It's All Coming Back To Me

by Michelle Marra

  I shake my head at the memories, but not too hard because of the tiny jackhammers pounding inside my skull. I’m a little embarrassed for the sexual antics I participated in with the two adventurous and somewhat sadist chicks. It had been a while since I partied LA style. I can’t say that I’m ashamed of what happened…but I do know I prefer a one on one encounter.

  I always find it difficult to keep up with what’s going on. Between the constant position and partner changing, I can never really seem to get into a groove. Maybe it was the coke and booze…maybe it was the two women licking me from end to end at the same time while I stood. Which is probably the reason why my legs are so weak. I’m afraid to get up and walk to the bathroom without the help of my cane. I don’t want to get two steps in and crash down onto the floor.

  However, I have to pee. I push myself from the bed, stagger to the wall and use it as a stabilizer while I walk to the bathroom. Before I exit the room, I grab a robe to cover myself. I don’t want to be parading around naked.

  I remember where I left my cane, or I should say where Dania tossed it. It’s in the living room. So I slowly shuffle my feet on the ceramic floor through the condo by way of the wall until I find my cane. When I enter the room I can smell bacon and coffee, I wonder if I’m dreaming…maybe hallucinating. But when I retrieve my cane and amble into the kitchen, my mouth hangs open. Breakfast has been catered. I had forgotten I made these arrangements with the restaurant downstairs. I knew with having company and being hungover I would need something ready and available. I make a cup of coffee then fill a plate with food before I cane my way to the north side terrace. It is such a beautiful day, I want to enjoy the magnificent view of the waves as I indulge in these breakfast delights. I’m also hoping it will assist with the hangover I’m trying to ignore.

  I look at my phone messages and read all the ‘Happy New Year’ sentiments. I’m looking for one I know won’t be there since I blocked her number. It’s been close to three months of my head full of Sam. Last night all I wanted to do was get her out of my head and my heart, so I figure what the hell, wasn’t the first threesome I’ve ever participated in. Unfortunately, it didn’t get Sam out of my head at all, I couldn’t stop thinking about her, wanting her, and loving her the entire time. And every time my phantom heart starts aching for that woman I try to remind myself of what I went through to get over her. I need to stand my ground. I need to let her go. I need to get this woman out of my head and heart.

  I click on a text from my brother Seth…he sent a picture of both him and Brian standing outside of the house in the snow while flipping me the finger. I laugh out loud. Guess their home between semesters, freezing their asses off. I’m going to send them a selfie and make them eat their hearts out. So I stand with my back toward the beach, angle the phone to capture me with the beach in the background and my middle finger extended. I caption the picture ‘New Year’s LA style…bitches’ and click send.

  I sit back down and take a sip of my coffee when I hear the text notification. No doubt my brothers telling me I’m an asshole.

  Nice to see you’re still breathing this morning.

  The reply confuses me. I figure Seth would have texted back ‘go fuck yourself’ or something along those lines. However, when I see who the sender is my stomach instantly tightens.

  “Shit,” I say. How the hell did I accidentally send it to Sam and what the hell is she referring too? Of course, I’m still breathing this morning.

  Confused and a little irritated I text back.

  What the hell does that mean?

  The reply to my question doesn’t come right away, so I cane my way back to the kitchen for another cup of coffee and more bacon. When I return to the terrace and sit back onto my lounge, I pick up the phone to see Sam has responded. I’m anxious to know what she’s talking about. And I’m still trying to figure out how I accidentally sent the text to her in the first place.

  You don’t remember skyping me last night, do you?

  “What the…” I’m digging into the recesses of my brain. I’ll admit my memory of last night is a little sketchy, but I think I would remember something like skyping Sam. I don’t even remember unblocking her number.

  No…I don’t. I text back. It’s freaking me out a little too. Why the hell would I skype her and when?

  Well, let’s just say I don’t like to watch the woman I love to snort coke and down shots of tequila like an addict. And I especially don’t care to ever watch you with another woman. Do you know how disrespectful that is? Were you trying to rub it in my face to hurt me more?

  My eyes widen. Now I’m really digging into my brain. “Oh dear God,” I say…I’m completely mortified. I don’t have a chance to respond when Sam sends another text.

  The sex aside, I was worried about you and was going to fly to LA, but I had no idea where you were. And I wasn’t going to wake up your mother and worry her to death that her only daughter might have overdose because she is stupid.

  Then a light bulb goes off, oh God…oh shit. I remember now. I unblocked her number when things were really serious. I guess I thought it was a good idea to let her know that she was the best sexual experience of my life. I remember handing Dania the phone while I snorted another line and downed a couple of shots right before Lucas attacked me on the bed with one of my dildos. I shake my head in disgust…now I am ashamed.

  I’m so sorry

  Whatever, Laurel. You’ve made it perfectly clear when you ran away like a coward. So you’ll get your wish, I’ll move on. Just please take care of yourself and stay away from the drugs.

  Sam…I wasn’t trying to throw it in your face. I know I was high, and I’m not exactly sure what my thinking was, but I would never disrespect you like that.

  Whether you meant it or no…somethings cannot be unseen. You did disrespect me in a big way. I really hope you find love again because you’re on a path to destruction and you won’t wake up when you fall this time.

  Who the hell does she think she is…I don’t need love, and I don’t want it. She should know that by now. My life is fine, and it is on the path to greatness. I stand up in a huff, “Fuck her,” I yell. I’ll do what the fuck I want to do…no one dictates my life.

  I’m a big girl Sam…I can take care of myself. This isn’t any different from my life before the shooting.

  And look at how that ended. You almost died! If that is how you’re going to live your life again, I don’t want to know.

  This was getting ridiculous. I’m sick of the stupid text arguing, so I press the call button. It rang three times, and I figure she’s not going to pick up, but then suddenly it stops. However, she’s not saying anything. It’s just open air, so I speak.

  “Look, Sam, I don’t make it a practice to engage in threesomes or do drugs. It kinda was an impromptu thing. I invited an old girlfriend over because I was lonely. I had no idea she was coupled or that she would bring her girlfriend. I didn’t know she had coke, I didn’t ask her to bring it. I just wanted someone to get my mind off of…,” I pause for a moment. I certainly didn’t want to tell her I needed someone to help get my mind off her, so I say, “um…get my mind of off things.”

  She sighs loudly into the phone, “It doesn’t matter that you didn’t know about it or ask for it, the bottom line is you shouldn’t have done it. After what you went through, after the surgeries…after what I’ve seen.” Her voice cracks. “You just shouldn’t do it.”

  “I know all that, I’m telling you I don’t make a habit of doing it. It was the first time since I’ve been back.”

  “I can’t tell you what to do, Laurel. But I do hope you won’t do it again.”

  I don’t say anything to that, I certainly never went out of my way to snort cocaine. It was just something that was always around, and I never thought a few lines were that big a deal. But I don’t want a lecture, so I remain quiet on that subject.

  “Okay…well, I do have one question,” she says.

  “Ask aw
ay.”

  “Why were you skyping me in the middle of the night, in the middle of your er….sex.”

  My eyes close and I shake my head slowly, I feel terrible that she saw any of that. “Um…” I’m not sure whether I should be transparent or not. To tell her why I did all that, why I called her. But it’s not like I’m there to see her watery, hopeful eyes, and have to answer the ‘why not’ question again. It is what it is, right?

  “I called to tell you that you will always be the best sexual experience of my life. Even with those two gorgeous women crawling all over me…nothing could ever compare with what we’ve shared.” There I said it.

  “I see. Well, thanks for answering the question.”

  I’m astounded right now, was that really indifference? She’s not crying or telling me how much she loves me? I’m a bit confused right now.

  “That’s it?”

  “What do you want me to say, Laurel?”

  ‘Um…I don’t know.”

  “Yeah ya do…you want me to gush all over you. You want me to cry and beg you…you want me to tell you ‘I love you.’”

  “No, I don’t,” I say in a high pitch tone.

  “Yeah ya do. But here’s the funny thing, you want me to pine for you. You’re enjoying the power-shift, you like that you hold all the cards.”

  “No…uh uh, that’s so not true.”

  “Yes, it is Laurel. You say you love me then you run away. You call me in the middle of sex to tell me I was the best you ever had. You call me even though we said all we needed to say over text. And now you’re arguing with me because you want me to love you. You want me to say it, don’t you?”

  “I want no such thing.”

  “Stop denying it…stop lying to yourself. I know you love me, but you’re too afraid to give me another chance, and I think it is mostly because of your stupid image. The image you created.”

  “No…that was the image you fucking created, Sam.”

  “Does blaming me make you feel better, make you sleep better at night? Go look in the mirror Laurel…this time it isn’t me. I’m sorry that I ever hurt you, I was young and stupid. You can keep punishing me if you want, Lord knows I can’t stop you. But…,” She lets out a frustrated sigh then continues. “oh hell, I don’t know. I thought maybe you could forgive me one day. I do love you, Laurel, I really do. But I’m not gonna wait for you anymore.”

  Before I could say something to refute what she was saying I hear Dania and Lucas behind me.

  “Oh…I see you still have company. I’ll leave you to it. Goodbye Laurel.”

  She ends the call before I had the chance to say another word.

  I looked back at my fuck buddies who seem to be interested in some morning fun the way they’re groping each other. I, however, am not. It was time for them to go and time for me to get my shit together.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I figure once I start filming my show, I’ll get my groove back. But I haven’t…it has been almost six months since I’ve been back at it, but my behavior has only worsened. It’s almost like I’m trying to compensate or something, trying to be somebody I’m not. And in doing so, I have become…well, let’s just say, unbearable. I’m trying to be Dr. Laurel, the famous psychiatrist, so hard that I’m becoming a vicious bitch. I don’t know why I’m so bitter and pissed off all the time. Seems every morning I wake up even angrier than I was the night before. Maybe it’s because I’ve lost sight of the theme of this show. I know what it’s supposed to be about in theory because I certainly remember what it was before. And even though I’m such a bitch these days, I’m still having trouble connecting with the subject matter. I’m finding it difficult…no, extremely difficult to be the bitter nay-sayer on love I once was, who I’m supposed to be. I’m really not sure how it is possible, but I think my hardened heart has cracked open somehow, and now my opinions, advise, and views are more sugar-coated. I feel like I’ve gone soft and sometimes I think it’s someone else’s voice when those sweet and sappy words fall from my mouth because it certainly can’t be me. However, regardless of my reluctance to admit it…it is me.

  I feel as though the show has lost its flair for me and apparently my audience as well. Not only has attendance at the studio declined, but my ratings have dropped substantially. Yes, I can see that the topics have become quite mindless and mundane, and it seems like the same type of person is always on the show crying their eyes out over a lost love. But my reaction along with theirs, tears in my eyes, cracks in my voice, comfort, and compassion, it’s very out of character for me. I even shock myself when I provide words of encouragement and hope. I don’t know what is going on with me. I can only guess it’s the ghosts of my past still haunting me. Because this certainly isn’t the old Dr. Laurel’s style and I don’t want it to be the new Dr. Laurel’s style. I don’t want there to be an old and new me…just me, the same person I once was before my life in that damn chair.

  My fans or should I say fair-weather fans, pretty much let me know how disappointed they have been with my show. Apparently most watch it for the cold, hard truth I provide, the stoic demeanor I demonstrate, and the indifference to emotion I wear like a crown. But I don’t have that in me anymore, as hard as I try I just can’t get back there. Seems I have lost my flair for the whole ‘love is a lie’ truth. The fact is I just don't have the passion for it as I did before I was shot and it’s not a real stretch for me to figure out why.

  I know I need to get my act together. It isn’t easy to shake away the remnants of the months I spent in Camden, and I didn’t even realize how soft I had become until I watched an old show before the accident and then a new one. I never really felt the transformation happen. Did it happen in Camden and I just didn’t feel it? Maybe it’s just a side effect of my near-death experience? I’ve heard of people changing after almost dying, and I wonder if after the realization that I almost died as well as being paralyzed made me somehow want something I’ve denied myself. I just wish I could change it back because I feel as though I betrayed myself. No longer was the ‘caring, give a shit’ side of me a façade. This was the side I showed the world, for their benefit. But now…oh God, I just can’t believe it; this is who I am…again.

  No matter what I do, I can’t seem to shake the funk I’m in. Some would say it’s because I’ve been indulging in booze, drugs, and sex almost on a constant basis. I guess as a way to wallow in my self-pity, but I think it is mostly just to free up my brain of Sam. Only twelve weeks into taping and I’ve been through an applause girl, makeup girl, stagehands, key grips, and a very feminine wardrobe guy who wanted to prove to me he was straight. Nothing I did would shake Sam from my head or more importantly, from my heart. I couldn’t drink her away…I couldn’t fuck her away. I’ve been eating my heart out since I ran out of my parent's house. I was a coward I know…but I couldn’t face the truth, the realization that I had fallen for her again.

  “Fucking shit!” I say through gritted teeth. I’m beyond frustrated. I know I need to pull the plug on the show before it tanks and I’m left with my reputation in shambles more than it already is. Since my change in demeanor, the show has taken on more of a ‘bleeding heart’ theme. And as much as I hate it, I just can’t change it.

  Speaking of drowning myself in booze and sex, I lay here on my California king with a tumbler of vanilla whiskey in my hand and a naked chick curled up next to me. I forgot her name…it’s Sasha, Tasha, maybe Marsha. I’m not sure what she said when she propositioned me in the lounge in the lobby of my building.

  I can hear the waves breaking against the sand. The room is dark except for the moonlight coming in through the open blinds blowing in the breeze. The moon is full and bright, and I have an amazing view of it right from where I’m lounging atop my duvet with nothing to conceal my own nakedness.

  When I drain my glass of the brown liquor, I reach for the bottle still sitting on my night table beside this chick’s glass. Sad to say she wasn’t much of a lay. Whiskey went straigh
t to her head, so after I finished having my way with her, she passed out. I laugh to myself thinking of the things she said in the bar, how she was going to rock my world…but now I lay here horny and drunk.

  As I reach for the bottle, I find that it’s empty, “Figures,” I whisper. I don’t want to wake the girl, because even though she left me frustrated, I don’t want her to touch me. Sam has entered my brain again, and all I can think of is her touching me. However, I’m in need of more booze. So I ease myself from the bed in search of clothing first, then another bottle of this delicious Crown Royal Vanilla.

  I’m sitting out on my veranda sucking down sweet whiskey and staring up at the sky. The stars are absolutely amazing tonight, looks like there’s a million up there…so close I can almost reach them. I look back and see the lump of a naked woman still on my bed, except now she is covered in the velvet blanket I tossed over her before I ventured out into the night.

  I’m dreading tomorrow’s show. A lesbian couple from San Francisco having difficulties with their relationship because of infidelity. They don’t want to break up because they have two kids. They want my expert opinion on how they can make it work.

  I shake my head and laugh to myself, “How the fuck should I know?” I say aloud.

  There is really no textbook cure on the healing of love. If there were, I would have been out of a job long ago. I can’t even keep myself from falling apart long enough to render any professional judgments, opinions or advice. And right now I want to scream. I want to throw myself off this veranda…I want the pain to stop. I want this ache in my chest to stop, the ache which bears a resemblance to Samantha Harrison’s face. I can’t stand the longing anymore.