by Monica James
I crawled, dragging my body toward the front door, desperate to hear him one final time. But when I heard his broken voice, I knew that this really was the end. Dixon and I were no more.
His words were the sweetest he’s ever spoken, regardless of the context, because they were filled with nothing but sincerity. Not once did I doubt him, but it came too late.
Today was meant to be the happiest day of my life. If only I knew this morning what I know now, I would have pushed the pause button and lived happily in denial. I got offered two placements. One was the dream offer and the other, the other was one that I confidently said no to. But now that offer is my only hope of surviving this.
I scroll through my emails and type out a quick message to my teacher, hoping that I’m not too late. I’ll probably regret my decision in the morning, but for now, this is the only thing that feels right.
Looking around my home, I remember all the happy memories, all the happy memories with Dixon. But now those memories are tainted with what he has done. They are plagued with doubt. Were any of those moments actually real? When he told me he loved me while making love to me on the sofa, did he really mean it? When he revealed that I was the only woman for him as we lay side by side in front of the fireplace, did he mean forever, or did he mean in that moment?
Everything is tainted and nothing seems real. My entire relationship with Dixon has been a sham. I don’t want to believe that’s true, but my heart can’t deal with any more pain. I may not know what is fact and what is fiction, but I do know Dixon lied to me about Beth. He slept with her before and after me. I don’t want to believe he cheated, but I don’t want to be naïve, either. I also believe that poor, innocent child might be his.
His confession about sleeping with his patients makes me feel sick all over again. I blink back my tears; I can’t believe the mess I find myself in. I know what I have to do. It’s the first step to taking back my life.
My phone feels like a lead weight as I scroll through my contacts with shaky fingers. When I stop at the letter D, I allow a single tear to fall. Dixon’s name stares back at me, a name which once brought me nothing but joy. Now it brings me nothing but sorrow.
I say goodbye to all my memories, all the happy times which now seem like such a waste of time. I say goodbye to all parts and aspects that make up Dixon Mathews. Thanks for the memories—memories which I wish had never been made.
With resolution, I promise myself this is the end. There is no looking back. Hitting delete and seeing Dixon’s name disappear from my life should be liberating—even cleansing. But it isn’t. All it leaves me with is an empty place in my chest where my heart once beat for him.
To get through this, I have to focus on tomorrow and to do that, I have to forget I ever met Dr. Dixon Mathews.
Carpe diem.
ACT IV
Two weeks later…
27
Reason to Stay
DIXON
You know you’ve hit rock bottom when you’re lying in the same clothes, in the same position, in the same spot you were in two weeks ago and using seven scotch bottles and an empty packet of Cheetos as your pillow.
Whoever said time heals all wounds is a fucking idiot. With time, my wounds have gotten worse. I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t weighed down with this heaviness, and as each day, each minute, each second passes, I doubt I’ll ever be rid of this guilt.
Once I left Madison’s apartment, I called Susanna and told her to reschedule my appointments for the next couple of weeks because I was in no frame of mind to be counseling anybody. I’m the one in desperate need of therapy, but I wouldn’t even know where to start.
So this option of drowning my sorrows in a bottle of liquid gold and reminiscing about the good ol’ days is far better than dealing with my feelings. My feelings aren’t going anywhere, so I can deal with them at a later date. A far, far later date.
My internal debate whether or not to visit my next-door neighbor to see if he has any booze I can buy off of him is interrupted by a loud pounding at my door. I raise my stiff neck from my makeshift pillow, groaning the minute the light streaming in from the window hits my sensitive eyeballs.
I decide against answering it and toss the blanket over my head, hoping whoever is at my door will go away. They don’t. The pounding continues for countless minutes but then it suddenly stops. I breathe out a sigh of relief and return to my memories of the first time Madison and I made love.
Just as I’m getting to the good bit, the blanket is ripped from my head and I’m doused with a torrent of freezing water.
“What the fuck?” I yell, wiping the water from my eyes.
“Oh, good. You’re alive,” replies Hunter, who is standing by my bedside looking relieved. He’s holding a now empty water bottle.
“Of course I’m alive! Now get out,” I gripe, attempting to throw the blanket back over my head. But Hunter reaches out and yanks it off the bed.
“Why in God’s name are you clutching onto that pillow like it’s your damn life raft?” he asks.
“Because it is,” I reply, burying my nose in the cotton. “It’s Madison’s pillow,” I clarify. “It smells like her.”
Hunter pulls a repulsed face. “No, it smells like you, therefore, it smells like shit. When was the last time you showered?” he asks, opening a window.
“Fuck off, Hunter.” I’m in no mood for banter.
“Dude, I get it,” he says, leaning against the dresser and folding his arms. “She broke your heart and you’ve needed time to grieve or whatever, but c’mon, how long do you plan on staying cooped up? This is totally unhealthy, not to mention unsanitary.”
“She didn’t just break my heart, she destroyed me,” I amend, clutching onto the pillow tighter.
“Yeah well, you’ve got no one to blame but yourself,” he unsympathetically declares. I don’t even bother fighting back because he’s right. “I’ve been trying to call you all week. Why haven’t you answered your phone?”
After a week of tormenting myself with should I or shouldn’t I call Madison, I decided to put myself out of my misery. I look to the corner of the room where my cell sits in a thousand pieces.
Hunter follows my line of sight and shakes his head. “Now that’s just wasteful.”
“I don’t care. It wouldn’t stop ringing. It also wouldn’t stop taunting me with the fact that I can no longer call Madison. So, problem solved,” I reveal, sitting up and running a hand through my snarled hair.
The moment I do, I flinch and remember my hand was the size of a balloon, thanks to the beating I gave Dylan. I tied a temporary bandage around it and didn’t really do much else. The fact it’s still stinging like a bitch confirms that I probably should have gone to the hospital to get it looked at. It’s too late now. And besides, the hurt is worth it because I can only imagine the pain that son of a bitch is still in.
“Right, this is an intervention. Get the hell out of bed and go take a shower. We’re going out,” Hunter states firmly.
“No,” I counter back.
“This isn’t optional, Dix. If you don’t get up from that bed, I’ll light it on fire.” To prove he’s not messing around, he reaches for the lighter off my dresser and flicks it on.
I watch the flame flicker, not liking the resolve behind Hunter’s eyes. “Fine, you win, you meddling asshole.”
I throw my pillow at him as I slowly get up. The room spins and I need a second to find my footing. Once I think I’m able to walk in a straight line, I stand and ignore my unused, protesting muscles. As I shuffle past Hunter, he places his hand underneath his nose and gags.
“You fucking stink. Are you sure you’re alive?”
My response is to flip him off, but I don’t disagree with him because I’m debating whether I’m actually alive or not.
* * *
“Dude, how about you give your liver the night off?”
“Dude, how about you fuck off?” I counter, flagging down the blonde bar
tender. I agreed to come out, but I never agreed to be a social butterfly.
My best friends are trying their hardest to cheer me up. Finch even got permission to go out on a Saturday night. But it’s not working. The more they try and pretend nothing is wrong, the worse I feel. I know they’re walking on eggshells as they’re afraid they’ll say the wrong thing.
“Dix, you need to pull your shit together,” Hunter bluntly says. It seems he’s finally given up on the pretense that everything is all right. I look over at Finch, who shrugs. It appears they’ve both given up.
“I’m fucking peachy, now lay off.” I ignore their concern and focus on getting my damn drink.
But Hunter won’t hear of it. “No, screw you, you stubborn asshole. I will not lay off. I’m worried about you. After Lily, you licked your wounds for like a day, and then you were out fucking your sorrows away. But this time around, I actually didn’t know what I’d find when I came to your apartment earlier tonight. Do you realize how fucking scary that is?”
I sigh as I run a hand over my full beard. The rare sign of concern behind Hunter’s eyes alerts me to the fact that I am being a right royal bastard to the two people who have always had my back. I understand they say you hurt the ones you love, but that doesn’t excuse my disrespect.
“Sorry,” I say, lowering my head. “I’m a fucking mess, all right? I thought that by now I would at least be able to think about Madison without wanting to kill myself. But it’s getting worse,” I confess, feeling like a complete pussy.
“That’s normal, Dix. You love her. Of course you’re feeling this way,” Finch says kindly. “Maybe you could try calling her? She may have calmed down and you may be able to save your relationship?”
I wish that were true, but I know that Madison and I are over for good. “There’s no point. I know there is no redo in this situation. I just have to accept the fact that I’ve lost her for good.”
“How do you know that?” Hunter asks.
“I just do, man,” I counter, remembering the hurt and betrayal in her eyes when she said goodbye. “And besides, she’s better off without me. She was always too good for the likes of me. I won’t be a selfish bastard and drag her down because I miss her. The radio silence is for the best.”
“You remember what happened the last time you did what you thought was best for her?” Hunter rebukes, raising an eyebrow.
He’s right, but a part of me can’t handle the rejection, as I know I’ve fucked things up beyond repair. But I stubbornly press, “We’re done, Hunt. I just have to accept it.”
He seems to want to say more, but stops when Finch subtly shakes his head. The role of the social pariah sucks balls, so I toss back my scotch, hoping to become too intoxicated to notice the concerned stares of my friends.
We’re all sitting in reflective silence, me thinking of ways I can slip away undetected, when a busty brunette saddles up next to me. I ignore her because I have absolutely zero interest in making small talk with her. Sadly, she reads my aloofness as playing hard to get.
“Hi, I’m Brea. Want to buy me a drink?”
Her huge tits are pushed up to the high heavens, and the sight which would usually leave me a slobbering fool instead has me inching closer toward Hunter. “Buy your own damn drink,” I bark. Hunter and Brea’s mouths drop open while I calmly steal Hunter’s beer.
Brea is persistent, however, and doesn’t seem to want to take no for an answer. “How about you let me buy you a drink then?” she asks, smirking.
“I’m not thirsty,” I reply, mid sip.
She looks at my beer, raising an eyebrow.
I can’t believe I am actually getting hit on, looking the way that I do. I guess that proves what kind of girl Brea is.
“I promise I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.” She accents her sentence with a wink.
I shrink away, disgusted.
When she makes it clear she’s not going anywhere, I do the only thing I can think of to get her the hell away from me.
Spinning around quickly, I smash my lips to Hunter’s unsuspecting mouth and kiss him. The kiss is fucking awful, but I’d rather be kissing my best friend than this barfly. He pushes me off of him, and I subtly chuckle when he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, appearing absolutely disgusted.
I turn to face an uncomfortable Brea. “I’m so sorry. I’ve seen you here before with other women, and I thought you were straight.”
“Nope, I’m gay as they come,” I reply, attempting to reach for Hunter’s hand. He stomps on my foot in protest.
“Sorry again,” she quickly says and rushes off, mortified.
“Tell all your friends!” I yell out after her. Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t turn around.
The moment she’s gone, Hunter flicks me in the balls. I wheeze and almost drop like a sack of potatoes. “Oh, c’mon. You know you liked it,” I tease between deep breaths as I clutch my junk.
“You motherfucker! Just because you’re renouncing your sexuality, it doesn’t mean I am. That chick is going to tell everyone she knows that I’m your—” he pales “—your life partner.”
I can’t stop laughing. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll let you be the pitcher.” As I pucker my lips and throw him a wink, he gags and downs his beer in one gulp.
Surprisingly, this ridiculous situation has made me feel slightly better. It’s also given me a crazy idea.
“I’m over New York. This city is overrated. It should be renamed the city where dreams go to die.” Finch looks at me, interested, while Hunter scrapes down his tongue with a cocktail napkin.
“What are you saying?” Finch asks, drumming his fingers on the bar.
“I’m saying I might go back to Jersey.”
Finch pulls back, while Hunter stops mid-scrape. “Are you serious?” Finch says, shaking his head. He knows how hard I’ve worked to achieve all that I have, but what’s the point of having riches if you have no one to share them with?
I nod. “Maybe. I need a change of scenery. I also need a clean slate. And I can’t have that here because there is a line of Breas every corner I turn.”
Hunter suddenly rolls up his napkin into a tiny ball and throws it at my head. “Are you fucking insane?” I don’t even bother replying because I don’t know what my answer will be. “What are you supposed to do in Jersey? Have you forgotten how boring it is over there? Not to mention we moved to Manhattan to get away from there. Why would you move back?”
“Because I need boring, Hunt.” The more I think about it, the more sense it makes.
“What about work? You’ve worked hard to establish your business.”
“I can work anywhere. And besides, Manhattan isn’t that far away. I’ll work something out with my patients,” I reason, thinking of all the ways I could actually make this happen.
But Hunter shakes his head. “No, fucking no. As your life-long partner, I forbid you to go.”
I laugh at his melodramatics. “You could come too.”
He scrunches up his face like he’s just smelled something bad. “Now I know you’ve really fucking lost the plot. What am I supposed to do in Jersey?”
“Find a nice girl and settle down?” I suggest.
“There are no nice girls in Jersey. That’s why we moved. And settle down to what? Settle down and become Captain Boring. No thank you.” He stubbornly folds his arms across his chest and juts out his chin.
I narrow my eyes, wondering why he’s so worked up. Could it be my friend is scared of change? Or worse, is he afraid of growing up? But we’ve lived this bachelor life for far too long. I need a change in scenery.
Thoughts of going back to Jersey remind me of the date. Tomorrow is the family fun day at Sunnyfields. I’m not an idiot and I know Maddy won’t be there, but I won’t let that stop me. If I’m really contemplating going back home, then I have to deal with the issue of my father and me. Avoiding him is going to be a lot harder with him being twenty minutes away as opposed to two hours. But the t
hought of reconciliation isn’t as daunting as it once was.
Maybe moving isn’t such a crazy idea after all. I mean, there’s nothing keeping me in Manhattan. I can count the reasons to stay on one hand. But I can’t count the reasons to go because I’ll run out of fingers.
I know I’m not in any frame of mind to be making any decisions, but this is the first time in weeks that things have looked a little clearer.
Sadly Hunter doesn’t agree. “Fuck you both, I’m getting a dog.”
Both Finch and I chuckle.
28
Don’t Speak
DIXON
“Good afternoon, Dr. Mathews. We’re so happy you could make it,” says Pat as I sign in to see my father.
“Thanks for having me.” I smile at the young nurse. “How’s he doing today?” My father seems to be Pat’s favorite patient, as she’s constantly calling and giving me personal updates on his progress.
“He’s doing really well. He’s actually outside today.”
I pause from signing in. “Outside? Are you sure it’s not someone who looks like my father?” I tease, while she stifles her smile behind her hand.
Once I’m done signing in, she passes me my visitor’s badge and offers to show me where he is. We talk about my father’s progress and how she’s seen a vast improvement in his overall behavior since I’ve been visiting. I really want to believe her, but I have my doubts.
As we step outside, I whistle, impressed with what I see. The enormous green lawns are strewn with carnival rides, a small petting zoo, and colorful balloons and streamers are hanging off the white canopies. Long trestle tables provide the masses with an array of food and beverages, and everyone seems to be happily talking and eating, and enjoying the laid-back atmosphere.