The Girl He Loves

by Carmen, Roya

  “I swear if it wasn’t for you, Mischa, I think I’d just lose it. I’m so thankful we met. I don’t know what I’d do without you. It was fate.”

  His words take me by surprise. They leave me completely speechless.

  No, it wasn’t fate. I stalked you. I’m not right, Joel, I desperately want to confess. I want to tell him everything, everything he should know about me. I want to warn him. He can’t let someone like me in. He can’t throw his arms open because I’ll never let him go. I’ll obsess and fixate. I’ll make him mine. I’ll ruin his life. And mine. He can’t say these words. He can’t tempt me.

  “Uh…” is all I manage to mutter.

  “You’re all I think about these days,” he says without apology. “Is that wrong?”

  I still have no words.

  He reaches for my face, and the warmth of his hands sends a flood of heat through my core. God, doesn’t he know he can’t touch me? Doesn’t he know I’m ablaze? Has his mother never warned him? One should never play with fire.

  His gaze is dark. His eyes fix mine like they never have before. “You mean the world to me, Mischa,” he says, his words a whisper. “You’re everything I need right now. You’re everything Renee is not.”

  I’m frozen, my face caught in his warm hands. He stares at my mouth, and my gaze is drawn to his. His lips are slightly open. I’m off balance… shaky. My heart is in my stomach. I feel sick but elated. He’s falling. His eyes are begging me to fall with him, and mine are pleading with him to let me go, to not do this. Because I know if he kisses me, I won’t be able to stop him. I’ll sink into him. I will be lost forever.

  I love Brian. I do. He loves Renee. But we’re both so messed up right now.

  “Joel…” I breathe.

  “Yes.”

  “We’re both so confused right now…”

  His gaze pulls from mine and he releases my face. “I know… I’m sorry.”

  I want his hands back on my skin. I crave his touch, despite the fact that I know I shouldn’t. “You and I have shared too much, have gotten too close,” I tell him. “That’s the only reason you’re falling for me right now.”

  He turns to me. “No, it’s not. You’re amazing, Mischa. You’re smart, beautiful… caring.”

  I smile. “I’m not even your type,” I joke. “I’m nothing like the beautiful Renee.”

  “Maybe that’s the appeal,” he says.

  “Maybe…” Perhaps it’s the reason I’m drawn to him too. He and Brian are so different.

  His eyes are full of sorrow when he looks at me again. “I’m sorry, Mischa. I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve never done that before. I should have never put you in that position. I know you’re happily married. I was a dick.”

  I reach for his hand and take it in mine. “No, you weren’t. You’re upset, and you know that I like you. You and I have been all over each other, spending way too much time together. This was bound to happen. We both let it happen. It was just a moment of weakness.”

  He smiles. “You’re too sweet.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  He tears his hand from mine, very gently. “You’re right… you and I… we should probably back off a little.”

  His words break me, and I hate hearing them, but he’s absolutely right. What are we doing?

  “I think you should talk to Renee,” I suggest. “Really talk it out… and Ava too.”

  He shakes his head. “I tried. I tried to talk to Ava. She won’t let me in.”

  I feel so bad for him. I wish I could help. Maybe she won’t talk to him because she doesn’t want to hurt him. But would she possibly talk to me?

  I need to find out.

  * * *

  Dr. Russell never looks at me disapprovingly. She never judges — I suppose it’s her job not to. But I swear I can detect a whisper of judgment tracing her features as I tell her all about my almost-kiss with Joel. She recrosses her legs, and her gaze darts across the room for a second or two before falling back on me.

  “But I did the right thing,” I tell her. “I stopped it. I told him we’d gotten too close, and that was why we found ourselves in that situation. He agreed.”

  “Yes, you did the right thing,” she agrees. “It sounds like you’re very aware. You know that actions don’t come out of the blue. They’re sparked by repeated emotions and repeated thoughts. And these past few weeks have thrown a lot of emotions at you two.”

  I sit up straighter on the slick leather sofa. I stare at the empty space next to me, and wonder if Brian should be sitting there. “Yes, definitely.”

  She jots down a few notes in her notepad. “Did you two agree to distance yourselves?”

  “Well, we didn’t come up with a plan or anything, but the only time we used to see each other was at the yoga class we were taking together, and I’ve stopped going.” I’ve stopped going out to yoga all together, but I don’t tell her that. I just can’t find the energy. I’m emotionally exhausted and all I want to do is lay down and ruminate. This is very unlike me — I’m usually so disciplined, but I’ve still been obsessed with him and his family. I’ve regressed and am still creeping their social media. I so desperately want to reach out to Ava. I want to help her.

  “We haven’t contacted each other since the almost-kiss,” I tell her. “Which was four days ago.”

  “That’s good. And you haven’t been looking at his social media,” she says, not so much a question, but a statement.

  An incorrect statement.

  I don’t say anything. I can’t even look at her. I’ve never been a good liar.

  “Mischa,” she says. There’s a hint of frustration in the way she says my name, slowly and extensively. “You haven’t fallen back into old habits, have you?”

  I raise my gaze to hers. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. When I told myself that I wouldn’t see him anymore, I needed a bit of him. And when I started with him, I naturally found my way to his wife and daughter.”

  Dr. Russell nods quietly. “I understand. We’ll have to start again from square one. It is imperative that you stay away from their social media. The sooner you do that, the sooner you will distance yourself from them. What you really need to focus on at the moment is forgiving your husband. The both of you need to discuss this at length, come up with a plan to move forward.”

  I nod obediently, all the while thinking… Easier said than done.

  “Do you have the urge to go see Joel?” she asks me. “To reach out to him?”

  “No, not really,” I reply honestly. No, I have the urge to go see his daughter, to reach out to her.

  I know I should say the words out loud but I don’t of course. I know therapy is so much more effective when there is complete transparency and you are fully open and honest with your therapist. I just don’t want to upset her further, I don’t want to feel like a scolded child. Besides, I know exactly what she will say. She will tell me that it is imperative that I stay away from Ava. And I really don’t want to hear those words.

  “That’s great,” she says. “Now, we must go back to the beginning…”

  * * *

  I’m usually a Scrabble master, but today, my game is completely shot. My last word added a total of eight points to my score. I just can’t focus. I can’t stop thinking about Ava, about how I could possibly reach out to her, about what I would say to her if I did. I’m driving myself absolutely mad.

  And when I’m not thinking about her, I’m sad about Joel. I miss him. I miss his easy laugh, the way he made me feel like sunshine. And these days, I feel like rain.

  I also think about Brian who refuses to talk to me about Ava. He prefers to pretend that our lives are unchanged, exactly like they were a few weeks ago, before I discovered Ava’s photo. He’s kidding himself. He’s more delusional than I am.

  “Double word score,” Trevor cheers as he arranges his wooden letters on the board. “Twenty-four points.”

  “Show off.” Tristan smirks. “You’re st
ill not going to beat Mom.”

  I think he might. Even if I manage to get my head off the Halls, and wrap it around this game, he’ll still beat me for sure.

  I shake my head and try to focus.

  I can’t take it anymore. It’s an unbearable urge, longing to go, but having to remain still. An impossible itch. I can’t think straight, or carry on about my life until I’ve satisfied the impulse.

  Which is the reason I find myself on a bus on a Thursday afternoon, headed to Ava’s college, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

  34

  It was a Thursday afternoon at exactly this hour the last time I stalked her. If her schedule hasn’t changed, the odds of seeing her again are good. I stand under the same tree, shaded and somewhat inconspicuous. I check my phone and absentmindedly browse through my Facebook feed. I check Ava’s social media accounts for hints of where she might be, but there’s nothing — she hasn’t posted in a while.

  My heart is pounding and my legs are a little shaky. I’ve worn leggings, a plain white t-shirt, and a baseball cap in an effort to appear young and melt into my surroundings. Perhaps she’ll think I’m just a girl from one of her classes. She’ll struggle to place me. I’m only about seventeen years older than her and I’ve always had a youthful face — I don’t see why it wouldn’t work. I stare at my sneakers and wonder if passersby can see right through me, if they can tell how unhinged I am.

  I glance up — absolutely no one is looking at me. My pulse eases. I stare at the entrance/exit, impatiently awaiting her appearance. It’s uncomfortable, sickening even, but it’s also extremely satisfying and exciting. It’s a little bit like falling down a steep rollercoaster. I don’t exactly know why I do it, but I know it has something to do with my fucked up brain chemistry. I consider upping my drug doses even more, but I really don’t want to walk around like a zombie either.

  My heart practically leaps out of my chest when I see her. She’s alone today, and looks so sad. The urge to reach out to her and console her is stronger than I can bear. It propels my legs forward in her direction. My steps are hurried as I trail her in an attempt to catch up to her.

  She’s wearing a pretty polka-dot skirt, paired with cute flip-flops. Her long hair swings as she walks briskly, her purple JanSport backpack hangs off her shoulder. I’m so close, I can read the two buttons pinned to it. They’re both colorful as a rainbow. One says PRIDE, the other says Love is Love. Could she possibly be gay? I thought she’d just broken up with a boyfriend. But maybe he was all for show.

  I’m completely breathless when I finally gather the courage to say her name out loud. “Ava,” I call out, still behind her.

  She jerks around, confusion all over her face.

  I’ve done it now. I can’t go back. “Hi,” I say meekly.

  She raises a brow, hesitates to speak, observing me from head to toe, struggling to remember me. Am I in one of her classes? She’s clearly uncomfortable, caught off guard. “Hi…” she finally says.

  Thankfully, I’ve gone over this about a hundred times in my head. I know exactly what to say. “Hi, I’m Mischa.” I extend my hand. “I’m a friend of your parents.”

  “Oh…” She’s still eyeing me suspiciously, not quite comfortable.

  “Can we talk?” I ask. “I need to discuss something with you.”

  Now she’s looking at me like I’m plain crazy, which let’s face it, I kind of am. She doesn’t respond.

  “I could buy you a coffee or a smoothie or something at the shop over there.” I point to the café nearby. “I promise I’m not a psycho who will roofie you or anything.”

  Her beautiful eyes grow wide. That last bit was improvised and I instantly wish I could take it back — I’m not making myself sound very sane. “It’s about your parents,” I say with the hope of appealing to her curious side.

  “Okay…” she finally concedes. “I guess.”

  I smile widely. “Thank you. Let’s go to the café across the street.”

  As we make our way there, I delve into small talk. “I like your skirt,” I say in a lame attempt at conversation.

  “Thanks,” she says. “I got it at my mom’s shop. She owns a fashion store.”

  “I know,” I tell her. “Great store. I’ve bought a couple of things there myself.”

  Thankfully, the café is not too busy and we’re served in no time. We both order iced teas. We are given our drinks in bottles and accompanying tumblers of ice. We sit down without a word, and both pour our tea. Ava’s hand is wrapped tightly around her glass, and she’s not taking her eyes off it. She eyes me curiously.

  “So a little about me,” I start, my words cheerful. “Your dad and I are in a yoga class together… at your aunt Juliette’s.”

  “Oh, yeah?” She takes a sip of her iced tea. “Her studio is awesome. I’m not really into yoga, but I did one of her classes once. It was cool enough.”

  “I love yoga,” I tell her. “Anyway that’s how your dad and I became friends. Anywho… we always go for a smoothie after class, and we talk a lot about our families. I have two boys. Trevor is fifteen and Tristan is thirteen.”

  “Cool,” she says, but I know she’s wondering why the hell I’m telling her all this, why we’re even here at all. I know I can’t chit chat too long before getting to it.

  “Okay, so you’re probably wondering what the heck is my deal,“ I say. “I would be too if I were you. So I’ll get straight to the point.”

  Her beautiful gaze is fixed to mine, and it’s like I’m staring right into Brian’s eyes. It’s so unsettling, I need to pull my eyes away. “Your dad has told me a lot about you because we’re really good friends.”

  She raises a brow. “How good exactly?”

  Oh, she’s not only inherited Brian’s beautiful eyes, his widow’s peak and chin dimple, but apparently, also his feisty wit. As sweet as he can be, Brian always calls people out on their shit.

  An image of Joel and I and our almost-kiss flashes before my eyes. “We… we’re just… Joel and I are just friends,” I say, a little too flustered.

  “Okay,” she says. “I believe you. My dad is a standup guy. He would never cheat on my mother. My mom, though…” Her words trail off.

  “Anyway, your dad was telling me…” I struggle to say it out loud. It’s such a personal matter, and I’m sure she doesn’t want to talk to a stranger about it. “You see, when I was young… I used to do it too,” I confess. “I used to cut myself. It felt good… to release that pressure, that pain.”

  She’s speechless. Her eyes darken as she studies me. She’s near tears, and her voice is shaky when she finally asks, “Did my dad ask you to talk to me? I can’t believe him.”

  She’s angry now.

  “No, no. I just came by myself. This has nothing to do with him.”

  “How did you know where I went to school?”

  You mentioned it on your Facebook feed.

  “I… I… your dad mentioned it once,” I lie. “I just dropped by, hoping to see you.”

  “So you’ve been stalking me?”

  Yes.

  “No, no. Of course not. I just want to help you.”

  She grabs her backpack and stands to leave.”Well, I don’t need anyone’s help. You can’t help me, lady.”

  “Sit back down, please,” I plead. “Please, I came all the way here. I had to take the bus.”

  She plops back down on her chair. “That sucks. I hate buses. Why don’t you have a car? You must be at least thirty.”

  “I just… I don’t like to drive. Who needs the hassle.”

  She nods. “Well, I don’t mean to be rude but… what was your name again?”

  “Mischa,” I tell her again.

  “Well, I don’t mean to be rude, Mischa, but the only person who can help me is my mother. If she could just tell me the truth, and tell me who the hell I am, that would just be fantastic.”

  “What do you mean, Ava?” I ask in my most soothing I care voice.

  �
�She’s been keeping secrets for years, for my whole life,” she tells me. “You say you know her… well, you can tell her I know all about her secrets.”

  “What secrets?” I ask, although I know exactly what she’s alluding to. I just want her to say the words out loud.

  “She has no clue what I’m going through,” she says, full of emotion. “I love my dad more than anyone in the fucking world. He’s my whole life, and he’s not even…” Her words trail off again. “I’m in an impossible situation. I want to talk to him, but I don’t want to hurt him. And I can’t bear to talk to my mom because once she tells me, it will all be real.”

  “What will be real, Ava?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Mischa, but I gotta go. I don’t even know you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  She grabs her bag and her bottle of iced tea.

  “Thank you for speaking to me, Ava. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem,.” she says, and she’s off and out the door. A group of young kids enter as she leaves and before I know it, she’s out of view.

  She knows. She knows Joel is not her biological father. I have no clue how she knows, but she does.

  Joel needs to know. And so does Renee.

  35

  I don’t finish my iced tea. I hurry to catch another bus, heading north, not too far. The bus is packed and I’m sandwiched between an elderly woman and a young guy playing a video game on his phone. Yes, I’m thirty-six and taking the bus. I sigh.

  Usually, not driving is not a big deal, but my obsession has brought me farther from home lately and I’ve felt the inconvenience more than ever. When I finally exit the bus, along with a few others, I stare up at the blue sky for a second or two in appreciation.

  I’ve been here three times now. I’m not planning to try on or buy anything today. No pretenses — I’m here for one reason and one reason only — to speak with Renee. The door chimes as I enter. Grant is at the counter, going over some papers. There appears to be only one other customer in the store. Renee is nowhere in sight.