Promise Me Always

by Rhonda Shaw

  There was only one thing we’d ever disagreed on and that had been Gabrielle; but in the end, it hadn’t mattered because he’d gotten what he wanted.

  “How are things going?” he asked.

  “All right. Still working through things.” I sat in the chair across from him.

  “When are they going to let you split this joint?” He smiled, displaying multiple gold teeth.

  “When I’m ready, man.”

  “We need you back out there. We need to start some new shit.”

  I slouched in my chair and hissed out a breath, not ready for this conversation. “I need fucking time, Dollar. Let me get my shit together. I can’t think straight yet.”

  “That’s cool, man. That’s cool. I get it. I’m just curious is all.” He eyed me. “Do you need anything, man?”

  My eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  He shoved his hands inside the waistband of his jeans and pulled out a small plastic bag, tossing it into my lap. I picked it up and, recognizing the long, white bars of Xanax, threw it back at him.

  “Get this shit out of here, man! What the fuck are you doing? How did you even get that past the search?”

  He chuckled. “I have my ways.” He leaned toward me, holding the bag out. “Come on, man, take it. Just in case.”

  I stared at him. How could he not understand what in the hell was going on with me? How did he not get that those pills in his hand were the reason I was here?

  I jumped up. “What the fuck, Dollar? Why are you shoving that shit on me when that’s what almost killed me? You’re the one who found my ass!”

  He stood and held up his hands. “Okay, dawg. I’m sorry! I’m just trying to help. You say you’re struggling, so I wanted to give you something to help, soothe away the stress, whatever concerns you got. That’s all, man.” He shoved the bag back into his pants. “No need to get fucking hyped. You don’t want it, you don’t want it. Simple as that.”

  He sat down and waited for me to do the same. When I did, he asked, “What are you stuck on, dawg? What’s stopping you from doing your thing…besides this place?”

  My gaze held his, contemplating whether I should tell him the truth or make up some bullshit, but after a minute of saying nothing, disbelief covered his face.

  He swiped a hand over his dark shaved head and rubbed his eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me, man?”

  My elbows rested on my knees as I leaned forward and stared at the floor. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t fucking need to. You thinking about her, and I know it. It was six years ago, man. Six motherfucking years ago.”

  He would never get how she’d been my world; the only thing I wanted more than the game. She was everywhere. She was in my head, in my heart, and even in all my songs. He didn’t get it, and I didn’t have the energy to explain.

  I stood and headed toward the door.

  “You know, Dollar… I need to go. We’ll talk later, all right? I just need to go.”

  “D, come on, now…”

  I ignored him and walked out before he could stop me, unable to believe he’d pulled that shit on me. He was desperate for me to get back my mojo—fuck, so was I—but to pull that? It only proved he didn’t understand what I was going through. He didn’t understand that I still wrestled with the decision we’d made six years earlier, and didn’t understand how badly I needed closure.

  Back in my room, I sat on the bed, rapping my head against the solid wall, the dull thud echoing. I needed to write something and get past this fucking block.

  I closed my eyes and, as always, the first picture to pop into my mind was her. It had taken only one look into her big, green eyes to trap me, despite knowing she was way outside my league. Her vulnerability, her stunning beauty, and her surprising strength had pulled me in, demanding me to reach out to her, to talk to her, to be with her; even when it was the last fucking thing I wanted. But I hadn’t been able to resist, had fallen under her spell, and we’d been happy, had loved each other, and believed we could have forever, until…

  An image flashed inside my head of her prone body on the sidewalk, her skin so pale and cold, with her jacket in shreds a short distance away and splatters of blood staining the cement, and my eyes flew open, my stomach souring. I couldn’t go back there and relive that horrible night.

  I often wondered if she listened to my music on the radio or downloaded any of my songs, and if so, did she recognize the mentions of her or our relationship. I would never know, but I hoped she did. I hoped she understood it as the olive branch I intended it to be, and that I hadn’t meant what I’d said all those years ago; that there’d been other reasons for what I’d done. Everything had been to save her.

  I continued thumping my head until inspiration hit, surprising me, and I jerked upright. Leaning over, I grabbed my journal off the floor, and thumbed the “D” on the front. The night she’d given it to me, I remembered her being so uncertain I would like it and unaware that nothing else could have been more perfect. I’d carried the notebook with me every day since then, had refilled the paper countless times, refusing to use anything else. The scuffed cover was beat up and worn with abuse, the embossment faded, but I didn’t care. I would carry it with me until the day I died.

  I turned to an empty page and picked up my pen, hoping my hand could keep up with the verses flying through my mind.

  “Even in the beginning, it was because of you,

  Every joy, delight, and happiness was due to you,

  I’ve lost so much, but in my heart, my head, my soul, I always have you,

  I’m alive because of you, I survived because of you,

  If only you knew, simply by the mere thought of you…”

  Chapter 2

  ~ Gabrielle ~

  Present Day

  Whipping into the parking space in front of the dance studio, I hopped out of the car and swung open the door. I smiled at the older woman manning the reception desk.

  “Hi, Gloria. How did they do today?”

  “They’re still finishing up. It sounded like they had a good time in there.” She pointed at my head. “I love your hair.”

  “Thanks. I got it colored, so it’s got all these different shades of blonde going on.”

  “Well, it looks fabulous. You look gorgeous, like always.” She eyed the white peasant blouse and slim cropped jeans I wore and shook her head. “What I wouldn’t give to wear something like that.”

  “You’re such a charmer, Gloria.”

  I moved toward the viewing window on the opposite wall of the small waiting area. Inside the room, a group of young girls—all wearing pink ballet leotards and tights with white tutus—stood in a line, listening as the instructor demonstrated the correct positioning of their arms. I smiled, remembering when I was their age and learning the proper positions. I had been determined to get everything right the first time, and without a doubt, the little girl standing right smack in the middle of the line with her brows bent in concentration was doing the same thing.

  As if feeling my eyes on her, she lifted her gaze from her teacher and spotted me peering through the window in the mirror. She gave a little wave before turning her attention back to the position of her arms as she tried to mimic the instructor. My heart swelled with pride.

  I loved that my daughter shared my passion for ballet, so much so that the one day a week I took her to the studio was a big event. I only wished I could enroll her in more classes, but the one would have to do for now, as it was all I could afford on the small wages I made doing medical transcription part-time out of my home. Maybe if I talked to Brad about some extra money…but he would say one class was more than enough. Perhaps I could figure out a way to stretch something to make it work, wanting to do whatever, sacrifice anything, to make my baby happy.

  The instructor gave a final bow, teaching everyone to follow her lead, before the door next to me flew open, banging against the wall. Earsplitting chatter surrounded me, along
with excited bodies, as the girls rushed into the small waiting room in search of their parents.

  “Hi, Mom!”

  I leaned down and pulled my daughter into a hug. “How was class, baby?”

  “It was so much fun! We twirled!” She wound her finger in demonstration.

  “Wow! I bet you did a terrific job too,” I said, and she nodded in agreement. “Okay, let’s find your shoes.”

  As we searched under the chairs for her sneakers, the instructor, Ms. Wendy, walked out of the room and smiled at me. “Dani did wonderful today. Her turnout and her center are really improving.”

  “She’s been working on it at home a lot.”

  “She has a natural talent for ballet.” Ms. Wendy eyed me. My long, trim figure wasn’t something I could hide, and she was obviously wondering if that’s where Dani’s innate ability came from. “Are you sure you didn’t dance? You certainly have the body for it.”

  “No, not really. Just a little bit as a child.” I gave a quick smile and turned my head, pretending to be doing a thorough search for Dani’s shoes.

  “Oh well, that’s a shame. Perhaps you’d be interested in one of our adult classes?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not sure it would fit in my budget at this point.”

  “Well, take a schedule and if it works out, we’d love to have you.” Ms. Wendy gave my arm a squeeze before greeting another mother.

  Once her back faced me, I closed my eyes. I hated lying, but I didn’t want to open the door to the still painful subject. I hadn’t danced in many, many years, and planned to keep that time where it belonged—in the past. Dani didn’t even know I once dreamed of dancing professionally. That part of my life remained locked away, along with the other significant occurrences, and I’d swallowed the key in order to move on.

  Tucking Dani into the backseat of the car, I climbed into the driver’s seat of my trusty Honda Accord and pulled out of the parking lot. The small used car was a major step up from the Ford Fiesta held together with duct tape. It had taken awhile, with a lot of hard work and persistence, but Dani and I could finally spread our wings a bit.

  We’d lived hand to mouth for so long that it was refreshing not having to count every penny all the time. We were still on our own, so to speak, but ever since moving in with Brad after we’d been dating for six months, he helped where he could, at least monetarily. In other areas, he still needed work.

  It frustrated me that he refused to be a father figure for Dani, reminding me how he wasn’t biologically her father. Despite his resistance, however, I hoped that one day he would get past it and treat Dani as his own, especially since her real father declined to be involved in her life. He’d made that perfectly clear by saying nothing.

  I glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled at Dani, who sat facing the open window, enjoying the warm summer air blowing across her face. Her bun sagged, allowing tendrils of her dark hair to blow around, and her sharp blue eyes held a sparkle in them. She may be the spitting image of her father, but her happy demeanor was all her own.

  Seeing him every day in Dani’s face made the road to getting past my life with Danny much more difficult. Adding additional insult to injury, everywhere I turned, I either saw him or heard him; his songs playing on the radio or one of his videos showing on TV.

  In the paper or on the news, people blasted him for his music, calling him everything from a bigot to some form of the devil. I thought the accusations were ridiculous and understood his lyrics didn’t reflect his personal beliefs, but rather the culture. Others didn’t seem to see it that way. After hearing about one of his songs discussing domestic abuse, which I had recognized as being about his father, my own mother had expressed outrage over me being with someone who sang about such things, going so far as to ask if he’d abused me when we’d dated. I reminded her that she had liked him before the demise of our relationship, which she conveniently ignored.

  His face was now plastered on multiple billboards around the area, announcing his plans to tour again after a hiatus, and it took everything within me to avert my eyes from his piercing gaze, the only way to escape the hollow pain in my chest that crept in whenever I saw him. Rumors of him being in rehab had swirled around, and being such a private and stubborn person, I was happy to hear he’d sought help and was now on the mend, free to go back to one of the many models he supposedly dated. Now, if only I could mend myself.

  Everyone was proud of their homegrown star, ecstatic about his return to his roots. I was proud of him too, and happy for him and his success, but all the constant reminders of him didn’t help to plug the gaping hole in my heart.

  To everyone else, I was content with life. I loved my daughter, enjoyed being a mother, and was in a pleasant, if not terribly exciting, relationship with Brad. He helped to support us so I didn’t have to work full-time, which allowed me to be there for Dani at all times, and I was thankful for the freedom. What I wouldn’t tell anyone, however, was not a day went by where I didn’t think about Danny.

  Over the years, I’d come to recognize how all-consuming our relationship had been. I’d almost loved Danny too much, allowing much of myself to become lost, wanting only him as the center of my life. Despite that, I believed the love we’d shared had been genuine and our emotions very real. He, apparently, hadn’t felt the same way, and had made it obvious that horrid, painful night at The Sanctuary.

  I shuddered. That night had been a nightmare.

  Yet, even with the negative past, I missed him, even though he’d made it crystal clear how he felt about me. To this day, I still didn’t understand the drastic change in his feelings, seeming to transform overnight, and regardless of what I told everyone else, I would never get over that night—or him. I was still so angry, shocked, and hurt by his words, followed by him snubbing his daughter. In spite of everything, deep down, I still loved him and forever would, as wrong and twisted as that seemed. My feelings didn’t matter, though. I would continue living without him, and without closure, as I had for the past six years, telling myself to be gratified with my life. I had to remind myself that even though everything with Danny had started out beautifully, it hadn’t always been that way, and things could have been worse. Much worse.

  But, six years ago, meeting Danny had transformed one of the worst times of my life into one of the best, if only for a short while, and I would never forget that.

  Chapter 3

  ~ Gabrielle ~

  Six years earlier

  I froze with my hand on the cool metal door handle. I dreaded the next step, the one thrusting me into a foreign environment, with unknowns and uncertainties facing me at every corner. There was no turning back now; I understood I had no other choice. But the realization didn’t stop my heart from pounding or a cold sweat from breaking out.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I took a deep, steadying breath and pulled hard on the door. On the other side, I stopped short, letting it close against my back. I glanced around, looking for any indication I wasn’t alone, but the hallway was empty.

  “Jesus, Gabby. Will you just come on?” My younger sister, Monica, rushed back toward me and grabbed my arm to tug me down the hallway toward the front office, as indicated on the small, almost illegible sign hanging over our head.

  No matter how much I tried to put it off, we were now in new territory and the teasing was eminent, but I squared my shoulders and soldiered on. I refused to cry today. I was through with the tears since they didn’t change our circumstances. No, I was determined to get through the day and then the week, and eventually become a wallflower. But when we passed two girls on the way to the office, their inquisitive glances passed over us. Monica’s fashionable skinny jeans and cropped sweater passed their approval test, but their eyes widened at my tight bun and buttoned-up white blouse under a black sweater, tucked into straight black jeans, and they giggled, whispering to each other as they strolled in the opposite direction. I reluctantly admitted my invisibility would not happen overnight. L
ike always.

  “Just ignore them,” Monica muttered as she opened the door to the office and pulled me in.

  We entered and grimaced at the assault on our hearing. Multiple conversations were happening at once, in raised voices in order to compete with the hum of the copier, the buzzing of the overhead lights, and the constant ringing of the phones. We stood at the chest-high counter, cluttered with papers stacked haphazardly, in a variety of colors and sizes, waiting. Taking in the chipped, ice blue paint on the walls, the worn laminate tops of the counters and desks, and the incessant flickering of one light bulb struggling not to burn out, the reality of our situation hit me hard—again. We were a long way from the clean, modernized surroundings of our old high school.

  “Hello?” Monica called out over the noise.

  “Oh, I didn’t see you there, sweetheart. What can I do for you?”

  A friendly, but tired face with bright blue eyes, surrounded by over-washed blonde hair—the color only found in a bottle—greeted us. Her gravelly voice sounded as if she smoked three packs a day.

  “Today’s our first day.” Monica held her head high and spoke confidently.

  “You two are new here?” She rifled through some papers. “Let me find your information. What are your names, sweetie?”

  “I’m Monica Wells, and she’s Gabrielle.”

  “Gabrielle? What a pretty name.” The woman’s eyes narrowed as she took me in. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

  I caught her scrutiny, but only smiled in acknowledgement.

  “Well, you can definitely tell that you two are sisters, even with…well, whatever.” She waved her hand.

  I didn’t miss her meaning. The disbelief at the drastic differences between Monica and me was old news and nothing I hadn’t dealt with before. It wasn’t breaking news that my sister appeared more her age than I did. In fact, “Ms. Prudy” had been my nickname at my old school because of my preference for long-sleeved tie-neck blouses. Maybe this school would come up with something just as clever.