by Myers, Kelly
Deciding to respond, I type: I miss you too.
But then I delete it and write: I know, I’m really sorry.
And I send it into space.
26
Dina
Gabriel’s voice comes to me from a faraway place, echoing through a dream where I’m lost in an office building that’s supposed to be the gazette’s headquarters.
“Dina? Dina.”
I smell spices and some sort of savory dish. The cafeteria should be downstairs, but I stare down over the glass fence and see an endless array of offices. Everyone looks the same. Dressed the same. Doing the same things.
“Wake up,].” A hand shakes my shoulder, and my eyelids shoot open.
I brush the hair away from my face as I push myself up, turning to find Gabriel sitting at the edge of the bed with a tray of Chinese food in his hand.
“It’s time for dinner,” he quickly places the tray on the nightstand and jumps to his feet, stepping away and gazing through the window into the dark night outside. “You have to eat some real food now.”
I stare at the meal in the elegant plates, steam ascending into the air as the smell fills my nostrils. It’s vegetable rice, a side of sesame chicken and a bowl of noodles. My stomach growls, but my appetite is nowhere to be found.
“I didn’t know what you like, so I got you the same thing I had,” he explains without as much as a glance in my direction.
I want to say ‘thank you,’ but it seems like the cat caught my tongue. He could have let me die, but he’s enjoying his twisted little game.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he finally turns to me, frowning.
“Still deciding,” mindlessly, I study his appearance. His shirt is now wrinkled and his hair in disarray. Somehow, I dare to ponder on how sexy he looks this way.
“You have to eat. Doctor said so.”
I smirk. “Where’s that doctor you keep referring to?”
“Unfortunately, when you two met, you were unconscious. I’m working to avoid repeating that scenario.”
I catch something in his eyes but fail to explain it. “What are you so happy about?”
“Me?” he shrugs. “Happy?”
“Almost giddy,” I insist. “What did you do?”
“You think you’re psychic?” he chuckles.
I repeat slowly. “What did you do, Gabriel?”
Lowering his gaze, he touches the tip of his nose with his fingers. “I got you off the hook,” he nonchalantly announces, slipping his hands into his pockets. He then leans with his shoulder against the window frame, looking outward again. “You’re officially on unpaid leave from the gazette.”
“You what?” I raise my voice an octave.
“Keep it down and civil, Didi,” he calmly warns. “Nobody else will hear you, and I’m only a few feet away.”
I grind my teeth. “You—”
“I managed to get what I wanted,” he interrupts me, narrowing his eyes. “Your little game with Derek? It’s game over now.”
A part of me doesn’t believe him. He may be bluffing just like he did with the gun. “How?”
“A phone call followed by an email.”
“A phone call?” I repeat in shock.
“AI-generated voice mimicry,” he smirks. “It was just a fun side-project for my team.”
I blink a few times in disbelief, wrinkling my eyebrows as I attempt to process the bomb he just dropped.
I am practically nonexistent. I’ve been replaced by software. My entire presence is no longer influential in any way, shape or form. I am nothing but an empty shell now.
“You have to eat now,” his voice, once again, seems to hail from another dimension.
But I can’t be bothered.
Rock bottom has now discovered a secret new low, and I’m spiraling down with nothing to hold on to. Flashbacks from my past come crashing back into my memory, shattering what is left of my willpower.
“Sid, please don’t!”
As tears fill my eyes, I remember my mother’s desperate cries for my father to stop hitting me after I accidentally spilled red wine all over the carpet. I was eight years old and petrified.
And they keep on flooding my head…
The time he slapped my mother across the face in front of everyone at Thanksgiving dinner because she forgot to buy his favorite brand of beer and dared to talk back when he poked fun at her. The time he resorted to his leather belt to whip my back when I got a ‘B’ on my science project in fifth grade.
My parents are now both in their seventies, too tired to let the old patterns suck them back in. My father has a bad heart, and my mother’s memory—as convenient as that turned out to be—is quickly fading. He can barely go upstairs on his own now, while she can hardly remember what a monster he was to the both of us.
But I haven’t forgotten.
Deep down inside, I still remember that a man was the reason behind me missing every childhood joy in my early years. The sole motive behind me working twice as much and trying twice as hard as the other kids my age. The secret to my missing every birthday celebration, every slumber party, every spring break.
Early on, I realized that the only way out of Sid’s inferno was by finishing high school at the top of my class and earning a college scholarship. Graduating with honors from Yale and landing a job the very next day. Making enough money to be able to pay off my student loans and support myself, to never have to live another day under his roof.
A man did that.
My father.
The first and only man who should have loved and supported me unconditionally.
And so, here we are, Gabriel.
Thank you for the glaring reminder that I can and very well may be a man’s victim yet one more time.
“Dina!” he hisses, and I squeeze my eyelids shut, letting the tears freely roll down my face.
It’s alright. You can finally see me broken now.
“Why won’t you kill me?” I plead before biting my lower lip.
Looking baffled, he covers the distance between us and sits at the foot of the bed, leaving enough distance. “I told you before, I never planned to hurt you.”
“My life doesn’t matter to you.” I raise my voice to the point of shouting. “I don’t matter to you. Nobody does!”
“Again with this?” his eyes quickly shoot from side to side as he inhales. “Nothing I do—”
“It doesn’t fucking matter!” I yell, slightly propping up my weight and bending my legs under me, feeling the blood course through me like molten rage. Boiling. “You can kill me,” I enunciate. “You can kill a dozen like me… but when it comes down to results? You’ll be sorely disappointed, my friend,” I end my sentence with a bitter chuckle.
He shifts in place, twisting his narrow waist to better face me. “You really believe that?”
“And I was right about you. You don’t care about anything or anyone but your own personal agenda,” I speak quickly, barely catching my breath. “And to hell with everyone and everything else.”
He stands up, and I recoil, inevitably experiencing that fear that just eluded me.
“You can go on,” I spitefully continue, throwing all caution to the wind. “Romanticize your ambitions and justify your goals whatever way you please.”
“Dina, I’m warning you—” he wags a finger in the air, but I ignore it.
“Nothing…” I viciously push my head forward, lashing out at him as if payback for all the years I spent in therapy to no avail. “Nothing you do will make a fucking difference to anyone but your own bank accounts. Because in the greater scheme of things? We’re doomed—all of us, including you, Gabriel.”
He stands up, raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms in front of his chest, amused. “Oh, yeah?”
“Humanity is doomed, don’t you see? Aren’t you the all-knowing all-intelligent hero who’s here to salvage what’s left?” I spread my arms around, well aware of my own self-indulgent frenzy yet carrying on all the same.
“Well, wake up and smell the shit, Gabriel Palanick. We’re fucked.”
“Rich coming from someone who—only hours ago—claimed to be working toward the greater good.”
I start to laugh hysterically. “Well, y’know…” I shake my head and catch a quick break. “I’m awake now. You’ve removed the pink glasses from my eyes, so thank you,” I continue to sourly chuckle. “I feel truly blessed.”
The hot tears continue to pour down my face, and it’s as though I can’t feel them. I am, however, capable of catching a glimpse of the wet spots they keep creating on the sheet underneath me.
“So, kill me,” I place both hands on my chest in a plea. “Put me out of my misery, Gabriel. I can’t do this anymore.” My sniffles turn to weeps as I beg him. “Just fucking end this, please.”
He looks at me from under his eyebrows the way one would face a wild lion—with caution and no sudden movements. “You’re exhausted and malnourished—”
“I’m sick of this world,” I cry. When he shifts to come closer, I wince and retreat in place, extending an arm as if it can stop him. “Don’t.”
He apprehensively tilts his head. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t come near me,” I try to make my words as clear as possible. “Use that gun of yours. Just don’t touch me.”
“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he gestures with one hand.
“Then what the fuck have you been doing?” I shout once again. “What the fuck, you sick fucking bastard? What do you want from me?” I yell, feeling my skull being pressed from the inside, about to explode.
With his eyebrows furrowed, he lets his hands drop to his sides as he takes a deep breath that pushes up his chest. “I’ve gone too far, I realize that,” he says with a low, regretful tone.
Exhausted, I flail my arms in the air as I slouch down, letting my bent legs hug my bottom as it lands on the soft mattress. “It doesn’t matter,” I sniffle once more, my eyes burning from the hot, salty tears. “It doesn’t matter now,” I repeat, looking downward with nothing more to say.
A quiet moment ensues and drags on with us frozen in our places like cursed statues. I don’t know how much time passes with us as paralyzed as the air that surrounds us. But then Gabriel slowly descends—still standing by the foot of the bed—until his arms are leveled with the mattress. He then folds them on top of it and rests his chin over his hand, silently staring at me.
“What matters then?” he whispers with a tone I don’t think I’ve ever heard from him before.
Dazed and desperate, my eyes remain fixated on a random spot on the bed. I slowly shake my head once as I finally regard him. “I don’t know.”
“Try,” he maintains his manner, and I wonder if he’s at all capable of the kindness that he so skillfully manages to convey in his eyes.
I think for a moment, and the only thing that monopolizes my fantasy in this very second is death.
“Maybe it’s how you feel…” I speak slowly, responding as though I’m in a dream. “About yourself when you’re just about to die.”
“You’re not about to die,” he confirms, his beautiful face seeming as trustworthy as my innermost desires want it to be.
“But what then?” I tilt my head, my eyes linking with his and refusing to let go. “Have you thought about that?”
“Dying?”
“That moment?... on your deathbed? When you can virtually count the number of breaths you have left? When you’re certain—without a doubt—that it’s the end?” I pause, searching for a change in his expression. “Have you ever really thought about it?”
His eyebrows twitch, and he parts his lips but says nothing.
“Do you ever think about the people you’ve tormented on the way to accomplishing all of those grand plans of yours?”
How is it that the blue in his eyes looks ten times brighter?
Why does his jawline resemble those of ancient Gods of beauty and peace?
Oh, how deceiving looks can be.
With his unreadable face, he remains motionless… staring at me.
27
Gabriel
“That moment?... on your deathbed? When you can virtually count the number of breaths you have left? When you’re certain—without a doubt—that it’s the end?”
Her question strikes a chord that I’m still—after all these years—scared to reveal. But the longer I gaze into her eyes, the more confident I become that she truly cannot afford to judge me. Her lips move, yet I remain fixated on the depth in her burning eyes.
“That moment is all I long for,” I finally admit, keeping a serene voice. “But maybe one day you’ll learn that I’ve never knowingly tormented anyone the way you believe I did.”
Her eyelids flutter in semi-blinks of quiet astonishment she tries so hard to hide while her eyebrows slowly meet in a knot.
“The sweet release of death?” I titter, shaking my head and looking away for a second as my hand glides over the back of my head. I force myself to face her gaze again. “No longer having to torture myself over who’s right and who’s wrong? Over whose side to take? Whether or not this place is even capable of rising above the festering cesspool that’s slowly sucking it deeper to hell?” I pause, and she continues to stare at me, baffled. I tilt my head with a mournful smile, whispering. “Oh, Didi, how I wish.”
For a second, I believe that she’s found some common grounds. That she will be more receptive and accept to eat. That…
“Don’t…” she recites slowly. “Call me… Didi.” She draws a long, deep breath. “Your life is of your own making,” determination fills her voice as she continues. “but you have to end this for me now.”
I see her lower lip quiver, and my heart pounds harder and faster, prompting me to press my lips together and not utter a word I may regret.
“If the options are,” her voice shakes as she visibly struggles with the impending tears. “being touched by you again or dying… I choose dying,” her voice trails off as she completely breaks down, lowering her face into her palms and wailing loudly. Her tiny body coils into itself as she lets her head drop onto the mattress and keeps her face concealed.
This is beyond any of my abilities.
I thought I was stronger than her tears, and I was doing a great job until this moment. But here I am, rushing over to her side, cradling her head and laying down next to her, pulling her closer until our bodies merge into one shuddering being.
Despite the words she just uttered, she doesn’t move away. My heart aches in response to her tears drenching my shirt in a matter of seconds.
I see myself in her in ways I can’t even begin to explain.
My fingers dive into her hair, keeping her head in place as I’m overcome with emotions that quickly flood through my defenses, rendering me a giant open wound for her to see.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so, very sorry. Maybe I am sick like you say… I’m so sorry, Dina.”
I can only hear her brief, intermittent gasps and sniffs as her body continues to tremble in my arms. With my hand still behind her head, I begin to gently stroke her hair in an attempt to calm her.
“You may be right. No, you are right,” I continue to whisper. “We’re all collectively damaged. I’m… particularly damaged.”
Her sobbing gradually stops, and although she doesn’t move a muscle, I hear her breathing as it begins to slow down. Her stiffened neck relaxes under my hand, and I know that she’s listening, even if she doesn’t want to acknowledge it.
“I never told you about my life, have I?” I slowly shift, placing an arm under my head while the other still holds her close.
I take a minute to consider whether or not I’m ready to share this side of myself with anyone, let alone her. To tell her the part of my story that no paper has ever published. That no journalist has ever learned. That none of my friends even knew about.
“Since I can remember, I’ve watched my parents play this sad game… both suffering in very different and di
sturbing ways.”
She says nothing, so I carry on.
“My father—the playboy—having inherited the family business, had to get his shit together and settle down. Be responsible. Act like a man,” I utter the last statement with extreme sarcasm. “He married my mother after a brief engagement, and soon, she became pregnant with me.”
She’s still listening.
Her hot breath is still warming my chest, urging me to go on.
“I watched him handle her complaints with doctors’ appointments only the driver took care of. Medications with names nobody could pronounce. Immeasurable hours of him disappearing, absent. Throwing himself into meetings and suspiciously long business trips… leaving me at home with the help… and her meltdowns that never seemed to end.”
My insides tie into knots when I feel her hand slowly creep up my side as she extends an arm around me, gently hugging with her palm pressed against my back.
I wonder if she’s plotting something, but there’s no turning back now.
“She wasn’t well, but he didn’t have the time. And I was forced to watch her drown under a mountain of pills and rivers of alcohol no human body should be able to consume. Slowly, her beauty faded, replaced by premature lines. Paling skin. Thinning hair. Skin and bones carrying a haunted mind and a crushed soul. I can’t count the times when she’d go days without showering or saying a single word. Every meal became a chore. A negotiation. A begging match that I rarely won.”
Dina’s hand presses harder as she buries her face deeper into my chest. Something about this genuinely hurts, yet it also feels good, and I don’t want it to stop.
“She knew he was cheating with a long line of women of all sorts and in every city… we both knew, even though we never talked about it. And I know that this was my fault.”
“Don’t,” she whispers so inaudibly that I almost miss it as she shrinks further, pressing herself against me in what feels like an unspoken renewal of oneness.
“Countless clues and even more hushed gossip at home. Incriminating side glances at restaurants, and everywhere we went. Shifty hellos at the country club… yet I kept my mouth shut. I never confronted him. I never defended her.”
