by Shari Ryan
“The unknown is killing me, Dr. Mallard. I’m watching my wife lose her goddamn mind more and more every day, and at the moment, it seems like she will be gone completely within a month. I am desperate for help and answers, and I will do just about anything to get that. Please, I beg you to let us into this trial,” Layne pleads.
Gone within a month. He hasn’t said that in the past.
Dr. Mallard runs the tips of his clean-cut fingernails lightly across his lips, appearing to be thinking of a response for Layne. “I understand the frustration you must be feeling right now,” Dr. Mallard says. “Let me wait on the last couple of tests, and this afternoon I will try to reach the network of professionals that have been working with you. If everything goes according to plan, I will call you in the morning, and we can figure out a time to meet tomorrow. Does that work for you?”
I’m surprised to hear his eagerness to help. None of the doctors or specialists I’ve met within the past year have wanted to break or bend any type of protocol for me. I don’t know if it’s protocol to make a patient wait a certain amount of time before giving them answers, but I always just wait and sit on pins and needles for days before I hear anything.
Layne stands up from his seat and reaches across Dr. Mallard’s desk to shake his hand. “Sir, Dr. Mallard, thank you very much. I’m so grateful for your help, or any help you can give us. Thank you.” Dr. Mallard shakes Layne’s hand. “You’re welcome, son. I’ll be in touch with the two of you tomorrow.” Dr. Mallard picks up the folder that’s probably filled with my medical records and taps the opening on his desk to straighten the papers. He places his glasses back on and swivels his chair to the right, refocusing his attention over to his computer screen. Layne and I stand from the chairs and see ourselves out into the hallway. I realize I didn’t offer much gratitude but what is there to say right now? All I can think about is another sleepless night ahead of me while I wait and wonder what tomorrow will bring.
I watch Layne as we walk through the lobby and out the front door, wondering what he’s thinking. Part of me thinks he somehow gained more hope in the past hour, and if that’s the case, I don’t understand how he’s able to think that way. Therefore, it’s better if I don’t say anything.
I’m just a bit surprised when Layne doesn’t say anything either, not even during our car ride home. As soon as we walk into the house, he makes his way upstairs, walking as if in a trance.
If I disappeared tomorrow, would he be happier?
Yes, he would be happier. Maybe not right away, but in the long run. He could get back to his normal life and everything he gave up along the way just to be with me—the person who would someday ruin everything he loved in life.
* * *
I deserve hell for forcing him to take on my problems.
I had no choice.
I shouldn’t have let him quit his music.
But I did.
* * *
Following Layne upstairs seems like the only option. I still don’t have anything to say, but showing I care is better than acting like I don’t. There’s no good way to make him realize I hurt for him while he’s hurting for me. It wouldn’t make sense since he knows I don’t feel any sadness for myself anymore. I just can’t handle watching the effects of my life as it destroys my family.
When I reach our bedroom door, I’m surprised to see it closed most of the way. He never closes doors in the house unless we’re going to bed. I press my hand against the door, ready to push it open, but then I hear an awful sound, one I’ve only heard once before in the twelve years we’ve been together.
My heart plummets into the depths of my empty stomach, and I shove the door open, flashing my gaze around the room in search for the source of noise. It doesn’t take long to spot him sitting between his side of the bed and our bay window. I’m not sure if he knows I’m in here because the heels of his palms are digging into his eyes. His jean-covered knees are pulled up to his chest, and all I can focus on are his black Adidas shell-toe shoes that he refuses to give up or toss. They’re his “lucky shoes,” and he’s had them since he was seventeen. He’s had to replace the inserts ten times and the soles five times. The white stripes on each side aren’t very white, but instead, covered with handwritten messages from his friends, me, Aly, his mom and sister. I hate to think of the reason why he thought those lucky shoes would help him today because nothing seems too lucky at the moment. What’s worse, is that his heart is clearly broken. He’s crying, and there are tears so heavy they are escaping the pressure from his hands.
I kneel and wrap my arms around him, pressing my cheek against his arm. “I’m still here. I’m not dead.”
My words were meant to help, but the guttural moan in his throat explains clearly how much more pain I just caused. He releases his hands from his face and lunges his arms around me, squeezing the air out of my lungs. There was a time when I wouldn’t be okay in this type of embracing hold. Then, there was a time where he helped me forget why I couldn’t be touched like this. Layne is the one person in this world who I have needed for strength, courage, and belonging. He has given me something no one else could give me, and if he even feels an ounce of the way about me the way I do with him, I understand the pain he must be feeling.
“You can’t leave me, Dani. In any sense, you can’t freakin’ leave me. I can’t figure out what my life would be like without you, right here, right with me. I couldn’t function. I don’t think I could even breathe without you because I have never loved someone so damn much in my entire life aside from you and Aly. You’re my world, and it can’t change. It can’t, Dani.”
“Everything is going to be okay,” I tell him. I lie to him. It seems like I’m lying to everyone lately. I’m trying to soothe him, but he knows it’s not true. “I will always be here.” That’s a lie too. I don’t know the destiny of whatever the hell is wrong with me. I don’t know what the ending looks like for us. “You told me, Layne, you told me to hold on when I get scared. That’s all you’ve ever told me ... ‘just hold on.’ I’ve been holding on, Layne, and now you have to hold on too.”
“Dani, baby,” he croaks. “That’s just it … I’ve been living my stupid words that I have tried so hard to believe throughout my life, but where has it led me? My mother died anyway, you got sick, and now it’s getting worse. How can I believe in just holding on? This is why I stopped playing music. This is why I stopped writing music. I can’t believe my own damn words. I’ve been lying to myself and you for so long that I don’t even know the truth anymore.”
I feel so empty now.
I have been surviving on his soulful lyrics. I have been holding onto them for so long like they’ve been my lifeline. I thought he knew how many times his words have saved me, but I’m not sure I can make him see that anymore, and maybe I’m the reason he’s lost all faith in his own words.
“I’m going to get better. For you and to show you, your words are true,” I tell him.
* * *
It’s a lie.
It’s not a lie. I want to get better. I want to escape whatever is happening to me.
You’re not getting better.
I must get better.
You know things will only get worse.
Things can’t possibly get worse.
Lying can protect someone from pain.
Lying is wrong. Lying causes pain.
Lying isn’t as bad as you once thought.
It’s so much worse.
You should just keep lying.
* * *
I don’t even know what I’m lying about?
I don’t even know why I hear two voices inside my head.
Seventeen
Twelve Years Ago
I WAS 18 YEARS OLD
I don’t think I considered what the process would be like to prepare for a music video. I didn’t think I would have a makeup artist working on me, but I’m not hating this kind of treatment. I’m watching her work magic with small brushes, entranced by the artistic manner, in
which, she creates flawless strokes to enhance my facial structure. I rarely put much makeup on, but she’s playing with natural tones. My eyes, though, she’s putting a lot of work into that area. They’re already blue, but with the color choices, they look turquoise, especially being accented by the black liner and fake lashes. My hair is in loose curls, the way I like it, and I love this look. I look awake and full of energy, and it’s the best I’ve felt about myself since Aly was born.
“You’re ready to get dressed now,” Monica, the makeup artist tells me. “I’ll leave you to your space so you can get changed.” She squints at my face, tilting her head to the side, then grabs a brush from the canister on the vanity. After one quick sweeping motion from the corner of my lip to my ear, she pulls the brush away and studies me for a moment. “Perfect,” she says.
“Thank you. I love what you’ve done.”
“It’s all you, babe. I was just highlighting your features. You’re a natural.”
Monica wraps up her tool bag full of brushes and closes her cases of color pallets. Just like that, she’s packed up and out the door.
The clothes set aside are casual-fun, everyday wear. I’ll be comfortable too. So far, so good. Although, I’m aware of what will be the worst part of this day. I’m trying to avoid the thought, though.
After a few minutes of making sure everything on my body is where it should be, I spin around, glancing at every angle in the mirror, and feel good enough to walk outside.
I wasn’t expecting Layne to be waiting for me outside, but he’s just a few feet away from the trailer’s door, leaning up against a metal fence. His knee is pulled up for a spot to rest his guitar, and he’s focused on tuning the strings. He’s changed his clothes too. The difference is slight, but he has a tear in the knee of his black jeans, and he’s wearing a simple, fitted, black t-shirt, which defines more of him than I knew was there. His hair looks a little tousled in a perfect kind of messy way, and he’s irresistible.
As I move toward him, I cast a shadow over where he’s standing, pulling his focus up toward me. “Whoa,” he says. Layne places his guitar down, leaning it up against the fence. He cups his hand around the bottom of his chin as he inspects my new look. “I’m kind of speechless, sorry.”
He’s making my face hot, and I don’t know if he’s just trying to ease my discomfort, but I’ve never felt like this. It’s like I’m more than just a typical girl who people pass by without a second glance.
Layne still seems a bit speechless, but his hand has fallen to his chest. “Dani, thank you again for agreeing to do this.”
“Yeah, it’ll be … uh … it’ll be fun,” I say, laughing nervously.
He walks toward me, stopping less than a foot away. “Can I tell you something?” he asks softly.
My heart is pounding in response, unsure of what to expect. “Of course.” I sound like I have something stuck in my throat.
“I’m seriously attracted to you. Every single part of you, and I wanted you to do this music video with me for selfish reasons.”
Oh my. I need to fan myself, so my makeup doesn’t melt off, especially while standing beneath the sun. “I’m—ah fl—flattered,” I tell him, hardly able to form my words into anything understandable.
“This last week, I’ve wanted nothing more than to spend more time with you. I don’t want to be pushy, though, you know. I get that you have your own life and a busy one, but I have this desire to be close to you.”
I cannot breathe. My throat is tight, and my stomach feels hollow. How can this guy who has girls screaming his name out at a show want to spend his time with me of all people? “Why?” It’s not the best question to ask someone when they say they’re attracted to you, but ... why me? I need to know.
“You’re real, Dani. You remind me of the unfiltered parts of life I’m trying to hold on to in the mix of this wild dream.”
I like that answer. “So, I’m kind of like an anchor?”
“Yes, you are an anchor to what’s real. I need an anchor in my life, Dani. Badly.”
“I don’t mind being an anchor,” I say, peering down at my black and white Chucks.
Layne wraps an arm around my neck and yanks me into his chest. My body stiffens at first, feeling restrained and held without warning. My heart races and my body heats up to a level of discomfort, but I close my eyes, breathe, and tell myself everything is going to be okay. “Thank you again,” he says. His voice brings me back to the moment, the moment I didn’t screw up by freaking out from a touch. I should be thanking him too. With a few more deep breaths, my body relaxes, and I’ve forgotten the feeling of fear. “They’re ready for us. Are you ready?”
I can only nod my head because I’m not sure my voice would sound right if I tried to speak. Layne takes my hand and weaves his fingers with mine. It feels nice, comforting. My feet feel like they’re floating on air as we make our way over to the set. I refuse to look up at the roller coaster and give into my fears. I just need to focus on Layne, his hand, his warmth, the words he just offered.
We’re walking up the grated metal ramp toward the ride’s opening. It’s a legitimate carnival ride coaster with all the bells and whistles.
The moments are blurring by with directions and queues we need to follow, and before I know what’s happening, we’re seated together in a cart. A bar is pulled down over our laps. There’s no turning back now.
I notice a tall tower with all the video equipment, figuring they’ll be close enough to get the shots they need as we are moving.
“Are you okay?” Layne asks.
“I’m nervous,” I tell him, honestly.
“Just don’t look down, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper.
“I’m going to be singing to you, but it might sound a little funny since we’ll be moving. They’ll rematch my voice up later with a better audio version.” The director already said this to us as we were sitting down, but Layne must have figured I wasn’t taking in all the information at once.
“Okay,” I tell him.
“I’m going to try to make it, so we get this in one shot, so we only have to do the ride once.”
I didn’t consider the idea of going on this thing multiple times, but I don’t want to think about that right now. “What if I look crazy when we’re going down a drop?”
“You won’t,” he tells me.
“Ready?” I hear. There’s a guy seated on the crane tower with a moving seat and a video camera.
“Ready?” Layne asks me a second time.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, hearing my voice crackling.
Layne gives everyone below the thumbs up, and I hear the motor running beneath us. My chest aches with fear and I want to scream before we start moving, but I can’t do that.
The music blasts out of a pair of speakers I hadn’t noticed. It’s so loud, and it’s surrounding us like we’re in a stadium. The notes mute the motors of the ride which is a nice distraction until we begin to move.
Layne mouths lyrics beneath his breath as he glances at me with a gentle smile. His face lights up with happiness, illuminating the passion for his music—his life. Watching him in this moment is a slight distraction, but my mind is racing at the same time, thinking about the distance between me and the pavement.
Layne sneaks his hand beneath mine and squeezes. Maybe he can see the distress written on my face, which probably isn’t good for the camera. He could just assume how I’m feeling. In which case, he’s correct.
However, when words belt from his throat, a sense of calmness drapes over me. His voice is soothing, entrancing, even a bit numbing. It’s helping me to forget about the incline we’re traveling on, and I want to hear more.
Layne closes his eyes as we reach the top. It’s like he’s trying to find his next word to sing, but I’m quick to realize he knows exactly what’s next. “Dani,” he whispers before continuing the song:
A fragment in seas of debris
Each of them with
pain and scars
They seek to flee the painful reality
Before falling among shattered stars
* * *
Closing her eyes with hope
And reaching for me with desire
We fall into each other
For sake of the brighter
* * *
She gazes with relief
Smiling with eyes adore
I take away all those scars
She’s now much more ...
Than shattered stars
* * *
I feel it coming, the drop. I feel it within his lyrics, and in the way, his words fill my soul. He’s singing to me. He’s singing about me. He’s looking at me, smiling—smiling before we fall.
* * *
A fragment in seas of debris
Each of them with pain and scars
They seek to flee the painful reality
Before falling among shattered stars
* * *
The music pauses, and we’re in the middle of moving up and falling. My breath becomes short, and panic runs through my nerves. Part of me wants to cry; the other part of me wants to scream. I’m on camera so I can’t do either. Don’t look down, I tell myself, repeating Layne’s words. The seconds we’ve been at the top feel like minutes, but I know we’re about to move. Layne’s hand cups around my cheek so I look at him rather than everything else around us. “Ready?” he asks me.
I don’t have time to object or agree. The cart inches forward and before I can gather another thought, we’re dropping.
We’re dropping.
I want to scream, but his lips crash into mine, filling my lungs with the air I couldn’t find. The cart swings us around, up and down, and through loops, all while his hands lock around my face, cradling my world from the fears I’m enduring. My stomach feels as though it’s plummeting thousands of feet toward the depths of the world’s core, but it’s floating and fills with warmth. Layne’s lips are the most incredible sensation I’ve felt against mine, and my heart is exploding from excitement and enthrallment. My body has been free falling, flying with his, wrapped up tight within his hold, and now … we’re gliding. We’re on the bottom. We made it, and the rush is overwhelming. Ignited sparklers are flaming throughout my body, confusing me enough to think we’re still dropping.