by Haley Jenner
I turn away from her accusation. I feel embarrassed, ashamed of my behavior and the person I’ve let myself become. Afraid to admit aloud that I've continued to wallow instead of trying to pick myself up. She reads my evasion correctly, sighing loudly. "Annabelle, I would like to speak freely here, say something that I feel you need to hear," she inquires and I nod in agreeance.
"Go ahead" I answer softly.
She turns directly to me, meeting and holding my eyes. "Sweetheart, I understand you are heartbroken right now. I imagine you’re feeling lost and struggling to find reason to keep going,” she waits for acknowledgement, and I smile sadly, giving her what she wants. “I meet an array of people in my occupation, some who have lost a great deal more than you have. People that, to be honest, are functioning a lot better than you are and the reason why, is because they’re trying. Now, I'm not suggesting you go out and party or try to meet another man. All I am merely suggesting is that you try a little harder. Get up in the morning, eat something, go for a walk, and set yourself a routine. I promise it will make it easier."
I offer her a small smile and nod my head in acknowledgement. I know she's right, but putting her words into action is a lot harder than it sounds.
The next morning I'm determined to change the habits I have set for myself over the past few weeks. I remember Dr. Robin's words, blunt but true. She made me feel small, which irritates me. Maybe I wasn't trying to move on but surely I'm allowed to grieve. I know neither of us died, but our relationship is dead. Something I invested my time, my heart into, is gone. But she was right and I need to try something. I have no want to live another kind of life. It sounds depressing but I feel I had my chance at my happily ever after and unfortunately for me, it didn't work out. So, while I plan on getting up every morning, even finding a job eventually, I have no want, no need to move on. No other man could make me feel the way Archer did, he gave me love in its truest form. I know what it feels to love, to be loved with a passion that is fiery and beautiful. I can't imagine anything coming close to comparing. Even if by some miracle I found it again, I wouldn't, couldn't find the strength to explore it. The aftermath is too painful, too damaging.
So, the next morning I do get up. I don't eat, but I buy myself a coffee and spend the entire morning walking Boulevard Park. It's beautiful. Set alongside Bellingham Bay, the view is tranquil, relaxing as I walk slowly along the trail. Taking in the Bay, I reach Fairhaven Village within half an hour and I spend a little time just sitting in Historic Fairhaven. I take in the people making their way past me as I sit, returning their smiles when our eyes meet.
I don't know how long I sit for, but the sun is shining and as it soaks into my skin, I feel at ease, calm for the first time in weeks, months even. Eventually I make my way back towards Downtown Bellingham, walking slowly, in no rush to return to the apartment. To the loneliness, the emptiness that drowns me.
My days are spent like this. I spend more and more time exploring Boulevard Park, the jetties and Fairhaven. Aubrey offers to come along once or twice but I awkwardly mumble about being alone and she doesn't offer again.
I meet a few people on my explorations, recognizable faces from my routine. No one person particularly distinguishable, all equally friendly. I like them, they stop for a quick hello but don't try to delve further into my life and this works for me.
I begin eating more. Sleeping is still an issue. My body reaches out for him every night, waking me when I find him absent. This part is painful and I often wonder if he has the same problem, the same trouble. Sleeping was an issue for him after his last deployment, waking regularly because of nightmares he ignored, refused to work through. Does living without me cause them too? Like it does for me?
After a few weeks, I find myself standing in the local florist, talking to the elderly owner about all things flowers, finding comfort in the familiar feel of it all. The owner’s name is Adele and she’s a robust cheerful lady who offers me a job on the spot. I smile to myself when I leave, surprised at how quickly I accepted and finally looking forward to having a renewed purpose, even just a few days a week.
I fall into a new routine then, working with Adele part of the week, walking around the city and trails on my days off. I speak to Jake and Janie every week. They easily avoid Archer in all conversation and I refuse to let myself ask after him. I want to. Badly. But as lost and empty as I feel disconnecting without an indication as to what he’s up to, I feel triumphant. A little stronger with every phone call knowing I didn’t break; I didn’t succumb to my need for everything Archer Dean.
Months continue as March rolls around, bringing my 25th birthday. I stay in bed for the entire day, wearing my Maple Leaf as flick through old photos on my phone. I cry. A lot. It’s depressing and sad but the next day, I get up. I continue.
Archer turns 30 and I once again refuse to move from the confines of my bed. I don't wear his necklace and Aubrey confiscates my phone so I can't look at photos of him. This angers me, but Aubrey only shrugs when I tell her this. "Better than crying a river, babe."
Jake turns 21 and comes to spend a few days in Bellingham. We get drunk, he flirts shamelessly with Aubrey, and she reciprocates. David, like always, works the entire time. I almost ask after Archer countless times but refrain and I know Jake is grateful. Our time ends too quickly and he heads home regretfully. Through his entire stay we’ve managed to avoid the giant elephant in the room. After Jake leaves I ask Aubrey if he mentioned Archer to her, but she says no. I feel disappointed. Unfulfilled with the knowledge of how he’s coping. Is he as sad and pathetic as I am? Does he regret pushing me away? Or is he better off? Is he healing without me?
I turn 26 and stay in bed the entire day. I pull out my Maple Leaf, allowing myself the torture of wearing it for the day. Aubrey doesn't confiscate my phone but I don't let myself look at photos. This birthday marks almost two years without him. It’s still depressing. Still suffocatingly sad, but like every other morning, I get up. I continue with the existence I’ve created for myself and for me, right now, that’s enough. I haven't seen him in nearly 2 years and with that time, I’ve fought against giving in and reaching out and this makes me feel stronger.
I go on a date. Lunch with a guy I meet him in the coffee shop I frequent. He's handsome, I guess. Blonde hair, incredibly tall, very lean. Almost shy, a little cautious in his approach. A complete opposite of Archer and I think that's why I agree when he asks me. He’s disappointed in my refusal for dinner, but concedes to a lunch date. I can't even recall his name. The whole scene is horrible; stilted conversation and awkward silences. I escape as soon as possible and am grateful I haven't told Aubrey about him, that way I don't have to humiliate myself by recalling the details. He thankfully doesn’t call again and I find a new coffee shop.
Archer turns 31 and I wallow again, staying in bed for the entire day. I don't wear his necklace, but spend the day wondering if he thinks of me on my birthday, like I do him. Whether he tortures himself with memories. I remind myself that he's probably too drunk to remember. Too selfish to care.
Jake turns 22 and refuses to come to Bellingham again, mumbling about something that makes no logical sense. He’s distant, aloof almost when I call him and no matter how hard I try to get him to open up, he won’t give reason to his somber mood. It’s so out of character, so unlike Jake that I can only assume it has something to do with Archer. Of course, I can’t bring myself to ask directly, but considering I’ve exhausted every other possible topic, I’d guarantee my assumption would be right.
That’s the last time we speak for months, Jake stops taking my calls, refuses to reply to my texts. This depresses me and my hearts feels like it's breaking all over again. But as much pain as I’m in, I can't bring myself to seek him out, to go home. I can’t stomach the thought, the possibility of what I might find. Janie won't talk about it, continues to assure me everything is fine but unsurprisingly, Jake is never available when I speak to her. I stop calling him, the fear of rejection
all consuming. I text him instead. Every week. I tell him that I'm thinking of him, that I love him, but mostly that I miss him and hope he’s okay. The notification on my phone shows me that he reads every last message, almost immediately on receipt. But I never receive a response back.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Archer
I use the railing for support as I make my way slowly up the stairs towards our front door. I stumble a few times and this fires my anger. Fuck, I need another drink.
I don’t know why I do this to myself. Every fucking year. 26. How could it have been that long since I've seen her? Would she have changed much? In looks? In who she is? Did what happened between us change her completely?
My mind constantly seeks out her memory and I wonder if she still looks the same; all brown hair, creamy skin and chocolate eyes. I hope she didn’t cut it off, her hair. Isn’t that what women do when their heart gets broken, change themselves? Try to reinvent who they are in the hope to feel better. So fucking stupid. I hope she didn’t do that.
I hate thinking about her, hate when I'm not strong enough to hold it all back. Usually the booze numbs all this shit. Except for today. Every year. I can’t fucking stop them. The memories. Missing her. My need for her. No matter how much I drink, I can’t push past it. My body won’t even let me pass out. So this day, every year, I give in to it. I wallow in self-pity. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic. But I don’t fucking care, I've been called worse.
Walking through the front door I stand in the kitchen, drinking deeply from the glass bottle attached to my hand and welcome burn of the whiskey in my throat.
She’s two years older than when I last saw her. Two fucking years and nothing. No phone call, no visit, nothing. I fucking hate her for that. She just left. I asked her to leave, told her to. Fuck, I made her leave but that doesn’t lessen my anger. I’m pissed, really fucking mad that she went. I don’t know why. I don’t need her to know how pathetic I am. But she just moved on with her life, picked up and left without a backwards glance. Shit, she probably has a new man. I drink deeply again, trying to rid the acid that thought brings from burning my brain. Drives me to insanity, no one talks to me about her, not Ma, definitely not Jake. Asshole. I just wanna know if she is letting anyone fuck her, but he won’t tell me. Doesn't tell me much of anything these days, can barely get two words from him. I see the anger in his eyes when he looks at me; he blames me for her leaving. But fuck them, she could have stayed. Fought harder.
Stumbling up the stairs I make my way to our bedroom and throwing the door open I stare at our bed. Memories flood my mind, breaking through my hazy state with a force that’s unwelcome.
You’re teasing. Why aren't you inside me already?
I want to see you lose control. I want to watch you come inside me. To see your face right at that moment when it hits you. I want to hear what you sound like when you come.
I want this to be your home, Archer. I want when you come home, for you to come back here, to me.
I rub my temples, hard, trying to ease the steady attack of my own conscious thought. Walking towards our chest of drawers I pull out one of her shirts and smell it. Her scent is soft, but thankfully still there. I miss her smell. Always subtle, but sweet. Perfumed by the flowers she spent her days with. Tears sting my eyes and I push hard on my eyelids to clear the liquid pooling. Throwing the shirt down, I rub my hands across my face and slam the draw shut. It doesn't close properly and I shake it in frustration, tears falling heavily on my cheeks. I open it to slam it shut again, unsuccessfully. Kicking the chest on a growl I walk away trying to rid the memory of her smell from my brain. Pissed off that I torture myself every year with the same shit.
Leaving the heavy bombardment of memories forced upon me, I walk from the room, stumbling into the door on my exit. I swear loudly and punch it for being there, in my way. My hand hurts and it feels good. So I do it again. And again. I’m vaguely aware of myself screaming, the sounds are senseless, nothing but noise. But it feels good to hit something.
“Archer?” My head whips around at the sound of my name and I lean against the broken door to keep myself upright. Breathing deeply, I take in Jake’s disheveled state, standing in the doorway of the spare room. Dressed in only his boxers, the rest of his body is naked, colorful ink taunting me in my own house.
“Fuck are you doing in my house?” I slur out.
My mind starts wondering to ridiculous avenues; accusations and scenarios that are so farfetched it’s laughable. But I can’t stop them assaulting me. “Where is she? Is she here? In there? With you?” I yell and Jake looks momentarily stunned but understanding clears on his features and he shakes his head wildly.
“What? NO! Of course not. She’s in Bellingham. Where she's been since you made her leave town, dickhead.”
I move forward, using my shoulder to hit his chest as I push past him. My eyes scan the room quickly but I can’t see her. I feel sick at the possibility that she could be here, with Jake. The thought stopping my hearts ability to beat for a second or two. I know it's idiotic, completely unfounded, but I can’t stop the thoughts, the panic. I open the closet and she isn’t there. I must look like a wild fucking animal, throwing shit out of my way as I search the room for someone who isn’t there.
“Archer, seriously, what the fuck?” Jake’s voice is full of resentment.
Meeting his eyes, I see disappointment clear on his face. I watch him for a few beats and grow further incensed by his secrets. Why won’t he talk to me about her?
I ask after her but he ignores me, won’t tell me if she’s okay.
He gets to speak to her and I don’t.
He gets to see her and I don’t.
He gets to touch her and I don’t.
Anger boils in my veins. His lips would have touched hers well after mine, helping to erase any trace of me.
“It’s all your fucking fault that she left. How could we be happy with you in the mix? I was always fucking competing with your stupid face. It’s your fault she’s gone,” I accuse, my voice thick with hate. Jake shakes his head at me with disgust, pissing me off further. “When d’ya start fucking her? When I left the first time? Just recently? Or was it going on the entire time?”
We’re chest to chest as I speak and I feel the hot air from his breath on my face. "Don't you dare fucking speak about her that way. I told you, Archer. I fucking warned you that if you broke her heart, I'd never forgive you," he spits at me.
He chose to ignore my words, my accusation, choosing to focus on calling me on the pain I've caused her. Using my chest to push him back into the wall, I overtake his space before meeting his eyes. "Does she scream for you like she did me?” I whisper. “Does she ever scream my name when you're deep inside her?"
Jake's eyes expand with rage, the blue of his iris' greying with revulsion. Grabbing my throat, he pushes me back and even in my inebriated state my muscle mass is almost too great for him, my body only shifting slightly. But it's enough for him to move away from me.
Walking towards the stairs, he halts his retreat, turning back on me. "You know what, Archer? Fuck you,” he stabs a finger in my direction. “How fucking dare you put that on me! You don't believe the shit coming from your mouth. You're drunk. Your relationship ended because you're fucking weak. You're not a man, just a pansy bitch who can't handle any kind of shit without losing your mind."
His words hit home, right in the chest, where my heart once sat. I hate how right he is. I am weak and the truth of his words makes me furious. At myself. At him. My fist connects with the bedroom door with excessive force but it gives me no relief. I move around the house throwing whatever is tangible, breaking anything in my sight.
I can't catch my breath. How dare he come into my house and throw shit in my face. Not his business if I'm a drunk, what the fuck does he care anyway? Why should I care what he thinks? He fucking hates my guts. Despises my very existence, in his life, in the world. That thought makes me pause, stopping my tant
rum. It hurts. My sole goal coming home was to build my relationship with Ma and Jake. Now they hate me more than ever. Every action or decision I make works at pushing them farther away.
Stalking back towards the spare bedroom I find him sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. I want to apologize. Tell him he’s right, but blocking me out of her life completely, is too hard to stomach. We’re blood. Fucking brothers. Why can’t he see I need something, anything? Why can’t he see I need to know she’s okay?
"Get out, Archer," he dismisses me, not moving to look at me again. His demand spikes my uncontrollable temper again and I laugh. Loudly.
“Get out? This is my house, kid. You think you can move into my home, move in on my girl. You’re half the fucking man I am. You couldn’t handle her. Tell me something. She beg for it? Your cock, like she did for me? She let you fuck her deep in that round ass, Jakey?” My words are harsh, but slurred from the alcohol still affecting my brain.
I barely see him move and I stumble at his closeness. His eyes are wild as he moves into my space. My step falters as I make a move backwards, hitting the wall. Thank fuck, stops me falling on my ass.
I’ve never heard Jake yell and his voice cracks at forcing it. “You piece of worthless shit. Don’t ever spew shit like that about Annabelle to me ever again. I wish you’d never come home. Annabelle was right. You are nothing. You’re pathetic. I hate you, Archer. I fucking hate you. Annabelle is better off without a leech like you in her life. You are by far, the worst fucking mistake she ever made. Loving you was the shittiest hand she has ever been dealt and we both know she's had a lot of shit thrown her way in life. But nothing and I mean nothing comes close to the poison that is you.” I’m not quite sure when he stopped yelling, but his words finish on a whisper, his face twisting with hostility.