by Rebel Farris
Now
I was finally released from the hospital after three torturous weeks. They kept me in longer than normal due to my condition and inability to recognize reinjury.
On the day I was released, Press-zilla set up a press conference where I gave a public statement about putting the events behind me, though she made sure to tie it to the release of the new album. The first single is already at number eight on the Billboard charts.
I don’t think I’ll ever consider my music career a success until I can manage to make it without being tied to a newsworthy current event. I hate to sound ungrateful, but it does seem to cheapen the win a bit.
Then
“You’re ready for this. It’s time,” Dr. Farley said, urging me toward the door. “Go on. Your brother is waiting for you.” She smiled, lifting the deep-set wrinkles at the corner of her eyes.
She liked the way Nic and Evan adopted me as their sister. She said that those bonds were what would keep me grounded. Never let them go, and honor their strength.
“Remember your mantra?” she asked.
Her silver hair reflected the harsh sun coming through the sliding glass doors. Six months. It had been six months, and I was going home. Holly would be having her baby soon. I needed to be well enough to be there for her.
I smiled at the good doctor. “Inhale, summoning strength and courage to move forward. Exhale, releasing my fears and reservations.”
“That’s right. Just breathe, Maddie.” She patted me on my arm and turned back toward the front desk.
I followed the instructions and walked outside to meet Nic at the car. My new car. Nic sat in the driver’s seat of the 1966 Shelby Cobra s/c Roadster that I spent a lot of time working on here at the facility. My therapy car. It was supposed to be symbolic. I rebuilt the car like I rebuilt myself, and when I looked at it, I’d remember how far I’d come. Nic took it last week to get the paint job done. He told me that I didn’t get to pick the color, that was going to be a surprise.
My breath was stolen as my eyes roamed over it. The candy-apple red was the perfect shade—not too flashy, but still stood out. The off-center racing stripe was quirky but still classy. My heartbeat picked up. It really was very much me. I loved that my friends knew me well enough to surprise me and nail the mark. Tears of joy welled in my eyes as my smile spread. Nic hopped out without opening the door. He grabbed a gift box from the passenger seat and walked toward me.
“Hey,” I said, hugging him. “It’s perfect.”
“Isn’t it?” He smiled, obviously proud of himself. He held out the box to me. “From the girls… all of them.”
I opened the card first. It was from all of them, my daughters and my best friends. I opened the box and found a tube of lipstick, a black silk scarf, and a pair of those round Jackie O sunglasses. I laughed. Handing the box to Nic, I wrapped the scarf around my hair and put on the glasses.
“What do you think?” I asked, striking a pose complete with puckered lips.
He laughed. “You complement the car nicely.” He shook his head, grabbed my bags, and walked back to the car toward the passenger side.
I followed but hopped in the driver’s seat. I leaned over to use the side mirror to put on the lipstick. The shade was a perfect match for the car. I looked back to Nic and grinned. He smirked at me, somewhat amused. I get it, I’m a bit of a car nerd. So sue me.
My mood was light and happy. The day was a perfect spring day. And as I ran my hands over the steering wheel to really drive her for the first time, I couldn’t be happier. But a shadow loomed in the distance because I knew before I made it home, I’d one last stop to make.
Now
I open my eyes and jerk to sitting. The dreams—or nightmares, really—are a frequent occurrence still. Even after the two months I’ve been home from the hospital.
Dex reaches for me, sitting up and smoothing my hair off my shoulder. His arms wrap around me. He’s my rock, and every day, we grow more solid. His lips caress my shoulder, and my heart kicks up.
“Another nightmare?” he whispers.
I nod.
“You know—” He grasps my chin, turning my face to his. “I want to do your tattoo.” His fingertips trail over my ribs, sparking tingles of electric sensations in their wake.
“What tattoo?” I ask, breathlessly.
He’s scrambling my brain, which is his version of support; he distracts me from the terrors and holds me until I can get back to sleep.
“The one you came to me for when we first met.”
Oh. That tattoo. The one I told him to fuck himself with. “I dunno…”
“What are you afraid of?” He snorts. “It’s not like the pain is an issue for you.”
“You,” I state. “Hours of having your hands on me and not going anywhere with it… sounds like torture. Especially since we just got the green light from my doctor.” I bounce my eyebrows at him.
His shoulders bounce with silent laughter. “I love you. Seriously, I do.”
“I know…” I lean into him and try to steal a kiss, which he evades. “I love you, too.” Such a fucking tease.
“I keep meaning to ask—why would you agree to the red calla lily?”
I sigh. I honestly expected him to ask a long time ago. “Because I was trying to take my power back. That shit—being stalked—makes you feel powerless and violated in the worst way. It was like he continually raped what was once a sweet gesture given to me by someone I loved. I decided that I needed to take it back. I needed to make it about Jared and stop him from having that piece of me.”
“You…” His lips brush mine. “Are…” His hand curls around the base of my skull. “Amazing…” His teeth tug on my lower lip, and I open for him. His tongue dives in, and he kisses me until I feel drunk on him.
He breaks away. “But I gotta request.”
“You do?” I’m not interested. I want to grab his cock and taste it. I want to put it in me. There are a thousand places my mind is at, but it’s definitely not on tattoos.
“Yes.” He holds me off as I try to climb into his lap.
He’s got my attention now.
“I want to change it, but it will be a surprise.”
“Okay,” I say. “One condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Fuck me.”
I’m on my back so fast, it takes my brain a second to catch up with it. We both sleep naked now, so it’s quite convenient. I feel his hard length between my legs. The heat rolls off it. I want it.
His body slides down mine. “I gotta condition for you.”
“Give it to me.” I don’t know if I’m asking for his mouth or his condition, but either will do. I’m addicted to this man. Mind, body, and soul.
“I get to blindfold you, we do it all at once since you can take it, and you have to be naked.”
“That’s three conditions. But you can make me come three times to make it up to me.”
“Done.”
Then
Nic stayed in the car as I walked across the driveway and stepped onto the pristine green grass. My steps were slow. My feet felt heavy as I weaved between stones placed by countless loved ones.
My palms were sweating from nerves against the cool stems of the flowers in my grip. I found my destination. I decided to go with the easiest first. Though none of this was easy. The top of the wide headstone was inscribed:
Our brief partings on Earth
will appear one day as nothing
beside the joy of eternity together.
God, they really loved each other. I guessed that was why she never moved on. It broke my heart that they didn’t have more time with each other. And that I didn’t have more time with them. I pulled out the first white calla lily and placed it on the left side. Directly underneath, I found the name of my father.
Alexander Josef Dobransky
Loving Husband, Father, and Hero.
Always
in our thoughts…
“I’m sorry I forgot you. I don’t think that says anything about you as a father. By all accounts, you loved me with all your heart. I’m told I was once a daddy’s girl. I wish I knew what that looked like. I do love you. I hope you’re taking care of Mom, wherever you guys are.”
To the right, I placed the other white calla lily.
Catherine Rosita Dominguez Dobransky
Beloved Wife, Mother, and Friend
…Forever in our hearts.
Tears broke free and ran down my face. I used the end of the scarf to wipe them away from my chin.
“Mom—” My voice cracked. “I can’t—you don’t know how much I miss you. It’s… I need you all the time, and you’re not here. I’m trying really hard to be the best mom I can be to the girls. I fuck up more than I do good. I hope they see my breakdown as proof of my love for their father, and not just another in a long line of screwups when it comes to them. You’d have loved them fiercely. They’re so beautiful. I named Cat after you, but really, Cora is just like you. She has that calm, quiet grace that I’ve only seen from you. She’s also fierce like you. I know you’re probably disappointed in the mess I made of my life. But I’m getting better. I’ll make you proud, I promise.”
I stood in silence for a bit longer before my feet found the will to move to the next spot. I weaved through several more rows before I found it. Grass had grown over the grave, but time hadn’t fully flattened the earth that covered him. My hands trembled as I placed the final red calla lily on the gravestone in front of me. When I touched it, my knees gave out, and I fell to the ground. I stared at the name, letting the harsh reality sink in once more. The blood. The cold. I wouldn’t ever forget.
“Jared,” I choked out. “God, I loved you. I still do. You were my first love. And I’ll probably still love you with my dying breath.”
My fingertips traced over his name. Jared Ethan Wilson. Such a tragic end to such a beautiful soul. I knew all the angry words said, all the violence and temper, wasn’t him. He was sick. So, I chose to remember the good in him. The guy who told me he’d love me forever. The one who would play me songs to tell me how he felt. The one who used music to guide his emotions, to connect with his soul, and taught me to do the same. I was forever changed by this man.
My fingers followed the veins of the white marble down to the inscription.
Though his song has ended,
the melody lingers on.
His parents chose that, not me. I was rather catatonic in the days, weeks, months after his death. A weak, horrible fiancée. A shitty mother. I feared what my epitaph would say. Turning, I sat and leaned my back against the cold stone.
“I’m sorry… for everything. I think life boils down to those moments. The ones that are tough to handle. You show what you’re really made of when pressed to act on instinct. You were right about me. I found out a couple of months later that I was pre—pregnant. I wasn’t eating right, drinking enough fluids. My body was shutting down, so it did what it needed to do.” I sighed. “I’m really starting to rack up the body count. You know the fucked-up part was that I won’t ever know if it was his or yours. I’d like to think it was yours. That the girls had a little brother on the way. One that would look like you but have my hair and eyes. The physical polar opposite of the twins. He would’ve been so handsome. We would’ve loved him. That would’ve been a beautiful future.”
I closed my eyes, and I could see his face. My doctor told me that it was important to visualize the good times, that focusing on the bad only feeds into the nightmares and flashbacks. And it made the panic attacks more frequent.
“I’m going to open a music school or someplace for children, in your name. I know you would like that as your legacy. You taught me to love music and saved me when I really needed saving. You need to continue to do that for other kids.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a tissue to blow my nose when I could no longer breathe. I said goodbye and got up to leave. I’d said that today was a beautiful day and I was happy, but it was a lie. I was putting on a good front for everyone, but inside, I was dead. I was just living in a hell of my own making. This—all of it—was the punishment for my sins, and I’d suck it up and take what I deserve.
Now
The light switch flips with an audible click, followed by the hum of fluorescent lights as they warm up. I walk into the largest of the three rehearsal rooms we have at Mad Lane Records. Moving to pull off my leather jacket, I stop as the cool air kisses my skin and shrug it back into place.
My stomach is queasy with nerves. I won’t throw up. I couldn’t bring myself to eat anything this morning, so there’s nothing to come up. I wring my hands and look around. It’s the same empty room it’s always been. There are a few couches against the wall where the door is. Scattered wires, microphones, and a few amps are lying around.
But all of that the eye easily skips over. What catches my eye and seizes my attention is the stained glass window. It casts a kaleidoscope of colorful shadows across the room.
The scene depicted in this one is Jesus cradling the head of a blind man, bestowing the gift of sight. The blind man is on his knees, begging for mercy. The whole window is in shades of blues, greens, and purples, but Jesus stands tall in blood-red robes. The artist who designed these many years ago was really good. You can feel the emotion from the way their limbs are placed. Forgiveness.
I’m not the religious type. I believe there’s a higher power, but I don’t think anyone on earth is truly capable of understanding what that is. I think we all grasp at straws and believe the most convenient lies. Lies that feel comfortable, whether it’s ingrained from birth or, like a true rebel, you choose it on your own. It’s like those scientists who theorize that there’s another dimension, but we can’t perceive it because our minds are too limited. We just aren’t advanced enough to understand or comprehend the truth.
So, God, Buddha, Allah—whatever you want to call him or her—he’s not a being. It’s a force beyond comprehension. But there’s one thing that I do believe: love is as close as we can humanly get to it.
The door clicks open behind me. I know who it is. No need to look. I only lied to one person and told him we were starting an hour before we were scheduled to be in here.
“Sorry I’m late,” Asher says, his voice moving across the room behind me. “Where is everyone?”
“You’re not late.” My voice sounds hollow.
I look at the clock on my phone. He’s only five minutes behind schedule. Did he really think everyone gave up and left so quickly? I don’t really know. I’m too busy staring at Jesus.
“I know, Asher.” I try to impart the full subtext behind those two words with my tone. “I know what happened that night.”
The sound of his movement stops. I can feel his eyes on me like tiny laser beams burning through my back.
“But I suppose you’ve guessed that. You’re the only one who would know that Detective Martinez wouldn’t have confessed to murdering Jared.”
The silence is my answer. The fact that we’re standing in a soundproof room makes the stillness even louder. The kind of quiet that rings in your ears like the pounding blades of a helicopter as they whip through the air.
“I tried to stop him,” he says, finally. “It was an accident.”
I close my eyes. The tone of his voice sends shivers down my spine. Despair and pain.
“How?” My voice feels like it’s detached from my body. “Tell me what happened.”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes,” I say with a nod, my eyes still glued to Jesus for support.
“Come sit,” Asher coaxes.
I’m not sure that I can look at him just yet, so I stay frozen in place.
“I was here that night because I’d nothing better to do. I tried to go to the hospital, but they escorted me off the property. She wouldn’t let me in, and I wouldn’t t
ake no for an answer. I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t sit alone in an apartment with my thoughts. I knew she was there, but no one would tell me why.”
I cringe at the mention of Holly. That was a rough spot for all of us. We still don’t know why she refused to tell Asher what happened. I know she still hasn’t.
“Jared showed up here, his face was scratched and bruised. His shirt was torn, and there was blood on it. More blood than what could’ve possibly been from those scratches. He had a bottle of Jack in his hand, drinking straight from the bottle, a gun in the other hand. He was riled up, too. He kept repeating that it was over. That he fucked up. You gave up on him and it was all over.”
I close my eyes. It doesn’t matter how much time had passed, this’ll probably always hurt.
“I was worried about you. I’d seen him come close to hitting you several times. And that was with an audience. I still have no clue what went on behind closed doors with you two, but I thought the worst.”
Jared had only ever hit me once, before he lost himself to his madness. I don’t think he would’ve ever done it again, but we never got the chance to test that theory.
“He had that gun. And my…” Asher’s voice chokes on emotion.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter as tears silently track down my face.
“My first thought was that he had finally snapped and killed you. I asked him what happened—where you were. He was mumbling things I couldn’t understand half of. But I did catch the part where he said he hurt you and you broke up with him. I asked him for the gun because I was worried that he was going to use it on someone eventually. Especially the more that bottle disappeared… But he turned it on me. Started saying shit like I was after you, too. Slowly poisoning you against him.”
“He was sick.” My voice comes out crusty, and I clear my throat. “I wish I would’ve tried harder to get him help. But back then, I was so sure that it was me. That I needed to stop being me to please him. That if I were someone different he wouldn’t look at me like I was a monster. He would look at me the way he used to.”