Stitched: A Story of Pain, Despair and The Healing Power of Love

by ChaShiree M.

  “You. Sandalwood and sweat. You helped me once before, didn’t you?” My heart began to beat for an entirely different reason. The fact that she registered my existence at all is more than I could have hoped for. This Angel has seemingly kept my scent in her mind for all this time.

  “Yes. It was me.” She looks at me through squinty eyes and asks with more than a hint of skepticism, “Why?”

  “Why what?” I ask her even though I know what she is asking.

  “Why did you help me then and now?”

  At this moment, I am at a fork in the road. I can either come up with some offhand comment about luck or her looking like she needed some help, no big deal. Or, I could take a chance and tell the truth and see where it would lead us.

  “Because you are my Angel. Since the moment I saw you I felt as if you were brought here for me to protect and I intend to.” Realizing what I said to her, I hold my breath because even to me I sound like a stalker. I look into her eyes expecting her to scream and run from me, but she doesn’t do that.

  Her eyes get big and she whispers, “Your Angel?”

  I move some hair out of her face and look into the most beautiful green eyes I have ever seen. Up close she is even more gorgeous. Her eyes are mesmerizing, and her lips are positively sinful. They are shaped like a bow and have a natural pout with a pink tint. My mind wanders to sharing our first kiss.

  “Look, I don’t know you or why you are even here, but I wish you would have let me go. I have no reason to stay here anymore. My only friend in the whole world just killed herself, leaving me all alone. I have no family and nowhere to turn. I just want to go and finally have some peace. You should have j-just l-l-let me g-g-g-g-oo….”

  She sobs this at me and I feel the moisture starting to form in my eyes. Fuck. My poor Angel is so broken. No, not broken. She is torn. Ripped to shreds with the pieces flapping in the wind. My only thought in this moment, besides the need to hold her is to find a way to fix her. For sure, I can't take her back to her dorm room like this. Those vultures will eat her alive.

  I scooped her up and carried her the three blocks to my apartment, taking her upstairs. She fell asleep halfway to my place. I lay her down gently on my bed, remove her shoes and jacket, and pull a cover over her. Standing at the foot of the bed, I can’t help but think how right she looks in my bed surrounded by my things. Which further hits home that she is my reason for being.

  There have been plenty of times within my own life I have wanted to end it. Especially with the shit I am dealing with right now. But something always stops me. Something always whispered to me that my purpose has yet to be revealed. That I needed to hold on longer to reach the end goal.

  Well, I am 100% sure my end goal is asleep in my queen-sized bed.

  Why me

  I woke up long before he knew it. Although I was freaked out about waking up in some guys bed, my foremost thought was ‘why me’? I asked myself this question a lot growing up. Why was I the only kid with a mother who didn’t love her? Loathed by her in fact. Why am I the only kid in my high school who doesn’t know who her father is? Why am I here? Why am I still alive? I used to wish every day for my heart to stop, while I was asleep or even when I was awake. I could care less about the pain of falling dead or getting hit by a car. The pain would have been welcomed because it would mean I was dying. How fucked up is that? How messed up is it to wish for death of any variety, if it removes you from the hell on earth.

  Why me? That had become my mantra and I never got an answer. Laying on my back in his bed I realized a few things. I don’t know his name, I have no idea where we are, and most all I realized I still want to die. The ache in my chest from the hole Macy obliterated was growing more and more massive by the minute. Making me long for the end. Turning my head slightly to see if he is awake, I take in the face I didn’t get to really see.

  Oh, my is he gorgeous. He had this sort of James Dean, Rebel without a Cause thing going on. The difference being he has quite a bit more muscle than James Dean. Everywhere, by the look of his thighs that are laying outside of the blankets. Wow. I have never seen legs that big. But the most beautiful thing about him is the Adam’s apple I can see bulging out of his throat. My grandma, before she died, used to tell me, “Always look for a man with a pronounced Adam’s apple. That’s how you know you got a real man.” Well, he had to be real. Which begged the question once again, why me?

  A man like him could have any girl he wants. What the hell would he want with a fat, awkward, and ugly nobody? Deciding this must be some sort of prank or he just took pity on me; I roll over to get out of the bed, when his muscle bulging arm wraps around my waist. Looking down at it I notice he has a tattoo. Some type of writing on his forearm. He pulls me towards him and rolls me, so we are face to face. And what a nice face it is took look at.

  “Where do you think you are going beautiful?”

  Beautiful? Now I know this is some sort of joke or pity thing. No one in all my 18 years has ever called me that and really meant it. Time to go.

  “Uhm mm…. back to my dorm. Thank you for rescuing me…. I guess. In the future, when someone is about to end their life maybe take a second to think what they need to live for, before you interfere. A person that wants to do it, will just try again. Have a nice life.”

  There. That ought to of……

  “What the hell?” I squeal as I am being lifted and dropped back on the bed, but this time underneath him.

  “Is that your way of telling me you are going to try again?”

  Damn, he smells so good. And he feels good on top of me. Somehow his weight on me feels right, safe. I want to snuggle into him and never come out.

  “Just because your cute as hell sniffing me doesn’t mean you are not going to have to answer me Angel. Are you going to try again?” Realizing he is talking to me, I look up into his eyes and get lost again. “Fuck Angel. You can’t look at me like that. I have wanted to kiss you since I first saw you. If you keep looking at me like that, I will.”

  I should totally dispel him of this idea, but I find I want him to kiss me more than I should. I know this is wrong, because I just lost my best friend. Obviously, I am grieving and out of my mind. Right? Why else would I be considering this at all? Other than, there is something about having someone care enough about me, to watch me, and hold me when I need it. Something that I have never had.

  “I don’t know. I might. I certainly have no reason not to.” I whisper.

  “Well I beg to differ. Now you do. You have me. And a whole life ahead of you. I know it hurts what you’re going through and right now it seems impossible but trust me when I tell you that it will get better if you take it one day at time. And my goal is to help you do that. Even if it means I don’t let you go back to your dorm. If I must drop you off and pick you up everywhere and bring you here every night, damn it I will.”

  Maybe something like hope

  Whoa. This is intense. Who is this guy? Where did he come from? How would he even have time for all of that? My thoughts are so jumbled right now, I giggle. Because, out of all the thoughts I could have had this is what I am worried about. Stupid Lydia.

  “Ah babe. That giggle is the sweetest thing I have heard in a long time. Do you know what I would give to hear it every day?” I shake my head as I continue to look at him. And then suddenly I realize I don't’ know his name.

  “I don’t know what is happening here or why instead of running, I want to stay for it. But, what I do know is I don’t know your name.” he looks at me as if he doesn’t know what I am saying. Then he lets out full on deep from the gut laugh and rolls around on the bed.

  “Shit Angel.” He says still laughing his ass off. “Your right. I just jumped all in and didn’t even tell you my name. No wonder you’re looking at me like a lunatic. Hell, for that matter I don’t know yours either. Tell you what, why don’t we go into the kitchen and I will make us breakfast while we talk. Sound good?”

  I really should le
ave. Somehow, I feel like it might be better not knowing anything and making a clean break. But then again, if he knows as much about me as he says, then it won’t matter. Using that logic and not that he makes me feel things I have never felt. I nod my head and allow him to extricate me from the bed.

  We walk hand in hand down the massive hallway and for the first time, I look around. Holy hell. This place is beautiful. Wait. We are in a house. For some reason last night, I thought we were in an apartment. But this is a…. a mansion. Looking around me, I notice the decor is simple but sophisticated. The halls are all pristine white but appear to be outlined in chrome of some sort. The design is interesting as well. Walking from the bedroom, you walk down a long hall and if I look to my left there appears to be a spiral staircase leading further down into the house. On the right is another spiral staircase leading further up. Once you make it past this hall, you come to some sort of oblong entryway where I can see the front door. But, also leading to the kitchen and what I presume is an eat in dining room.

  Ok. seriously. Who is he?

  “I know you have a lot of questions and I will answer all of them to the best of my ability. What do you like for breakfast. Lisette has a lot of casseroles stored in the freezer. One of which, I am sure is a breakfast one. Or we can have pancakes, bacon, and eggs or whatever you like.”

  My body freezes up as he mentions another woman. The letdown is unnecessary because we had nothing. But somehow it feels like we did, and it hurts all the same. I should have known. Of course, a guy that looks like him, would have some supermodel looking chick warming his bed every night. What would he really want with someone like me.

  I need to get out of here.

  “On second thought, I am not hungry. Thank you for everything. See you around, I guess.” I turn on my heels and try to remember what all I need to grab from his room. Before I make it to the edge of the kitchen, I am lifted and thrown over his shoulder.

  “What are you doing? Put me down.” I yell at him and beat his back. He of course ignores me and keeps walking until we reach what I am assuming is the counter. Then, he places me there and spreads my legs so that he can stand in between them.

  “Angel. You are going to have to stop running away from me. If something upsets you, tell me or ask me about it. I will never lie to you. Now, I am guessing it was the mention of Lisette. Am I right?”

  I chew on my bottom lip and refuse to look at him. Who the hell does he think he is trying to get into my head. I don’t need this. I need to get away from him and figure out what the hell I am going to do with my life. If I even want it now. Because without Macy, even school doesn’t seem viable. I had been holding on all this time waiting for her, so I was able to get lost in it. But now, knowing that she is never going to come, and I am going to be living with some strange girl; makes matters worse, since I am sure she will be awful like all the others.

  “Hey. Where did you go Angel?” ‘Angel’. Every time he calls me that, I feel the temperature in my body go up a couple of notches. If I were the type of girl who swooned, I would swoon over him.

  “Who is she?” I cannot stop myself from asking the question. Even so, I feel totally embarrassed by wanting to know, so I ask with my head down and my face covered.

  Should have known he would not let that stand. He pulls my hands from my face, lifts my chin between his index finger and thumb, and simply says. “My housekeeper/cook.”

  Aaaand now my face is beet red from acting like a child about the whole thing. But something about him makes me feel...well…. childish and out of my depth. I have feelings I have never had and thought I should not be thinking, considering all that has gone on in my life and well...desires I never thought I would feel.

  “Now what would you like to eat?”

  “I am not really a breakfast person, so eggs, toast, and bacon would be fine.”

  “Then so be it. Now, I know you are itching to grill me. So, go ahead. Ask me anything you want to know in the time it takes me to make breakfast. Because after that, you and I will be discussing something else.”

  Oh boy. Something tells me I will not like that conversation.

  “For starters what is your name?”

  “Luke Ross.”

  “Luke Ross. Nice to meet you. My name is Lydia Stone.”

  “Lydia. It is my pleasure. Though you have a beautiful name that suits you just fine, I like Angel better, so I think I will stick to calling you that.”

  ‘I refuse to smile at him. I refuse to smile at him.’ No matter how many times I chant this to myself in my head, the smile renders itself anyway and there I go again acting in a way totally unlike myself. I need to change the direction of my wayward thoughts. Somehow. Ah I know.

  Looking around the room we are in and thinking of the house I have just seen, I am more convinced than ever that something isn't right.

  “Well Luke Ross. Looking at this place something doesn’t add up. You say you have seen me around campus, but you don’t live on campus and judging by the size of this house it is your permanent residence. So, either you’re a liar, a drug dealer on campus pushing your drug of choice, or something else is going on.”

  I don’t expect him to answer. As a matter of fact, I expect him to tell me to mind my own business and take me home. What I do not expect is for him to laugh, the most beautiful soul deep laugh that makes his eyes light up and makes him seem...younger somehow.

  “You, my angel, are very perceptive and quite the imagination. Ok. So. Yes, this is the town I grew up in and where I live. I am a student on Campus in my last year for my architecture degree. No. I am not a drug dealer. My parents were both heart surgeons and when they died in a plane crash five years ago, I inherited everything. It is more than I can spend in a lifetime, especially since I plan to work until I die.”

  My heart hurts now for a different reason. Him. He lost his parents. I wonder if they were close? If they hugged him and kissed him? If he knew they loved him? I mean not all parents can be like mine. Right?

  “I’m sorry. About your parents I mean. Were you close?”

  “We used to be. Not so much towards the end. But I loved them, and I knew they loved me.” Just as I suspected.

  “Must be nice. Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Considering how open he has been up until this point, I didn't expect anything else. But as soon as the question left my mouth, his eyes turned dark somehow and his face grim. I want to take it back as if I never asked it. I want the light banter we had back. But it's too late. I managed to mess it all up as usual. Maybe therefore my life has been filled with so much pain. Because somewhere upstairs, God knew I would be this...person. This awkward, unlovable, tortured person and he has been trying to get me to end it this whole time.

  It would have been easier for him to just strike me down. Now I know I made the right decision the other night. For a second this morning I thought maybe I could do this; but after seeing how quick I could cause someone to not like me, I know it is a lost cause.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. Thank you for breakfast. Do you mind taking me back to campus now?”

  He shakes his head at something and when he finally looks at me, his face is no longer dark but back to being light and clear.

  “I’m sorry Angel. It's not your fault. It is not something I like to talk about. And yes.” He says as he kisses my nose. “I would mind very much taking you back to campus. Especially since we have yet to have the talk I want to have. Let's go in the living room. You like coffee?”

  Do I like coffee? Huh.

  “Does a college student like pizza?” I ask in my deadpan voice.

  “Point taken. You, go and sit in there and I will bring us a cup.”

  Walking into the living room and looking around, the room is covered in pictures. Not a single inch of it is left open without some sort of picture or something in its place. It's literally a shrine. I walk around the room checking out the pictures and my chest begins to constrict in m
y heart. It is obvious from the photos how much they all loved each other.

  What I find the most striking though are the pictures of the young girl. She appears to be about 15-16 in the photos. To say she is beautiful would be an understatement. She is petite with emerald green eyes, high society cheekbones, but the warmest smile I have ever seen. It's clear she is more than model potential. However, looking around the rest of the room, I notice that any photo of her by herself is illuminated some sort of flameless light and flowers. As if...as if in remembrance.

  “That’s Claudette. She was 16 in the picture you are looking at. She would have been 22 this year. She died shortly after that picture was taken.”

  His voice appears unaffected. To anyone hearing him speak of her over the phone, you would think it matters so little. But to stand here and look at his face it is more than obvious it still haunts him.

  ‘Looks like I am not the only person with some darkness trailing them.’

  “I am so sorry Luke. You lost your whole family within one year of each other. I cannot imagine something so hard and pulling through it like you have. I mean look. I lost, just my best friend and decided to call it in. Huh. Guess it proves how weak I really am. You know….” I continue. I wish I knew what it was about him that makes me feel comfortable enough to say exactly what I am thinking. It is a quality I wish I had with everyone else, but him.

  “You know what's it like to realize you have no purpose here? I have known for a long time that my mere existence was a waste of space. I mean my own mother told me so my whole life. But then when Macy and I became friends I felt like ok, maybe she and I together could equal a basic purpose. But without her, I’m nothing. Less than a nobody. I…. don’t exist. It is so hard trying to zombie walk your way through life. Seriously. I don’t know how the undead does it. It is mentally exhausting. And I just…. I just don’t have it in me.”

  I whisper that last part, because somehow saying this to him feels…. wrong somehow. Not quite sure why, but it does.