by Ava Harrison
I grab my glass and take another swig to hush the voices. I’m desperate to drown them out. I’m exhausted. Even though I’ve slept for days, I’m so tired my body aches. Parker, Parker, Parker. His name spins through my head like a record on repeat. He echoes through my thoughts. My eyelids become heavy. Visions flash against my lids. One more sip will drown him out. One more sip will make me forget.
Sophie and Chase continue to call the next day and the day after that. My mother and father have also tried to contact me. I refuse them, too. Unlike Sophie and Chase, they aren’t calling to make sure I’m okay. Since I declined all their calls they started belittling me through text messages.
Dad: Are you ever planning to come to work?
Dad: It’s time to make a decision, young lady.
Mom: You really are a disappointment.
I need to tell them that I’ve decided I’m not working for Dad. That I’m not taking over the empire. That I’m not Owen. But I just can’t bring myself to text them back. Every time a new message arrives, the flood gates re-open, and I fall apart. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with myself. I know I have to get up. I have to stop this madness, but I can’t. Every time I allow my subconscious thoughts to surface, I feel as if I’m being dragged down. It’s too much. Feeling is too much. I tuck my thoughts away with one sip. That’s all it takes. One sip and the feelings lessen. Eventually they will disappear, and so I wait . . . fading in to the hum of the TV that drones on. It’s just a matter a time. A few more burns down my throat. I lay in my bed, and the drowsiness washes over me. It’s only a matter time before I succumb to sleep yet again. I dream of nothing when it comes. Pure peace.
Tick
Tick
Tick
My eyes flutter closed later that night. His eyes appear behind my lids. His blond hair is soft. The dimple I’ll never see again creases his cheek, and then he morphs. Perfect steel, a five o’clock shadow. Chase Porter. My eyes jet open, and I reach for the bedside table. Warm liquid coats my throat, burns my lungs, and forces out all the faces. Stumbling and sliding, I make it to the bathroom. Vomit splashes against the toilet. I grasp the porcelain as tears begin to stream.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I say, defeated, through my tears. No one is here to witness my hysterics, but my drunken mind doesn’t care.
“I can’t”—A sob rips through my chest. My throat aches and burns. I cover my face with my hands and lie down. My body shudders against the cool tile.
I wake up sometime later, still on the bathroom floor. I must have passed out from the exertion. The world is spinning. I drape myself over the toilet and let my stomach empty again. All my energy has been stolen. With every bit of strength I have, I crawl across the floor until I make it to the hardwood of my bedroom. I let out a moan that’s so loud and primitive, I fear the neighbors will call the cops as I pull my listless body into bed. Wrapping my arms around my torso, I try to cocoon myself, as if my frail limbs will keep the torment that lurks in the corners of my mind at bay. Through deep breaths, I try to calm my body as it shakes uncontrollably. A chill, black silence starts to surround me, and I allow it to cloak me in darkness. I welcome the reprieve.
THE SLEEP EVAPORATES.
The coolness of the air conditioner hits my limbs peeking out from my sheets. Light bursts in through gaps in the drapes hanging across the room. My eyelids flicker against the brightness. I reach out to swat it away, and my head throbs with the movement. It feels as if a train ran over me. My other senses awaken one by one, and I smell the alcohol lingering in the air. Reluctantly, I force myself to sit up in the bed, but when I’m fully seated, I realize what a mistake that is. My head spins and throbs from the movement.
What the hell do I do to feel better? And then I see it, the bottle of whisky on the bedside table. That will make it all go away. One sip and the hangover will be a distant memory. Swallowing hard, I shake my head. No, I’m stronger than that. As my gaze wanders back to the bottle, I clutch furiously at my chest. I roll over onto my sheets, cover my head, and try to fight the need coursing through my veins. I need it. I can taste it dripping down my throat even from across the room. No, you can’t do this.
Chase’s words rip through me. “Dig deeper. You can do this.”
I can.
One step at a time.
By slow degrees, I lift myself out of the confines of my bed. My feet hit the cold wooden floors, and I want to seek my refuge under the warmth of my sheets. As I take tentative steps, I groan. It hurts badly, but I need to make it to the bathroom. It’s only a few more steps.
“You can do anything for forty-five seconds.” That’s what Chase said, and he was right. I could and I would.
Entering the room, I make quick work of turning the shower on and stepping inside. The water is scalding. It’s so hot that it loosens the muscles that were tense only a few minutes ago.
I feel my soul being cleansed by the tiny droplets hitting my body. It soaks through me to the root of my problem. My shoulders slump forward as I allow the water to wash away my pain.
Chase inspired me. He motivated me to push myself outside of my box. Regardless of what happened between us, I couldn’t let those lessons fade away. No. From this moment forward, I will bask in the memories. I will treasure them. I won’t let his actions rob me of that. And most of all, I will continue to seek out what he taught me.
Live the life intended.
Inspiration can strike at the strangest times. A giggle escapes, shocking me. The sound is so foreign after everything I’ve been through these past few days.
Ideas of how to accomplish this goal race through my mind. The first step is to finally come to terms and figure out what I don’t want. Chase helped me realize so much, and Parker did, too. My lips turn up and my nose tickles from the familiar feeling of tears starting to brew. Nope. No more tears.
I put on my plush terry cloth robe and make my way to my phone. My heartbeat accelerates with fear. I was pretty awful, but I can’t stand the idea of Sophie being angry with me. I don’t remember exactly what I said the other day, but I know it was bad. I was drunk, and that’s no excuse, but unfortunately, it’s the only one I have right now.
“Hello.” Even though it’s just one word, I know she’s still on edge that I’ll jump down her throat about something.
“Hey, Soph.” My voice is sheepish, and as I wait for her to respond, I stare off across the room and out the window. When she doesn’t answer, I continue.
“Listen, I’m so sorry. I never should have . . . I . . .” I grab a piece of hair and twirl it in my hand.
“I know, Aria. I know that wasn’t you talking. I know it was the grief. You scared me, though.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry for that. I didn’t know how to cope, but it’s no excuse. I was wrong. I haven’t had anything to drink since yesterday, and I’m feeling pretty awful about everything.”
“You were scary, Aria. It was like my friend was gone. I know you have been through a lot, but if you feel you’re spiraling into self-destruction again, call me. And if you don’t want to speak to me, make an appointment to speak to someone. It’s not healthy to drown yourself in a bottle.” I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I know. I promise.”
“Have you spoken to Chase?” she asks, and I sigh. I was still avoiding his calls.
“No,” I admit.
“Are you planning to?”
“I’m not ready for that yet. I have a lot of soul-searching to do. I spent so many years trying to be Owen, to replace him, and in the end Parker was right. I need to learn to be me.”
“When you’re ready, you should speak to Chase. I think you need to even if only for closure.” I can hear the concern in her voice.
“I’m not sure of the point.”
“Sometimes people pretend so much it starts to become real. Maybe he intended to tell you, but it just got out of hand.”
“I hear you, but in the end he did lie to me. H
ow can I ever know if anything was genuine? If he actually ever cared or if I was, I don’t know, some sick, twisted—”
“Don’t even go there. Okay?” And with that, I stop myself. She’s right. I can’t go back to dwelling on that. Not when I finally began to make progress.
“Okay,” I mumble.
“So, do you want some company? Can I help you with anything?”
“I was just going to lay low and think about things, but yeah, why not? I would love some company.”
“I’m going to stop and pick up a pizza. We can talk about things once I get there. I’ll see you soon.”
“Thank you.” I hang up the phone, and it’s as though a weight has lifted off my body. I feel lighter than I have for days. Knowing she isn’t angry with me is just what I need to help me start healing.
THE NEXT DAY I wake up refreshed. We had an amazing dinner of margherita pizza, and I filled her in on everything that happened on my trip. I feel so much better today. So much better that I know exactly what I need to do now—and that’s start fresh. But where to start?
Job?
Chase?
Definitely job. I’m not strong enough yet to decide what to say to Chase. A part of me wonders if it’s easier to ignore it and go about my life, pretend none of it ever happened, and never confront him. I hadn’t known him that long, did I really owe it to him or myself to settle things? But then I realize that if I don’t speak to him, I’m doing what I’ve always done. I’m running. One thing I’ve realized through all of this is that you can’t run from your problems. I could have been with Parker. I could have had a few more moments with him just holding his hand if I hadn’t run. I won’t let myself regret the decision since Chase and our travels did teach me so much, but from now on, moving forward. No running.
I know for sure I don’t want to work for my father. I walk out of my room and sit down on the couch with my laptop. I majored in marketing in college and minored in business. Both would have been ideal if I was planning to take over the marketing department for our future real estate developments, but what else can I do with it? I can get a job working in another field, but that just doesn’t appeal to me either. The idea of sitting behind a desk sucks the life out of me. No, a desk job won’t work either. I open Google. I’ve never felt more alive than when I wandered aimlessly with Chase. So that’s where I start. Search engine topic . . . jobs for the free spirit. Hits . . . four unconventional jobs with great benefits.
This looks promising. My eyes roam the list, and I laugh so hard I snort. Circus Artist? This is the perfect job for me? Maybe I need to redefine my search. Adventure Travel Trip Leader? Now this has potential. Except for the part about adventure, that’s the tricky part. I make a note in my notepad to look into jobs involving travel that would allow me to explore the world and not have to commit to one place for long. The more I think of the idea, the more it excites me. Yeah, I will definitely look into this.
Beer Cicerone? I have no idea what this is and after reading over the description, this is not the job for me. Drinking beers as a profession is not the smartest choice for me. Next.
Stunt Performers? Yeah, NO! Hell NO! Moving on . . .
With nothing left on the list, I close the computer and decide to look more into travel jobs that don’t need to be performed in an office.
TWO WEEKS LATER ANd I’ve done more research than anyone should on the world of travel. The only thing that sounds remotely promising is a travel storyteller. As a travel storyteller you basically document your travels and large travel agencies and hotels pay you to stay at the hotel and ‘sample’ with cash or services. I’m not sure how much money is to be made in this venture, and truth be told, other than the random poem, I’m not very good at writing. I table the whole idea. Which leads me back to travel agent, but that would be behind a desk, and I refuse to do that. No desk job for me. I’m back to square one, my hands are in my hair pulling as I try to think. My phone vibrates and interrupts my thoughts.
Sophie: Meet me at Perked by my office for coffee?
Stretching my arms above my head, I let out a large yawn. At only three in the afternoon, I’m exhausted. I could use coffee.
Me: Sure, I can be there in fifteen. That okay?
Sophie: Perfect! See you soon
My steps are sluggish as I straighten myself from my chair and then leave. Making my way outside, the warm summer air hits my face and invigorates me. In the last two weeks, I’ve barely left my apartment, and I’ve missed the sights and smells of summer. My feet slip into a brisk step until I arrive. After placing my order for a cookie and a latte, I find a table in the corner and wait.
Sophie makes her way inside the coffee house a few minutes later. Her hazel eyes peek out from above her sunglasses.
“Hey, girl.” Her mouth parts into a huge smile, and she walks right up to me and sits down at the table I’m occupying.
“Hi.” She reaches her hand across the table, grabs the cookie sitting in front of me, and takes a bite.
“Anything I can get for you?”
“Nope, I’m good.” She smiles while batting her eyelashes at me.
“Yeah, I see that. Want my coffee, too?” She lets out a laugh, reclines her body in the chair, and sighs.
“This summer internship is killing me, Aria.”
“That sucks. So what’s going on there? I completely forgot to ask.”
“Let’s just say, my boss makes all other bosses seem like saints. She has me working crazy hours. Don’t get me wrong. It’s sick experience to be working for the hottest new designer out there. But fuck, Aria. I’m tired.”
“How did I get so lucky to be able to meet up with you?”
“Ahh, yes. London is out of the office for the rest of the day. She had a meeting over at W with the head of fashion accessories. I guess they are featuring her new crocodile line in next month’s issue.”
“Wow, that’s amazing.” Her red stained lips curve upward.
“I know, right.” Her excitement is cute. As much as she complains, she loves it.
We both grow quiet.
“Have you spoken to him?” Just the reference to Chase makes my stomach tighten.
“I hate him,” I say under my breath. But I don’t. Not really.
“You don’t hate him. You’re being ridiculous.”
“No, I’m not. Okay, fine. I’m being ridiculous. I don’t hate him.”
“Then you did speak to him?”
“No.”
“Ahh, I get it.” She nods.
“Get what?” I ask, and I let my eyes narrow.
“You. You’re doing your thing.” She takes another bite of my cookie and then sets it down in front of me.
“My thing?”
“You’re running away yet again. Doesn’t it ever get old?” My head starts to pound at her line of questioning.
“I’m not running. I’m just taking care of me.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
“Listen. I went on that trip to find myself. I haven’t spoken to him because I need to understand who I am before I figure all of that out. I need to focus on me.”
“And now?
“I’m starting to.” Sophie nibbles on her lower lip, and her eyes squint as her gaze takes me in.
“Then why haven’t you spoken to him? I love you, Aria. And I only want you to be happy, but you need to stop being so stubborn. In order to be happy in your future, you need to make peace with your past. Regardless of what happens, you need to talk to him.
“I know, I just—”
“What’s this really about? Let me in. What are you so afraid of?
“I . . . I’m scared that I can’t trust him. I’m afraid that if I see him, he will lure me in again, and I’m terrified I’ll fall for it. But what I’m most frightened of is that it was all a lie, and I’m terrified to find out.”
“I can understand your fear, where you’re coming from, but you can’t live like that. You can’t le
t your life pass you by because you are too afraid to live it. You can’t turn a blind eye to something that could be truly miraculous. Every day is a gift. Everyone in your life is a blessing. You know that better than anyone. Treat each day like the gift it is, and don’t waste time because you’re too frightened to find out. Forgive Chase and forgive yourself.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Do you love Chase?” she finally asks.
“I don’t know.” My shoulders drop as I pull my lip into my mouth.
“It’s not a hard question. Do you love Chase?” I run my hands through my hair and tug gently.
“I’m not even sure I know what love is anymore,” I breathe.
“Love is finding the missing part of yourself in someone else. Like you found home.” My heart hammers at her words.
My eyes well up. “I think I found that in Chase,” I admit.
“Then what are you doing here with me?
“I know what you said before, but I still don’t know if I can trust him. He said he loved me, but what if that was a lie, too? God, I’m just so frustrated with everything.”
“So scream. Get all your crazy out.” She lets out a loud noise in the middle of the coffee shop and everyone turns to look at us. I’m not embarrassed, though. Instead, I shout until we both clutch our stomachs to calm our laughter.
“You think anyone will call the cops?” I peer around the room to see if anyone has reached for their phone. In this day and age, an outbreak like that is liable to land someone on the five o’clock news. We burst into another fit of giggles, and then Sophie stops and grows serious.
“Aria, seriously, man up and call him. Stop being blinded by your grief. He might have lied about a lot of things, but never about his feelings for you.”
“How do you know? You don’t even know Chase.” I squint at her.
“I know you haven’t spoken to him or seen him. But have you at least been keeping track? You know, like following?”