So I continued on, obligingly attending my therapy sessions every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and silently crying through the abuse. Diane, my therapist, tried to be kind, her own eyes usually damp by the end of the hour, promising it wouldn’t always hurt this bad. What she didn’t understand was that the physical pain had nothing on the pain in my heart. It seemed that as my body became stronger, my mind became weaker, a cloud settling in around me, heavy and ominous.
I missed Daniel so much. Each night I’d crawl into bed alone, succumbing to the ache I’d felt all day. I’d bury my face in my pillow to try to drown out my sorrow as I begged him to come to me. My body longed for his, needing to feel his love for me. For the better part of a month, Mom had rushed into my room each night, running her hands through my hair as she promised it would be okay. I’d cursed at her. Blamed her. She’d beg me to stop, saying she’d only wanted what was best for me. I had insisted that that was Daniel. She stopped coming the night I told her I hated her.
The days that passed only made it worse, each one a reminder that he still hadn’t called. I was in a constant state of despair, weeping behind closed doors and a total bitch to anyone who crossed my path. I never wanted to act this way, but I found myself unable dig myself out of the depression I was in. It had gotten harder to go to my appointments, harder to do my schoolwork, harder to live. It would have been okay had he done anything just to let me know he still loved me and wanted me. I would have happily lived out this sentence until I could go back to him. But he didn’t.
Four excruciating months, and still nothing from Daniel.
“Melanie!”
Didn’t she have any idea how hard it was just to put on my freaking shoes? I stood, the first step always the most painful. I winced as I began down the stairs, descending them as quickly as possible while Mom waited impatiently at the landing. Thankfully, I no longer needed Mark to carry me up and down. I hated being dependent on anyone, even though it was clear my step-dad didn’t share in my parents’ view of Daniel. He’d taken the moments of my vulnerability as he carried me up the stairs to tell me I’d be better soon and then I could go to Daniel. The only hope I had was Mark and the energy that pulled me back to Colorado, the tug on my heart that told me where I belonged—with Daniel.
And that was exactly my plan. I’d made up my mind that as soon as Diane discharged me, I’d go back to him. There was always an underlying insecurity I felt that Daniel might not want me anymore, but that wasn’t what I truly believed. I could still feel his love for me, traveling all these miles over all this time, and I had to believe in that.
Mom fumbled with her keys in her agitation, dropping them twice before finding the right one to bring her small red car to life. She looked over her right shoulder as she backed down the driveway and caught my eye.
“This is getting old, Melanie. You need to stop acting like some petulant little child and grow up,” she huffed as she braked in the street, switching the car into drive. Staring straight ahead, she held her jaw rigid as she chose her words carefully, her tone softening. “It’s time you moved on.”
“What do you mean by that?” I spat back at her.
She almost imperceptively shook her head. “Melanie, Daniel hasn’t even tried to contact you in four months. That isn’t exactly the kind of behavior you’d expect from someone who says he cares about you. He hasn’t even checked to see how you’re doing. You could still be in a wheelchair for all he knows.”
Anger burned, fueled by my fear that her words might be true. I could feel my face flush, my fists curling around the sides of the seat. “If you remember correctly, Mom, I’m here because of you, and you know exactly why he hasn’t called.”
She was quiet for a moment before breathing out heavily through her nose. “If you want to blame me for all of this, Melanie, then fine, you can do that. But being angry with me doesn’t change the fact that he hasn’t called or...or even had one of his parents call to check on you. Doesn’t that seem a little odd after all of this time?”
She looked at me, but I refused to meet her gaze, staring into my lap. Of course I thought it was “a little odd.” I was tormented by it, but I wasn’t about to admit that to her.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt any more than you already have, sweetheart.”
I squeezed my eyes tight as an exasperated yelp escaped my pursed lips. She didn’t want me to get hurt anymore than I already had? How dare she?
“Now you don’t want me to hurt, Mom? Was the pain you caused me just enough, and now you want to protect me from any more? Is that how it works? Was it okay for you to take me away from the one person I love the most, right after our baby died, so I had to grieve for her without him? Was that just the right amount of pain for me? Tell me, Mom, because I’d like to know just how much pain you think I should have!”
As if my words were suffocating her, she struggled to catch her breath. I knew they stung, but I refused to take them back. “Melanie...I...I never meant to hurt you.” She sniffed and her chest jerked as she tried to hold back her cries. “You’ll never understand how sorry I am.”
“Sorry doesn’t take away what you did to me...to us.”
Maybe someday I would forgive her, but not now. I’d always been quick to forgive and never hold a grudge, but what she’d done was cruel, especially after giving me her blessing. I still didn’t understand her reasons.
Neither of us spoke as we drove; the only sound was Mom’s whimpering. I felt guilty for upsetting her so much, but she needed to understand how much she’d hurt me.
She pulled into the parking lot, and for the first time, she didn’t get out. She just stared straight ahead as I struggled to stand from the seat. Then she left me standing alone, watching her drive away.
Another pang of guilt washed over me, before I pushed it away and subjected myself to one more day of Diane’s torture.
Diane assured me that I was doing great and that I probably had maybe three or four more weeks of therapy left before I could do the exercises on my own. I really didn’t think I could wait that long.
After the session, I pushed the door open, not sure how I was going to get home. Mom was waiting outside. Through the windshield, I saw that her face was flat and void of all emotion. The only evidence of our argument was her red, splotchy cheeks.
Neither of us acknowledged the other the entire way home. Slowly, I took the stairs to my bedroom, feeling terrible for ignoring my little sister who tried to talk to me, and locked the door behind me. I’d already had enough of this day and it wasn’t even noon.
It went against my nature to say such nasty things to Mom. I was so angry with her for putting me through this. And if I was being honest with myself, I was angry with Daniel. Angry that he had forgotten me.
No.
I didn’t want to allow myself to think that, but couldn’t extinguish that deep-seated fear.
Falling to the floor, I clutched my chest and buried my face into the carpet. What if Mom was right? Had he moved on? Had he decided I couldn’t give him what he wanted in life?
But Daniel loved me. I knew he did. I could feel it, even here in my old room a thousand miles away from him. But just because he loved me didn’t mean he wanted to be with me.
I sobbed on the carpet for what seemed like hours, releasing everything that had built over the days and months we’d spent apart.
Curled into a ball, I tried to comfort myself, rocking as I shed every tear I could find. When they finally started to slow, I turned to wrestle myself to my knees, when I saw the little box tucked under my bed.
It was the same box I’d seen on the counter in the hospital. I’d noticed it once but forgot it right away. I pulled it out and sat up, propping myself up against the side of the bed. I lifted the lid and peeked inside, unsure of what I’d find.
Cards.
A lump formed in my throat when I realized what they were. I picked up the first that wished “Get Well Soon,” and the tears began again, t
his time not from my heartbreak and anger, but from the love I felt. Opening it, I saw it was from Stacy. The next was a sympathy card from all the teachers at Springs High. Through misty eyes, I read through all of them, each one reminding me of all the people who cared about me—loved me—and I knew I wasn’t alone.
I gasped as I pulled the last item from the box, dropping it as I clapped my hands over my mouth to stifle a cry. My hands trembled as I reached for the picture that had fallen upside down onto the floor.
I couldn’t breathe.
Eva.
I’d never seen her, my baby girl, but there she was, tucked in her daddy’s arms. She was the smallest thing I’d ever seen. Even though Daniel had told me, I never could have imagined how tiny she really was. I knew she was broken, but I saw none of that. All I saw was how perfect she was. My heart rejoiced to have this piece of her, this moment in her short life captured forever.
And Daniel. I couldn’t see his face—he was looking down at her. But I could feel it, how he tenderly held her, loved her, took care of her while he could. I could also sense his pain, how his heart had broke as he held her in his arms, and I realized how badly he needed me.
I couldn’t wait any longer.
Chapter Fifteen
July 2000
I paid little attention to what I packed as I stuffed clothes into my small suitcase. Where was it—that simple red dress Daniel always loved? I would go to him in that. Pulling it from the closet, I quickly changed into it and slipped on my black flats.
My hands trembled with excitement. Rushing out, I dragged the suitcase behind me. I made it down the stairs faster than I ever had before, going straight for the phone in the family room and calling a cab.
“Melanie?” I tensed when I heard Mom behind me, her voice strained. “What’s going on?”
Slowly, I turned to her, bracing myself for what was sure to be a fight. “I’m leaving.”
“What?”
“I’m going back to Colorado. I can’t stay here any longer. I have to go back to Daniel.” I pushed past her, looking out the window for the cab, even though I knew it wouldn’t be here for another ten minutes.
“You can’t...you...you still have to finish therapy,” she stammered, searching for a reason to make me stay.
“I’ll do it there.” I turned back to the window, peering out at the heat radiating from the asphalt.
“Melanie, please don’t do this. You need to stay here a little longer. Please, for me. I’m begging you.” She clutched my arm. She seemed so—desperate and scared?
“I’m eighteen now, and I’ll do what I want.” I shrugged her off, unwilling to allow her to sway my decision. Right then, I couldn’t care less what she thought. It was obvious how badly she hated Daniel, and I refused to listen to anything she said. The cab pulled up and I made for the door, dodging her as she tried to block my path.
“Melanie, you don’t understand. Please, we need to talk. Just wait!”
Anything she had to say should have been said months ago if it was so important.
Throwing my suitcase into the backseat, I jumped in. “Airport.”
The driver hesitated, unsure of what to do with the woman yanking at the door and pleading with me to get out.
“Just go!” I yelled at him. He looked back at me before shrugging and driving away.
As he sped down the freeway, I couldn’t sit still as I fidgeted in my seat. I really was going.
“I’m coming,” I whispered to Daniel, promising him I would be there soon.
***
The first leg of my flight to Denver boarded, and soon we were taxiing down the runway. When we landed, I had to rush to my meet my connecting flight to Boulder. When the plane landed, I was still soaring. I nearly pushed through the aisle as everyone stood to exit.
I couldn’t remember one time in my life when I’d felt this excited—this happy. I couldn’t wait to see Daniel’s face when I surprised him.
I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address.
The closer we got, the faster I tapped my key on my thigh, the faster my foot bounced.
It was nearing dusk when I stepped from the cab. I breathed in.
Home.
My heart swelled with the few precious memories I had of this place.
I stalled when I noticed the little white, beat-up car parked out front on the street. I hoped he didn’t have company; I wanted this homecoming to be just between the two of us. Dragging my suitcase behind me, I climbed the two steps to the porch. I slipped my key into the lock and swung the door open.
I was prepared to run into his arms, but the room was empty—and filthy. Daniel had always been meticulously clean, but the house was trashed. A feeling of unease swept through me as I stepped inside. I tried to focus on the pull, relying on it to lead me to him. Everything was silent except for the distant sound of the shower running and pots rattling in the kitchen. The smell of canned spaghetti sauce stung my nose.
My attention was drawn down the hall—Daniel’s soul called out for mine. I started for him. I didn’t know why, but I hesitated, my curiosity winning out, and walked toward the kitchen. My kitchen.
At the archway, I froze when I saw the blonde girl in a tight red tank top and a very, very short skirt. Her back was to me as she stood in front of the stove. It took a second before I recognized her.
“Stephanie?” I whispered. Something tightened my stomach, the high from just moments ago knocked out of me. What the hell was she doing in my kitchen?
She whipped around, startled, her hand grasping her chest as she caught her breath.
“Shit! You scared me!” Her face went from stunned to irritated to determined in a second flat. “What are you doing here, Melanie?” She had her hands on her hips as she glared at me.
Was she—mad?
“Daniel.” It was the only word I could form—it was the only one that mattered.
She turned and stirred the pot.
“Did you really think he’d just be sitting here waiting for you, Melanie? After all this time?”
My head spun.
She turned back toward me, her voice patronizing, soft and sarcastic, as she tilted her head to sneer at me. “He really was heartbroken. You should be thanking me I was here to pick up the pieces you left behind. But it didn’t take long for him to realize what he really needed.”
From somewhere deep within, from a place where souls connect, a voice screamed that her words were impossible. He needed me as much as I needed him.
Not her.
I watched her standing there in my spot and I knew she could never replace me. She didn’t fit him the way I did. I was made for him. My head shook of its own accord. “I don’t believe you.”
She let out a small, condescending laugh, and my body recoiled. “Then why do you think I’m here, Melanie, in your kitchen, making dinner for your boyfriend?”
Had she been staying here? Visions of the two of them in our bed flashed through my mind before I could stop them. They nearly brought me to my knees. I braced myself on the counter.
She laughed is if I were stupid and naive. “What do you think, Melanie.” Maybe I was.
I choked back the sob that crawled its way up my throat, my fingers trembling where I pressed them against my lips. Slowly, I backed away, my attention darting around the room, landing anywhere but on Stephanie.
Would Daniel really do this to me? I could still feel him, and I didn’t believe I would still feel the pull on my heart if he had given up on that love. He had to love me. But what if it wasn’t enough. What if he wanted more? I had to get away from Stephanie and…just clear my head.
Think.
I fumbled out onto the porch, curling in on myself, clutching my stomach as I fought the dread the welled up inside me.
Shaking my head against it, I murmured, “He loves me,” just as I was hit a rush of energy, his presence wrapping its arms around my body. “He loves me.”
Slowly, I turned. He stood
in view of the window, his sandy blond hair dark from his shower. A midnight blue T-shirt clung to his toned body, his jeans hung low on his waist.
“Daniel,” fell from my mouth as a whispered plea, my knees weak with relief. I reached for the door, but stopped short when I caught sight of his face as he turned toward the kitchen.
It was beautiful and perfect, and it broke my heart because he was grinning as he gazed into the kitchen. My stomach turned when just her hand came into view, extended to him.
He was happy—with her.
I had to look away, to protect myself from the image that would surely sear itself into my mind forever. Still, I couldn’t seem to move, my feet glued to the peeling wood beneath me.
How could I just walk away from him forever?
The notion made me physically ill. I almost didn’t make it to the railing before I vomited over it. My fingers curled around the handrail as I willed myself away from this place. I squeezed my eyes and tried to ignore his pull and deny my need for him as I forced myself down the steps.
All I’d ever wanted was for him to be happy. Of course, I wanted to be the one to make him that way, but I had to accept that I couldn’t anymore. He needed more. He deserved more.
Leaving him was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but I had to because I loved him. I’d give up everything to make him happy.
My heart died as I walked away. My blood felt stagnant, soured, poisoned, no longer filled with life. I was numb. The only feeling left was the distant tug calling me back to him.
Blindly, I walked the streets, having no idea where I was going. I found myself in a shopping center and called a cab to take me to the airport. I bought a ticket for the first available flight—L.A.—stared straight ahead as it took me away from my home, from my love, from my life. Only now, my life was over.
We landed in L.A., and I eventually found myself in the airport lounge, sitting alone at the bar and sipping on a soda that burned as it traveled down my dry throat. It was the only thing open, and nobody seemed to care that I shouldn’t be there. I was so tired. All I wanted was to find a place where I could fall asleep and never wake up.
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