Justin shrugs. “Well, I can’t say I’m upset about this development. He’s probably doing this because I’m right in that he has feelings for you and he needs to distance himself from you. He probably has to do it to keep his relationship intact too. I can’t imagine she’s happy about him running down here to see you and talking to you so much. The less you talk to him, the better.”
My mouth drops open and Justin hurries to add, “I know he’s been your friend for a long time, Idaline, but y’all are too close. I can promise his girlfriend doesn’t like it, and I already told you I don’t like it. You may not see it that way because you’re sweet and innocent, but FC knows. Trust me,” he mutters. “Maybe this is a sign that you shouldn’t talk to him at all anymore. It sounds like you’ve reached a point in the friendship that it’s coming to an end.”
I don’t even know where to start. How do I process all of that? FC wouldn’t sacrifice our friendship for a relationship he knows won’t last. There’s no way.
Right?
Plus, Justin again brings up that FC has feelings for me, and my soul latches onto that while my brain dismisses it.
One of the most important things here is that Justin thinks FC would get rid of me for his girlfriend. That’s incomprehensible. There’s no way.
Oh, god. That might be it. She must have her claws in him so deeply. He’s told me it’s complicated. I don’t know how, but whatever that is must mean lessening my contact with him. He’s not happy; that much is clear when he comes to my apartment for an escape. Why is he choosing her over me?
Maybe even though it’s complicated and they’re obviously going through a long rough patch, he loves her so much to deal with it and do what he’s doing. To do what Justin thinks he’s doing.
But he’s always telling me to end my friendship with FC completely. My heart shudders at the thought of such a thing. I don’t think I could do that. If it meant losing Justin, could I? How am I in this predicament anyway? I shouldn’t have to choose between Justin and FC. I don’t want to do that because I’m not sure who I’d choose.
“Idaline?”
Swallowing hard, I look at Justin. “Maybe you’re right. And if you are, then it’s good for everyone.”
That’s what I’ll remind myself of any time I think of him and wish I could talk to him.
“Will you stop talking to him then?” he asks, pushing the issue.
“I don’t know.”
Justin frowns, but doesn’t say anything else.
My “I’m not sure” to Justin about having dinner with his parents turned into a “yes”. To say he’s thrilled is an understatement. He talks about it for a week before we drive over to his parents’ house. Not going to lie, I was hoping we’d go out to a restaurant where I could escape easily if needed. There’d also be more noise and people. But my luck is nonexistent.
I hold tight to Justin’s hand as we walk up to the large wooden door. He kisses my temple and whispers, “Don’t be nervous,” which is helpful for all of five seconds. Standing just inside the door are not only his parents, but also his older brother and younger sister. This just became a family dinner.
Anxiety, run away because I definitely don’t need you here tonight.
His father steps forward to greet me with a standard handshake while his mother hugs Justin. They switch places and I stop breathing when she says, “It’s so nice to meet you, Idaline. And don’t you worry one bit. Justin already told us about this thing with your anxiety. We won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable.”
She pats my hand and releases me before I can even think of a response. He told them about my panic attacks? What the hell? I can’t believe he’d do that without asking me first. And what the fuck is his mother talking about? This thing with my anxiety? It’s called a disorder, lady! It’s serious and real and not something that can be brushed off.
The introductions to his siblings are a blur. Will they analyze me throughout dinner, looking for me to fall apart? There’s a sense of betrayal in my heart, reminding me of what Justin did with every heartbeat. You don’t casually tell people this, especially without asking me first, or at least letting me know! I’m a helluva lot more nervous now than I was before.
We migrate into the dining room. I’m lost in my thoughts as dinner starts and they catch up with one another. This time should probably be used to learn more about everyone as they talk, but my thoughts are so scrambled, I can’t focus. All I want to do is eat this meal without making a fool of myself and without choking. I can do that, right?
Do you hear that? That cackling, hysterical, evil laugh? That’s my anxiety laughing at me.
When they focus on me, my mind turns to mush.
“You’re a nurse, right? How do you like that, Idaline?” his mother asks me.
I blink back as my inner voice answers with, “Uhhhh.” Every pair of eyes focus on me and I stumble, “Oh, um, yes, I like it.” They stare as if they expect more from me. “It’s a good job,” I add.
“What’s your family like?” his father asks, thankfully moving the conversation forward.
“They’re all great. I’m especially close to my grandfather.”
Thankfully, seeing that I’m struggling, Justin takes over and explains what my family does for a living. I stare at my food as he talks, my mind zoning out. Everything slows and stills and silences. My heartbeat even quietens until I can barely hear the steady rhythm. My eyes constantly find something to focus on, blurring out everything in the periphery.
Before I know it, Justin pulls me to stand and we’re saying goodbye to his family.
“What the hell happened in there?” he asks the moment we’re outside, walking to his car.
“Why did you tell them about my anxiety?” I counter.
“I thought it would help if they were aware you’re an anxious person,” he replies as we slide into our seats.
I roll my eyes. “It was so helpful that she brought it up to me and made my anxiety so much worse. So, if you want to know what went wrong, it’s that. You should’ve asked me first, Justin.”
He doesn’t apologize. Not about that, anyway. “I’m sorry for trying to help you, Idaline. What a shit first impression.” He shakes his head in disbelief.
“It didn’t help that it was more than just your parents either!” I snap. He’s seriously pissed that I had a panic attack? As if they are so easily controllable.
“Don’t give me that excuse, Idaline. All you had to do was go, smile, and speak. Instead, you were a fucking mute and stared off into space the entire time. You made me look like a fucking idiot to my own family. You’ve never acted like that before when you’ve had your anxiety. If you didn’t want to go, all you had to do was say so.”
That hurts. No one has made me feel so terrible and stupid over my anxiety, but Justin has. He apparently even thinks I’m faking it now. I stay quiet the rest of the way to my apartment. Once there, we mutter a goodbye, and he heads to his own apartment. I check my mail since I forgot to do so earlier and feel relief when I see a letter from FC. It seems like it’s taken forever to hear back from him.
I rip open the envelope as soon as I walk inside and begin to read.
Idaline,
I never knew it would be so hard to revert back to writing letters after talking to you so much. I feel like a part of me is missing knowing that your contact isn’t even in my phone any more. (Don’t worry, I have your number memorized if I ever need it.) But you’re right that this does feel like when we first started writing one another. Your letter made me smile and I can’t thank you enough for that.
Things here are normal. I’m doing my best to stay sober. Every day seems harder than the last and every day I’m sure I’ll drink, but by some miracle, I haven’t relapsed. My mom and dad are doing their best to keep me straight. I call them when it’s real bad. When there’s a bottle of tequila in my hand, or maybe just a shot, or when I’m in the parking lot of a bar. I think of my future and I call them to
help me stay sober, even when the temptation overtakes my every thought.
If I relapse, there’s no hope for me. You and my mom may think differently, but this is something I know for sure. After my first relapse, I know if it happens again, I won’t be able to climb out of the drunken bliss. If you pray or anything like that, pray I’ll stay strong and sober. It’s more important than you know.
There are so many things I want to tell you, but at the same time, I don’t think I’m strong enough to do it. On one hand, I wish I could go back in time and change so many things, but on the other, I should hate myself for wishing such a thing. Damn it. I’m sorry for rambling.
How are you? How’s it going with Justin? How’s your head? Tell me everything, Idaline, but especially the good parts.
P.S. FC doesn’t stand for Forrest Calvert
I find a piece of paper and pen and sit down at my dining table to respond. I reread his letter, wondering what exactly he wishes to tell me. What would he change if he could? With too many thoughts swirling in my mind, I begin my letter.
Fabricio Constantine,
I’m sad to report Mrs. Fish died today. My monkey was a terrible guardian angel and now Mr. Fish is lonely. It wasn’t fun disposing of her (even though I made Justin do it), so I’m not sure if Mr. Fish will remarry or remain a widower.
Right now, things with Justin are so-so. We were supposed to have dinner with his parents, but his siblings were also there. On top of that, Justin told them about my head issues. So, I didn’t make a good impression because as soon as his mother told me she wouldn’t make me uncomfortable with my “anxiety thing,” I started having more anxiety. We had a big argument and I feel terrible about what happened, but I’m sure we’ll make up soon.
I have complete faith in you that you can stay sober. You ARE strong enough to take the urges and resist the temptation of taking a drink. Don’t worry about tomorrow and take one day at a time. One second at a time, if you have to. I’m glad you have your parents supporting you, too.
I hate to bring this up, but it’s been on my mind since the day you told me this would be our only form of communication. Why can’t you tell me? You know I’d understand whatever it is. I won’t walk away from you. Why don’t you trust me enough to tell me what’s going on? I’m worried about you, but I have no idea if my worries are warranted or not because I don’t have a clue what’s happening.
The only thing I have to go on is what Justin thinks. He thinks you’re distancing yourself from me in order to please Lila, who may be jealous with how much we talk, but by writing letters, you’re still keeping me in your life. He also thinks you have feelings for me, but that’s for another day.
I can’t accept his theory, FC. If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, fine. But please tell me that you aren’t sacrificing our friendship for her. You told me you know you won’t be with her forever, so I know that can’t be what you’re doing, but I can’t stop thinking about it unless you confirm it for me.
But if I’m semi-wrong, and you are doing this, tell me it’s because you love her so much and you’re doing what it takes to make things work. I most certainly don’t want to make your life worse, but I can’t believe you’d choose her over me when it sounded like you’re in a relationship that’s going nowhere and it’ll soon be over.
I’ll do whatever I can to make your life easier. Please do the same for me and answer this one question.
Talk soon,
Idaline
For three days, I debate if I should send my letter before finally dropping it in the mail.
I wake up to find Lila pressing my finger against my phone. I put a lock on it again, just to see how long it would take her to notice, and you have to have my fingerprint to unlock it. She waited until I was asleep to try to get into my phone.
“You’re fucking crazy.”
She drops my hand and jerks her head to look at me. “We agreed that you wouldn’t have a lock on it.”
“We also talked about how there should be boundaries and how each of us should have this thing called privacy.”
Lila completely ignores me as she goes through my phone. “You’ve been grouchy lately with a piss poor attitude.”
That’s what happens when a person gives up to an extent. I’m tired of my life, but I’m waiting on my son. Lila treats me like shit and I take it. She hits me and I don’t even try to cover myself anymore. With her stomach growing larger, she’s taken to grabbing shit that’s close by and hitting me with that instead of her hands.
And then there’s the last letter I received from Idaline. It came nearly a month ago. Every time I try to write back to her, my pen doesn’t move to ink the words onto the paper. I don’t know what to say to her. If I can answer her questions without lying. She’s probably worried as it is because it’s taking so long to get a letter back. I need to suck it up and write her back before I let even more time pass.
“I want a chocolate bar,” Lila says just as I’m dozing off.
Without saying a word, or sighing, I roll out of bed, change my clothes, and leave the apartment. If it wasn’t for twenty-four-hour stores, I’d be fucked. Every night this week, she wakes me up, claiming to have a craving. However, half the time she doesn’t eat what I bring back. At this point, I think she simply enjoys disrupting my sleep and sending me out in the middle of the night.
I’m taking my sweet time tonight. When I get to the convenience store, I park and grab my pen and pad of paper that sits on the backseat of my car. This letter might just kill me.
Idaline,
I apologize that it’s taken me so long to find the words to write this letter. I’m still not so sure that I know what to say, but it’s long past time that you get a response, so here I am at 2:30 in the morning, writing this letter to you.
Justin is right. Lila is the reason we’re not talking like normal. I’m doing what I need to do, Idaline. It might not make sense and you probably don’t understand, but that’s all I’m willing to say right now, especially in a letter. I don’t like to think that I’m sacrificing us for her. Instead, I’m doing what I need to survive.
Please understand this. Please be willing to get through this with me. That’s all I’m asking.
But if you can’t, if you’d rather not, that’s okay. It’s not easy being in my life right now, trust me, I know. We can continue like we are or take a break from talking for a bit, if you’d like. I don’t want to make your life harder either, Idaline. Or make you constantly worry about me. That won’t do either of us any good.
I hope things are even better for you than the last time you wrote. I need to go, but before I do, I’ll say one last thing. Do whatever’s best for you. Don’t think about me or anyone else. Do what’s best for you, Idaline. The rest of us will be okay.
If you decide you want that break, there’s no need to respond and tell me. I’ll figure it out. A break might be good on my end, but the decision is yours. If we do stop talking for a while, we WILL talk again at some point. I’ll even make you a promise. When I feel ready to tell you everything I’m not currently saying, when everything in my life is good once more, I’ll write again. But not just a normal letter. I’ll tell you my name.
Until next time,
FC
I read over my letter and frown. It reads like a bunch of nonsensical bullshit. It sounds like I’m saying goodbye before she can say it to me. That’s the last thing I want to do. There needs to be one good thing going on in my life before Sawyer gets here. But the anguish in Idaline’s letter eats away at me every time I think about it. She might be better off without me. She doesn’t need to stress about me, especially when my life won’t be getting better for a handful of months still.
Part of me hopes she’ll ignore my goodbye and still write. Part of me hopes she won’t because this nagging voice in the back of my mind keeps telling me that’s the only way she’ll find happiness.
With a sigh, I grab an envelope, address it, stamp it,
and stick it in the glove box. I’ll drop it in the mail first thing in the morning, but for now, I need to buy a chocolate bar. When I return home, Lila is asleep, but I set the chocolate bar on the nightstand on her side of the bed.
In the morning, she wakes me up by hitting my leg with a fucking rolling pin. “That’s for taking so long to get back last night and making me wait until this morning to eat my chocolate bar,” she snaps.
She’s asking for me to kill her. She wants me to break and hit her back. I don’t know where my limit is, or if I have one, but I swear every time she hits me, I get closer to it. If I ever hit my breaking point, I’ll never be the same. I will have already failed as a man and as a father if I hit her back. But every fucking day, she pushes and pushes me. My hands cramp sometimes from how tightly I fist them. My arms ache from tensing my muscles, forcing them to stay by my side and not move them.
Lila fucks with my mind, driving me crazy. She pushes me a little harder this morning by hitting me with that rolling pin. I throw back the covers, stand, and rush her. Not once do I touch her, but the monster she’s created inside of me feasts on the fear in her eyes as she backs up and holds the kitchen utensil to her chest.
My face is a breath away from hers. I stare while she takes fast breaths. “The proper thing to say, Lila, is thank you.”
As soon as I say it, her eyes harden and the fear is gone. “Fuck you, FC.”
“Say it.”
She tries to push me away, but I don’t budge. Not today. Not to mention, I’m in better shape than I’ve ever been because the only way to survive not smoking, not drinking, and being with Lila is to burn off the emotions and the urges. So, I workout and exercise. I’m bigger than before, just a little bit, and I’m going to use it to my advantage more than I ever have.
Hell and a Hard Place Page 12