Chapter Twenty-Five
"That's the last of it." says Clark, carrying a box marked "kitchen" into the living room of my new apartment. I glance up from a box marked "bathroom" and smile.
"You're a peach, Clark." I say, standing up and stretching. "Its a little smaller than I anticipated, but its a nice place, don't you think?"
"Are you sure this was a good idea? I feel like you're so far away. What if something happens?"
"I appreciate the concern, but I'll be fine. I'm fifteen minutes from you and twenty minutes from Noah. The police station is down the street and I can walk to the hospital. I'll be fine!" I give him a hug and, when I got to kiss his cheeck, he gives me a kiss on the mouth. He holds me there for a moment and I wish, not for the first time, that I could fall in love with him. Our mouths disengage and I rest my head on his chest.
"I still love you, you know. I wish you felt the same." A sigh rumbles up from his chest and I can't help but sigh too.
"I wish that wishing made it so," I say, gently pulling myself from his embrace so that I can look into his eyes. "I care for you, Clark, and I value our friendship, but I am just not in love with you. I keep telling myself to, but I can't force feelings that aren't there. And its unfair to you if I pretend."
He is quiet for a moment. Perhaps internalizing what I said. Once the moment passes, he gives me a, slightly wilted, smile and then begins to open random boxes. I follow suit and pick up a box that says "bedroom" before going down the hallway of my new apartment.
Once in the bedroom, I set the box down and flop onto my queen sized mattress. Snuggles is still at Clark's until everything is set up and I miss him dreadfully at the moment. Am I an idiot for not falling in love with Clark? He has a good job, he is a sweetheart, he knows me better than any other guy I've dated, including David. Since we broke up I've introduced him to everyone as my friend and my family approves of him. Hell, Noah loves him. If he were able to be persuaded to that team, I wouldn't have the option to be in love with him or not, Noah would eat him up.
"Hey, Abe, where do you want this box of 'miscellaneous'?" Clark calls down the hall.
"Give me a moment, I'll be right there." I call back. I sit up and push up off the bed. Looking around, I feel like I am beyond all the self-destruction. Or so I tell myself.
I return to the living room and plop down on the floor in front of an unmarked box. I begin sorting out the miscellaneous bits my existence, trying to sort out myself in the process. Clark is quiet and just puts dishes in the dishwasher.
"The king of unpacking has arrived!" says Noah, as he glides into the apartment. Clark and I look up and smile. Clark less so than me.
"Don't you two look like a pair of gloomy gussies." says Noah, plopping down next to a big box marked "books."
"Well, we'll be rays of sunshine now that you're here." I say, feigning happiness.
"Obviously not all is well in Brokenheartsville. What's the matter?"
"This isn't 'Brokenheartsville.'" I say. "Its 'Get-your-heart-backsville.''
Before Noah can say anything else I jump up and decide to make some lunch. I smile warmly at my friends and then decide to make something extra special.
"How about I make lunch while you guys open some of the boxes?" I ask, dusting myself off.
"Sounds great!" says Noah. "What are you making?"
"Don't know yet, but it'll be delicious." I reply, smiling.
"Picasso of the kitchen." says Clark, beaming. I feel myself blush a bit at the obvious pride in his voice. I knew he always admired my cooking, I just didn't realize he was that proud of my abilities.
"Let's just hope its as good as a Picasso." I say, winking at him.
For lunch I make, what I call, a pomme and pomegranate fruit salad, spicy beef lo mein and mini passionfruit tarts. Before handing them out, I generously top the tarts with whipped cream and even spray a little on Clark. He roars with laughter and tries to reach the bit stuck on his nose with his tongue. It doesn't work and we all collapse in a fit of giggles before finally straightening up enough to eat. We all gather around my coffee table, seated on pillows and eat.
Once all the furniture is arranged and the TV mostly set up, Noah and Clark decide to head to their respective homes. Clark promises to bring Snuggles over later on this evening and gives me a peck on the cheek before leaving. I stare at the door for five minutes, as if I expect it to do something. As if I expect Annabelle to walk through the door, smoking her fancy cigarettes, the words of her story written in the scars on her body. I suddenly crave a cigarette. My skin crawls with the thought, my stomach threatening to purge all the delicious food and I run to the bathroom.
Annabelle comes up my throat and the little notes she left me beat against my skull. I close my eyes and I can see her pale face rising up behind my eyelids. I'm not okay.
I feel incredibly alone. More alone than I have felt in a long time. I block it out by emptying all of my boxes into the middle of the floor. My life, scattered, all over the floor seems almost symbolic. If I wrote poetry I might pause to take this moment in and pack it up in a notebook on a dusty shelf. Instead I sit in the midst of my created chaos and wonder why I do these things to myself.
When Clark stops by with Snuggles, he discovers me still sitting in the midst of my mess. He sets the cat carrier down, mindful to free Snuggles first, and comes over to me, concern written into every pore of his face. I've become maudlin in my insanity.
"Are you alright?" he asks, dropping to one knee, just outside the circle of wreckage.
"I'm fine." I sigh, letting my voice tremble a bit more than I intend to.
"You are not." he says, pushing stuff out of the way. He makes a path to me, as though he were Moses parting the red sea. I let him scoop me into his embrace. I let him worry over me like a mother hen. I don't protest when he picks me up and carries me to the bedroom. He doesn't try anything sexual, though I know he would like to. I know he misses me. I miss him too, in my own pitiable way. Instead he curls up with me and I say a lot of the things I've been trying so hard to keep inside.
"What am I going to do, Clark?" I ask, avoiding his eyes and staring at his lips.
"Maybe you should get into therapy. It would do you good to talk about these things in a professional setting."
I prop myself up on one elbow and finally look into his lavender colored eyes. I know he is right. I still haven't spoken to anyone about what happened with Liam or Annabelle. Adam didn't even know all that happened with Liam, only what he stumbled upon at the club. I don't say anything. I just stare off into the space between his eyes. He doesn't try to reclaim my attention, though I can feel him studying my face. He runs his fingers through my hair, before he hugs me tightly.
After a couple of days, once I have my apartment completely situated, I decide to go out. I find myself standing in front of "Alice's Wonderland," like I have so many times before. My breath hitches somewhere in my ribcage, a feeling I've become far too used to. However, very unlike my previous self, I do not trip on the way into the bar. Instead I almost strut, letting a false sense of pride fill my chest. I order a cocktail and sip at it for a moment before I decide to dance. I don't see anyone I recognize here. I almost wish I did. I search for Jae, but don't see him anywhere. Perhaps that was too much to hope for.
After my third or fourth drink I am approached by a cute guy. He gives me some name that begins with "J" and asks me to dance. I take his profered hand and we dance for a little while before I invite him back to my place. I'm not sure how we make it there, but we do and we collapse into my bed for a less than stellar romp.
I wake up feeling disgusting and overwhelmed by my actions.
Crisp sheets, clean and white, that's what I want. The sterile feel of hospital or hotel sheets. Sheets that don't smell like cologne. Sheets that aren't rumpled from sex. Sheets that are devoid of memories. Sitting on my own bed, I hug my pillow and wish I could be wrapped in those imagined sheets.
Looking around, I realize my room is a disaster, I am a disaster, even Snuggles seems to be a bit disheveled. Well, as disheveled as a cat can get. My floor is littered with condom wrappers and a couple bottles of vodka. The guy next to me snores, loudly. I run my fingers through my "sex hair" (or is it more "bed-head?") and take a second look around.
My bra and panties have been thrown onto the vanity and they are hanging, like haphazard Christmas tree ornaments, on the mirror. Last night's dress is in a crumpled heap of pink and white, topped with a muddy shoe like some neopolitan dessert. His clothes are just as scattered; his belt is hanging on a chair, jeans in a pile by the bed, shoes God only knows where.
I drop my head into my hand, not for the first time, questioning my judgement. Hell, questioning my sanity at this point. I don't remember if we had sex or if we are just naked for no reason. Do I even remember this poor fool's name? Straining, I try to think of it. Was it Jake? Josh? Jay?
At that last, I think of Jae. I think of him kissing me in the cafe. How long ago was that? I think of the time he rescued me at the bar and I think of him at the graveyard after Annabelle's funeral. When was the last time I saw him?
I remember then, with painful clarity, the cafe he took me too. I remember him saying I could be his other face. I remember walking out and getting wasted. That's how I've spent the past year or so of my life. Getting wasted. Getting fucked. Getting more and more obsessed with the belief that I am somehow worthless because the man I loved for ten years never really loved me.
I flop back onto my pillow, startling the man next to me into a bleary-eyed state of awareness.
"Hi." I say, looking at him casually.
"Hey." he murmurs, rubbing his eyes.
"I'm Abra, in case you had forgotten. I hate to admit this, since you are in my bed, but what is your name again?"
"Jared." he replies, nonchalantly. He rubs his eyes again and stretches.
"Nice to meet you. I knew it began with a 'J.'" I stand up and begin pulling on clothing. I try to do so in a nonchalant manner, but I am really wishing that we weren't in my house and that we had gone to his place instead. I could make a fast get-away and not worry about him knowing where I live. I wonder why I've never worried about this before, shaking my head.
He sits up, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. He smiles and runs his fingers through his hair. He has a nice smile, but that doesn't make me any happier with myself.
"I don't mean to be rude," I start. He holds up a hand and smiles again.
"Its cool. I don't mind leaving." He gets dressed and I walk him to the door. He kisses my cheek, winks at me and then heads down the stairs toward the main entrance. I close the door slowly and try to imagine breakfast into being. I give up after a moment and settle for a cup of strong tea.
"That's the last of it." says Clark, carrying a box marked "kitchen" into the living room of my new apartment. I glance up from a box marked "bathroom" and smile.
"You're a peach, Clark." I say, standing up and stretching. "Its a little smaller than I anticipated, but its a nice place, don't you think?"
"Are you sure this was a good idea? I feel like you're so far away. What if something happens?"
"I appreciate the concern, but I'll be fine. I'm fifteen minutes from you and twenty minutes from Noah. The police station is down the street and I can walk to the hospital. I'll be fine!" I give him a hug and, when I got to kiss his cheeck, he gives me a kiss on the mouth. He holds me there for a moment and I wish, not for the first time, that I could fall in love with him. Our mouths disengage and I rest my head on his chest.
"I still love you, you know. I wish you felt the same." A sigh rumbles up from his chest and I can't help but sigh too.
"I wish that wishing made it so," I say, gently pulling myself from his embrace so that I can look into his eyes. "I care for you, Clark, and I value our friendship, but I am just not in love with you. I keep telling myself to, but I can't force feelings that aren't there. And its unfair to you if I pretend."
He is quiet for a moment. Perhaps internalizing what I said. Once the moment passes, he gives me a, slightly wilted, smile and then begins to open random boxes. I follow suit and pick up a box that says "bedroom" before going down the hallway of my new apartment.
Once in the bedroom, I set the box down and flop onto my queen sized mattress. Snuggles is still at Clark's until everything is set up and I miss him dreadfully at the moment. Am I an idiot for not falling in love with Clark? He has a good job, he is a sweetheart, he knows me better than any other guy I've dated, including David. Since we broke up I've introduced him to everyone as my friend and my family approves of him. Hell, Noah loves him. If he were able to be persuaded to that team, I wouldn't have the option to be in love with him or not, Noah would eat him up.
"Hey, Abe, where do you want this box of 'miscellaneous'?" Clark calls down the hall.
"Give me a moment, I'll be right there." I call back. I sit up and push up off the bed. Looking around, I feel like I am beyond all the self-destruction. Or so I tell myself.
I return to the living room and plop down on the floor in front of an unmarked box. I begin sorting out the miscellaneous bits my existence, trying to sort out myself in the process. Clark is quiet and just puts dishes in the dishwasher.
"The king of unpacking has arrived!" says Noah, as he glides into the apartment. Clark and I look up and smile. Clark less so than me.
"Don't you two look like a pair of gloomy gussies." says Noah, plopping down next to a big box marked "books."
"Well, we'll be rays of sunshine now that you're here." I say, feigning happiness.
"Obviously not all is well in Brokenheartsville. What's the matter?"
"This isn't 'Brokenheartsville.'" I say. "Its 'Get-your-heart-backsville.''
Before Noah can say anything else I jump up and decide to make some lunch. I smile warmly at my friends and then decide to make something extra special.
"How about I make lunch while you guys open some of the boxes?" I ask, dusting myself off.
"Sounds great!" says Noah. "What are you making?"
"Don't know yet, but it'll be delicious." I reply, smiling.
"Picasso of the kitchen." says Clark, beaming. I feel myself blush a bit at the obvious pride in his voice. I knew he always admired my cooking, I just didn't realize he was that proud of my abilities.
"Let's just hope its as good as a Picasso." I say, winking at him.
For lunch I make, what I call, a pomme and pomegranate fruit salad, spicy beef lo mein and mini passionfruit tarts. Before handing them out, I generously top the tarts with whipped cream and even spray a little on Clark. He roars with laughter and tries to reach the bit stuck on his nose with his tongue. It doesn't work and we all collapse in a fit of giggles before finally straightening up enough to eat. We all gather around my coffee table, seated on pillows and eat.
Once all the furniture is arranged and the TV mostly set up, Noah and Clark decide to head to their respective homes. Clark promises to bring Snuggles over later on this evening and gives me a peck on the cheek before leaving. I stare at the door for five minutes, as if I expect it to do something. As if I expect Annabelle to walk through the door, smoking her fancy cigarettes, the words of her story written in the scars on her body. I suddenly crave a cigarette. My skin crawls with the thought, my stomach threatening to purge all the delicious food and I run to the bathroom.
Annabelle comes up my throat and the little notes she left me beat against my skull. I close my eyes and I can see her pale face rising up behind my eyelids. I'm not okay.
I feel incredibly alone. More alone than I have felt in a long time. I block it out by emptying all of my boxes into the middle of the floor. My life, scattered, all over the floor seems almost symbolic. If I wrote poetry I might pause to take this moment in and pack it up in a notebook on a dusty shelf. Instead I sit in the midst of my created chaos and wonder why I do these things to myself.
When Clark stops by with Snuggles, he discovers me still sitting in the midst of my mess. He sets the cat carrier down, mindful to free Snuggles first, and comes over to me, concern written into every pore of his face. I've become maudlin in my insanity.
"Are you alright?" he asks, dropping to one knee, just outside the circle of wreckage.
"I'm fine." I sigh, letting my voice tremble a bit more than I intend to.
"You are not." he says, pushing stuff out of the way. He makes a path to me, as though he were Moses parting the red sea. I let him scoop me into his embrace. I let him worry over me like a mother hen. I don't protest when he picks me up and carries me to the bedroom. He doesn't try anything sexual, though I know he would like to. I know he misses me. I miss him too, in my own pitiable way. Instead he curls up with me and I say a lot of the things I've been trying so hard to keep inside.
"What am I going to do, Clark?" I ask, avoiding his eyes and staring at his lips.
"Maybe you should get into therapy. It would do you good to talk about these things in a professional setting."
I prop myself up on one elbow and finally look into his lavender colored eyes. I know he is right. I still haven't spoken to anyone about what happened with Liam or Annabelle. Adam didn't even know all that happened with Liam, only what he stumbled upon at the club. I don't say anything. I just stare off into the space between his eyes. He doesn't try to reclaim my attention, though I can feel him studying my face. He runs his fingers through my hair, before he hugs me tightly.
After a couple of days, once I have my apartment completely situated, I decide to go out. I find myself standing in front of "Alice's Wonderland," like I have so many times before. My breath hitches somewhere in my ribcage, a feeling I've become far too used to. However, very unlike my previous self, I do not trip on the way into the bar. Instead I almost strut, letting a false sense of pride fill my chest. I order a cocktail and sip at it for a moment before I decide to dance. I don't see anyone I recognize here. I almost wish I did. I search for Jae, but don't see him anywhere. Perhaps that was too much to hope for.
After my third or fourth drink I am approached by a cute guy. He gives me some name that begins with "J" and asks me to dance. I take his profered hand and we dance for a little while before I invite him back to my place. I'm not sure how we make it there, but we do and we collapse into my bed for a less than stellar romp.
I wake up feeling disgusting and overwhelmed by my actions.
Crisp sheets, clean and white, that's what I want. The sterile feel of hospital or hotel sheets. Sheets that don't smell like cologne. Sheets that aren't rumpled from sex. Sheets that are devoid of memories. Sitting on my own bed, I hug my pillow and wish I could be wrapped in those imagined sheets.
Looking around, I realize my room is a disaster, I am a disaster, even Snuggles seems to be a bit disheveled. Well, as disheveled as a cat can get. My floor is littered with condom wrappers and a couple bottles of vodka. The guy next to me snores, loudly. I run my fingers through my "sex hair" (or is it more "bed-head?") and take a second look around.
My bra and panties have been thrown onto the vanity and they are hanging, like haphazard Christmas tree ornaments, on the mirror. Last night's dress is in a crumpled heap of pink and white, topped with a muddy shoe like some neopolitan dessert. His clothes are just as scattered; his belt is hanging on a chair, jeans in a pile by the bed, shoes God only knows where.
I drop my head into my hand, not for the first time, questioning my judgement. Hell, questioning my sanity at this point. I don't remember if we had sex or if we are just naked for no reason. Do I even remember this poor fool's name? Straining, I try to think of it. Was it Jake? Josh? Jay?
At that last, I think of Jae. I think of him kissing me in the cafe. How long ago was that? I think of the time he rescued me at the bar and I think of him at the graveyard after Annabelle's funeral. When was the last time I saw him?
I remember then, with painful clarity, the cafe he took me too. I remember him saying I could be his other face. I remember walking out and getting wasted. That's how I've spent the past year or so of my life. Getting wasted. Getting fucked. Getting more and more obsessed with the belief that I am somehow worthless because the man I loved for ten years never really loved me.
I flop back onto my pillow, startling the man next to me into a bleary-eyed state of awareness.
"Hi." I say, looking at him casually.
"Hey." he murmurs, rubbing his eyes.
"I'm Abra, in case you had forgotten. I hate to admit this, since you are in my bed, but what is your name again?"
"Jared." he replies, nonchalantly. He rubs his eyes again and stretches.
"Nice to meet you. I knew it began with a 'J.'" I stand up and begin pulling on clothing. I try to do so in a nonchalant manner, but I am really wishing that we weren't in my house and that we had gone to his place instead. I could make a fast get-away and not worry about him knowing where I live. I wonder why I've never worried about this before, shaking my head.
He sits up, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. He smiles and runs his fingers through his hair. He has a nice smile, but that doesn't make me any happier with myself.
"I don't mean to be rude," I start. He holds up a hand and smiles again.
"Its cool. I don't mind leaving." He gets dressed and I walk him to the door. He kisses my cheek, winks at me and then heads down the stairs toward the main entrance. I close the door slowly and try to imagine breakfast into being. I give up after a moment and settle for a cup of strong tea.
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