“Fuck, Brie, just get inside. Please, this is dangerous,” I say with forced patience.
She ignores my request and continues to walk. When she turns her back to me, she balls her fists and straightens both of her arms at her side.
All that’s left is a shell of her, and I have everything to do with the disappearance. She feeds off my cues, and tonight, that’s exactly what she’s doing— fighting me and beating me. I deserve every bruise, every gash, and every scar because she’s worth it to me. I failed her, and I want to be the one to pick up the pieces of her and make her whole again. If she doesn’t want me anymore, then I only have myself to blame. I knew what I had in front of me all this time. I pound the steering wheel and drop back against the seat.
“Fuck!”
I glare through the crying windshield, my own tears blurring my sight as her figure gets smaller and smaller as she crosses the intersection.
She continues walking blindly in the rain, farther away from me. I stop at the nearest corner and hop out of the SUV. Car horns blare as I run through the street, as the rain and glaring headlights blind me. When I reach her on the side of the road, I grab her shoulders and spin her to face me. My chest heaves, and the overwhelming ache in my heart subsides now that she’s inches from me. I cup her head in my hands, forcing her to look at me.
“Brie, please.”
I drop my forehead to hers, pleading with her to listen.
Just then the sky lights up with a crack of lightning, and the rain pours down so hard the noise drowns out her words, but she persists.
She shakes her head. “No! Your mouth is poison! Everything you say is a lie.” She pushes back, away from me. “I hate you! I. Hate. You!” she spits at me.
As she finally releases her sobs she’s been holding in, her tiny trembling body falls against mine. I’ve sapped all her strength and fight as I wrap my arms around her and hold her tightly against me.
“You fucking destroyed something precious to me. I don’t deserve this,” she whimpers, pounding on my chest with no power. Her delicate fists caress my chest more than they bruise me.
“You don’t, baby. You don’t.”
Feeling and hearing the rain around me makes me realize how simple life should be, and for several glorious minutes, I do that. I focus on the warmth of her body against mine and the coolness of the rain on my skin. I close my eyes and bury my nose into her wet hair as tears stabs my eyes. I cry because there’s only one other memory I have of us in the rain like this. There were no tears of pain, but tears of happiness. April seventh. April showers. I proposed to her on the Charles River on her birthday. We got caught in the rain right after she said yes. It didn’t matter where we were. We were together. She was my future, and now, I don’t know what my future holds. But, as for right now, I’m happy just holding her.
Her pulse is faint, and she’s unconscious limp in my arms.
“I didn’t see her.”
“I have to call 9—” I begin pulling out my cell phone.
“No! Please, no!” They plead, cutting off my words.
“What do you want me to do? She’s hurt.” A wave of sickness threatens to expel the dinner I ate earlier in the night. Seconds pass before the unbearable wave leaves, and I glare up.
“She was in the way.”
I brush Meadow’s tangled hair away from her face as a hush falls between us, the words cutting into me like a dull knife, like Meadow was some random obstruction.
“In the way of what?” I grit with a withering stare.
“I couldn’t see her. Please, this will ruin my life.”
Debating what to do, I throw my eyes to the sky and look back at my car.
“What do you expect? For me to leave her here?” I argue, pulsing with both grief and anger colliding into me like a wrecking ball.
“I did it.” The words are faint, but they pummel me. Our eyes connect for a second, and I can’t stomach what I see and drop my eyes. “I wanted to hurt her.”
Infuriated, I shoot my burning eyes in their direction, but the face is unrecognizable. “What are you talking about? You…you planned this?” I feel like I’m looking at a disobedient kid. This is fucking bullshit. How could they do this? Legal jargon spread in my mind like a terminal malady.
Premeditated? First-Degree Murder? Manslaughter?
“Why?”
“For you.”
“For me? What are you talking about?” I bark, unable to comprehend the situation in front of me. I need to think fast. I glance over my shoulder and see headlights in the distance. “Someone is coming. Get in your car and leave. We’ll figure this out.”
Every bone in my body is screaming to do the right thing as I lay Meadow in the grass off the road. I see the headlights quickly approaching. They’ll be here in seconds. I kiss her on the forehead and run to my car and leave her, leave a pregnant injured woman on the side of the road.
What kind of human being does something like this?
I pull away, stealthily glancing in the rearview mirror as the car pulls over. I immediately turn down the main strip and turn on my headlights as sirens blare in the distance.
“She’ll be okay. She’ll be okay.” I deliberate whether to go back to the wedding and drink myself into a stupor or return to my parents’ home and raid the liquor cabinet. Twenty precarious minutes later, I pull up in front of my childhood home.
I carry Brie upstairs, remove her clothes, and lay her in bed. Standing over her, I weigh my options regarding my unexpected and serious predicament, but I’m mentally shackled and unable to process what I just witnessed and what I became intimately a part of. A crime.
The image of Meadow is vivid and fresh in my frenzied head. I have to know she’s okay. Repulsed by my actions, I angrily strip out of my soiled clothes, throw on some gyms shorts, head downstairs to pour myself some scotch, and calmly pick up my cell phone to call the hospital when there’s a knock at the door. Rage and sorrow burn in my veins when I swing open the door and gulp down the glass of scotch, letting it singe my haggard throat.
“James Fleming?”
My blurry eyes focus on the man in front of me holding a police badge with an unmarked police car parked behind him on the street. I don’t say a word and drop my chin to my chest in despair.
“We need to talk.”
I let him inside.
My wife loathes me. I disgust her.
Rolling to the side of the bed, I perch on the edge with my head in my hands. I can’t sleep, not when Brie is in the guest bedroom down the hall.
I’m having dreams about Meadow and the night of her accident.
What the fuck?
I can’t talk to anyone about it. I have to keep it all inside.
Then there’s Officer Harvey breathing down my throat for more money. What else do I need? Oh yeah, I could be the father to a four-year-old girl.
I’m stressed badly. I don’t need all of this. I need to focus on Brie and what is left of my marriage, especially with Mason moving in, making himself more available to my broken wife. That shit just pisses me off. But who’s fucking fault is that?
Work. I was obsessed with work, my name, and my career. Because of all of this, I had no time for her needs, but I fulfilled mine. Every last selfish need of mine. For what? To end up with nothing?
Fuck it all.
I push off the bed and pad down the pitch-black hallway and stand in front of the heavy wooden door that separates me from my wife. There is more than just a fucking door separating us now. I check the knob. It’s locked. I put my ear to the door, but there’s nothing but silence.
What is she doing in there? What is running through her mind? Is she tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling, pacing silently back and forth?
Whatever it is, it can’t be good. Her mind is probably racing. I know how she was in the past and how she can get.
A new emotion attacks me, like being ambushed by a sniper in the dark.
The fear she’ll she wake up while I’
m sleeping and leave me to never come back. I don’t fucking blame her. My heart tightens, like her hands are wrapping a tourniquet so tightly around my heart it blocks the flow of blood.
I raise my fist to knock on the door. I know where the keys are. I could unlock it, slip inside, and lie down next to her. Is she even in there? I turn to look out the window where the rain streams down the window reminding me of Brie’s tears.
Looking past the rain, her car is still parked outside, and it calms my thumping heart.
She’s here, but so damn far away.
I can’t live like this.
With what? People knowing the fucking truth about you, asshole? With the fact that your wife hates you and can’t stand to look at you or touch you?
Deal with it.
I’m not sure if I’m strong enough for this.
I was her nightmare when she thought she had a fairytale.
I’m the black knight when all she wanted was a prince on a white stallion.
I want to rewrite her story.
I want to go back and edit, delete, and strikethrough everything and do it all over again.
I want to make this right for her.
The knowledge that she won’t let me causes an overwhelming sadness to seize my throat and my chest. I shut my eyes, unable to handle the images of what my future will look like without her. I deserve the hell I’m living in.
The hell I created with all my lies.
And because of it, I may have lost it all. All was Brie.
I just didn’t know it. I was too blind, too aloof, too careless, too fucked up to see it.
I’m suffocating. I’ve been thrust into the middle of a Lifetime movie, the kind I hate watching. I’m the sweet, supportive, and sappy wife who ignores all the signs, rejecting everything and blaming herself when she catches her husband cheating and lying. All the good memories have big question marks surrounding them. In the past few days, I’ve wondered a thousand times if there’s something more for me.
My chest knots tighter and tighter as I spin the recent events over and over again in my head. Every lie he told me whittled at my heart and my temper. I kept it locked inside my chest until it all came crashing down, just three days ago.
I haven’t been sleeping. It eludes me like love does. Just beyond my grasp.
I hate it.
Is love just a myth? A dream?
The idea of love and affection has always consumed me. I’ve always wanted it to be real. I was always obsessed with it.
For once, I just want it all to stop.
Things have been strained at home with James to say the least. I’ve been trying to sleep—more like tossing and turning alone—in the spare bedroom until I figure out what I want to do. James has no choice in the matter.
This whole situation brings me back to a bad time in my life when in the past few years I’ve been trying to rebuild myself. The first episode of depression, that I can remember, started when I was in my sophomore year of high school. There were so much change and stress in my life, and at the time I wasn’t capable of handling it all while I watched my peers excel and thrive in any situation while I struggled with anxiety. Keeping my issues to myself didn’t help my situation. I just thought the feelings would go away, like a common cold.
I remember waking up every morning, wishing that day would be a good day. It never seemed to be a good day, though. I thought something was wrong with me, and I was afraid to talk about it with anyone for a long time.
I found something that made me feel better, at least for a while. The high of having a crush on a boy became much more, like an addiction for me, all throughout high school and college. The rush that came with being “in love” relieved some of my depressed feelings. Of course, it also led to very obsessive and destructive behavior whenever the object of my affection rejected me. I wanted to regain the good feelings any way I could, so I made some very poor decisions. And, yes, even though I find myself reluctant to admit it, there were plenty of times I thought about taking my own life in order to end the pain.
I tried so many times to be a confident, strong woman, but I never quite made it, or maybe being with a man that makes me feel comfortable and self-assured would help me uncover and find the woman I should or was meant to be.
A frown grows on my face when I begin to think about the relationships I had in the past. There weren’t many, but in each case, they always left for someone more…alluring? Better.
I never did know what I was lacking that men would leave me. I lost a piece of myself in each one of the relationships until I was a shell of a person. And look where I am now? James. Of all the men. I just can’t believe I’m here again.
The uncertainty I lived with everyday began to lift once I began meeting with Natalie my freshman year in college. She came highly recommended by one of my mother’s close friends whose daughter was going through her own issues.
I talked about my heartbreaks<3 and my struggles and how it affected my confidence and the way I saw myself. I used my photography to observe and focus on the outside world instead of on me. Everything else around me seemed flawless, while I was somehow lacking. That’s one of the things I got out of my sessions with Natalie.
I continued to see her, even when I met James. Ironic that my relationship with him brought me out of my endless black hole. He was different than the rest, and when he asked me to marry him, I finally felt like I was enough for someone. My confidence grew, and I really started to enjoy my life. Then, the pressure of adulthood and marriage happened. His career, my work, my insecurities. I didn’t think I’d be here. James sleeping with two other women and the possibility of being a father. Ultimately, James made me regress to a bad place. That same black hole he pulled me out of, he pulled me back in. A place I don’t want to be.
I find my cell phone in my purse. Scrolling down my contacts, I come to her name and inhale.
Shit, this is the last thing I want to do.
I finally work up the courage to call. I dial her number and collapse back in my chair, reevaluate my thinking, and then hang up. I stare at the screen long and hard and hit Redial, letting it ring. I hope it goes to voicemail, so I can leave her a message, but she picks up before I can disconnect.
“Natalie Winters.”
I remind myself to be strong before I respond.
“Hi, Natalie. It’s Brie.”
“Brie?”
“Yes,” I say, chewing on my fingernail. I imagine Natalie’s svelte five-nine figure sitting behind her desk in a tailored black suit. In her early thirties, she graduated from NYU at the top of her class.
Her wavy, thick, brown hair is probably pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and she has her signature diamond earrings in her ears. I always wondered if she had a man in her life. Not once did I see a photo in her office. It’s probably best that way. Being single means no drama and no heartache.
“Oh, it’s really nice to hear from you.”
“It’s been a little bit.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “Yes, it has. How are you?”
The tapping of her fingers on her keyboard fills my ears, and I get nervous that maybe she is updating my file. Keeping tabs on me.
Shit, I need to stop.
“Good. Really busy, in fact.”
Really busy catching my husband fucking the deputy DA in his office and finding out he could be a father. Other than that, things are fucking peachy out here in Massapequa Park for Mrs. James Fleming.
“Busy is good.”
“A vacation would be nice right about now.” I smile, thinking about some place sunny near the ocean.
“I totally agree with you on that one.”
I clear my throat and nervously smooth out my white pencil skirt. “I apologize for being so bitchy the last time we spoke.” I stand up, pacing an erratic path in my office. Covering my forehead with my hand, I consider the best and most subtle way to ask her for what I need, the sole reason why I made this call. The one thing I pr
omised myself I would not do because it only serves to show me that I’ve faltered, that I’m ultimately weak and cannot sustain living without it, but what do you expect after what just happened a few days ago?
“Don’t apologize. Sometimes I can be a little pushy. That’s only because I care about my patients.” She laughs. “You know how I feel about you, Brie. You’ve made tons of progress.”
Balling my fists, I clench my eyes shut and dread what I’m about to ask. The brief silence over the phone is enough to push me over the edge. Natalie knows there’s something amiss with me. I was her patient for four years, so she knows all the signs. I fidget with the buttons on my black silk sleeveless blouse and inhale a deep breath.
“Do you mind writing me a prescription for some sleeping pills? I’ve been having a hard time sleeping the last couple of days.”
She sucks in an audible breath while I silently pray she will just say yes.
Please, say yes.
“Brie, it’s been over a year. Is everything all right? I can refer you to a colleague of mine if you want.”
She gives me the fucking response I’m dreading. I don’t have the patience to sit through hour-long sessions with a stranger.
“No, this is temporary. I don’t think…I just have a lot going on, and it would help me w—”
“Are you sure it’s just losing sleep, or is there more?” she interjects. Her voice takes on a sensible and impartial tone, the same tone she takes when I’m sitting in her office during one of my sessions.
“Things are fine. Just overwhelmed and stressed with work.” I stare out the window and take a deep breath. “Please, I’m asking you this one favor.” I open the top drawer of my desk, grab a bottle of aspirin, and collapse back into my chair, feeling a headache coming on.
Come on, please. I need to close my eyes for more than a few minutes and to relax my mind. Nothing else is working.
Natalie is quiet for a few moments, and I picture her squinting and sliding her black rectangular glasses higher on her nose, something she used to do constantly during my counseling sessions.
“I normally don’t do this, but I’ll do it this one time, but if you change your mind about seeing someone, I can give you a name.”
Love Is Louder Page 35