Undying Love

by Nelle L'Amour

  She bit down on her quivering lip. “Oh, Madewell, I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.” Under her spectacles, tears leaked out of her eyes. Normally, I would have lifted her eyeglasses onto her head and wiped them away, but today I didn’t.

  “I didn’t know he was your father. You have to believe me.”

  “It doesn’t fucking matter.” My voice was harsh. “Just tell me—why?”

  “I tried to warn you,” she sniffled. “I needed the money.”

  Rage was consuming me. Eating me alive. “Bullshit!”

  She gazed up at me with her watering eyes. “I’ve tried to get out of the life, but it’s not easy with Sid.”

  “Well, it won’t be hard to get out of mine.” I barked the words.

  Her tears amplified until she was audibly crying. “I already am,” she sobbed. “We should never see each other again.”

  I loosened my grip around her heaving shoulder. She remained seated, her now uncontrollable sobs holding her prisoner. Her tears fell, drop after drop, onto the photo with my father. The tear-stained photo made me feel worse than I already felt. I didn’t want her to shed tears over my father in any way. I snatched the photo away from her and ripped it to pieces while she tearfully watched. I gazed down at the ragged shards on the floor. The photo was as torn apart as our lives.

  Allee’s flooding eyes stayed locked on me, and as much as I hated her at this moment, her beauty still touched me in a profound, bitter way. I needed to leave. Get away from her. As I pivoted on my heel, she choked, “Golden Boy, I wish we’d never met.”

  Her words burned through me like acid. She knew from the beginning our relationship was doomed. It just took my father to put it over the edge. The pain was too much. I wanted to rip out my heart and throw it at her.

  Leaving the rest of the photos behind, she staggered to her feet. She managed to collect herself and drifted back to her tour group, never turning her head once to look at me. Shell-shocked, I slumped to the elevator, dumping the painful photos into a deep waste can along the way.

  After four months of endless love, Allee Adair and I had just broken up.

  FIFTEEN

  The next few weeks after my breakup with Allee were hell. Pure hell. I didn’t sleep, didn’t shave, and didn’t write a word. I lived on junk food and beer and craved a cigarette. A phone call from my buddy Duffy got me out of my deep funk.

  “Hey, dude, I haven’t heard or seen you in ages. What’s going on?”

  “Are you free for a drink tonight?”

  “Yeah. Meet me at our watering hole at six.”

  “Dude, you look like something the cat dragged in,” said Duffy over beers.

  Yeah, I looked like shit for sure. My face was scruffy, my hair disheveled, and I didn’t even bother showering or getting dressed properly. I was wearing a flannel pajama top over a pair of unpressed jeans.

  The buzz from the beer allowed me to open up slowly. I told Duffster about the photos, my encounter with my father, and my breakup with Allee. He sat wide-eyed without interrupting me or even taking a swig of his beer.

  “Holy guacamole!” said Duffy when I took a breather and guzzled my beer.

  Setting the mug down, I said, “The sickest part of the whole story is that I miss her.”

  Duffy gazed into my eyes. He was almost like a brother to me. “That’s because you’re crazy in love with her. Man, if that babe was mine, I’d never leave her.”

  Damn him. He was right. I was still madly in love with Allee Adair. The memories of us filled every waking moment. And they didn’t let me sleep. I couldn’t live without her. I needed her as much as I needed air to breathe.

  I chugged my beer. “She should have told me.”

  Duffy scrunched his face. “Come on, dude. Get real. Do you really think some chick, who’s really into you, is going to come out and say, ‘Hey, by the way, I’m a high priced call girl. Hope you don’t mind.’”

  Only Duffster could make me laugh while I was on an emotional road trip to Hell.

  “How can I continue to see her after all that’s gone down?”

  “Hey, Rye-man, she had her reasons, but she didn’t do it to hurt you. And she had no clue that was your father.”

  Over another gulp of beer, I imbibed Duffy’s words. Balls! He was right again. Maybe I overreacted and didn’t give Allee enough of a chance to explain her other life.

  “Duffster, what should I do?” I didn’t tell him that I’d tried to call her several times to no avail.

  “Do what you do best. Write. Write her a letter and tell her how you feel.” He gulped his beer. “Girls are suckers for letters. If it’s meant to be, she’ll come back to you.”

  I had no clue that Duffy McDermitt, who had never had a long-term relationship in his entire life, was a regular Ann Landers. I told him he should have his own advice column. “Dear Duffy.” He snorted his beer.

  The two of us each ordered another round from a passing waitress. When the bill came, I was feeling better than I’d felt in ages. “My treat,” I told Duffy.

  Dear Allee… My Dear Allee… My Dearest Allee. Finally, after several unsuccessful attempts to write my letter, I slammed my laptop shut and tore out a sheet of paper from one of my notebooks. With my favorite black rolling writer pen, I wrote…

  Allee,

  Ernest Hemingway once wrote: “I felt the Earth move out and away.” When I met you, the Earth did exactly that. I felt a tremor all around me… and deep inside me.

  Now, when I take a step, I no longer feel the Earth beneath the soles of my feet. All I feel is a painful emptiness in my heart. It’s like I’ve stopped living.

  I see you everywhere. But when I reach out to touch you, you’re not there. It only makes the pain worse. Insufferable. Words don’t exist to describe how much I miss you.

  Despite all our differences, I fell in love with you the moment I set my eyes on you. There was something about you. I don’t know if it was your beauty, your sass, or your passion, but whatever it was, the more I got to know you, the more I loved you. You made me feel like no other woman ever had. You brought me to a place I’d never been before. I’ve felt with you—emotions, dreams, and sensations—that I thought I’d never find with anyone. You’ve taught me who I really am.

  Your breath breathes life into me, and your heartbeat soothes my soul. Quite simply, I cannot live without you. My life has no meaning. I wake up and want to go back to sleep. You are my essence. My raison d’être. The sun doesn’t rise without you.

  For whatever reasons you did what you did, it doesn’t matter. I know now that you didn’t intend to hurt me. There is no reason to apologize as I have nothing to forgive.

  It’s midnight. Outside my window, a church bell is ringing. For whom the bell tolls? It tolls for thee. Just come back into my arms and let me love you like before.

  Ryan

  I carefully folded the letter and sealed it in an envelope. Tomorrow, I would send it with the most exquisite roses I could find. Then, wait to hear that rasp I loved.

  SIXTEEN

  I had Marcus deliver the roses and the letter to Allee’s apartment in Queens first thing in the morning. Sunrise. I wanted her have them when she woke up. A new day. A new beginning.

  Marcus called me from her apartment to inform me that he had left them on her front stoop. She didn’t answer the intercom, and unfortunately, in my haste to deliver my letter and the flowers, I’d forgotten to give Marcus Allee’s spare set of keys in case he needed them. An uneasy thought darkened my mind. Maybe she had met someone new and had spent the night with him. Don’t go there, Madewell, I told myself.

  All day, I sat glued to my cell phone, waiting for some response. A call. A text. An email. Nothing. By three in the afternoon, I couldn’t take it anymore. I tried calling Duffy for advice, but he was in a Madewell Media board meeting and unavailable. I almost felt as sorry for him as I did for myself.

  Fraught with nervous energy, I went for a long run and then took a hot, steamy sh
ower to clear my head. I donned a clean pair of jeans, a white tee, and my vintage leather motorcycle jacket. I had made a decision: I was going back to the Met and was going to get down on my knees, if had to, and win Allee back.

  The Met was vast. Allee could be anywhere, so I went to the main office and asked one of her supervisors if they could direct me to her. To my surprise, the matronly woman told me that they hadn’t seen or heard from Allee for two days. That was so unlike her. She loved her job and was very responsible. On the way out, I bumped into Sam. She, too, had not heard from Allee despite calling and texting her several times. An alarm button went off in my head.

  I rushed back to the Escalade and asked Marcus to drive me to Allee’s apartment as fast as he could. “Floor it!”

  “Yes, sir.” Strong and silent, he spoke only when spoken to.

  We made great time getting out of Manhattan. Marcus was an expert driver, who could effortlessly weave in and out of traffic or follow another car in hot pursuit. He had driven once for CIA operatives. Now he was both my dutiful driver and armed bodyguard. Something that was a necessity because I was a Madewell, whether I liked it or not, in this dangerous world. He had been protecting me since I was a child. Over the years, we’d grown very close, and in some ways, he was the father I never had. Always looking out for my back. Being there when I needed him. Treating me with respect.

  As we drove onto the Queensboro Bridge, the memory of Allee running up to me there during the marathon flashed into my head. I could picture her long, toned legs, perfect tits, flying ponytail, and her wicked grin. I was already in love with her. I had fallen in love with her the very minute my eyes set sight on her at the Met. Other memories whirled around in my head—from her quirky putdowns to our passionate and countless sessions of endless lovemaking. No matter what wrong she had done in her private life, I couldn’t get her out of my head. I wanted her more than ever, and couldn’t wait to see her. A nervous current coursed through my body. I just hoped she was okay.

  A police barricade brought both my thoughts and the car to a sudden halt. “What’s happening, Officer?” I heard Marcus ask.

  “Bad accident ahead. No one can move until they clear it.”

  Marcus twisted his head back at me. “Hold on, Mr. M.”

  Without wasting a second, he floored the gas pedal, and we went crashing through the barricade. We zoomed past the accident. One of the vehicles was totaled; there were scattered car parts everywhere. Inside, I was an auto wreck too. The jumble of emotions that pounded my head was giving me an excruciating headache.

  Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to Allee’s apartment building “Wait for me here,” I told Marcus. I jumped out of the car before he could get out to open the passenger door.

  My flowers and the letter were still on the stoop. I buzzed her apartment. No answer. I buzzed it again. No answer. My heart raced. I dug into my jeans pocket and pulled out the heart- shaped key ring that Allee had given me for Christmas. Her keys mingled with mine. After letting myself into the building, I bolted up the two flights of stairs to Allee’s apartment, taking two rickety steps at a time. I rang her doorbell. Holding it down, I waited. No answer. I pounded on the flaking door and shouted, “Allee! Are you there? Let me in!” I shouted and pounded again. Still no answer. My fingers jittery, I jammed her apartment key into the keyhole. In one swift move, I unlocked the apartment door and kicked it open.

  My eyes grew as round as saucers, and my heart skipped a beat. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Her whole apartment was turned upside down as if it had been vandalized. “Allee, are you here?” I yelled out frantically. “Are you okay?” No answer. Then I heard a faint sound coming from down the hall. Stepping over books, cushions, and broken pieces of glass, I sprinted to her bedroom. Oh God! Please let her be all right!

  My heart almost stopped. She was there. Sprawled naked on her bed, her mouth gagged and her hands tied by cord to the wrought iron headboard. Bruises marred her beautiful body; blood caked her face, and one of her eyes was swollen shut. She was shivering, and frightened whimpers escaped her throat.

  “Jesus!” I choked as I rushed to her side. Using the Swiss Army knife (a gift from Marcus on my seventh birthday) that was attached to my keychain, I quickly cut through the cord, freeing her, and then undid the gag. Lowering myself to the bed, I gently cradled her battered body in my arms.

  “Baby, tell me, what fucker did this to you?” I asked, brushing her matted hair out of her face.

  “Sid,” she stammered, her voice hoarse and tearful.

  Fucking Sid. Her fucking pimp. He was going to pay!

  “Baby, I need to get you to a hospital.”

  Her body convulsed. “Please, no hospital. Please!”

  The terror etched deep on her face forced me to give in. I wrapped her in a warm blanket and carried her downstairs to the car. In my haste, I knocked over the vase with flowers, and from the corner of my eye, I watched the water saturate my letter and wash my words away. Marcus leaped out of the vehicle, and quickly opened the rear passenger door. Like a stoic soldier, he helped me get her into the car.

  “Where to, sir?”

  “My place.” I didn’t have to tell him step on it. With a loud screech, the SUV peeled away from the curve.

  I continued to hold Allee in my arms like a baby and held some bottled water to her lips. As parched as she was, it was effort for her to sip it. Her eyes blinked tears.

  “Don’t cry, baby. It’s all right now.” I gently kissed her on the forehead.

  “Oh, my Golden Boy, I don’t deserve you.”

  “Shh.” I stroked her hair. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  She closed her eyes as we got onto the Long Island Expressway and sped back into Manhattan.

  I gazed at her. Even this shattered state, she was still so beautiful. So, so beautiful. My fingers traced the outline of her lush lips, moist from the water. Then gently, I pressed mine to them. I loved her more than ever.

  God help fucking Sid.

  SEVENTEEN

  I immediately summoned our longtime family physician, Dr. Ned Goulding, to the loft. He was what is known as a concierge doctor—someone who, under our employ, made house calls at our disposal.

  Dr. Goulding, with his medical bag, arrived within a half-hour. He was a short, scholarly-looking man with balding hair, wire-rimmed spectacles, and a warm twinkle in his forest-green eyes. He followed me upstairs to my bedroom. Allee was bundled up in my bed, under the covers, in a trance-like state. She looked so frail, so helpless. Sadness swept over me at the sight of her.

  After carefully checking Allee over, he told me that she was badly bruised and in shock, but that she would be okay. There appeared to be no broken bones or head injury. The blood on her face was fortunately nothing more than a nosebleed, and the swelling of her eye would go away in a few days with the help of an icepack. He tactfully asked Allee if he could examine her privates. Allee weakly nodded. While he said there appeared to be no trauma there, he asked permission to swab her. Allee nodded again, tears brimming in her eyes. I knew why he was doing this; rage crescendoed in me at the thought of Sid violating my girl. Before leaving, he gave me a sedative to keep her calm and told me what she needed most was rest. Sensing my anxiousness, he swore he would keep everything confidential—even from my father.

  After the good doctor left, Allee asked me to bathe her. Her voice was just above a whisper. I drew a hot bath and carried her to it. She wrapped her limp arms around me and leaned her head against my chest. I was worried about hurting her bruised body. I set her in the tub, supporting her with one arm. With a soapy sponge in the other, I skimmed over her bruises, hoping I was washing away her pain, and the memory of the scumbag who did this to her. Tears streamed from her eyes, even the one she could barely open, and a soft wail, like a siren, escaped her lips. Without warning, she slid under the water and stayed there. Holy fuck! She was drowning herself. Panicked, I fisted a clump of her long, thick hair to yank her out w
hen her head torpedoed out of the sudsy water. She sucked in a large gulp of air and shook violently.

  Perhaps, this was some form of cleansing for her. A washing away of the heartless fucks she wanted to leave behind.

  “It’s over,” she said in hushed, monotone voice.

  I hoped she meant the secret life she’d been leading, and not us. Seeing her so close to death, I knew I could never leave her, or bear to lose her. I lifted her out of the tub, swaddled her in a large fluffy towel like a baby, and carried her back to my bed, holding her close to me.

  For the next few days, she never strayed from my bed. She was too weak, so I carried her everywhere, even to the bathroom. Mostly, she slept. I never left her side. I ordered in chicken soup from the Jewish deli down the street, and fed it to her in the intervals she was awake. Sometimes, nightmares woke her, and I’d be there to comfort her and hold her trembling body in my arms. I wanted to turn into a superhero and squash the demons that plagued her.

  I passed the time by writing. I worked on some of the stories I had written and started a new one. My writing was improving by leaps and bounds. I was really getting into letting my senses and heart rule my words. See and feel the scene, then write it. Allee would be proud of me.

  I let the Met know that Allee was sick but would be returning soon. Within twenty-four hours, Dr. Goulding called me with good news. She hadn’t been raped by Sid. That was a giant relief. And she was “clean.” No STD’s. Given that I had foolishly never used condoms with Allee, this was welcomed news as well.

  By the end of the week, she was much stronger. She was sitting up in bed and eating on her own. Her appetite was coming back with the ferocity of an avalanche.

  “Read me one of your stories,” she begged.

  I hemmed and hawed, but finally gave in and read the one I was working on. It was an allegory about a pedigreed Labrador who falls in love with a street mutt on his daily walk.