It closes me in.
It shuts him out.
It divides us.
Tears don’t come. They don’t cleanse me. My body shaking, I squeeze my eyes tightly, daring the sobs to come. My chest heaves as my labored breathing escapes, and I still can’t will myself to cry. It isn’t the release I’m craving.
Just one cut.
Just one drop of blood.
Just one.
I place my hands under my knees, trapping them so I don’t tear my skin. I open my eyes because it’s easier to imagine the sharp edge of a knife slicing my arm when my eyes are closed. Dreaming while awake. My mouth salivates, and the need is too much.
I’m choking on pain.
On fear.
On fucking goodbyes.
I stand, walking towards the kitchen. Grabbing the smallest paring knife I have, I examine my body. Searching for the easiest place to access, but one that I could hide from everyone. I reason with myself. I’ll do it just this once, get over the initial shock and pain of him leaving. Tomorrow I’ll go back to therapy and never do it again.
I’ll do it underneath my upper arm, there isn’t a lot of meat, and the pain will be stark. Blinding me from my heart being in shreds. One nick, a stream of blood, and it will be over with. I can do this. I slip my arm through the sleeve of my shirt, grip the knife loosely, and raise it.
“Damn it!” I toss the knife down and stare at it. The piece of metal taunts me. Reminds me I’m not strong, I’m not worthy. I hurry to the living room, I need to separate myself from the object threatening each hurdle I’ve jumped, each hole I’ve crawled out from, each void I escaped. I won’t allow it to suck me back in.
I’m stronger than that. I’m my own piece of steel. No matter how many times I’ve been twisted, no matter how many times I’ve been forced to bend I’m still standing erect. You can twist me up, bend me, but I refuse to be broken. Instead I’ll fight. I’ll give him the part of me I’ve never given anyone . . . my entirety.
“When you spoke with Dakota, how did that make you feel?”
I roll my eyes. “Relief. Non-climactic. I expected this big epiphany, and there wasn’t one because it had been in here all along.” I tap my forehead. “I guess saying the words made my heart realize it.”
“Sounds like you figured it out.”
“Actually, now that you mention it, I’d like a refund. I’ve been coming here for almost two years, and a year of it I’ve been duped.”
“How do you figure?”
“In ten minutes my best friend told me everything you didn’t. It was so simple, and instead you’ve made it difficult.”
“No, Bianca, you’ve made it difficult. I’m not sure you qualify for a refund.”
“Qualify? Don’t you realize instead of making me sweat like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee for a year you could have just said the words she did? I can paraphrase for you, it went something like this ‘Bianca remove your head from your ass. You know you love Heath, and Dakota is your past. Let go.’ See how simple that was.”
His lips curl up. “You are certainly my most colorful patient.”
“Ah, see you find all these ways to tell me I’m your favorite without actually saying the words. You like to play darts with spaghetti don’t you?”
“I don’t play darts.”
“Difficult. That’s what you are. So back to the refund request. Where do I need to submit that?”
“We’ll get back to that. So you had your closure with Dakota and survived. No emotional upheaval. Why’d you want to cut?”
“Because Heath left. He misinterpreted things, and when I explained things, he still couldn’t believe me.”
“How did . . .”
“Holy fuck, come up with something more original or you’re going to bore you patients with the same ole’ ‘How did that make you feel?’ Obviously it makes me feel like shit, or I wouldn’t have picked up a knife, and I sure as hell wouldn’t be sitting here getting robbed blind.”
“Then can you answer the question?” I wish one time he’d crack.
“I had the knife in my hand. I could see the cut, smell the blood . . . feel the release begging me. I didn’t do it in the end. I wanted to be stronger for him. For us.”
“Have you told him this?”
“He isn’t exactly Chatty Cathy with me.” He raises his eyebrows in confusion. “I call, he declines, which is rude by the way. I text, and he answers with one word.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Not really, I know he’s being difficult. Making me sweat like a cat in a Korean neighborhood. He loves me, I love him, and I’m sure of us. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be in the bottom of a bottle with country music playing in the background, and instead of a paring knife I think my weapon of choice would be a machete.”
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that analogy.”
“Well, I wasn’t done. Stop interrupting. I’d also have five different kinds of ice cream, chocolate chip cookies, definitely Airheads, and Callie. Maybe Lynsey but she isn’t too much into girly shit so she’d stop by, break out in hives, and leave skid marks from her escape. She’d call and check in because she’s not a total asshole. But Callie would be there, so I wouldn’t cut myself with the machete, so I’d be safe. Comfortable now?”
“You know what, Bianca Agosto? I think you’re ready. You’ve got this figured out. You have a support system, and I can officially release you from therapy today.”
“Won’t you miss me?”
“I think I’ll remember you all the time because I need my own therapy sessions after this. You’ll be my main topic.”
“Again with the compliments. So do I get a plaque or letter of completion?”
“That’s not how this works.”
“What about one of your diplomas? I really think seven is pompous. Over kill. It screams ‘look at me.’ And that isn’t a good look on anyone.”
“You can’t have one of my diplomas.”
“Come on. It’s not like you use all of them. I mean look at half the shit you didn’t do for me. Callie needs one in her room because she got me to admit what I was afraid of. She needs a consolation prize because you know when I write a book I’ll have to thank you, my therapist, Dr. Adams for getting me to the other side. Think of all the referrals you’ll get, so is one little diploma worth losing all that business?”
He rests his elbows on the armrests and drops his head into his hands. I’ll wait. Patience is the only virtue I have. “I won’t even ask for the biggest one.”
“No. I won’t debate this with you. You can’t have a diploma, and you can’t have a refund.”
“Can I at least invite you to my wedding?”
“Please do.”
“I’ll expect a gift. A nice one, you can afford it.”
“Noted.”
I stand. “Bye, Doc.”
“Goodbye, Bianca.”
“Wanna hug? I feel like you’re angry with me.”
He points to the door, and I barely escape through it before laughing. I’ll miss our sessions, but he’s right. I have this shit. Life is full of ups and downs and I figured the key to it is to ride them out. Hold on tight to what you cherish and let go of what you no longer need. I no longer need my scars like a shield. I have the one man who I never have to protect myself with. Now if he’d only get his ass back here.
I spent the last couple months trying to prove my worth to Heath, and that’s not what it’s about.
I am worthy of him.
I am worthy of love.
We are worthy of a future.
When he ran from his insecurities, I realized in all the reassurances I was giving him, he doubted me more. The lady doth protest too much has some merit. Words can be empty. Action is what he needed. I was riding the calm, enjoying the relationship, and I needed to rock the boat, show him what I wanted. I could have dragged his ass to pick china patterns, flooring samples, wedding colors . . . he would have gotte
n the message. So now I wait . . . and wait . . . and wait some more. I bombard him with daily texts, nothing serious just my day-to-day activity. I’m sure if he gets another photo of my Starbucks cup he’s liable to call me back…or poke his eyes out.
ME: I’m bored. What are you doing?
Callie: Cleaning.
ME: Entertain me.
Callie: Come clean my house for me.
ME: I’m being serious.
Callie: So am I.
ME: Let’s go out tonight.
Callie: Bronson’s on a case let me see if your mom can watch Angelo.
Callie: She can watch him . . . we driving or taking a cab?
Me: Cab.
Callie: Oh God.
Me: Nope, just Bianca. See you at seven.
Callie: You coming here?
Me: No, you’re coming here so I can dress you.
Callie: . . .
ME: I get you’re a mom and all but we’re twenty five- NO mom jeans tonight, no loose shirts, no granny panties, and NO sneakers.
Callie: I wish I could swear in Italian because saying fuck off in English isn’t the same.
Me: Dictionary . . . it’s this thing with words, and it even has different versions with foreign languages.
Callie: Fuck. Off.
ME: Love you!
I dress her in capri pants and a tank top, nothing too risqué, but you’d think she was wearing garters and a thong with the way she’s pulling the shirt down and messing with her hair.
“Listen, you could wear this outfit at church. Stop worrying.”
“What kind of church do you think I go to?”
“Shut up, and let’s go.”
“Is Lynsey singing tonight?”
“Yeah, but she’s managing now that Heath is MIA.”
“You still doing okay with that?”
“What else can I be? He’ll come back.”
“He better.”
“He will.”
The club isn’t packed when we get there, and I’m grateful. I just want a chill night.
Lynsey has a few shots with us before singing. I look around and admire all the hard work he put into this. I know he’ll miss the day-to-day activities soon.
“Your brother’s here.”
“Of course he is.” I smirk at her. No resentment because I love the way they are with each other. Just because he’s here doesn’t mean she will be all over him. Together, yet separate. I look towards the door, and I punch the shit out of her. Spilling her drink in the process so her shirt is now see-through and my brother will flip his lid.
“What the fuck, Binks?”
“How about amending your last statement to ‘your brother’s here, and he has Dakota and Lisa with him’.”
“I didn’t know, bitch. That hurt.” She rubs her arm.
“There isn’t enough alcohol.”
“I thought you were okay with them. The wedding is next week.”
“I’m fine, but I know Heath wouldn’t be.”
“Binks, be you. Let the chips fall where they may.”
Surprisingly, nothing is awkward, and the entire evening is going well. Lisa is tipsy, discussing every detail of the wedding and her parents. I don’t dislike her, but I don’t know her, and that has to change. I don’t want to share secrets because let’s face it, we’ve both had sex with her fiancé, and that’s just awkward.
I call Lynsey to the side of the stage and tell her my plan. Her grin and laughter let me know this is a good thing. “I’m happy for you, Bianca. The ghosts are gone.”
“My knight in shining armor saved me.” I bat my eyelashes at her, and I join the rest of my friends, letting her do this for me.
“Okay ladies and gentlemen,” her voice makes everyone hush, “we have a request tonight. Lisa and Dakota please come to the center of the floor.” Lisa turns beet red, and Dakota pulls her behind him. “Bianca wants to wish you well and happy future and yada yada yada . . . her words. She also wants me to sing this song for you.” Her guitar begins the melody of Jana Kramer’s ‘I Got the Boy.’
I know there are no hard feelings when Lisa holds her side in laughter, and Dakota pulls her to him, swaying back and forth.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Heath
Five weeks without her.
Thirty-five days of missing her.
Eight hundred forty hours since I’ve seen her smile.
I’ve drunk myself into a stupor every night.
I’ve cursed the fates for the cluster-fuck we are in.
I’ve realized that I can’t live without her.
I’ve realized I can’t live amongst the past.
Lynsey has done a terrific job of managing the bar and recording studio, so I’m going to offer her that position on a permanent basis. My bags are packed, and I have a few loose ends to tie up in Miami before I go back to my dad’s.
A hiatus from chaos.
A break from memories.
A lull in loving her.
It’s a quick flight to Miami, and I walk in the club looking for Lynsey. I can’t find her, so I ask Jim, our head bartender. “Where’s Lynsey tonight?”
“Some wedding,” he calls back.
Of course. She’s Bianca’s plus one. Bianca asked me to attend with her via voicemail, and I was too much of a coward to call her back.
“Hey. It’s me. Again. We need to discuss your phone etiquette. Anywho, the wedding is this weekend, and I know he isn’t your favorite person, but I’d like you to go with me. Not as moral support, but as my date. As my boyfriend. Maybe seeing it with your own eyes will give you closure.”
It’s all my issue. She says the right things, acts the right way, but when he is close, I lose all sense of rational thought. I go back to the apartment to make sure all my stuff is gone and see the invitation. I look around and see our moments framed in the apartment. She has our pictures on every available surface. She did this while I was gone. There are some Architectural Digest magazines on the table with pages earmarked. The houses have a little of her and little of me.
Parents magazine is on the nightstand with a sticky note.
Molly and Chris are out. We pick our names together.
The box of her past is under the bed, so I pull it out. All that’s left in it are pictures of us and cards and notes I sent her. The box from her pendant I gave her for graduation.
I’m a fucking idiot. Every word she spoke was the truth, but my fear of the unknown refused to let me hear it. I felt it with every touch, every smile, and every whispered promise. She gave me everything, and I tossed it back, yet here she sat day after day waiting.
Believing.
Loving.
She gave me more in these past weeks than I ever deserved. I rush back and grab the invitation, calling a cab. I’m crashing a wedding, but for one good reason.
Her.
I toss some bills at the driver and hurry out. Traffic is a bitch, and I didn’t want to wait, so I have to cross the street. I can make out Callie and Bianca at the bottom of the steps, and then the bride and groom step from the church, and everyone starts throwing rice.
I watch her slender neck as she tosses her head back in laughter, the sound reaching me across the street, my entire body going slack. I can breathe deeply, the stress erased from my body. She looks over at me and cocks her head.
I smile and seem to be rooted in place just watching her. She moves off the bottom step and takes a step towards the curb. Once she’s sure it’s me, she blows me a kiss. Before her hand drops back down, my world ends.
In a flash, all I see is the maroon of the car careening towards her. Screams echo all around me, but I can’t move. Her body flies through the air and lands fifteen feet from the impact. I dash forward, and Bronson is next to her. Someone is talking to 911, and I look at her face. Eyes closed, not a mark on her. He’s searching for a pulse, so I grab her hand.
“Don’t move her.” I gently cover her hand with mine and pray she’ll be okay. I hear si
rens; suddenly she’s swarmed by paramedics, listening to them call out codes and stats. I’m transported to replaying the crash over and over. I watch as they put braces all over her, load her on the gurney, and rush her towards the ambulance. Callie climbs in with her and Bronson hollers for Lynsey and I to ride with him.
Silence.
We are all trapped in our own hell with this waiting game. Dakota and Lisa went to pick up Gianna before coming here because she was babysitting Angelo during the wedding ceremony.
Bellissimo Rilascio (Beautiful Release): The Family Series #3 Page 17