by J. Benson
"Fine. Come inside. But I'm warning you, after this conversation, you'll never want to see me again." I said evenly.
Chapter 15:
My Story
"Would you like a cup of tea?" I offered Taylor, pouring some green tea from the pot into my own mug. I was standing in the kitchen with Taylor. He was leaning against one of the counters, looking like a male model that just stepped out of a magazine. I was secretly trying to bide myself some time. The last thing I wanted in the world was to be having this conversation and reliving the ghosts of my past. Especially with Taylor.
"No, thanks. I'm a coffee drinker myself." He smiled lightly.
"I can make some, if you like." I offered, desperate to buy time.
"No, I'm fine." He smiled the same fantastic smile he always used. He was incredibly handsome.
I sighed. "Come into the living room, then..." I led him from the kitchen to the living room and sat Indian style in the large armchair, leaving him the sofa. I wanted to put as much space between us as I could. He eased himself onto the sofa. He looked out of place among the fussy furnishings in my grandmother's living room.
I sat staring at the green, steaming liquid in my coffee cup for several minutes.
"I thought you were going to tell me all about you..." He pressed.
I glanced up at him briefly, which was a mistake. Just looking into his handsome features and the way he seemed so relaxed in his surroundings threw me.
"I will.... I just don't know where to start..." I sighed. "It's complicated."
"Start at the beginning." He prompted.
"I don't really know where the beginning is." I replied with a light shrug. I pursed my lips tightly.
"Okay... how about the reason why you are the way you are." He leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his thighs. "The reason why you keep trying to push everyone away."
I felt a slight blush rise in my cheeks, as I awkwardly tucked my hair behind my ear. I wasn't used to get this kind of attention from boys; let alone one as good-looking as Taylor.
"I... I guess it started..." I sighed and stopped myself. "My parents got married really young. My mother was only twenty-five when she married my father..." I spoke slowly. "My parents were young and in love, and were willing to give up anything to be together. But they were both from wealthy families and my father..." I choked back the flood of emotion that came from mentioning my father. "...My father worked hard and became a gifted doctor... he started his own practice and it quickly thrived... I was born a year after my parents got married, and they worked hard to provide for me. They gave me absolutely everything; the best schools, the best hobbies... ballet classes, art classes, music and singing lessons... even if I wasn't particularly good at it. They protected me from anything that could ever hurt me, and showed me only the best parts of life... I was so sheltered from everything... but I didn't care. I was happy..."
I paused and drew in a deep breath. "When I was thirteen, my father suddenly took sick... before I knew it he was in the hospital. I had never seen him get a cold before, and suddenly he was in a hospital bed and they had removed two golf-ball sized tumors from..."
I stopped, not wanting to continue with that thought. I wouldn't be able to suppress the tears if I got into too much detail. I chewed at my lips until I felt able to continue.
"He underwent six months of chemo... and the doctors promised they got it all. He was declared healthy and we were ecstatic. He had dodged a bullet, and things were looking promising again. He was talking about going back to work..." I swallowed thickly, trying to chase away the dry patch at the back of my throat.
I darted a quick glance at Taylor, and quickly looked away. I wasn't looking for a response, but received one anyway.
"That's great news." He said softly. He sounded hopeful, which seemed ironic. At one time I had been hopeful too.
"The good news didn't last. The day before he was supposed to go back to work, he started throwing up blood... I found him on the bathroom floor and called for help... and the ambulance rushed him to the hospital. Two hours after he was admitted, he was in surgery again. The cancer was back, and it was worse.... I don't know... I don't know if I can describe what it's like to see someone be so sick. I don't know how to tell you what it's like to see someone that you love so much—someone who provided for you your entire life... someone who put you first above everything else—and seeing him get taken away in an ambulance... it's..." My voice cracked and I covered it up by taking a sip of my tea.
I swallowed hard. "This time they kept him in the hospital for four months... My mother and I practically lived there with him. The only time I left was to go to school... I felt so helpless."
I was choking up again, and needed to pause and draw in a deep breath before continuing. "Time went on... they did the chemo thing again, for a few months... but they had to stop when he started to get worse. They removed three more tumors from his abdomen, and after a month’s tedious recovery, they started another more serious round of chemo. One that took all of the energy and the life out of him... Slowly, he got better, and they sent him home. Things slowly started to go back to normal. My mother returned to work with the full expectation of my father returning to his patients and his medical practice... but soon he got sick again."
I chose not to pause here; I had begun my story, and needed to finish it. "He was hopeful. We all were. We figured he had beaten cancer twice before, and we thought he could do it a third time. I always thought my dad was invincible. I thought that there was nothing that would ever hurt him. He was always so strong, and he always did everything he could to protect me... and suddenly he was sick... and there was nothing I could do.... But as soon as the doctors opened him up for his third surgery in two and a half years, and as soon as they started removing tumors and cancer, they realized there was too much of it. There was nothing they could do but close him up and make him comfortable. The cancer was eating him alive... They moved him to the palliative care wing, and decided there was nothing to do but wait. They gave him a maximum of six months."
I returned my eyes to my mug of green tea which hadn't been touched, and once again resumed my story. "There were days when he would get better... and there were days when he would be so bad he wasn't the same person. They would increase his morphine so much that he didn't know who I was. He didn't know who he was. In a state of confusion, he struck my mother right before my eyes... but it wasn't his fault. It was the medicine..."
Taylor's eyes were wide, but I looked away immediately. "He would fall asleep with a cigarette in his hands and suffered third degree burns. I started to pray and beg God for death. This wasn't my father anymore, it was just an empty shell--only his body remained. To make matters worse, he was in constant pain, and I wanted the ordeal to end. For him, and for us. If there is a God, he must have ignored my pleas because my father lived for another year and a half in this way, before dying... I feel horrible about it, but I was relieved. He wasn't sick anymore, he wasn't in pain, and my mother and I could slowly start to rebuild our lives and mourn properly."
I sighed. "After taking care of my father for so long, my mother was a mess. She had been slowly losing the only man she had ever loved, and it tore her apart. She started drinking... and although I hardly noticed it at first... it escalated to extremes...My mother... she simply couldn't handle the fact that she was a forty-three-year-old widow. She couldn't handle the fact that the only man she had ever loved had wasted away to nothing before her eyes. Instead of facing reality... instead of focusing on all the things she still had... she turned to alcohol. She's not even the same person anymore, and even though I've tried so hard to help her... tried to be there for her..."
My eyes welled up with tears, and with difficulty, I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I lost my father in the most horrific way possible. The man who promised to protect me from harm... the man who kissed my skinned knees, who healed my broken hearts... the man who always promised to protect me; always b
e there for me..." I sniffled softly. "The man I thought was indestructible... and I watched him die slowly for four years... I watched him die in pain and there was nothing anyone could do about it. There was nothing I could do."
I stopped speaking entirely. There was no point. I was nearly hysterical now.
"And after all that, I've got to lose my mother too." I choked out. Tears were streaming down my cheeks now, falling faster than I could wipe them away. I had never entirely relived the story for someone else, not all at once, in all the gory details.
I drew in a shaky breath. "So after the funeral, I took everything the most expensive thing I cold carry and pawned it. I caught the first bus out of New York and ended up here. I couldn't watch my mother drink herself to death, not after what I'd seen with my dad. I couldn't lose both of my parents."
I chewed my lip. "And one of the worst parts was that I had no one to talk to. My father didn't want anyone to know about his illness. He didn't want people to treat him any differently, and he didn't want special attention. He didn't want my mother and me to be a source of pity for all of our friends and neighbors. I couldn't even tell my best friends about what was going on. Most of my friends stopped talking to me because they knew I was keeping secrets... and now I'm... I'm unrepairable. I'm broken in a way that can't be fixed. All I know is that I'm not who I was before... I don't even know who I am anymore."
"Emma..." Taylor breathed slowly in disbelief.
"It’s why I came here. I had to start over. I had to go somewhere where I could just forget about everything. I had to forget about my dad getting sick and watching him die. I had to forget about the fact that my mother would rather drink herself into oblivion than comfort her only child... I hoped being here would make me forget, but... but I can't forget."
I tried to push away my tears, but they were falling too quickly, and I could barely see. My hands were trembling uncontrollably.
Taylor was suddenly next to me, crouched in front of me. Tentatively he reached out and gently brushed a tear from my cheek.
Afraid to move, I let him touch me, when otherwise I would have pushed him away. With his left hand, he took my hand in his. His hand was warm and soft, and comforting.
Instead, he slowly drew him to me, and I rested my cheek lightly on his shoulder. Almost immediately, my tears soaked through his t-shirt. I sobbed softly on his shoulder, as he lightly stroked my hair and back.
I had done the impossible, and made him completely speechless.
"Emma, its okay..." He murmured in a soothing tone, which nearly made me shiver in response. "Everything will be okay... You can talk to me."
I was unsure of how he could possibly know that, but I didn't protest. Instead, I turned my face toward his neck, breathing in the scent of his faint cologne. I had never noticed before that it actually smelled good. The embrace felt amazing. It was exactly what I needed. I needed someone to hold me and tell me that everything was going to be okay. I needed it throughout most of my father's illness, but there was never anyone there to hold me.
I lifted my head from his shoulder, and noticed for the first time that his face was dangerously close to mine.
His gentle thumbs proceeded to try to banish my tears, which were now no longer falling.
Taylor's breath was warm against mine, and in a moment of complete loss of inhibition, I leaned forward and softly touched my lips to his. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, but after a few split seconds he began to kiss me back.
Chapter 16:
Faking it
By the time Monday morning rolled around, I was feeling miserable. I had worn my pajamas all weekend, and I was sure my grandmother had noticed my impending misery. I felt like absolute garbage. I wasn't entirely sure if I was simply feeling upset about reliving the past four years of my life in vivid details for Taylor or if I had simply opened old wounds or if I was dreading the inevitable confrontation with Taylor that morning at school.
I thought that finally after telling someone my deepest, darkest secrets that I might actually feel better. I thought I might feel somehow lighter, like the weight of the world wasn't solely resting on my shoulders. But I didn't feel any better. I felt worse. I still felt nauseated and sick, like I'd merely managed to re-open old wounds and dig up old memories that only made the pain worse by re-living them.
Above all I felt as though I'd betrayed my father. He was the one who insisted that no one know about how sick he was. And I'd opened my huge mouth, telling someone I hardly knew about the deepest and darkest depths of his illness. Dad had insisted that no one know, and here I'd gone and told a complete stranger. I felt like I had betrayed him and his wishes. I was the worst daughter in the world.
I shuffled into the kitchen in a pair of slightly over sized slippers and helped myself to a bowl of cereal, even though I didn't feel like eating at all. I wedged myself into one of the chairs at the kitchen table and folded my legs Indian style on the chair next to me.
I sighed and stirred the remaining Fruit Loops in the bowl with disinterest.
My grandmother appeared in the kitchen, dressed for the day. She took one quick glance at me, and her expression immediately changed to worry.
"Emma, what's wrong? You look terrible!" She cried.
I couldn't help but feel slightly insulted. I felt terrible, but I wasn't sure how that could possibly make me look terrible.
"I'm not feeling too well, Gran." I murmured. I hated lying to my grandmother. It made me feel like a five-year-old caught with their hand in the cookie jar. But I couldn't bear the thought of going to school. Not after what had happened on Friday. Not after the conversation I'd had with Taylor.
"You don't look well at all!" Her hand reached out and touched my forehead, then both my cheeks. "You're a little warm, too."
I wondered briefly how I managed to fake a temperature. I bent my elbow on the table and dropped my head onto my hand.
"Don't worry about anything, just go back up to bed and I'll call the school. Do you want me to stay home with you?" She asked worriedly.
"No, no... Don’t cancel your plans on account of me." I quickly spoke. "I'll probably be just stuck in bed all day. I'll probably be sleeping the whole time." I insisted.
Grandma appeared to consider this for a moment. "Alright. But I'm going to leave the numbers of where I'll be in case you need anything."
I didn't think this was necessary but nodded anyway. I stood up and shuffled across the kitchen and put my bowl in the sink.
"You're sure you don't want me to stay?" My grandmother asked again. "No one likes to be alone when they're sick... I'm sure I could be of some help to you. I'll bake cookies if you're feeling alright. Fresh, warm ones. Not the stale ones that had been sitting in the can for two days."
I wanted to point out that I had eaten one of those cookies before bed the night before, and they were far from stale. But I kept my mouth shut. Opening my mouth had gotten me in nothing but trouble since I'd arrived in this horrible city.
"I'm positive." I replied instead and shuffled my way back up the stairs. I carefully selected a book from my collection and crawled my way back into bed. However, instead of reading, I found myself straining to listen to everything that was going on in the floor below me. I could hear my grandmother talking, and although I couldn't hear exactly what she was saying, I assumed she was calling the school and making a few other calls.
I tried to read my book, but I couldn't concentrate. The words on the page seemed miles away, and were too blurry for me to read. I blinked several times, to no avail. In the end, I nestled back into my warm bed—which seemed pleasantly more comfortable than usual—and stared out the window, trying to listen to my grandmother's conversations downstairs.
I still honestly hoped she wouldn't cancel her plans. As much as I knew I was already a huge interruption in her life, I was kind of counting on being alone for a while. I needed some extra time to just think about everything. I planned to wait until she left the house befo
re venturing downstairs to see what was on TV.
Television rarely held my interest any more, but I was looking for something that kept my mind occupied so I was least likely to think.
I wasn't able to understand what my grandmother was saying on the phone, and it wasn't for lack of trying. I strained my ears, but couldn't hear through the old house and the birds chirping outside my window.
I laid still watched the birds flit from the tree branches, singing and dancing happily. I suddenly found the urge to shoo them away. It wasn't fair that they were so content, while I was so numbingly miserable.
But I had no one else to blame but myself. I had made the choice to open up to Taylor, without being pushed into it. And now I had to face the consequences of that decision. It was eight thirty and the morning, and I was almost a hundred percent positive that the entire school knew my secret by now. The whole school probably knew how unbelievably messed up I was. I wondered if there were any other high schools in the area. Maybe I could transfer to another school.
My grandmother's voice downstairs stopped abruptly, and I thought for a moment she had left, and I had just missed the sound of the door. However, I wasn't so lucky. It wasn't long until I heard the floorboards on the stairs creak, and I knew she was coming to check on me.
I immediately flipped over in bed and closed my eyes tightly. I forced my breathing so slow, so I could feign sleep.
I am a terrible actress, but I relied on the fact that sleep was easy enough to fake. I hoped.
My bedroom door creaked open quietly, and the room was filled with an insufferable silence. Even the birds seemed to hold their breath and still their wings for a few minutes. I lay perfectly still with my eyes closed for what seemed like an eternity.
Eventually, the door closed, and I knew I was alone. I opened my eyes slowly, and with my back still to the bedroom door I listened to the sounds of my grandmother leaving. I heard her soft footsteps on the stairs, and the sound of the front door opening and closing.