’t change; she didn’t cry or scream; she didn’t acknowledge the news in any way.
I wrapped my arms tightly around, my mind racing. She didn’t move or speak for over an hour. I gave her time to process, and react, but when she moved away from me close to five in the morning, she gave me nothing: no tears, no words. She got out of bed and locked herself in the master bathroom, then turned on the faucet to fill the bath.
My head banged on the headboard, blood in my veins thick and cold, worry like parasites infesting my stomach.
She’s in shock. She’ll be okay.
I slipped a pair of tracksuit bottoms on and made my way downstairs. I sat in the kitchen, drinking one espresso after another while Nadia was taking a long bath.
Time ticked slowly. Each second stretched like a balloon. Each filled with the images of Nadia—broken and fragile. That was what I expected to see once she would join me downstairs.
I fucking hoped to see her in tears or at least angry. Something, anything, really. A reaction different from calm indifference.
It wasn’t natural, especially not for Nadia, who cared about people more than they deserved to be cared about. In the face of all Adrian had done to her, she should have danced around the room, but I knew that would never happen. She cared about Adrian regardless of the pain and humiliation. She cared because she saw good where there was none.
I rang Nick, brewing another espresso.
“Have you told her?” he asked, answering within seconds. “How is she doing?”
“She’s in shock, I think… or in denial. What did Ty say?”
Nick let out a long sigh. “Not much, just that he found Adrian at his apartment. He called the ambulance, but there was nothing they could do at that point. He was dead for a few hours already.”
Just then, Nadia appeared in the doorway wearing a baggy sweater, her hair combed back, face pale but still no tears.
“Nadia’s up. I’ll speak to you later.”
“Yeah, okay. Let me know how she’s doing.”
I placed the phone on the counter, my eyes glued to Nadia. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and bit on it hard.
“I’m scared,” she whispered, the sincerity of her words undeniable.
My chest squeezed painfully. “To accept that he’s gone?”
She shook her head, crossing the room, and pressed herself against my side, fisting my shirt. “I’m scared because I don’t feel anything. I’m waiting for the grief to catch up, but it’s not here. I’m just numb.” A few tears fell from her eyes, and she wiped them with a sleeve of her black jumper. “What is wrong with me?” she choked.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead, hiding her in my arms, relieved that she began to relax. Despite her unnatural state, her reaction to my touch was still natural.
“You’re in shock, baby. Once that wears off, you will feel. Be it sadness or anger… it’ll come,” I muttered, stroking her hair. “You need to let yourself mourn.”
She clung to me like a small, frightened child all day. We laid on the couch under a blanket. The TV was on to fill the silence, but neither of us paid any attention. We barely spoke, and with each passing hour, I worried about her more.
She fell back asleep around five in the afternoon, her face partially hidden under the blanket, face pale, dark circles under her eyes. I didn’t dare move, neither when my phone rang in the kitchen, nor when someone knocked on the door an hour later.
Nick had enough common sense to let himself in. He walked into the living room, and I pressed my index finger to my lips so he would keep his voice down.
“She’s asleep,” I explained, assessing our position to see if I could move away without waking her.
It took effort, but I scrambled off the couch and followed Nick into the kitchen, closing the door behind us.
“How is she?” he asked, placing a bottle of vodka on the counter.
I lit a cigarette, rubbing my face. “Still the same. Numb and scared because she doesn’t feel anything.” I let out a long sigh. “I’m fucking scared, too. She’s almost indifferent, and I don’t know what to do.”
Nick poured two drinks, and passed on to me, staring at the door behind my back.
“You said it. She’s in shock. Give her time.”
“It’s been twelve hours.”
Nick scoffed. “How long did it take you to accept that Adam was gone? Three days, right? Twelve hours is nothing, Thomas. I mean, he already tried to kill himself twice.”
I took another long drag and pinched the ash into an ashtray. “Do you think she’s waiting to hear that he is okay?”
“I don’t know. All I’m saying is…”
A spine-chilling wail stopped Nick mid-sentence. My body turned rigid, Nadia’s screams like pins in my eardrums. I jumped to my feet, running out of the kitchen.
She sat on the couch, clutching the blanket, rocking back and forth, a full-blown panic attack in progress.
Worry didn’t register in my brain. I was grateful.
I knew what to do. I knew how to help her.
CHAPTER 27
NADIA
Do-overs
Shock wore off and all the feelings associated with losing someone that was a big part of your life crushed me the moment I opened my eyes. A heart-braking wail came from my lips, my body cold and fragile.
Instead of the worst moments of my relationship with Adrian, my mind pushed the best ones to the front, magnifying the sorrow.
Every smile Adrian brought to my lips resurfaced; every kiss played out before my eyes;
every affectionate word rang in my ears.
The walls were closing in, my chest so tight I couldn’t breathe, but somehow, I remained grounded in Thomas’s living room, clutching the fluffy blanket to my chest that was ripped wide open.
Thomas burst into the room seconds later with Nick, his face determined, eyes focused. He expected this, waited for me to fall apart so he could show me how to be whole again. He gripped my arms, and sat down, pulling me into his chest. His arms wrapped around me; every move confident as if scripted; rehearsed.
“You’re okay,” he uttered, holding me in place. “I’m here.”
His cheek pressed against mine; his arms locked my frame, the purposely built cage like a straitjacket for the feelings eating me alive.
“He’s gone,” I cried. “He’s gone…”
Thomas positioned our hands on my sides, pressing hard, dominating me, my heartache and my vulnerability.
“The worst thing you can do now is hide the way you feel,” he said. “Don’t pretend for anyone’s sake. I can handle your pain, baby doll. I’ll hold you while you cry, and I’ll love you just the same when you stop.”
Words were stuck in my throat. My heart ached too much to melt at his words, even though those were the most beautiful words I ever heard anyone speak.
Thomas accepted my mourning; he accepted that I cared about Adrian regardless of what he put me through.
“Don’t hold it in and don’t put it off until later. Let go,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. Now show me how it hurts.”
“Don’t pretend, okay? Drop the mask and understand that I love the darkness you hide underneath.”
I let the darkness in; I allowed the grief to consume me whole, to flood the deepest parts of my being. I squeezed Thomas’s hands while I cried the way I only cried once in my life… the day I lost my father.
Nicholas left us alone moments later, either unable to watch me fall apart or unwilling to interrupt.
Thomas held me for a long time. I stopped crying and wriggled out of his grip long enough to turn around, push him back, and climb on top of him. I rested my head on his chest, nuzzling my nose in the crook of his neck, eyes closed.
I wanted to fall asleep and wake up when the grief subsided, but sleep didn’t want to take me. It was dark outside when I sat up, my body exhausted and dehydrated.
I crossed the room and took a packet of cigarettes from the breakfast bar, heading out to the garden. Cold air introduced goose bumps to my skin the moment I sat down on the swing. It was nice to feel the cold, to feel something other than emptiness.
I slid my thumb across the screen of my cell and scrolled through the contact list down to T. The air smelled of dust and wet leaves, grounding me the way peppermint tea did for a long time. Smoke filled my lungs when I pressed the phone to my ear, staring at the blank, black canvas stretching high above my head.
“Hey, girl,” Ty breathed, “How are you holding up?”
Silent tears rolled down my checks at the sound of his voice. We were on the same boat, mourning someone who in the eyes of many didn’t deserve to be mourned.
“Why does it hurt so much?”
I clasped my hand over my lips, then made a fist and bit my knuckles to stop the sobs.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered close to tears. “He wouldn’t want that.”
“I just… I wish there was more I could’ve done to help him stay clean. He was doing so well! Why did he give up?”
“He had more support than he deserved, Nadia. We were there for him. It’s not like he was alone, but he couldn’t stop using. It wasn’t because he had no other choice. It’s because he didn’t want to fight.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat inhaling another cloud of thick smoke. “Did he leave a note?”
“No. I don’t think it was suicide, girl. He didn’t plan this one. It was an accident. He overdosed. It happens all the time.”
Doors opened behind my back, and I turned around to see Thomas approach me with a warm blanket in his hand. He wrapped it around me and kissed my head, then took a seat and lit a cigarette.
“Are you coming to the funeral?”
Thomas drew me to his side. The in-call volume on my phone was set to eighty percent, but the silent night meant Thomas heard every one of Ty’s words. I knew he would board the plane with me if I wanted to watch Adrian’s coffin being lowered into the ground.
“No,” I muttered. “I said goodbye to him when he gave me the ticket, and that’s how I want to remember him.”
If there was anything I owed Adrian, the one who understood he had to let me go, then fighting for the girl I used to be was it.
EPILOGUE
NADIA
8 months later
The smell of freshly baked apple pie spread around the house as I made my way downstairs, my stilettos tapping on the marble floor. I kept glancing at the screen of my cell phone, checking for missed calls, even though the device was glued to my palm for the last five days.
“Good morning!” my mother said cheerfully, turning around to look at me as she cleared the post-baking mess. “Any news?”
“Still nothing. I wish they would do something!” I huffed for the hundred time this week, pouring myself a cup of freshly brewed coffee.
Over the past eight months, we managed to bury the hatchet. Well, I did. I forgave her for cheating on Dad, and slowly, we rebuilt our relationship. We were never to be as close as her and Nick, but we were getting closer every time she visited.
After Adrian’s death, I realised life was too short to hold a grudge. It was too short to live in the past, and it was too short to allow blame and guilt to drag me down. I accepted Adrian’s choice to drown in his addiction; I made peace with his abuse and death. Nothing made me feel as close to normal as accepting that my Dad’s death was no one’s fault.
My guilt shifted, blame dispersed and the huge burden lifted off my shoulders, making it a hundred times easier to move on from all the bad that happened during the last four years.
Three months after Adrian’s funeral, I stopped the anti-depressants. One month later, I reduced my therapy sessions to twice a week.
Thomas remained my pillar of hope and strength. In the moments of weakness, he was right there by my side, chasing the memories away, keeping me grounded, happy and hopeful.
I glanced at the engagement ring, smiling. Thomas went down on one knee while we were away in Rome for his birthday in May, but despite the initial rush, we hadn’t yet set a date for the wedding. We focused on getting me back to normal, as normal as I could be.
“It takes time, sweetie. The due date is just an estimate. You were late eleven days.”
“I know,” I sighed. “But Mel’s so uncomfortable now. I mean, the whole pregnancy was a struggle, but now she’s so miserable that I’m worried.”
The summer, which was unusually hot for England, took a huge toll on Mel. The third trimester during the summer months was no joke. Karen flew over last week to help with the new-borns. The guest bedroom at the cottage was turned into a baby room, and I invited her to stay with me and Thomas.
In most cases, twins arrive two to three weeks early, but Jasmine and Daisy stayed put, enjoying the safety of their mummy’s tummy too much to vacate the premises. Today marked the fourth date after Mel’s due date. We were all growing impatient, especially since tomorrow Amelia was booked in for induction, and she wanted to avoid that at all costs after reading some horror stories online.
Google—a pregnant woman’s best friend. Not.
Karen opened the oven and put a tray of cookies in, then set the timer for thirty minutes and hung the kitchen towel over her shoulder. She spent time batch cooking for Mel and Nick so they wouldn’t have to worry about food during the first few weeks, but she filled their freezer after three days. She then cleaned their house top to bottom, and once she ran out of tasks, I asked for an apple pie.
“What time will Thomas be back?”
He had been away
on business trips in Madrid, Milan, and Prague for the past two weeks. If Mel wasn’t expecting to go into labour any minute, Nicholas would be away with him, which would have shortened both of their trips. But since Mel was expecting to go into labour any minute, Thomas had to take over Nick’s share of the meetings.
I checked the time on my phone. “He landed half an hour ago.”
Karen smiled, hearing the excitement in my voice.
“I’m sure he missed you. Don’t worry; I’ll get out of your hair soon. Nick is supposed to pick me up in an hour. I think he needs help with keeping Mel in good spirits.”
My phone rang in my hand. I spilled the coffee trying to answer, put the coffee down and got up seeing Nick flash on the screen.
“Are we in labour?!” I asked.
“Yes, we are! We’re just getting in the car. Meet us at the hospital, but wait for Thomas, okay? I called him, and he’s ten minutes away from home. Mel’s contractions are three minutes apart. There’s time.”
“Okay, we’ll be there soon!” I disconnected the call and jumped up and down, hugging Karen. “Get ready! Thomas will be here in a minute, and we’re going straight to the hospital.”
Karen rushed upstairs to change, while I cleaned the spilled coffee and paced the kitchen, counting down from ten minutes. The main door opened just as Karen descended the stairs.
I rushed out to the hallway. Thomas dropped his bag on the floor just as I crashed into him like a small battering ram.
“Finally,” I muttered.
He lifted me off the floor, planting his lips on mine, one hand under my bum for support, the other caressing my face. A familiar, lustful tingling twisted my insides when his tongue teased my bottom lip. Thomas deepened the kiss, his breathing hastened.
“Good morning,” he breathed out, his eyes velvet and filled with desire. He brushed my hair away from my face. “Are you glad I’m home, or glad I’ll take you to Amelia?”
“Both.” I kissed him again and stood back on my own two feet. “I love you. I missed you. Can we please go now?”
He chuckled, looking over my shoulder. “Good morning, Karen.”