Not Broken-The Happily Ever After

by Meka James

  I gave Mitch a grateful look. I liked him. He was good to Macy, and very level-headed. Just what she needed in her life. He gave me a pat on my shoulder, and shook his head as he walked away with her.

  “Honestly, what is it with you two? This is a happy occasion and here you are acting like you’re both kids,” Dad said.

  I looked over at Ginger, who quickly avoided my gaze. “I...I’m going to go change Shawn.”

  I drained the rest of my beer as I watched her scramble from the room.

  Mom waited until she was gone before speaking. “I noticed some tension between you two. I’m guessing Macy did as well.”

  I briefly considered bringing up the panic attack. Dad could possibly give me some insight, but I held my tongue. I didn’t know how long it would be before Macy came back, and I knew that Ginger most likely wouldn’t appreciate me discussing that issue.

  “It’s nothing.”

  Chapter 24

  Calida

  I stood on Malcolm’s porch waiting on him to come to the door. Last night had turned into a disaster. When Malcolm had made the comment about wanting to get the night over, I thought it was about not wanting to be around me, but I quickly realized Macy was the issue.

  I saw his distorted figure through the decorative, lead glass door. The lock clicked. A flurry of butterflies let loose in my stomach. I always seemed to be nervous around him these days. I missed the easy-going nature we used to have. That change rested on my shoulders.

  “Hey,” he said.

  He was shirtless. I don’t know why that surprised me, I’d seen him shirtless many times, but I was still unprepared for the sight of his bare chest. God, he was fit. In better shape than I remembered. His abs, while not a full-on six-pack, were still very defined. His waist tapered, and he had that V thing going on that led down to...

  “Eyes up here.”

  My face got warm as I looked up to his smiling face. He stepped aside so I could enter.

  “You have a key,” he stated as he closed the door.

  “I know...I just feel weird using it.” The day of closing he’d given me the extra key and garage door opener. Both sat in a drawer at home.

  “Where’s Lil’ Man?” he asked, walking past me toward the family room. He plopped down on that couch before picking up the remote to turn the volume down on the Sunday football game he was watching.

  “Um, Dorian took him to my parents before she headed to Charlotte. I...I knew we needed to talk...about a lot of stuff.”

  “Why’s she headed to Charlotte?”

  “Her divorce is being finalized this week, and she has a few things left to tie up with her house and such.”

  He nodded, but made no direct comment. He picked up the remote, and turned off the TV. “You can sit or do you feel weird about doing that, too?” His head snapped down and he leaned forward to put the remote back on the table then looked over at me. “Sorry. Just you standing there...ignore what I said. You want a beer?”

  He got up, and walked into the kitchen without waiting on a reply. I dropped my purse on the floor before taking a seat. I heard the pop of two bottles being opened, but kept my eyes trained on the now black screen of the large TV hanging over the fireplace. A bottle appeared in my line of vision. I took it, thanking him quietly. Malcolm resumed his position on the other end of the sofa. I took a long drink, trying to decide how to start this conversation. I rubbed my neck; the tension in the air closed in around me. My fingers brushed over the chain of the necklace I wore, moving down until I held the infinity symbol between my thumb and forefinger. I gave it a squeeze and took a breath.

  “You could have finished watching your game.”

  “It’s fine. My team was losing anyway.”

  I took another drink. Why was this so hard? It was Malcolm. I knew him. We were friends. He was a good guy.

  “I’ll make this easy for you. We can just pretend the last month didn’t happen.”

  I turned to look at him. He took a drink from his bottle, and I tried to figure out if the indifferent look on his face was real or an act. My knee bounced, and my hands twisted around the beer bottle.

  I swallowed. My mouth now dry, I brought the bottle to my lips, and guzzled the rest of the contents. This was what I’d wanted, what I’d been aiming for, so why did hearing him say that not give me the relief I’d expected?

  “Is that what you want?”

  Malcolm sat forward, rolling his bottle back and forth between his hands before finishing it off. “Calida, you said I ambushed you into a relationship you don’t want. Then, in so many words, you accused me of being like that son of a bitch because I wanted us to live together. Not to mention the comment about me not keeping my hands to myself, and your general discomfort when we’re together, alone or otherwise.”

  He shot up from the couch. His sudden movement caught me by surprise. The indifferent look he’d had was an act; one that melted away as he threw my words from that day back at me. I let all of this happen. If I’d just stood my ground, and told him no that day we wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have tainted everything that had been between us.

  “You’re having fucking panic attacks, Calida! What I want is irrelevant.”

  “I just need some time.” My voice sounded small. I hated disappointing him, hurting him.

  “Time for what? To better fortify that wall around your heart? To figure out a way to deal with a relationship you clearly don’t want? What good does that do either of us? I told you, unlike him, I won’t force you to stay in a relationship you don’t want, regardless of what you seem to think.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, and let out slow controlled breaths. Malcolm’s words sliced through me; the accusations and anger seared into my soul. “I’m sorry.” It was the only thing I could say. I knew I’d make a mess of things, and I wasn’t wrong.

  My hand shook as I brought the beer to my lips, only to be reminded I’d already finished it. Malcolm walked over and took the bottle.

  I stopped twirling the ring around my finger to take the new one that appeared in front of my face. I looked up at him. A sad smile marred his normally playful demeanor. He reached out and ran his thumb across my cheek.

  “It’s not your fault. I should have known better.” He walked away, and retook his seat on the sofa.

  “What do you mean? You should have known better how?”

  He took a drink from his own new bottle; his eyes remained glued to mine. “You weren’t ready. If I had really paid attention, I would have realized that. I don’t know that you ever will be.”

  His words weren’t meant with malice, that I could tell. Still, they managed to cut deeper into the open wounds of my heart. “Why...why would you say that?”

  He took another drink, prolonging my agony, as I waited to hear what he had to say.

  “I watched you last night, and what I saw amazed me. I mean, it should have been obvious, all things considered, but I guess I’d only seen what I wanted to see. Or rather, what you’d showed everyone.”

  My heart rate increased. My hands tightened around the cold bottle in an attempt to keep them from shaking. Nothing could be done about my bouncing leg; it had a mind of its own.

  I needed to move around.

  I needed to field off the feeling of being caged in, like when I was with Dr. Carr and she started down a path I didn’t want to go. I headed into the kitchen, and sat my beer down on the island, then leaned against it for support.

  I didn’t hear him get off the couch, but I watched as one of Malcolm’s hands covered mine. His lips pressed lightly to the side of my head.

  “I don’t want to upset you, and I sure as hell don’t want to send you into another attack. Seeing you break down like that...you have a real knack for shaving years off my life.”

  I leaned my head against his shoulder, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood just a little.

  “I love you, Ginger. I do, with every
fiber of my being...but you aren’t ready for me to. You’re hanging on to the past, him, whatever as some sort of strange security blanket. Everything you’ve done, or better yet, not done these last two years have proven that.”

  I wanted to protest, to tell him he was wrong, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. I was tired. Tired of pretending I was something I wasn’t. Silent tears flowed freely. Malcolm’s other hand came up to caress my face and wipe them away.

  “I don’t know why you won’t let go, and I’m not gonna lie, the fact that you hang on, that you continue to live in the past, for whatever reason, pisses me off.” He paused, and let out a loud sigh. “But me being angry about the situation doesn’t do anything. You won’t let me in. I’m here for you. I love you, but none of that matters because you...won’t…let...me…in.” He gave my hand a light squeeze before moving away. He walked around the island, putting an actual barrier between us. Fitting really when I thought about it, I’d had an invisible one between us since day one.

  I slid my beer bottle back and forth along the granite. The emotions I expected to feel—happiness, relief—were absent from the myriad of other feelings I had. “I want to.”

  “What?”

  “I want...I have let you in.”

  “No, you haven’t. I thought you had, but you haven’t. It’s all been a lie. Just like you telling me you wanted to be with me, everything that I thought about…” He paused.

  The struggle to keep his emotions in check radiated off him. The clench of his jaw. The exaggerated breathing. The sadness in his eyes. All clear signs of the damage I’d caused.

  Dr. Carr had been right; my not being honest about how I felt didn’t do either of us any favors. I tried to think of something, anything to say, but my mind was empty. New tears leaked from my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “Fuck, Ginger, I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to be fucking honest with me. Talk to me. That’s all I want. I’m here. I’ve been here trying, yet you insist on keeping me at arm’s length. I shouldn’t feel like I’m competing with a dead man, with that fucking man! It’s almost as if you won’t consider any other options because some messed up part of you is still in love with that bastard!”

  Lump in my throat. I swallowed, but it remained. I massaged my chest. It hurt. I needed air. I stumbled away from the island back to the couch. “I...I need to go.”

  Malcolm’s arms wrapped around me.

  “Let go!” I fought against him. He released me.

  “Calida, please just calm down first.”

  I shook my head. The tears made my vision blurry, making it harder to locate my keys. I stomped toward the door. The walls closed in. Malcolm was on my heels, pleading with me to relax, and apologizing. My thumb pressed the unlock button in rapid succession. I needed in. I needed away. I scrambled inside, and locked the door behind me. The safety of my car. My hands squeezed the wheel, my head rested against it. Malcolm knocked at the window. Breathe. Just breathe.

  I focused on getting air into my lungs, and tried to ignore Malcolm’s pleas, and the growing urge I had to vomit. Silence. Malcolm’s voice was gone. No more knocking on my window. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. The vice grip on my chest loosened. I could catch my breath. The uneasy feeling in my stomach remained, as did the jittering of my hands.

  “You’ll always be mine, Ginger!” My head shot up. I looked around my car. Empty. My eyes met Malcolm’s. He stood on his porch watching me. The sight of him caused more fractures of my already splintered heart. He started down the steps. I cranked up my car. He stopped. I put it in reverse, forcing myself not to look back at him. I’m sorry.

  Chapter 25

  Calida

  I walked into the house and headed straight for the bar. Reaching for the wine, I paused and grabbed the Scotch instead. I filled a tumbler and downed the bitter amber liquid in one gulp. It burned going down forcing me to cough. Once I recovered, I filled the glass again, downing the drink, ignoring the burn.

  “I shouldn’t feel like I’m competing with a dead man, with that fucking man! It’s almost as if you won’t consider any other options because some messed up part of you is still in love with that bastard!” Mal’s words replayed over and over in my head.

  “Some messed up part?” I asked with a sarcastic laugh. I refilled the glass, and gulped the liquor. He should have known by now that all of me was messed up.

  I glanced up at the painting over the fireplace. My lady on the cliff. Hair blowing wild in the wind. Arms outstretched as she stood right on the cliff’s edge, ready to leave it all behind. Maybe she had the right idea, just let it all go, and fly away to a better place.

  “Maybe I should just jump like you,” I said and swallowed my fourth glass. “But you haven’t jumped, have you? No. Instead, you’re there, teetering on the edge just like me. Waiting...waiting to leave it all behind.”

  The stronger alcohol took effect quicker. Maybe that’s why people usually sipped on it as opposed to guzzling, but I needed to forget. Forget…I was always trying to forget, but that was no longer possible. I refilled the glass, my eyes wandered toward the darkened hallway.

  The time to forget was no more. I put the empty glass down on the marble bar top and stormed into the kitchen. I yanked a knife from the block. I turned the blade over in my hand, staring as metal caught the gleam of the light. My gazed returned to the hallway, and I took off in a sprint. I threw open the door, and flicked on the switch, flooding the space with light.

  The bed. I’d loved that bed. The silk tufted headboard was soft and luxurious. But more importantly, he couldn’t tie me to it. Not that it mattered. He always found ways to control and restrain me. Even being dead hadn’t changed that. My legs were heavy as I moved toward the bed. The light green down comforter looked so inviting. So serene.

  I let out a guttural scream, and plunged the knife into the comforter, gutting it with one angry swipe. Feathers erupted into the air. The more I stabbed, the more they flew free, bursting out of their confinement, and floated down around me with angelic grace. Tears poured from my eyes, and my breathing got heavier as I continued the attack.

  Another plunge to kill the memories.

  I brought the knife down with force to kill the lies.

  Straight through the bedding, into the mattress to kill my pain.

  I screamed with each strike, freeing the darkness that I could no longer contain.

  I stumbled back. My loud deep breaths filled my ears. The comforter, the pillows, and the headboard were all destroyed. They lay in shambles, like my life, but the anger still burned deep within me. My eyes went to the closet door, his closet door. The knife fell from my hand as I took slow steps toward it.

  I opened the door and took a deep inhale. “You can’t live here anymore,” I whispered, looking around his neatly organized space.

  I grabbed handfuls of clothes, hangers and all, and carried them out of the closet, down the hall. I fumbled with the front door, my actions clumsy, but I managed to fling it open. I tossed the clothes onto the cobblestone driveway before storming back into the house for more. With each new load, the urgency to get his stuff out of the house grew. The weight upon my shoulders lifted.

  Tears continued to stream down my face. I wiped at them with the back of my hand as I stood in front of the pile in the driveway, drinking the scotch directly from the bottle. My head spun, and my stomach rolled. I poured the remaining contents of the bottle onto the pile of clothes then threw it, shattering the bottle into a million pieces.

  I looked up at the sky. The blues became red as the day came to an end. The sun didn’t hold on to the past. Each day was a new one. I needed to be the same.

  I ran back inside directly to the bar, gathering up as many bottles of wine that I could hold. Then I rummaged through the drawers until I found the fire starter. Running back outside, I threw the bottles around the pile of clothing until it and the driveway was covered. The lighter fabri
cs stained red. Angry swipes to my cheeks cleared away the remaining tears. The time for crying was no more. I clicked the button on the starter and held it to the clothes. Instant flames shot to life. I stumbled back.

  I stumbled back into the house to retrieve one of the Chardonnays I hadn’t grabbed. After opening it, I went back outside, and sat on the steps. My body swayed to the mesmerizing rhythmic motion of the flames. They danced, growing in their mission to consume everything. I took a long, slow drink of the wine. It tasted sweet. Clean. New. A smile stretched across my face before I stood and threw the nearly full bottle into the fire. I drew in an excited, sharp breath when the flames shot up in spectacular fashion. I danced around in circles, welcoming the heat from the flames. A warm embrace. Dizzy. I stopped. My gaze landed on the garage. In my haste, I’d left my bay door open. I staggered inside, hitting the button on the wall, I opened the other three doors. Light flooded the space. His cars.

  “You can’t stay here!” I yelled at them. Letting out another scream, I ripped the covers off. I needed….I needed...the toolbox. I grabbed it off the shelf, and emptied the contents onto the floor in search of what I was after. The hammer.

  “I’m not yours!” I swung at the window of the driver’s side door, and the glass on his Jag shattered in splendid fashion. “You did this to me!” I swung again, hitting the windshield.

  I kept swinging. All the windows were shattered. The sideview mirrors—one was off, one barely held on. The hammer fell from my hands, clamoring loudly as it hit the concrete floor. My chest heaved. Glass crunched under my feet on my journey back into the house. I grabbed another bottle of wine, and headed back outside.

  In the distance, I heard the sirens and I rocked to their odd rhythm. Flashing lights highlighted the darkness as the sirens got closer. Police and fire engines were at my gate.

  “Ma’am, open the gate,” one called out to me.

  I leaned back to watch the smoke rise before I pushed myself up from my seated position and walked into the house to hit the button.