by Black, T. E.
“Ya dirty fuckers coulda’ jinxed me, you know!”
Rook chuckles and pats the chair next to him. “Leigh and I knew ya were gonna get it. So stop being a pussy and fucking etch me already.”
“What do ya want?” I chuckle.
Rook looks at Ryleigh then to me. “How about an ‘L’ in that fancy lettering you’re so good at?”
“Rook! No! You’re not getting my initial on ya! It’s bad fucking luck!” Ryleigh protests.
Ah. How the tables have turned.
“It’s only fair, Ry. You two didn’t give a shit when ya could’ve jinxed me, so I’ll pay back the favor,” I joke before opening my tattoo case.
The sound of the door opening causes me to snap from my memories. I look at the door, and Shay is walking toward me cautiously through the dim lighting of the room. She places her bag on the floor, staring at me with wide eyes. I continue to play, singing the lyrics as if they're meant for her. And in some way, I feel like they are. I serenade her, never once breaking eye contact. Sliding on the couch behind me, she wraps her arms around my midsection while her head rests on my back peacefully. We sit together and let the sounds of my voice tie us together emotionally while our bodies do the physical work.
She hums the lyrics quietly, and I smile to myself thinking she knows this song. It would figure. She never ceases to amaze me.
"That was beautiful," she whispers against my back as I finish up.
I place the guitar on the coffee table, turning myself around to look at her.
"You're beautiful."
She blushes at my compliment.
"Why do ya blush like that, babe?"
She blushes once again, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth seductively.
"You make me blush."
I move closer to her, planning to take her bottom lip between my own teeth when my phone ringing breaks us apart. I ignore it, continuing to give Shay attention. I place a kiss on her lips, the feeling of bliss lingering.
My phone rings again, this time causing Shay to pull away from me.
"You should probably answer that," she murmurs with a small smile on her lips.
"Goddammit. This better be fucking good,” I snap while pulling my phone from my pocket.
"Hello?" I ask, unsure of the number.
"Hi, Mr. Wallace. This is Kathy from Paradise Rehabilitation. We met earlier today. I was the one who brought in the guitar for you to play for your mother."
A small smile plays on my lips while I think of the wonderful gift she gave me. She has no idea what that little gesture meant to me. For me, it was something huge. Monumental even. She managed to bring me back to a place I’ve missed for a long fucking time.
"Hey, Kathy. Thanks again. I really appreciate it. Is everything all right? I've never gotten a call from your place before. Is my mom okay?"
I panic when Kathy doesn't reply right away. It makes my mind think the worst, and I ask her again.
"Kathy. Is my mom okay?" I repeat.
"Uh. Mr. Wallace. That's the reason I'm calling. I'm very sorry to tell you this over the phone, but I thought you'd want to know as soon as possible. Your mom passed away earlier this evening. I'm sending my condolences on behalf of the facility, Mr. Wallace. The doctors haven’t determined the cause of death yet, so they didn’t want to alert anyone until they knew. I know I’m breaking protocol, but I was very close with your mother when she was here. I didn’t feel right keeping it from you. I’m so sorry, Mr. Wallace."
I'm sweating. I’m panicking. I can’t fucking breathe. I stand up from the couch; Shay's arms slide off me and land at her sides. I don't say anything to Kathy. My phone slips from my fingers, cascading toward the carpeted room with an audible thud. My breathing becomes hollow, my palms now dripping with sweat.
This can't be happening.
This can’t be fucking happening!
"No. No. No," I whisper into the silent apartment.
"Trent. What's wrong?"
"No. She can't ...”
"Who can't? What's going on?" Shay asks again.
Her hands press into my stomach, bidding me to turn toward her, but I can't. I collapse to the floor in an instant, my fingers winding themselves into my hair while I tug on it profusely.
"She's fucking dead, Shay! Fuck!" I scream, biting my tongue.
Blood touches my taste buds. The tears cloud my vision, blurring the beige apartment walls as if I'm submerged under water. I'm fucking drowning in thoughts of my mother. I'm gasping for air, pulling my hair as hard I can, trying to rip it from my scalp. I need pain. I need to feel it. I need to live it. I need my heart to stop collapsing with emotion.
Shay brings me back to reality. She kneels in front of me, her fingers threading into mine and removing them from my hair. She brings our joined hands to our laps gently.
"I'm so sorry, Trent."
Pink Floyd – “Wish You Were Here”
FUNERALS ARE THE saddest thing ever invented. Some people think they end the grieving process, that they heal the broken ones, but they don't. In my opinion, they make you grieve harder. They break all of the pieces left in your heart. They shatter your insides, creating jagged edges that cut you deeper than the initial break.
Trent is quiet as the priest speaks.
"We are here today to honor Cynthia Lucy Wallace. Cynthia was a woman of many talents. She was a loving mother of two sons, a faithful wife, and a daughter of the Lord our Savior. Cynthia was ill for a long time, but during that time, she never let it control her life. She accepted her fate to end up in the arms of the Lord one day, and that's where she is today. Among all of us loved ones standing here today, she is rising into the afterlife to be with her eternal family. Let us cherish her beautiful life and pray for her to live on forever."
Every person standing around her casket is silently praying, including myself. While everyone's heads are bowed, I watch Trent stare at his mother's casket. He hasn't removed his eyes from the grave where the coffin sits. He's broken. He's hanging on by a thread that's about to snap at any second. I don't know what to do, so I wind our fingers together showing him the silent support he needs right now. As badly as I want to cry, I won't let myself. If Trent isn't crying, then I'm not either. This is his pain I'm carrying with me, and I won't let it go until he's ready to do so himself.
Trent's brother, Rook, comes over to him and whispers something in his ear. Trent takes a deep breath, nodding his head. He turns to face me, giving my hand a soft squeeze.
"There's something I have to do," he whispers with saddened eyes.
I nod my head, knowing what's he's doing. I helped him find the right song yesterday, and I think he picked the perfect one to honor his mother with.
Trent and Rook each pick up their guitars, which sit alone in the background of the memorial. As they sit down on the stools, Trent leans forward to place a single pink carnation on his mother's casket. I watch his lips moving as he mouths "I love you." I wipe at my eyes furiously, begging for my tears not to spill over. I can't cry. I plead with myself repeatedly, but I know once he and Rook start playing, I'm going to lose it. Rook follows Trent’s movement before he strums out the first chords of Pink Floyd's “Wish You Were Here.” That's all it takes. A lone tear slips down my cheek, running off my chin and hitting my bare foot in my black peep toes.
Trent sings as if his life depends on it. His voice is raw from crying nonstop the night before, and it only makes the song that much more meaningful. I know how much this song means right now, even if no one else gets it.
"Tell me about her. Why is this song so important?" I try to peel back the layers.
"When Rook and I were younger, we were all she had. My father was never home. He worked all the damn time. He took a job as a salesman when I was about twelve years old, and that's when he stopped teaching Rook and me the guitar. So we started learning on our own."
I wrap my arms around his midsection, urging him to continue.
"My mom said the
house always felt lonely with my father gone for work, so Rook and I started playing for her to make her smile more. She loved it. She always wanted us to play on a big stage one day, but we were just kids then. We had no idea how much it really meant to her. She used to make us play ‘Wish You Were Here’ by Pink Floyd, and we could never figure out why she always wanted us to play it."
"Did you ever find out why?" I question, running my finger lightly over the black wood of the guitar.
"We found out my dad proposed to her playing her the song, and that's why she always loved it."
I lean in, kissing his lips for what feels like the first time. He's so open and bare with his emotions, giving me the things I always wanted to know—like what made him into who he is today.
Everyone sniffles as Trent finishes the last line of the song. Everyone but me. I'm full-on crying, my eyes burning like fire. I look around at the sad expressions on the crowd’s face, and I realize how loved Trent's mom was. From meeting her one time, I knew she was an amazing woman. How could she not be? She raised the man I love. She guided him and tried to make him succeed in life—which he did.
Trent walks toward me, the guitar still tightly gripped in his hands while Rook follows closely behind. I met Rook last night when he flew in from Vegas. Trent picked him up from the airport, and I wasn’t all that surprised when he came back high as a kite. Although it broke my heart to see his eyes glossed over, I let him be. If the worst thing he was doing when his mom passed away was getting high, I'd deal until the grieving process lessened.
Sometimes people go off the deep end when their loved ones die. I've seen it happen before, and it's not pretty. But is sadness ever really pretty? No. It's not. It's violent and ultimately real. When someone is mourning, you see their true colors. They become the unfiltered version of themselves, and it's at that point you know exactly who they really are. When you can experience someone at their lowest point, you can appreciate them at their highest. Because in life, nothing is going to be perfect. Sometimes people or things stay broken for a long time. Sometimes those things remain broken for the rest of their lives. Sometimes you can’t fix them. So you keep a smile on and pray to God everything will work out. The universe is a crazy place. It can make you or break you. I’m praying I don’t break into pieces.
Thank God for Bruce being able to watch Abby on last minute’s notice, though, because the apartment wasn’t somewhere for her to be last night. The boys and I got completely wasted. We went to bed when the sun came up, not that it made a difference. Sleep just made it worse since we had to wake up three hours later.
Trent and I walk to his truck hand in hand, both of us mute. Rook suggested heading over to Max's to grab a drink, and right now, I think it's the best place for Trent to be—with his family.
"Do you still want to go with everyone?" I ask him, settling in the front seat to drive.
"Yeah," he says, his tone clipped.
This has been going on all day. When I talk to him, I get short, annoyed answers. I know this is just his way of grieving for his mom passing away, but I'll be damned if he's going to take it out on me. I didn't cause his mom to get sick, and I shouldn't be treated as if I'm the one who did.
"Can you please say something other than a one-word answer?" I sigh loudly, starting the truck.
"Sorry," he clips again.
"Trent ...”
"What, Shay! What do ya want me to fucking say! My mom just died, for fuck’s sake! Excuse me if I don't feel like talking right now," he snaps.
And there it is again. He's doing what he's been doing all morning to me, once again. He's been irritable since we woke up, and at first, I assumed it was because he was hungover, but I know it's because he wants to get high.
"Whatever," I state flatly, continuing to focus on the road ahead.
"Just drop me off at the door. I'll catch a ride back with Rook."
I put the car in park, letting out a heavy sigh, which has been threatening to come out all day.
"No. I'll go with you. I'm sorry. I just … I know you're upset. I just don't know how to fix it for you."
I rest my forehead on the steering wheel, taking deep, calming breaths. As I run through my mind, trying to find a way to pull Trent from this slump, both of his hands grip my head while he pulls me to him. Instead of my head on the steering wheel, it now rests on Trent's chest where it belongs.
"Ya can't fix what's already fucked up, babe. And me, I'm the king of fucked up. It'll get better. I promise. I just need time. My mom was everything to me. I'm trying to deal with it in my own way."
"I love you, Trent."
"I love ya too, babe."
Jamie N Commons – “All Along The Watchtower” Cover
I LIED WHEN I told Shay everything would be okay. I knew I was fucking lying because things weren't going to get better after that day. Losing my mom was what pushed me over the edge. It's the reason I've been drowning myself in a drug-induced coma on a regular basis. Is it sad to say I don't even give a shit whether I live or die nowadays? Because that shit right there is the truth. I thought the only high I needed was Shay and Abby, but fuck, I was wrong. There’s nothing like the high I'm snorting up my nose right the fuck now.
"Damn. That feels good," I mumble to myself as I tip my head back, letting the liquid drip down my throat.
It's been a month since my mom died, and hell, I barely remember them. I've been on autopilot. I've been completely self-consumed, not giving a damn about anything but myself.
At the beginning of this, I swore up and down I’d never get high around Abby, and while I made good on my promise for the first few weeks of our relationship, these days, I've been slipping up. I can barely make it a few hours without shoving another bump up my nose. It's fucking bad.
Like right now, for instance, I'm holed up in Shay's bathroom while she feeds Abby dinner. I've become quick at cutting my shit up and getting it in my system before she notices. I mean it's not like she doesn't know. She has to know when I'm high. If she can't tell, then she's a damn fool. She's lived with an addict before, and when you saw it once upon a time, you can see it clear as day when it's right in front of you.
I finish the last of my line, cleaning off the bathroom counter and heading back out to the kitchen. I sit with Shay and Abby as if we're having a regular family dinner. Too bad this is far from normal. I'm so fucking jittery, and I'm having a hard time sitting still. My knee is bouncing up and down, almost knocking our dinner plates off the damn table. The sweats start, and the numbness takes its course. It's fucking heaven.
"Trent. Are you even listening?" Shay questions, pushing her food around on her plate with her fork.
I've noticed Shay getting thinner lately. I don't know if it's just something her body is doing or if it's because of me. Her curves are becoming less, and her bones are showing more. She doesn't look sick, by any means, but she doesn't look like the woman I fell in love with. She looks run-down. I don't ask her what the reason is. Instead, I just bark at her.
"Ya gonna eat your food? Ya hardly touched it."
She narrows her eyes at me, stabbing her fork into her pork chop and shoving the whole thing in her mouth all at once. I hear her teeth grinding with how hard she chews it.
Well, I guess that answers my questions.
"Happy?" she asks, swallowing.
"Yeah. Ya need to eat, Shay."
"Are you gonna be okay to stay here with Abby until Bruce comes to get her? I have to go into work tonight."
News to me.
"It's Sunday, Shay. Why the fuck do you need to go to work on a Sunday?" I grumble, shoving my plate away like it's infected.
I flick my eyes toward Abby seeing her little eyes full of fear. Fuck. I'm an asshole. I should’ve known better. I’m gonna freak her the hell out.
"Come here, little princess."
Abby hops from her chair, walking toward me with her eyes settled on the kitchen floor. When she stops directly in front of me, I crook my
finger, placing it under her chin so she has to look up.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?"
She kicks at an imaginary rock with her tiny pink Chucks, scuffing the white of the shoe.
"Nothing, Daddy."
I let her slide, for now, telling her to go pack up her stuff so she can go to Bruce's for the week. This is the arrangement Shay and he came up with. Bruce gets a week a month with her as long as he pays the amount of child support they agreed on. As Abby disappears to her room, I finally hear Shay answer me.
"I have no choice. I don't have to work real late tonight. I'll be home early, and Abby will be gone, so it's no big deal."
An hour later, Shay left for work, and Abby and I are waiting for Bruce's dumb ass to get here. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting that fucker yet, but from what I hear - he has a big problem with Abby calling me her dad since she started calling him Bruce. When I found out about it, I couldn't have been fucking happier about it. Abby is my kid and I don't need a legal paper to tell me. I know it. I love this kid with my entire heart. I'd never want anything to happen to her. I haven’t seen Bruce since the whole bruise on Shay’s neck incident either, but I’ve somewhat cooled off about it. I still want to fucking kill him, but where would that land me?
"Why do you and Mommy fight all the time? Do you not love each other anymore?" Abby asks me while cuddled up on the couch waiting.
"Why would ya ask, little princess? I love your mom more than anything. And I love you even more," I comfort.
The truth of the matter is we’ve been fighting a lot. It's my fucking fault. I'm fucked in the head after all the shit with my mom, and I honestly don't know if I can come back from it. I go to sleep wrapped up in romantic dreams of Shay, and I wake up in a nightmare of my mother dying from cancer. It's totally fucked.
"Mommy said her and Bruce used to fight a lot," she says, staring up at me through little lashes.
I sit down next to her, my hands running roughly over my face. Fuck. She's breaking my damn heart right now. I know she doesn't understand Shay’s and my problems, but it doesn't mean she should be lied to either. No one deserves to be deceived.