All alone, filled with self-loathing, remorse, and haunted by the ghosts of what was taken from her, Allyn isolates herself from the world, justifiably afraid of being hurt again.
Isolating herself is her only salvation, but it’s also her disease. The more she tightens the barriers around her, the more those walls will close in around her.
One day, the walls she holds so close around her will constrict to crush her, claiming another innocent, broken life, a life that could be warm and beautiful if she allows me to help her.
My office phone rings, bringing me back out of my thoughts about how to help Allyn. I know that Lauren’s on the other end waiting for me to answer.
“Lauren,” I say.
“Dom, Chelsea’s on the phone and she says it’s important.” I roll my eyes at just the mention of her name.
“Alright, put her through.”
I hear the beep and know I’m now connected to Chelsea.
“Chelsea,” I start this awkward conversation in a steady voice.
“Dominic, we need to talk.”
“No we don’t, but if you feel you have something to say, I’ll give you thirty seconds,” I say as my knee starts bouncing beneath my grand oak desk in irritation.
“I want to come home,” she whines in an annoying voice.
“No.”
“Come on, baby. I’ve learned my lesson. I want to come back and make it up to you.”
“Chelsea, what you did can never be made up to me. I told you; we’re over.”
“That’s ridiculous. One little mistake and you’re willing to throw away ten years of marriage?”
“Little?” I can feel my body beginning to vibrate inside my own skin. “Little mistake?” My heart pounds in my fucking chest and I’m holding back all the anger I want to scream at her.
“Oh come on, you have to forgive me sooner or later,” she cajoles.
“I’ve already forgiven you. But I haven’t forgotten, and I never will. We’re over.”
“You think serving me with divorce papers is going to stop this? My lawyer will eat you alive,” her tone turns angry. I can tell just by the huffing that she’s pacing, like she always does when she’s fuming.
“We’ll let the lawyers fight this out. Goodbye, Chelsea,” I say as I hang up before her next rant can start.
My mind instantly goes back to the twenty-three-year-old woman I met this morning.
Her strength shines so brightly to me. But her soul is deeply scarred by pain and terror.
Allyn may be broken, but I need saving too.
Chapter 6
One thousand and twenty-two days, and I still hurt.
My soul continues to bleed and my heart remains encased in ice, afraid to feel.
But today I’m going to open the door. Today I’m really going to try.
Try to see the world as a little more than beige.
Try to let some color back into my fractured life.
Try to breathe without letting the ever-present tsunami of hopelessness consume me or push me further into the blackness.
I am going to try.
Looking out my kitchen window, the sky above is a brilliant blue. Brightness shines from the partially-concealed sun, illuminating things beyond sight.
Maybe one day soon, those golden rays of light will touch me. Maybe the sunlight will thaw the ice in my heart and fill my emptiness so I can be whole again.
My doorbell rings and I know Dr. Shriver has already arrived. It’s only 9:50 a.m.; he’s early. I walk over to the door and look through the peep hole. I can’t see him.
What if it’s not him?
What if it’s them, and they’re back to kill me?
“Allyn, you said you’d open the door,” Dr. Shriver says from the other side. He must already be sitting down waiting for me.
I enter my code to turn the alarm off, unlock the deadbolt, and then position my hand on the doorknob and the second lock.
My heart beats quickly and I feel a trickle of sweat roll down the back of my neck.
I can do it.
I can open the door.
It’s only a fucking door, Allyn. Just open it.
I open the door just a crack and peek outside.
Dr. Shriver is sitting on the porch, cross-legged, facing me.
“Nice of you to join me today, Allyn. Would you care to take a seat?” he says and chuckles as he holds his hand out indicating the floor on my side of the screen door
“Thank you for coming to see me again, Dr. Shriver.” I sit on the floor, mirroring his pose.
“You’re going to either make me feel old, or like I have a stick stuck up my pompous ass. Can you please call me Dominic?”
I let out a small laugh and nod my head at him.
“Tell me about your night. What did you have for dinner?” he asks.
For dinner? He wants to know what I ate? That’s a bit…weird.
“Um, I had spaghetti.”
“Did you make it?”
“Yeah, I made it. I cook a little. I’m not great at it, but I can feed myself. I like freshly-made pasta instead of store-bought, so I try and make a batch that will last me a while. I’m not a huge eater.” I look past Dominic to stare out at the street.
“What’s your favorite season? I love spring myself, the promise of new and exciting things happening. Rejuvenation of what lay motionless and dormant through winter.”
“The only thing I don’t like is bees. I’m allergic to their sting. Actually, I carry an epi-pen with me because I’m highly allergic to them. I guess my chances of becoming a beekeeper went out the window the first time I was rushed to the hospital because my airway closed off.” He laughs at his own joke and I find myself smiling along with him.
“I like fall,” I answer. I lower my eyes and look at the floor.
“What is it about fall that draws you to it?”
“I like to watch the leaves change color, I sit on my kitchen counter and watch every day as the leaves go from a vibrant green, through yellow, and then to a deep orange.”
“Do you like the color orange?”
“Yeah, I do. My life is so colorless. I like to pretend that I’m submerged in brightness. But most times it’s only for a few seconds before I’m reminded how black my life really is.” I let my chin fall to my chest, weighed by the truth of my own drab words.
“What’s your favorite color? I love green; I find it very serene and peaceful.”
I look at Dominic and notice he’s wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a green, button-down long-sleeved shirt.
“Purple. When I was a kid I wanted a purple room. My mom and dad loved me so much that they painted my bedroom four different shades of purple. They did it when I was at school one day, and when I came home they pretended that they’d had a normal day. When I went into my room I screamed and started crying, I was so happy.”
“How old were you?”
“I was twelve. I remember that day like it was yesterday. I wasn’t allowed to sleep in there for a couple of nights, until the smell was gone, but it’s stayed that color to this very day. Well, I assume it’s still four shades of purple. I haven’t been to my parents’ house in…” I trail off, not wanting to finish the sentence.
“Tell me about your best friends.”
“I don’t have any.”
Dominic stares into my eyes, knits his eyebrows together and tilts his head to the side. “I find that quite difficult to believe, Allyn. You have a very pleasant, easy personality. Why don’t you have any best friends?”
“I don’t have friends at all.”
“Well, that definitely can’t be true,” he says as he uncrosses and re-crosses his legs.
“I can’t be around people. They scare me. And the friends I did have left me when I…”
“When you what?”
“When I couldn’t be what they wanted.”
“And what did they want?” he asks, shifting his weight again.
“They wa
nted me to be normal.”
“What makes you think that you’re not normal?”
“I should be over what happened to me.”
“According to who?”
“Well it’s been almost three years. And I saw those girls on TV, that after only four months they were able to tell their story. It’s been three years and I still can’t get those moments out of my head.” I stand and start pacing just inside the door.
“Allyn,” Dominic calls to me. I look over and he’s standing, too. “Allyn,” he says again, as I continue walking back and forth in a vain attempt to ease my frustration.
Three damn years and my mind won’t move past it.
Why?
“Allyn!” he says forcefully, dragging my attention back to him.
“Yeah?”
“There’s no right or wrong here. There are no hard and fast rules about how long it takes to heal. Comparing yourself to someone else, regardless of the situation, is useless and wrong. Every situation is unique. But I suspect you already know this. And I also suspect that your environment is the one thing you can control, so you keep yourself locked away for your own peace of mind.”
I stop pacing, and turn to look at Dominic.
Are his words true?
Am I so broken that the only way I can exist is to stay hidden away in my home?
Can I choose to overcome the pain and learn to face the catastrophic event that took place that overcast day?
“I want color in my life again,” I say in a tiny whisper.
“I didn’t hear you,” Dominic says as he takes a step closer to the screen door, turns his head and angles it toward the door so he can hear me better.
“I want to be able to see more than just beige, Dominic. I want my purple back. I want the bright orange for inspiration. I don’t want black inside me anymore. I need colors.” I take a step closer to the door, when I reach it I rest my forehead on the mesh and close my eyes.
“I can help you.”
“Please give me hope,” I say in a soft voice.
“Allyn?”
“Yes.” I don’t lift my head to look at him.
“Today we’re finished, but tomorrow…”
“Yes,” I interrupt him.
“Tomorrow you open both doors.”
I lift my head and look at his soft face. His features are warm and accepting.
“Tomorrow, I open both doors,” I confirm, surprising myself.
Chapter 7
10 a.m. on day one thousand and twenty-three. My door bell hasn’t rung yet.
What if Dominic doesn’t come today?
What if he doesn’t want to help me anymore?
What if he left me?
They always leave.
Standing in my family room with my coffee cup cradled in my hands, I eagerly look toward the door.
He said he’d be here. Where is he?
I suppose it doesn’t really matter, I probably wouldn’t have opened the door anyway.
I’m not ready for that yet.
No I’m definitely not ready. I’m crazy if I think that I’d actually let him inside, there’s no way that I’d open those doors.
It’s not time to open them yet, my soul’s not willing to accept it.
I turn away from the front door and am on my way back into the kitchen, when the doorbell rings.
He’s here and he wants to help me.
I put my coffee cup down and walk to the door. I look through the peep hole and Dominic is standing tall on the other side.
Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I close my eyes and lean my forehead up against the heavy, brown wooden door.
“Allyn, I’d like a cup of coffee please,” he says through the door, no louder than his normal speaking voice.
He knows I’m already at the other side.
“I…” I’m not sure what I want to say. I’ve convinced myself that I can’t open the door for him. The fear is gnawing at me and the monsters’ voices keep coming at full volume.
Am I stuck inside my beige world forever?
“What time is it, Allyn?” Dominic asks.
I look to the huge wall clock that’s been above the hallway table since I’ve moved here.
“Ten minutes past ten,” I answer.
“Have you had a coffee yet?”
“I was just drinking it before you knocked.”
“Great, now we can have one together. Cream and sugar, please, Allyn,” he says in a sure tone.
He wants to come in. He told me yesterday that I was going to the open the door and let him inside.
And I think I can do it.
It’s just two doors.
I grab for the panic button that’s around my neck and grasp it tight in my hand.
Okay.
I can do this.
I turn off the alarm and open the wooden door. Dominic stands slightly to the side of the screen door, clearly expecting me to open it. He smiles at me benignly as I nervously try to unlock the latch.
My hands are shaking so badly that I fumble with it.
“Do you have regular coffee or that decaffeinated shit that seems to be the all the rage?” Dominic asks as I concentrate on putting the key in.
“Um, I only drink the real stuff. I’ve got a coffee machine, so I’ll make you a real coffee.”
“Oh, you’re a barista? Well, then I expect a latte. I don’t drink them often, ‘cause it’s not really cool for a guy to order one when he’s out in public with others, but seeing as you’re skilled in making coffees, you can make me a latte,” he says and chuckles.
He does that often, laughs at his own jokes. I find that a smile always finds its way to my lips too.
I’d go as far as to say that I’ve smiled more the last three days than I have in the last three years.
Before I know it, the latch has turned and the screen door is unlocked.
Fuck.
There’s nothing protecting me now. I’m totally exposed, vulnerable to the tall man standing on the other side of the door.
My fingers once again grasp my panic button. I can feel the forearm of the hand holding it begin to ache because of my incredibly tight grip.
My heart races at a speed I’m all too familiar with. Sweat beads and then rolls down my back, beginning to soak my t-shirt.
Small black butterflies dance before me and I can feel myself beginning to slip into the unknown.
“One, two, three, four,” Dominic starts counting. I hold onto the door jamb for balance. “Five, six, seven.” His voice gets that deeper, more serene tone. “Breathe in through your nose and hold it,” he instructs me.
I breathe in and hold it as I listen for Dominic to tell me to let go of the breath.
“Let it out now, Allyn,” he says and I listen. My body is calming even though I haven’t let go of the panic button. But I have loosened my grip on it and the black butterflies no longer crowd my vision. “Now, may I please come in so you can make me that coffee?”
With a huge lump in my throat and a parched, dry feeling in my mouth, I turn the handle.
I open the door.
I fucking open the door.
I opened the fucking door.
Pushing it wide open, I look at a man with a huge smile on his face.
We stand observing at each other. He doesn’t try to come in, and I don’t move aside for him.
He’s waiting for me, and I’m gathering all my courage to take that final leap of faith. To allow him access inside my home, and inside my head.
I look up at Dominic and his encouraging smile hasn’t faltered. He’s not looming over me, trying to intimidate me. He’s standing far enough back so I can close the door if I choose to.
We simply stand looking at each other, and a silent conversation passes between us.
He’s giving me time and space to back away from this if I have to, and I’m trying my hardest to step aside and let him in.
He’s letting me make the decision on my own.
/> Maybe a moment passes.
Maybe an hour.
Round and around we seem to go. I’m holding my broken life together, and he’s giving me the time to adjust to his presence in my isolation.
The hole in my soul tightens and becomes that tiny bit smaller.
I step to the side and wordlessly invite Dominic inside my home, and my life.
“Now I’m hungry too, Allyn. Thank goodness I bought us some banana bread. How about that coffee?” He steps through my threshold and stands a mere two feet away.
The moment he’s inside, I quickly lock the doors and turn the alarm back on.
“This way,” I say as I step in front of Dominic and lead him into my kitchen.
“May I sit?” he asks as he points to the beige chairs around my kitchen table.
“Of course, please. I’ll just make you your latte.”
I gather the already ground coffee and start making his latte. I can feel his eyes on me. Even though my body is perpendicular to him, I can feel the piercing, penetrating look he’s giving me. I also make a fresh coffee for me and when both are done, I take them over to the kitchen table.
Pulling a chair out from beneath the table, I sit, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping a protective arm around them.
I wait for Dominic to ask the questions I know he will ask.
He brings the coffee cup up to his lips and slightly blows on the beige liquid before taking a sip and trying it.
“What is it about coffee that you like?” He’s asking about coffee? “To me a good coffee tells a story. It talks to me and describes the journey it takes from the time the coffee cherry is ruby red and ready to be picked. The hand that pulls it off the tree, who belongs to that hand and what they have to do in order to get to work every day. Then there’s the drying method, where the coffee cherries are laid out in the sun and turned several times a day in order to prevent the cherry from decaying. The drying process can take weeks; did you know that, Allyn? Weeks of turning the cherries several times a day. Now how boring a job would that be?”
“But if that’s what they’re employed to do, then it’s probably not boring to them. Especially if the money they earn from doing that goes back to feeding their families,” I say as I take a newly appreciative sip of my coffee.
“You make a very good point, which will cause me to enjoy this cup of coffee even more. Milling the beans is another three-step process, and that’s before we can even test or taste the coffee.”
A Life Less Broken Page 4