Madness

by J. L. Vallance

  I’d been blessed with more than ample amounts of opportunities to meet a good, stable, healthy man and settle into a blissful happiness. Never, in all my years of adulthood, especially after my break, had I wanted that. I was happy with my life the way it was—simple and ruled by my own wants and desires. I lived by my own failures and triumphs. The last thing I ever needed was the trauma that came with romance. I also didn’t require validation.

  Stupidly, I waited until the most unstable and volatile man in the state came into my life to decide that just maybe I should give romance a whirl. I was a moron for thinking I was falling in love with him—this man that was quite nearly a stranger. But that was exactly what was happening.

  Lukas was strong, superior on too many levels to keep track of. He was good to me, treated me with respect and adoration. But Rory, he was a different animal altogether. He was suffering, drowning in his own grief and illness, and he couldn’t see the life buzzing around him. He was the kind of animal I could easily recognize and associate with. I’d seen it in his face the night we met; it was the thing that drew me into him in the first place.

  We were mutually damaged.

  There was something in the way his eyes drew me in. They drank in every ounce, savored every last morsel, and they never held any judgment. They held fascination and wonderment; they burst with lust. But they never held pity. It’s been well over two fucking years since anyone looked at me that way.

  That’s what made me start to tumble—the way he could see me and accept me without seeing illness.

  That’s what made me feel as though he deserved my help. While I doubted highly that I was the right person to talk to someone dealing with such a traumatic experience, I knew for a fact I held a plethora of knowledge about depression. I also knew about unhealthy self-medicating habits and the toxic effect they had on one’s overall well-being. Sometimes, you really aren’t as strong as you want to imagine yourself to be.

  I’d gotten his keys and walked him to his GTO. Once he was belted in, I walked to Karleigh and sent her back home. She was more than hot; she screamed something about what a waste it was, getting out of bed to deal with my sexual exploits. I had to promise her two pizzas and a girls’ night in order to get her to willingly handle Winter’s Night for me for the evening.

  I barely got Rory up into his apartment before he threw up. I forced him to lie in bed and cleaned up the bathroom before looking for something to constitute groceries in the kitchen. Besides a cabinet full of hard liquor, a fridge packed with beer, and a drawer full of random colorful pills, I didn’t find much to cook with.

  Instead of planning for takeout, I found a pair of sweatpants to slip into, and ventured out and found the grocery store. I stocked up on meats, fruits, vegetables, pasta, and bottled water. I found places to shove everything away and started cooking. Rory found me at the stove, making pasta with meat sauce.

  “Tell me,” he said, pulling my attention from the pan of boiling noodles, “that I did not toss my cakes in front of you.”

  “Will that make you feel better?” I asked.

  “I take it that’s a no. . .”

  “You take it right.”

  He walked to the fridge, stood with the door open a long while, staring at the contents. His hand twitched at his side, and I knew what he wanted to grab—beer. Instead, he grabbed a bottle of water, opened it, and downed half the bottle before meeting my intense glare again.

  “I’m sorry for this morning and this afternoon.”

  I turned from him, shutting off all the burners. My hands shook slightly as my mind worked through all the ways to start the conversation. It also played with all his possible reactions. He could easily tell me to go fuck myself, that what he did with his life was far from my concern. After all, I was just some girl he lusted after, that gave into his passionate persuasion. If he did, it was still early enough in the game for me to walk away with little damage.

  “Rory—”

  “Please don’t,” he interrupted. “Don’t judge all of me on what you saw today. Don’t walk out.”

  “That’s not my intention,” I replied. “Let’s be clear about one thing—there is something brewing between the two of us. You excite me, make me feel relaxed in my own skin, and we seem to fit together near perfectly.”

  “I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”

  “No, there isn’t a ‘but.’ I want to explore this, see what can be. I need to know you want that too.”

  “More than anything,” he answered without hesitation.

  “If I am going to give, you have to as well.”

  “Okay,” he replied.

  “Tell me about Ryan.”

  **

  Fuck this water. I need a stiff drink.

  The strong set in her shoulders, and the firm line of her lips told me that may not have been the best idea. But my entire body hummed with the need for something. Just the mention of his name brought images to the forefront of my mind, making my knees weak.

  Frankie was fighting dirty.

  “You’re bringing out the heavy hitter right off, huh?” I rubbed at my face, the hair bristling beneath my fingertips.

  “Every time you have run out on me we’ve been speaking about him. I’m assuming that my story this morning triggered something. Tell me about him; share your pain with me. I shared mine.”

  I swallowed hard past the bile that rose in my throat. Share my pain? Could I really speak the words I’d held in for three years?

  “I’m sure you have many more stories, much more pain to share with me.”

  “I might,” Francesca answered. I watched as she opened up the cupboard to pull out two plates. Is she wearing my pants? A possessive and comforted feeling spread over me at the thought that she knew my home—that she was comfortable here. “But you’ll never hear them until you give me something from your own pain bank.”

  She filled two plates with pasta and set them on the table. I could get used to the sight of her owning my kitchen, and wearing my clothes. She goddamn near owned my heart, my entire soul.

  “Is a pain bank similar to a spank bank?”

  “Rory,” she warned. “Talk, now.”

  “You want me to tell you about Ryan. . .right now?”

  “Right now, Rory.”

  I hung my head, admitted defeat. But, could it really be defeat if I gave in and allowed someone to own a piece of my history? Perhaps with doing that, some peace and clarity may roll in. Of course it could also allow the gates to open and more skeletons may come tumbling out. Fuck it.

  Pulling the chair out from under the table, I sat down heavily. I picked up the fork resting on the table beside the plate, stirred the pasta, and took a bite. It wasn’t perfect but yet it was. The dish needed some assistance, but the fact that Francesca went shopping, filled my home with food, stood at my stove, and made me a meal. . . Ryan was the last person to ever make me a home cooked meal.

  “From the time we were born, Ryan and I were inseparable,” I began, taking another bite. Francesca moved from behind me, sitting across from me. She watched every move I made warily. She probably feared I’d run again. “That was until he decided to go into the service.”

  “Which branch?” she asked around a bite.

  “Marines,” I replied. “He left right after high school. After a deployment to Afghanistan, he came home.”

  “Why did he come home?”

  “He’d been injured, nearly lost his leg,” I answered, my mouth suddenly feeling as if it were full of dirt and fucking worms. “After many evaluations, they deemed him unfit for duty.”

  “Too much damage to his leg?” she asked, taking another bite of her pasta. She ate one noodle at a time, her eyes as big as saucers.

  “That was a large part of it. But, he was mentally not in it. He had severe PTSD.”

  Frankie set her fork on her plate and eased back into her seat. A whirlwind of emotions moved over her delicate features.

  “How did
he cope?”

  “He seemed good at first, great even. He got a job working at a factory in town, bought a car, and moved in with me. I’d hear him at night though. It was nightmare after endless nightmare pulling him from deep sleeps. It haunted him and in turn, his cries haunted me.”

  “You found him in your place, didn’t you?”

  It wasn’t my current place. It was actually a house that I had bought right after I went into business with Max. Money was good, fucking amazing, and I had decided it was time to make a good investment in my future. That was one, brief, unbelievably simple and great moment in my life. Those kinds of moments were few and far between. And the crash from the implosion of each one of those moments was fucking painful and intense.

  “I hadn’t seen him much during the last few weeks. I was working long hours and partying even longer hours. I was so wrapped up in myself that I failed to see him slipping.” My hands were shaking and covered in sweat as I took myself back to that day. “Ryan was up when I was leaving for work. He’d made breakfast and wanted me to sit at the table and eat with him. I did. And we laughed and talked like we hadn’t since before he left for the Corps.”

  Silence spanned on between us. I appreciated that she didn’t fill it with awkward conversation. The silence was welcome, it was comforting, it was cleansing.

  “I worked all day, and then went out for a drink afterwards with a few friends. . .” My voice trailed off as the words were getting caught in my throat. “The house was silent when I walked up. I thought nothing of it. I opened the door, walked in, tossed the mail on the table, and slipped on something sticky on the floor.”

  My forehead was pebbled with sweat and my stomach rolled with nausea. I could smell the copper in the air, feel the stickiness beneath my feet. Christ, it was like I opened up the door to 2011, and I was standing over Ryan once more.

  “Take your time, Rory. I’m not going anywhere.” Frankie’s voice reached me through the fog of my memory and pulled me back to the present. I reopened the water and emptied it in three long drinks.

  “It smelled like copper in the air. I shouted for Ryan, remembering seeing his car in the drive when I pulled up. I finally decided to look down. . .and there he was.” My words ended on a whisper as one renegade tear slipped from the corner of my eye. “He was slumped against the wall, revolver in his hand; eyes blank and open as they stared at nothing.”

  Frankie reached for me across the table. I felt instant warmth fuse into my bones from the point of impact.

  “He was cold, but I still tried to bring him back. I called 9-1-1 and started CPR.”

  The room blurred as I allowed myself to do the one thing I’d refused since the day we buried Ryan. I gave into all of the pain and emotions pummeling me over and over, and I allowed myself to cry.

  Sometime, somehow Frankie left her post at the table, coming to wrap me into her arms. She held my head against her chest, and I swear I could feel her body shaking with cries of her own. We remained like that, cocooned in silence and mutual pain, and the pieces of me that had remained untouched by her flamed brightly with the suffocating love I had begun to feel.

  Chapter 20

  “Don’t be nervous.”

  Rory wiped his hands on his thighs, again. His legs bounced endlessly beneath the table as we waited for Karleigh and my family to arrive. I grabbed onto his charcoal colored tie, straightening it as he stared down at me.

  “How can I not be nervous? What if they hate me?” he asked. Sweat beaded on his forehead while I shivered. Fuck February. It was only the second, and I was more than ready for spring.

  “I like you, O’Neill. If they like you too, that’s a bonus.”

  We met at the winery this afternoon, me with bags of Italian takeout, Rory with his tie in hand and desperation in his eyes. I popped his collar and fixed him up with a half Windsor; just like Dad taught me when I was ten-years-old.

  Taking advantage of being closed on Sundays, we grabbed two tables in the middle of the tasting room, scooted them together and set up for a family dinner. Rory already knew Colin and Elise, but my mother had been begging to meet the boy that was more important than her. Yes, she was that bitter about me cancelling one lunch.

  “You like me?” he asked, a crooked grin on his lips.

  “A little, I guess,” I replied, matching his smile before laying a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “You taste like. . .butterscotch?”

  “Candy,” he answered, sticking his tongue out, showing me the disc on the end.

  “Are you doing okay?”

  I worried about him. He’d been drinking less, and the pills in the drawer by his fridge disappeared. The nights that I fell asleep at his place or him at mine, I’d almost always be woken by screams as he fought against nightmares. I continued to encourage him to go to a counselor, to talk to a professional that could help him cope with his demons a little better, but he was extremely resistant.

  “I’m fine,” he reassured. “This place is great.”

  I looked around the tasting room, smiling.

  “It is. This is one of my favorite places in the entire world. I spent a lot of time here while I was growing up. When the weather turns, I’ll take you out to walk the vines. It’s breathtaking out there.”

  “More breathtaking than you?”

  “You and those lines, O’Neill. . .”

  “They must be doing some good, you finally like me,” he smiled. That smile fell, and he stiffened with the chiming of the bells on the door. He looked past me, his entire body rigid.

  “I was looking for Karleigh.”

  I turned in my seat, stared up at Lukas, covered in a light dusting of snow. His hair was choppy and disheveled, his face fresh and neatly shaven. I was frozen, uncomfortably.

  “She’s not here yet,” I finally explained, standing. “I expect her soon.”

  “Oh, okay. Thanks, sorry to interrupt.” He turned to leave, and I felt Rory at my elbow.

  “Lukas,” I called, and he hesitated. “Would you like to join us?”

  “Is it veggie bullshit?” he asked without turning.

  “It’s pasta bullshit,” I replied, and he turned with a lopsided smile. “Lukas Pope, this is Rory O’Neill.”

  Rory reached out a hand to Lukas, and I waited for him to take it.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Lukas said, taking Rory’s hand. “I’ve heard very little about you. But what I’ve heard makes me nervous. She’s a special girl, Rory. Don’t break her.”

  “You’re not telling me a thing I don’t know, man,” Rory replied, and I wanted to vomit.

  “How about I tell you something you don’t?” Lukas offered, and I tensed. “Hurt her and not only will you be toothless, you’ll be dickless.”

  Silence fell, and my IBS threatened to kick in. Lukas dropped Rory’s hand but continued to spear him with a heated and hateful glare. I attempted to kick my brain dead ass into gear, to think of something to say to lighten the mood. I came up empty.

  “Holy fuckballs.” Karleigh stomped in the door, knocking the snow off her boots. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra out there.”

  We made eye contact, and she smiled until she made note of the panic in my eyes. Then her gaze shifted to Lukas for only a moment before it landed on Rory. The tension in the room was like a live and corporeal form.

  “Karleigh, it’s nice to see you again,” Rory said, stepping toward her to help with the bags. He set them on the table before coming back to stand beside me.

  “You too, Joker,” she replied. “BTDubs, your entire clan has rolled up.”

  “BTDubs?” Rory mouthed, following me toward the door.

  “It’s Karleigh’s way of saying ‘by the way.’ She picked it up from some guy she has the hots for on TV,” I explained, opening the door for my mom.

  “Francesca,” she smiled, kissing my cheek as she walked past.

  “Mother,” I replied.

  “‘Mother?’” Why so for
mal?” she asked.

  “Why not?” I countered turning back to the door.

  Elise and Colin followed closely, Colin stopping to shake Rory’s hand. Geno and Neve struggled at the car with the kids. I heard a door slam moments before I watched a blur of white blond, springy curls move across the parking lot.

  “Aunt Frankie!” Caroline called, jumping into my arms. I smothered her cheeks with kisses and squealed in laughter with her.

  “Caroline! My favorite little terror!” I smiled.

  “What about me? Aren’t I your favorite?”

  I gazed down into oceanic blue eyes and attempted to look serious for a half second.

  “Of course you are! The two of you are a package deal, Charlie,” I replied, pulling her into my arms too. “You are the famously terrific terrifying twosome.”

  Charlotte and Caroline were the best cure for any kind of depression. They were like pearls of happiness, bottled up and topped with a mop of nearly white curls. They laughed and there wasn’t a person in the world that could resist laughing with them.

  “Look,” Charlie ordered, ripping her coat off, pulling her sweater sleeve up. She pointed to the collage of temporary tattoos and smiled proudly. “Just like yours, Franks!”

  I thanked whatever deity that would listen that my sister-in-law was easy-going and accepting of pretty much everything. Other moms may not be thrilled with the prospect of their three-year-old idolizing the tattooed up sister of their husband. Neve understood and encouraged the girls to express themselves. And I loved that Charlie’s self-expression was centered on me.

  “Those are super amazing, Charlie. That one,” I explained, pointing to a candy skull next to her elbow, “is my favorite.”

  “Mine too,” she whispered. “Who is that?”

  “That is my friend, Rory. Would you like to say ‘hi’ to him?” I asked, allowing her to break free from my arms. I had lost Caroline to my mother long ago.

  “No,” she answered simply, running to find her nana.

  I hung up her jacket and turned to watch everyone gathering around the table, I attempted to listen as they spoke softly to one another.