Forget Me Not

by Goodmore, Jade

  “Don’t you see? This is me making it up to you.”

  “NO! I can’t believe I’ve let you do this to me twice. You have been wasting my time all along.” He doesn’t try to stop me as I move towards the door. “This has been such a mistake. The biggest mistake.” I repeat to myself. I slam the door as I leave, but not satisfied with my parting words I open the door once more. He’s standing with his hands on his head looking defeated and miserable. I’m glad.

  “You know what, this isn’t my biggest mistake. My biggest mistake wasn’t that I loved you, it was that I believed you loved me too!”

  I race through the club, desperate to be seated in Emma’s car as my legs continue their decline to numbness. As I make it onto the street I hear the doors open behind me and a strong familiar hand grabbing my arm. Instantly I turn and push away with everything I have. His grip doesn’t loosen and I find myself being carted off further down the street. Away from the eyes of the queuing partygoers, Jesse leans in to my line of sight and regards me with stern but sore eyes.

  “How are you getting home?” he asks.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “I don’t want you driving home in this state. Not after last time. Please, Michaela.”

  “My safety is none of your concern anymore.”

  “I still care. I’ll drive you home.”

  “I’d rather break every bone in my body in another accident than spend three hours in a car with you.” My anger takes over my speech and I walk away feeling regretful at my choice of words. The sadness plastered across his face is enough to bestow another course of tears to line my cheeks and heavy sobs to stab at my chest. I make it to Emma’s car and drive far enough away that I feel safe to park without worrying that he’ll come after me. I give in to the gravity of my pain and begin to cry myself dry.

  Chapter 31

  Somewhere in between the sobs raining down relentlessly on my chest, I remember my promise to Emma. I reach for my phone in my bag tucked in the passenger foot well. Four missed calls and two text messages. All from Emma.

  Have u arrived safe? xxx

  U r 10 mins away from a very hormonal lady coming 2 get u. CALL ME! xxx

  I dry my eyes as best I can, but the tears continue to fall. My breathing is harsh and interrupted by involuntary shudders that come from too much crying. I lean back against the headrest and will the angst in my voice to soften enough for Emma to stop worrying.

  She picks up on the first ring.

  “Mickey?” Her voice is alarmed and I immediately feel bad for being the cause of her concern.

  “Yes,” I manage.

  “Are you okay? Are you in New York?

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Oh, Emma,” I sob, unable to hide the hurt.

  “Asshole! What has he done?”

  “It’s over.” I can’t explain any further. I can’t even organize my thoughts mentally let alone vocally.

  “Mickey, your sister’s coming for you.”

  “What?”

  “Joanna’s coming for you. It’s been hours since you left and I hadn’t heard a thing. I was worried,” she explains.

  “How long ago did she leave?”

  “A couple of hours. Let her drive you home. She has Zoe with her. She can drive my car back.”

  “Emma, I’m sorry. Thank you,” I whisper.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  “Is Benji okay?”

  “He’s probably had more ice cream than he should have, but yes, he’s fine.”

  “Thanks,” I sniff. “I’ll give them a call and find out where they are. I’ll be round in the morning.”

  “Okay. Love you.”

  “Love you.”

  After calling Zoe’s mobile and finding that they’re only half hour away I give them the directions to my whereabouts and curl up in my seat. The tears continue their attack without any encouragement. I haven’t even thought specifically about mine and Jesse’s conversation, but I guess my body is perceptive to what’s being played over and over again in my subconscious.

  I think about how I have let everyone down and a fresh tsunami of pain lances through my chest. My parents had finally accepted Jesse and now I have to tell them that they were right not to trust him. Joanna had him figured out all along and now I have to deal with her smugness. Emma doesn’t need my issues clouding her hormonal mind and yet here I am adding to her concern.

  Then there’s Benjamin. I have seen such a change in him lately. He has always been a happy child but for the last couple of weeks his happiness has expanded beyond the realms of his previous six years. Now I have to dispel his contentment. I will take his hope for a fairytale family and screw them up like an unwanted break-up letter. His life is going to be changing so much over the next few weeks, what with the introduction of his real dad, and I can only hope that he continues to handle change much better than I do.

  I must have dozed off because when I open my eyes Joanna is banging on the passenger window with a look of horror in her eyes. Her alarm relaxes a touch when I acknowledge her and move to open the locked door.

  “Jesus, Michaela! I thought you’d done something stupid!” she cries before climbing into the seat. She looks at me again and softens, reaching across to me. Her kindness is my undoing as the sobs that slept with me awaken with energized enthusiasm.

  “It’s okay. I’m here now,” she whispers into my hair, holding me to her and stroking my bangs away from my face. I idly recall how unlike Joanna this mothering is.

  “Why has he done it again, Jo? To break my heart once wasn’t enough?”

  “Shhh. It’s okay,” she continues with her generic coo’s.

  “No,” I say as I sit up enough to look her in the eyes. “Tell me. Tell me it’s because he’s an asshole. That he’s a nasty, jackass incapable of love.”

  She shifts uncomfortably. “He’s not, Mickey. He’s just…damaged,” she mutters. She’s excusing him? The one person I could rely on for a good Jesse-bashing and she’s excusing him? I don’t want to feel anything other than rage for him right now and she wants me to pity him.

  “You can’t be serious?” I ask, incredulously, straightening myself up further in my seat.

  “Mickey, you know all about his upbringing, but you don’t know the full extent of how it has affected him. I can’t excuse what he’s done, but I can understand he thinks he’s doing the right thing.”

  “Do you think he’s doing the right thing?”

  “No, not at all. But, you can’t force him to stay with you. He wants to do best by you and whether he’s right or wrong, that should show you how much he really loves you.”

  “He doesn’t love me.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she scorns.

  “Joanna, he just told me he doesn’t want me. I think that makes it pretty clear,” I scoff, wiping my nose unattractively on my sleeve.

  “He called me to ask me to come and get you. We were already on our way of course, but he obviously cares,” she offers.

  I’m a little taken aback by the news, but I soon recover. “Just because he doesn’t want me to die in a car accident doesn’t mean that he loves me.”

  “He sounded really upset,” she adds quietly. I shake my head, unwilling to justify her empathy with an answer. She sighs, despairingly. “Zoe will drive this car back. You can ride with me.” I roll my puffy eyes and exit the car.

  After an intense morning with Joanna and tears from a hormonal Emma I have sworn to remedy both of their reactions. Having already put them through so much this last twenty-four hours, never mind the last ten years, I won’t be the reason for their worry again. I’ll just continue with the pretence that I’m coping. I’ve sworn them to secrecy, not wanting my parent’s reactions to bring me down any further than I already have.

  The moment Benji and I step into our home, into the quietness, I know I can’t stay here. I should probably go to work. I have a mil
lion things to be catching up on, but I can’t bear the thought of being trapped in my office with my loud thoughts. Benji and I therefore spend the remaining day doing anything other than go home.

  Relying on taxi cabs and public transport, we spend the day hopping between distractions. We go to the sand dunes, but I find it tainted with memories of Jesse and our not so long ago happiness. We go for food, but I can’t bring myself to eat anything. Benji insists on going to the cinema, but I can’t even recall what the movie is about. By nightfall, Benji has fallen asleep in the taxi drive home.

  Somehow, I find the strength to carry Benjamin to bed. I pull off his shoes and leave him in his clothes, not wanting to wake him after an exhausting day, but when I tuck him in, he stirs and wakes.

  “Mom, are you sad?” he asks.

  I immediately force a smile, hoping to dispel his concern. “A bit, sweetheart. But it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  He ponders my reply, pouting. “Are you missing Jesse? It’s okay, he’ll be back soon.”

  I breathe through the pain that comes with his name and manage to nod and smile at Benji. I know I’ll have to tell him eventually that Jesse is not coming back, but it will be at a time when I can bare to say his name without falling apart.

  Downstairs, I find myself cleaning, bleaching everything in sight, hoping that the saying, ‘clean house, spotless mind’ deems true. I buzz around the house as if I have been possessed by my mom. I wish. She would be strong enough to deal with this. I contemplate calling her and relying on her understanding words and expertise, but I can’t bring myself to unload my problems onto anyone else. I’ve already been so selfish.

  When the house resembles one that my mom would be proud of, I contemplate starting work on the recent wedding photographs. I soon disregard that idea, unwilling to accept anyone else’s happiness when my own has been taken so cruelly from me.

  With nothing else to do I know that my only option is sleep. I crave the peace it can offer. I need so desperately to escape the quietness of my home and the overriding loudness of my mind. Sleep won’t come unaided, though. I head downstairs to the fridge and finger the neck of a half empty bottle of wine. This won’t do. I close the door and reach for an overhead cupboard, shuffling unused jars and condiments out of the way to expose a small bottle of vodka. I pour myself a glass and add a couple of ice cubes. Sipping the drink, I ignore the burn, knowing that with each drop I am closer to numbness.

  With the fifth glass and ever increasing fogginess, the drama of last night seems less painful. I go to bed feeling stronger only to wake up many hours later in the darkness that entombed me ten years ago.

  No…

  Chapter 32

  The next week or so fade into one long episode. Sleep doesn’t break up the monotony. Instead it comes for brief moments throughout the day and only when I’m physically unable to fight it. I eat enough that I don’t feel as though I’m going to pass out and the only time I smile is in the company of Benjamin.

  I’m existing.

  As much as I try to appear happy, I can’t fail to notice Benjamin’s wariness of me. It pains me to see the effect that my pathetic mourning is having on him. He’s asked me many times whether Jesse is returning, and each time I’ve responded with the same lie, “yes, Jesse is coming home.” With every lie I hate myself more and the more I hate myself the more I drink. The second Benji is in bed I find my solace at the bottom of a glass. It doesn’t lend me the numbness of sleep anymore. Instead, I drink to fool myself into thinking that I am coping and that the world is a good place, only to be met with the distorted reality come morning. It’s a vicious cycle that’s slowly spiraling out of control.

  I’m not even granted the release that comes with crying. Numbness has stolen my tears since that night in New York. I tell myself that I will soon see the light and as long as I internalize my misery rather than burdening others with my angst then I will be okay.

  Emma and Joanna have taken it in turns to come and see me and I want to believe that they’re oblivious to my depression. They don’t mention Jesse’s name, no doubt scared of the effect it will have on me. Instead they skirt around the issue with questions about what I have eaten and how much sleep I’ve been getting. I can see they’re worried, but I don’t know what else I can do to eradicate their concern.

  My parents are still oblivious to the misery consuming me. I can’t face telling them, reliving the drama, retelling the events that have caused the angst and dealing with the returning worry that I have witnessed from them before.

  I’ve made it into the office almost every day, but I may as well have sat on the sofa watching crap on TV for the good I have done. Tonight I work my last night at The Cellars. It will be the first time I have been anywhere other than my house, my car, or my office. Emma has offered to have Benjamin for me and it bothers me to know that he’ll be so much happier there than in his own home.

  I pack extra candy and treats in Benji’s overnight bag, understanding that through gifts is the only way that I am contributing towards Benji’s happiness right now. I am a terrible mom. Miserable or not, I am being a terrible mom.

  I have a reminder set on my phone to call and make an appointment to see the doctor. It’s been reminding me every day but I’m the master of avoidance. The idea of relying on medication to ease me through the darkness is something I never considered throughout my previous bout in the shade, but I’m gradually becoming aware that I need to do something, for Benji’s sake.

  Maybe tomorrow.

  Dressed in my skinny jeans and a black tank I stomp down the stairs and find my biker boots. For the first time in days I’ve applied make-up and when I look in the mirror I’m almost fooled into believing that I’m okay. The jeans aren’t as snug as they should be and there are heavy bags underneath my dull eyes, but to someone who doesn’t know of the marathon my mind and body has been though over the last week, I suppose I pass as acceptable.

  I take a cab to The Cellars and the moment I step onto the sidewalk I can’t ignore the beaming presence of Sweets. I’m shocked to find that work is continuing to be carried out on its restoration. I wonder whether it has just slipped Jesse’s mind to cancel it. I quickly redirect my thoughts away from anything that resembles…him.

  Quickly making my way to the bar upon my entrance to The Cellars I consume a lengthy glass of JD and coke within seconds. I head down towards the main stage, feeling grateful for the alcohol generated warmth in my throat and the throbbing music in my ears. The current band bashing their way through a particularly angry song is a local one that’s played here for years. I lose myself in the pounding base and quickly shoot a series of long range shots of the stage and the surrounding crowd.

  The Cellars is a standard bar up top with a brick-lined basement at the bottom of a long twist of stairs. The stage is a good size, and the acoustics are fantastic, bouncing off of the cocooned walls with speakers in every corner.

  The band gives me everything I need and I think I’ve gotten some great shots. I definitely deserve a drink. It takes me a while to get back to the safety of the bar and as I order a beer I notice the time on the till. I’ve been here almost three hours and have only had one drink. Two, counting this one. That’s progress. I allow myself a smile. Maybe I can beat these blues without resorting to medication.

  The reason for the positivity is that I feel calm here. Considering the thunderous music and barrage of shoulders that bump into me frequently, ‘calm’ is an odd word to choose, but it’s true. The music is basic. The melody is difficult to ascertain but the loudness is enough to drown out any unwanted thoughts. The bar is a great place to people watch and so I’m able to change the channel from the depressing scenes that have been playing on a loop in my head.

  I should come here every night. This is me, my scene. Here, I am comfortable with who I am because nobody cares. Everyone is here for the music and for a good time. The brick walls are plastered with posters and any free space is color
ed with modern graffiti. The wooden floor is sticky from endless pools of spilt drinks and there is a continuous smell of sweat and dry ice in the air. I’d work the bar here if my hands weren’t already so full. Besides, my current thirst for alcohol is already at its peak without enticing it further with the lure of easily obtainable poison.

  My untouched beer no longer seems as appealing as hope sits on the horizon of my consciousness. I order a JD-free coke and take the beer to the side of the stage before instructing for it to be given to the lead singer. I don’t even know his name but we have interacted many times over the years, albeit through the camera lens. He nods gratefully and I return to the bar where I take a weight off my feet, waiting for the next band to start so that I can continue shooting.

  Checking my phone I notice that I have a missed call and a message. The number is unknown. It looks familiar, but I don’t want to believe why until I’ve read the text message.

  I need to see you. Please call me, sweets. x

  I’m thankful for the bar stool beneath me when my legs lose their strength and air gushes from my lungs. I expect tears, but they remain asleep. I wait for the anger, but that was left in New York. Have all of my emotions been substituted with the deadness of this depression?

  Stuffing the phone back into my shoulder bag, I continue to sit and drink, already regretting my haphazard decision to give away my beer. Maybe I should buy another. No. Don’t be weak just because he has found a way to penetrate your life, albeit in a text message.

  What does he want? Does he feel guilty for how he left things and want to apologize? Well, I won’t give him the chance. He doesn’t deserve it. I try to think whether I’ve left anything in New York for him to be notifying me of. Shit, what if it’s to do with his friend at EDDEX? Well, I can’t call him, whatever the motive behind his contact. There isn’t a reason important enough for me to punish myself with the sound of his voice.