Rosa lies on my floor flipping through a magazine. “So there’s a party, tonight. You wanna go?”
“Uh, I dunno, you?”
I’m lying on my bed and I roll over. The faint smell of Henry’s cologne lingers on my pillow. I inhale and I’m bathing in his scent. I miss him. It’s been days since I’ve spoken to him and I miss him so bad that I ache.
I can’t sleep. Even though I’m the one that kicked him out and told him to leave me alone, I leave my window open, hoping that he might sneak through it. He hasn’t.
At night I swear the empty side of my bed is warm. I know I’m dreaming up his presence. I know he’s at home in his own bed, but I feel better if I pretend. I even go as far as imagining his arms around me. His soft breathing against my ear
.
He’s been calling—and texting. I haven’t been answering. My mind has been in a blunder over him. Every time my phone rings or buzzes I have to talk myself out of responding.
“You know I’m always down to party,” Rosa announces.
“Where is this party at?” I already know the answer to my question. Henry sent me a text earlier. He’s hosting the party.
“Henry Garner’s.”
“I don’t know,” I tell her.
What I don’t tell her is seeing him and her together in an intimate setting will be more than I can handle. Since our argument I fight the better half of myself every day in school. I see them and want to shout… Let out a tortured cry. Rip at Callie’s hair. I want to tell her what I’ve been doing with her boyfriend of four years.
At the same time, I think about ripping my own hair. I tell myself that the self-inflicted pain will numb the pain in my heart. Then after thinking about it for a minute, I know that’s not true. Nothing can numb the pain in my heart. Not even an anesthetic.
“I think it will be fun,” Rosa adds.
I think it will be a disaster. An earthquake. Rumbling. Shattered buildings. Scattered people.
She closes the magazine and puffs out her bottom lip. “Come on, please.”
“Argh.” I inhale deep, then exhale. “Okay. But just for a little bit.”
She beams. “We won’t wear out our welcome.”
Well she won’t. I wore out my welcome months ago.
****
As we walk up the driveway illuminated by odd shaped landscape lights, I feel like I’m walking to the chopping block. I’m Anne Boleyn. My death is imminent and all the people on the porch turn toward us—staring.
Henry sits on the swing, his arm draped over Callie’s shoulders. His eyes flash over to me. We exchange a tortured glance. Then I blanch and turn away. Pain sears through me and clutches my heart, like death’s icy grasp. I choke on the breath caught in my throat and try to control my breathing as Callie makes a rude noise.
Rosa and I hop up the three steps leading to Henry’s front porch. “Ugh.” Rosa rolls her eyes and glares at Callie. “Ignore her.”
“I’m trying,” I say, even though every part of me wants to stab her in the face. I exhale. I’m delicate China. I’m being thrown into a wall, breaking apart. “I don’t think coming here was such a good idea.”
Rosa strolls ahead and opens the front door. She holds it open for me and I walk inside. She follows and closes the door behind her. We walk down the narrow hall leading to the kitchen. “Sure it was,” Rosa tells me. “You just need a beverage.”
“I’m glad you know what I need.” My hope is that she hears the sarcasm in my voice.
“Are you getting sassy with me?” she asks when we’re in the middle of the newly remodeled kitchen.
I stare off and the dark cherry stained cabinets and black countertops blur in my vision. “No.” I’m exhausted. I don’t feel like getting into with her right now.
After Rosa pours herself a drink and one for me, she starts chatting up some Emo guy named Chad from her history class. I take that as my cue to exit.
Climbing the stairs, I decide to head to a familiar spot. Henry’s bedroom. I can’t be around people right now. I feel like an open wound. An open cesspool oozing from flesh and there aren’t any doctor’s around to stitch me up.
I’m standing in his doorway and I’m hit with a swarm of emotion. My bottom lip quivers and I bite it and I suck back my on-coming tears. The tidy, bedroom with the grey walls and hardwood floors brings back a vivid stain of flashbacks. The first time he kissed me, I was sitting on the edge of the bed.
My eyes wander over to the french doors that lead to a balcony. We watched the stars together and he told me he loved me. Reminiscing about our good times is making me a mess. I’m spoiled milk knocked off the counter—spreading—a huge puddle on the floor. Somebody help me. Somebody please clean me up.
Inside the room, I set my cup down on his nightstand and center on the photo of him and Callie. A rush of anger circulates through me. What’s so special about her? If he loves me like he says he does, why is her face the last thing he wants to see before he lets sleep take over him? I’m trembling. So overwhelmed with hurt and anger that I do the only thing I can think of to eliminate the way I’m feeling. I flip the picture over, and then flop down on his bed.
His smell lingers on the pillow case and creeps up my nostrils. Tide and True Religion. I want to bathe in it, wash my body with it so I’ll never forget it. The enticing scent blankets my entire body and I want to stay wrapped up in it forever.
Hysteria comes out through screams and I grab the pillow to my right and smother my face with it, screaming louder. Even though I’m fully clothed, I feel naked. Lying bare on a bed waiting for my lover to come to me. This is the real me.
When I go to set the pillow down a rectangular object catches my eye. The crumpled up object lies face down the mattress and I pick it up, holding it up in front of my face.
“Oh,” I gasp and throw my hand over my mouth.
The crumpled up object is a photo of me and Henry. I close my eyes and tears spill onto my cheeks.
I’m smiling, beaming, so elated and happy that my face looks flawless. The sunlight hits my cheeks and I look like I’m glowing. Henry is kissing my forehead. His lips curled up into a half-smirk. For a moment I forget my depression. I forget about everything. I’m lost in that moment.
Then a thought hits me and I frown. I’m still a secret. I might be the last thing he thinks about before going to bed at night, but I’m still hidden—banished to an eternity of darkness underneath his pillow. I’m not special enough to earn a place on his nightstand and it kills me.
I’ve been told that it takes a long time for a broken heart to mend, but as I lie there in my loves bed, I wonder just how long it will take me. When I’m away from Henry he haunts me. With his voice. Surreal hallucinations. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, he’s there. A constant reminder.
How long will my obsession last? How long will I feel so consumed by my love for him that I can’t think of anything else? I’ve done the best I can to stay away from him. I’ve done the best I can to not answer his messages or calls. But long will it be before I crack? I’m certain it won’t be long at all.
At night, I tremble alone in my bed. I’ve bitten my fingernails down to the stubs. I’ve had dreams about him every night since we’ve been apart and even though it’s only been days it feels like we’ve been separated for years.
There are times where I tell myself I hate him and then I think of something Mom told me when she and Dad split up. “Love and hate are such passionate emotions. They are so powerful that they blur the lines between one another. Even though you tell yourself you hate a person if you’ve ever loved them at all, that’s a lie.” She’d stared off blankly when she told me the next part. “I stand by this when I say it, together or not, it is impossible to hate someone you love.”
Mom is a wise woman. Love drives people to despair and distorts the lines between fantasy and reality. Love can knock the wind out of your lungs. The emotion can lock you down and make you feel imprisoned—s
hackled to a wall. There is no escape. Once love takes hold, it will always be inside of you—always apart of you.
Love is a sickness. It is a disease. One minute you feel like you’re flying. You’re a bird soaring through miles of endless blues sky. Nothing can pull you down. Nothing can put out the sizzle burning inside of you. Yet at the same time, love can make you nauseous, and grief stricken. The inside of your stomach churns. You’re dry heaving. So insane and delusional that love might leave that you start rocking back and forth like a maniac in a mental institution.
I’m almost there.
Is it worth it? The ups and down of the emotional rollercoaster called love? Is it worth a person losing their mind, having a broken heart, and constantly questioning their judgments or feelings?
I glance at the picture of Henry and me one more time before setting it face down on the mattress and covering it up with the pillow and I know the answer to the question.
Absolutely.
I love Henry and I don’t care anymore. I don’t care if I seem stupid for wanting to be with him under the circumstances we’re in. I don’t care if people think I’m a moron. My love for him is the Marianas Trench, vast, deep and wide—never ending.
I need to tell him. I need to tell him that nothing or no one can put out the fire for him burning inside of me. Not Callie. Not anybody. It will blaze bright and vibrant forever and ever. Until the day I meet my maker. Until the day I die.
As I sit up, on the edge of the bed pushing myself to my feet a sudden urge of relief sweeps over me and I know that I’m making the right decision. And I squash the tiniest bit of doubt that was left in my mind.
But as soon as I stand. I hear them. Footsteps.
Two pairs of footsteps. I freeze. There are two people heading toward the bedroom. Muffled voices throb in my ears. They are outside the door. My eyes center on the brass door knob as it starts to turn. Almost like the circular handle is an orb suspended in front of me, glowing in the dark.
“Henry,” Callie snaps.
“What?” Henry bites back. He’s angry. It appears I’m about to be in the middle of a heated argument and I’m convinced if Callie sees me, I’ll only make things worse for him.
“Oh no,” I gasp and glance around the room. I need to hide.
The knob turns more and glows. Turns and glows.
I panic and spin around in a blur. Where can I go? Where can I hide? I stare at the closet. I dash over and fling the door open. No!
The small cubby hole is way too small and way too messy. I scramble over to the french doors that lead to the balcony. I’m fumbling with the lock. My hands are sweating and they keep slipping at I try to turn it.
My stomach is in my throat. Oh God. The knob on the door turns all the way and the door creaks open slightly. I look at the skirting on Henry’s queen sized bed. Black satin fills my gaze and right before Henry steps through the door, I dive underneath the bed.
Chapter 13
“A desire arises in the mind. It is satisfied immediately another comes. In the interval which separates two desires a perfect calm reigns in the mind. It is at this moment freed from all thought, love or hate. Complete peace equally reigns between two mental waves.”~ Swami Sivanada ~
My heart hammers, pounding against my ribcage. The thumping is so loud I swear Henry will be able to hear it. My breaths leave my lungs short and raspy. I swallow hard and cover my mouth. The springs on the mattress squeak as someone sits down and the mattress dips down over my head.
Henry lets out a frustrated sigh and my limbs tingle. I almost pray that he’ll start talking to himself just so I can listen to his melodic voice.
His fingers brush against something and I listen as the sound of crinkling paper echoes through the quiet room. “I miss you.” His voice is soft—hushed and I know he’s looking at our picture.
Warmth fills me up and my eyes water. “I miss you, too,” I say silently.
Then another pair of footsteps. “I missed you too, gorgeous,” she coos.
Callie. Ugh. The sound of her voice makes me cringe, but at the same time a smile curls on my lips and excitement flows through me. He wasn’t talking about her. He was talking about me.
Callie’s lips smack against his cheek and I wince. Oh man. Please don’t do this right now.
“Callie,” Henry groans. “I just want to be alone right now. Can you like go downstairs or something?”
More weight shifts on the bed and I see that someone is crawling across it. I blanch and turn away. “Oh you know, you want to,” Callie purrs. “You know I’m irresistible.”
I sneak a peek and I’ve now determined who is who. Callie is on my left. Henry on the right.
Henry moves and I assume he’s pushing her away. “I’m not in the mood, Callie. Leave me alone.” His voice is more adamant.
Callie’s weight on the bed shifts. “Henry,” she whispers. Her lips make a smacking noise again.
Henry stands and my head turns. I catch a glimpse of the bottom of his feet from the tiny sliver of light shining from the bed skirting. “I said, no damn it!” he snaps.
Callie’s weight shifts again. “What is with you?” she retorts. “You’ve been acting weird all summer! You rarely touch or kiss me anymore and you always seem distracted! Am I not good enough for you anymore? Because if that’s the case, I can name at least ten guys that would kill to have me!”
I feel the bile rising up in my throat and I gag. It’s hard for me to imagine the Henry I know wanting to be with someone who is so self-absorbed.
He lets out a strained sigh. “You know I’m going through a lot right now. It would be nice if you’d be more sympathetic.”
Callie stands and her hot pink stiletto’s clink against the floor. “Does this have to do with your Mom?” Callie’s tone is somber.
Henry doesn’t answer and I figure that Callie is right.
But then my mouth hangs open and I scrunch my eyebrows together. What’s going on with his mother? He rarely mentions his parents to me and I’d never been to his house when they were home.
“How is she doing?” Callie asks. “You know? With the treatments?”
“As well as expected I guess.” He speaks with a detached tone, but there’s more emotion in his voice than anything I’ve ever heard out of him. He’s in pain, lost and conflicted.
Part of me wants to comfort him. Part of me wants to soothe him with loving words and tell him that everything will be okay. I want to tell him that no matter what he’s going through. I’ll be there. I’ll help him through it. We’ll get through it together.
But I’m consumed with an uneasy feeling because he didn’t tell me. He never told me there was something wrong with his mother. He told her, but not me. And it hurts. I’m hurt because he knows he can tell me anything and he knows that I’d drop whatever I was doing and come to his aid because that’s how much he meant to me. Why didn’t he tell me?
“She asks about you,” he tells Callie. “She wants to know if you’re going to visit her soon.”
Callie sighs. “Of course.” She’s silent for a second. “It’s just hard for me to see to her like that. You know. Hooked up to all those machines and everything.”
“You?” There’s a bit of hostility in his voice. “She’s my Mom and she’s dying of cancer. And you want to talk about how hard it is for you?”
I gasp. Tears brim in my eyes then I quickly throw my hand over my mouth. I hurt for him. And just like the way I ache for his touch, I ache for him because of the way he must be feeling.
“What was that?” Callie snaps.
“Probably, nothing.”
“I heard something.”
“Callie!” he shouts. “I’m trying to talk to you about my Mom and all you can think about are the noises you think you hear!”
“Look, Henry,” she says, kind of thoughtfully, but I detect a hint of snarkiness in her tone. “I feel bad, but you know how I feel about hospitals and people dying. It’s just some
thing I’d rather not talk about or see.”
I’m so furious that I’m grinding my teeth. Rage pounds through me like a jackhammer to the pavement. If Callie doesn’t leave this bedroom soon, I’m going to crawl out from under this bed and punch her in the face.
How can you love someone and see them hurting like that and not feel like every part of you is splitting in half? I’m in agony and I didn’t even know. I feel like someone has just given me the bad news about one of my own family members. I want to bury myself in a hole of depression grief and misery for him because when you love someone if they hurt, you hurt.
“Just leave me alone, okay Callie?”
The sound of her heels echo against the floor. “Should I tell everyone to leave?”
“No,” he says softly. “But you should.”
“What?”
“Leave.”
“But, Henry I—I”
“Just leave!” he screams. His voice is high and shrill and I’m certain the whole bedroom is shaking.
He Loves Me...He Loves You Not Page 7