Love You Through It

by Francisco, Fabiola

  “I love this song,” she says with closed eyes. “Blue Ain’t Your Color” by Keith Urban plays from the TV.

  “It’s a good one,” I add.

  “Talk to me,” Olivia says, opening her eyes and looking straight at me.

  “I can’t.”

  “Try?” Her wide eyes look at me with compassion. “I miss him, too.” She tries to hide the tears welling in her eyes. “I know it’s not the same, but I do.” I smile when she reaches for my hand.

  “I have no words. I’m expressionless. My throat burns with emotions, but all I can do is cry and yell. I don’t deserve this.”

  “You don’t. Look, I don’t have words to make this go away. No words will make it disappear. I’m not going to feed you bullshit sentiments about how this happened for a reason. Blah, blah, blah. I know that won’t help. But, I can offer you my friendship and love. I can offer you a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen when you find your voice.”

  “Thanks.”

  “It’s what we do. We got each other. Besties forever.”

  I give her a small smile. I feel like shit for shutting her out and ignoring all the times she’s reached out to me.

  “Everyone’s going out tomorrow night. I can come hang out here with you. I know you’re not up for a night at Riot, but we can watch a movie and drink sangria.”

  “Nah. Go have fun. I’ll take a rain check on sangria night.” Sangria nights are our thing. Sweats or pajamas, a pitcher (or three) of sangria, and girl talk.

  Just having Olivia here has helped me feel better. More relaxed. The emotional storm that was spiraling out of control has been contained for now. Nothing compares to the relationship between a girl and her best friend. Without her, I’m not sure I would have survived this loss—shutting her out and all.

  I thank Olivia for stopping by and promise to respond to her calls and texts. Exhausted, I take a look at the mess around my house and sigh. I’ll clean in the morning.

  Boom.

  Clash.

  Argh!

  My fingers weave in my hair and tug hard. A loud yell escapes my lips, and my eyes land on the reason for the ruckus. An excruciating cry bubbles in my chest, slowly building as if adding to my pain. With another scream, the tornado within me explodes. It escapes angrily, as my body swooshes around my house, knocking things down as I come in contact with them. Glass shatters. Metal clacks against the tile. Cushions swoosh as they’re thrown through the air.

  Uncontrollable and destructible fury burns within me until I melt into a pile of ashes on the cool tile. The water from my eyes extinguishes the burning heat as I sink further onto the floor. I curl into myself, fists hitting the hard surface.

  I don’t know how long I stay like this for, but eventually I start to drift away, my mind numb and my heart slowing down. Before I completely fall asleep, I sit up. My head is pounding and my body is stiff from tension. I close my eyes for a few beats, and reassess the destruction around me when I reopen them.

  I was okay a few days ago when Olivia came by. As okay as I could be in my situation. Today, I lost it. Something inside me triggered and I lost control. I tiptoe around the broken glass with my bare feet and grab the broken frame I launched across the living room.

  I hug it to me, careless of shards of glass that could cut me. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper into the frame. “I’m such an asshole. Sorry.” I fight the urge to cry again. I pull the frame from my chest and stare at the picture of Josh and I. The glass scratched a bit of the gloss, but it’s still a beautiful picture of us. I shake off the excess glass, not even wincing when I get a small cut on my finger. The pain is welcomed.

  After cleaning the mess, I sit cross-legged on the couch with a fresh glass of wine. Nothing will get rid of this headache, so I might as well fuel it with alcohol. Besides, I could use the disconnection alcohol offers. Another night of forgetting for a little while about the loss I’m grieving. Another night I sleep through most of it.

  I groan as my alarm clock goes off. I place the pillow over my head, refusing to peel my eyes open, and wish it were the weekend. Of course, it’s only Tuesday, and I drank way too much wine last night . There’s no way this hangover headache will ease.

  Fuck.

  I get up, shower, and make a cup of coffee, hoping caffeine will at least make a dent in my mood. I’m not betting on it though. Last night was rough, and I’m feeling the after effects today.

  I take my coffee to go and linger on the photo from last night. With a deep sigh, I leave to work, silently apologizing repeatedly for almost ruining one of our keepsakes.

  Half way through the day, I have twelve text messages to read and respond to. I start with Olivia’s, telling her I’m okay but have had better days. I then reassure Cash that I am surviving, in which he responds with, you need to live not just survive.

  I roll my eyes. Typical Cash.

  Making my rounds, I reach the message from Catherine, Josh’s mom.

  Catherine: Hi honey… I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing. Come by and see us sometime this week. We miss you.

  With slow breaths, I read her message again. I haven’t seen them in a month. I promised I’d stay in touch and go visit often. They also lost their son. It would be good to see them. I think.

  Lately, I feel as if I am regressing. As if with each passing day, I lose more of myself instead of regaining who I was. But, I’m never going to be who I used to be. I am marked with loss and stained with grief. A widow. How do I overcome that?

  I type a quick response telling her I’d love to see them. Ultimately, they’re family.

  Seeing Catherine and Bill last night was a combination of emotions. It was good to talk to them, but Josh was everywhere. We talked about him and the loss, but we focused mostly on our lives now. After Josh.

  I internally shake my head and focus again on ticket sales statistics for this season. A week ago, I lost my shit and destroyed half of my living room. This week, I’m numb. Emotionless. I’m waiting to awaken from this nightmare but no amount of pinching will wake me up. My skin is bruised from the attempts. I refuse to accept my fate. I can’t believe this is real. This is my life. Eight months of despair. Of loneliness. Of resisting my reality.

  He was only deployed for a couple of months before he died. I could live with the uncertainty of his safety like I had all the other times, but I can’t live with the certainty that he is never coming back.

  A soft knock at my door brings my attention back to the present. Mr. Harris, my boss, looks in, asking about the ticket sales. I tilt my laptop to him, showing him our sales growth and thank the heavens for this welcomed distraction.

  After finishing up my impromptu meeting with Mr. Harris, I take my lunch break for the first time in weeks. I need fresh air. Something else that will occupy my mind besides the constant beating on my heart. I inhale the cool air and stroll down the sidewalk. I love this city. I love the music influence and the energy that surrounds it.

  I walk aimlessly, taking in the colors around me. Fall has begun and the air is drier. The leaves are orange and red, offering a sense of extinction that comes with this season. Perfect for my mood these days. I could get swallowed up in the leaves and be left to become one with the dirt. The downtown area is bustling with other professionals heading to lunch and Tennessee State students sprinkled throughout in coffee shops and sidewalks, headed to their destinations.

  I walk into a deli and grab a soda and bag of chips. No need for a full meal. Finding a bench, I plant myself and pop open the can of Coke. One delicious, bubbly, chug later, I stare off and eat the barbecue chips and wash them down with more of my drink.

  “Bri?” I widen my eyes and blink quickly, looking up. “Hey.”

  “Oh, hi.” I see Cash towering over me. “What’s up?”

  “Just heading to grab lunch. Mind if I sit?” I shake my head and watch as he sits next to me. People point and greet him. “I’m waiting for the rest of the guys to get here. I left pra
ctice a little earlier,” he explains.

  “How’s that going? Working on a new album I heard.”

  “Yeah. We have some appearances and local shows, also. Never ends,” he says with a smile. Despite the busy schedule, Cash loves what he does. I’m convinced Rebel Desire has the success they do because of him. The other guys love it, too, but Cash is the fighter.

  “You should come to one of our shows.”

  “Maybe,” I nod. I don’t have the heart to tell him I don’t want to, and I don’t want the pity that will accompany that comment.

  “Have you thought about…” he hesitates.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Not my place.”

  “No, now it is your place to finish that thought,” I reply.

  “I don’t want to offend you, and I mean this with love. Have you thought about seeing someone? A professional that can help you grieve?” His eyes are squinted and his eyebrows are pulled in, almost afraid of my response, yet determined to help me.

  “Cash, I love you. You know this. But—”

  “Hey!” Ryder, Cole, and Jason walk up to us. I clamp my mouth, a tight smile adorning my face. Cash purses his lips in apology. I shake my head subtly, and he nods in understanding.

  “What’s up, Bri?” Jason says.

  “Not much. On my lunch break.” I shrug noncommittally. Cole stares at me intensely. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since he stormed out of my house, and I wouldn’t mind if I didn’t see him for another while longer. I don’t need people coming in and forcing me to deal with Josh’s death the way they expect me to.

  “Well, I gotta get back to work. You boys have fun.” I stand and walk away, discarding my trash in a nearby bin.

  I try to focus on work the rest of the afternoon, but Cash’s suggestion is stuck on repeat. I was going to tell him I didn’t need professional help, but fuck… I might. The more I toss the idea around, the less crazy it sounds.

  I rub the pressure on my chest with the heel of my hand. The memory of a conversation I had with Josh a long time ago rings in my mind. We had discussed the option of him seeing a therapist due to traumas of being deployed and the possibility of PTSD. Josh was strong, and although he didn’t have full-blown PTSD, some nights the nightmares would take over.

  He never did see a therapist, since things eased once he moved back. It was supposed to be a permanent move, but nothing is ever permanent in the military, except death. I was naïve to think he’d never get called again. I know how the process works, and until he was off contract, anything was possible.

  I pack up for the day, grateful that the time I took during my lunch helped me relax, and head home. Some days, the weight of the empty house hits me head-on when I open the door. Heaviness consumes me, and I feel as if the weight of the world were crushing me.

  I drop my purse on the couch and make my way into the kitchen. I have a glass of wine calling my name, and who am I to disobey?

  Deep red liquid poured, I fill the tub and sink into the warm water. I close my eyes, realizing how easily I could end this pain. I have never been one to allow despair and sadness to win, but I am a different person now. A few minutes under that water and I could be gone, all of this a distant nightmare. But I know that is no solution, and deep within I am stronger than this. Maybe a therapist is a good idea.

  I tuck my legs under me and sit on the couch. Looking around the entire living room, not a single trace of my meltdown some days ago is evident. The bath soothed me and mindless television will entertain me until I’m tired enough to sleep.

  My phone alerts me of a new message. I flip it over to see the name.

  Cole: Hey… I’m sorry I was such an ass the other day. I was glad to see you out today.

  Bri: Thanks… needed some fresh air. It helped.

  Cole: How are you doing?

  Bri: Good

  Cole: Bri… you can be honest with me. I won’t judge… promise

  Cole: Talk to me…

  I stare at his encouragement. Cole may not be a therapist, but maybe actually talking to someone will help. I know I have Olivia, but I don’t want to burden her. She’s dealing with Josh’s loss in her own way, as well. I know it hit her hard to hear the news, and we spent nights crying together before I shut out the world.

  Bri: Thanks, Cole

  The bubbles appear and disappear on my screen a few times before they completely disappear. I can’t expect him to say anything else if I won’t open up. I sit back and watch a home remodeling episode while I think of what I would even begin expressing.

  How sad I am? How confused? How I feel hopeless in this situation?

  Ignoring the couple on TV, I grab my phone and begin to race across the keyboard.

  Bri: I don’t know where to start. I don’t know what to talk about. Everything hurts. Everything is a mess and I can’t catch my fucking breath. I have no idea how to move on from this or if I even want to… like how do you overcoe the death of a loved one? Of a partner?

  Bri: Fuck… I meant overcome

  Damn fast fingers.

  I watch the damn bubbles for a long moment, mesmerized by their rhythm.

  Cole: for someone not sure where to begin that was a lot of words

  Cole: first of all stop trying so hard fight your emotions. Losing Josh is a big deal and no one is going to judge you for mourning

  Bri: I guess… I’m just losing control

  My phone rings in my hand, flashing Cole’s name.

  “Hey.” I answer the call.

  “Hi. This is easier than texting a bunch of stuff.”

  “Okay…” I wait for him to say more, muting the television.

  “Here’s the thing, Bri. No one can tell you what you’re doing is right or wrong. We don’t know what you’re feeling. Hell, the only people I’ve lost in my life are my grandparents, and they were old. What I can say is that hiding from the world won’t make you feel better, and it won’t change reality. Sorry to say that.”

  “I know,” I whisper in response.

  “I get it. It’s easier to seclude yourself than be bombarded with memories, but you still have a life to live. You’ve got so much to offer the people around you. We all miss seeing you.”

  “I feel so weak. Desperate to see him again. Tell him how much I love him,” I confess.

  “He knows that. Wherever he is, he knows how you feel. But Bri, you got your life.”

  “Doesn’t feel that way.”

  “Sorry to break it to you, because you have way too much left to do in this world.”

  “It’d be so much easier if I died.” The thought bypasses my rational brain and slips out. I hear Cole’s hard breath in my ear and cringe, not sure I’ll like his response.

  “Hell. No,” he says firmly. “That doesn’t solve anything. All that will do is create more pain for those who care about you and Josh.”

  “I know, I know. It’s just that… I have no idea what to do.”

  “Do you think Josh died miserably? I mean, I know he didn’t want to die, but do you think he was fulfilling his purpose when it happened?”

  “Yeah. I hate to admit it, but he was. He was protecting those he cared about.”

  “That’s bravery. Honor him in that way. Honor his courage.”

  I nod even though he can’t see me. “I guess.”

  “I’m not going to say that will make everything peachy, but it will help to view him in a more positive way. Remember him with love and pride, but also with understanding of the sacrifice he made.”

  “Thanks, Cole.” My voice is filled with emotion, but I can stay strong.

  “Anytime. And Bri?”

  “Yeah?” I wait for him to speak.

  “Call me anytime you need me. I’ll do whatever it takes to restore your faith in life.”

  “Thank you.” My lower lip quivers, but I maintain my composure. I hang up and curl deeper into the couch, covering myself with a blanket.

  It’s time to honor Josh and his memo
ry the way he deserves. Maybe that will help to slowly release the anger that is eating at me.

  It took everything in me not to rush to her house and hold her. I’ve been hard on myself for walking out of her house the way I did a couple weeks ago. Pissed and defensive. Bri doesn’t need that right now. She needs a support system. Every need to reach out to her in the days that followed was quieted down by my own damn brain telling me to leave it alone. I’d see her when I’d see her. Then I saw her sitting with Cash out in daylight and something inside me snapped. I shouldn’t have left her that way, when she was so vulnerable.

  Hearing her talk tonight made me want to protect her from everything. Hearing her say how much she missed and loved Josh killed me. Then I felt like a douche for feeling that way because he was her husband. I’m nothing more than a friend. And despite the feelings I may have for Bri, she needs a friend right now. She may never be ready to move on, and I won’t put that on her. I always thought I’d be a bachelor ’til the day I died, so I can continue living that plan. One thing’s for certain, I will do my damnedest to make sure she’s happy. Even if I can’t have her as mine.

  “You turning into a chick, hiding in your room and having phone conversations?” Jason mocks me when I walk into the kitchen.

  “Fuck off.” I grab a beer from the fridge.

  “Moody, too. Guess the hormones caught up with you. Too many damn love songs in our album.” He shakes his head.

  “You love those damn songs. Besides, blame Cash for that, not me.” I lean against the kitchen counter and drink my beer.

  “Who were you talking to? Got a new bedmate?”

  “No,” I bite.

  Jason throws his hands up and steps back. “Relax, brother.”

  I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a second. “You okay?” Jason’s face matches the concern in his voice when I reopen my eyes.

  “Yeah.” I scrub my face with my free hand. “Just tired.” He analyzes me.