Life Without You

by S. P. West

  “Are you coming or not?” Violet demands, clearly irritated.

  “Only if you admit the truth.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “That you love Seth.”

  “Why’s it so important to you?”

  “Because I love you, I love my brother and I want you both to be happy.” I gently grab hold of her chin, forcing her to look at me. “There’s nothing that I would love more in this world than if you two got it together and stopped pussy-footing around each other. If you admit to the truth, then I can help remove Deena from the equation with my sisterly wiles.”

  “And you’ll come to that thing with me if I do? You won’t use this as form of blackmail in the future?” She asks skeptically.

  I make the sign of a cross over my heart, “promise” I grin. “Plus I have shit on Deena...”

  “Like what?”

  “Admit and I’ll spill.”

  “And go with me tomorrow night?”

  “And go with you tomorrow night.”

  “Okay,” she says taking a deep breath, “I’m totally in love with your brother, have been for years. I want to marry him and have his babies,” which flies out of her mouth as one big jumbled sentence, but I get the gist. I can’t help the massive grin that forms on my face as Violet blushes furiously at her confession.

  “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

  She clears her throat, determined to sweep the fact that she’s just confessed her biggest, darkest secret to me, under the carpet.

  “Right, so what do you know on Deena…”

  A couple of days later we find ourselves sitting in a dark, dingy basement room in a strange house. The windows are covered with blankets; the room reeks of incense. The only light comes from a single candle placed in the center of the room.

  It’s so dark that I can only just make out the faces of the five other people seated on the floor in a circle around the flame. Everyone is focused on the candle.

  The only sound you can hear is the voice of Madam ZaZa--who I’m willing to bet’s real name is Elaine-- telling us to free our minds and see within the fire. I was already in Madam ZaZa’s bad books for telling her that I thought it was a load of bollocks earlier. This earned me a reproachful glare from her, and swift kick in the shins from Violet.

  I’m still not quite sure what on earth possessed me to go along with this hare-brained scheme of Violet’s. Oh yes I remember – getting her to admit the truth.

  Now I’m paying the price. Yay me!

  “Look into the flame, fire tells all. It reveals our secrets, our hopes, our desires. It can tell you your future if you open your mind.” I have to admit that Madam ZaZa has a beautifully melodic voice even though I totally think she’s an old fraud. “What do you see? Tell me what you see.” I wonder do psychics naturally talk in a spooky tone or whether it’s just when they rip gullible people off?

  “What do you see Susan?” She asks the woman who I think is sitting next to Violet.

  “I see…I see…I see a car and roses. I see a woman she’s smiling…”

  It’s at this point that I tune out briefly, hoping that she doesn’t ask me.

  Karma thinks differently.

  “Summer?”

  “What?” I jump at the mention of my name.

  “What do you see in the flame?”

  “Pardon?”

  “What do you see in front of you dear?”

  Now, I could do one of two things. I could go along with this bullshit and make some stuff up or I could just tell the truth and wind the believers up. I opt for the latter. I’m glad that no one can see my face or that I’m on the verge of cracking up with laughter as I answer.

  “I see a flame. I see a candle,” I say impersonating Madam ZaZa’s tone. I’m not a nice person.

  “Summer!” Violet hisses from somewhere across the dim room.

  Madam ZaZa’s reaction surprises me; instead of being angry, she laughs softly.

  “It’s quite alright,” she says gently, “’I’m used to skepticism. You cannot see anything but I can. I can see everything about you Summer Thorson.”

  I’m stunned as she uses my married name. I’m sure I introduced myself as Summer Sullivan. I must have slipped up and said Thorson – there is no way that she could know my married name unless she stalked us all on Google before we got here.

  “Big things are coming for you. Not all good, not all bad – I see twisted metal, burning and screams that rip you apart. Pain…lots of pain. They will you need you to cope with the loss of a friend. I also can see a reconnection, a dearly held wish coming true and you wearing white. Tragedy will bring you back together.”

  I’m speechless, my mouth flapping open and shut like a goldfish. What is she talking about?

  “Don’t worry. He won’t make the same mistake twice. He’s learnt his lesson.” With that, she turns her attention back to the others who seem to be lapping up whatever she is saying.

  What she just said scares the bejeezus out of me. It’s all very Professor Trelawney, and at the same time the rational part of my brain reminds me that this whole thing is a crock of shit. In all reality, the short, plump woman who is a dead ringer for Tangina from Poltergeist without the voice, is a charlatan.

  Yet something about what she said has me on edge and I can’t for the life of me think why.

  I have to get out of here.

  Grabbing my coat, I make my excuses to leave. Violet asking me where I’m going rings in my ears as stumble towards the sweet salvation of the outside world. I have no plan other than to get as far away from Mystic Mabel and her stupid candles, and her even more stupid predictions, as possible. I pay no attention to where I’m going as I walk along. I just keep my head down to avoid making eye contact with anyone else.

  All I want to do is breathe.

  When I finally stop to take in my surroundings, I find that I’ve somehow made it down to the sea front, near to Brighton pier. Lord knows how long I was walking for. I guess from where Madam Zaza’s flat was in Hove and where I am now, is a good hour. Which means that I’ll have twenty text messages on my mobile from Vi asking me where the hell I’ve got to.

  Leaning against the metal railing, I take a moment to relish the fresh sea air. Allowing the soft breeze to clear my senses, sweeping away bad thoughts and the cloying scent of Madam Zaza’s. The sounds of screaming and laughter fill my ears from the funfair at the end of the pier.

  Unwanted thoughts of bringing Alex here once when we were first married pop into my mind. We’d spent our honeymoon touring Europe, ending up in the U.K. for a family visit. I remember how much we’d laughed as we walked up and down the rickety wooden slats. We took in the bright lights and ate Candy Floss, his arm casually slung across my shoulders as I leant into him. Back then I thought we were invincible, that we would last forever.

  Just goes to show you how wrong you can be.

  I wipe away the lone tear that falls down my cheek, annoyed that I’ve allowed myself to get upset over that lousy piece of shit once again. I pushed him out of my mind and heart a long time ago. He has no place there anymore so why my thoughts have focused on him, I’ll never know. I blame that stupid woman for rattling me with her mumbo jumbo.

  What does “tragedy will bring you back together” even mean? Fake. That is what she was. One big fraud.

  The vibration of my phone interrupts my internal musings. Glancing down at the screen I can see that it’s Violet trying, once again, to get hold of me. My finger hovers over the answer button briefly before I decline the call, placing my mobile back in the black hole that I call my handbag. I’ll sort it out with her later, for now I want to be left alone with my thoughts.

  I can’t believe that I have allowed what that silly woman said to get me. Alex and I are over. He made sure of that when he slept with another woman. There’s no chance in hell that we’ll ever get back together; not after what he did and certainly not after the way he behaved. There’s also fact that
he lives half the world away from me. He’s probably moved on and married that bitch.

  Alex Thorson has no place in my thoughts or my heart, I doubt that he even still thinks of me. No, I need to banish him from my mind once and for all.

  I remember the early days of our split – the long, lonely nights. The uncontrollable sobbing leaving me unable to function. Often-wasting whole days in bed, not showering nor eating. All I wanted to do was die.

  After the anger subsided, the depression kicked in. Oh, I hid it well. I let people see what I wanted them to see. I let them think that I was getting better and that I was getting over Alex. If only they knew how it felt. That every day I woke to the feeling that my heart had been torn out of my chest and that I’d never be happy again. At the time, I thought I would never get over what Alex did. I was convinced that I’d forever be stuck in limbo mourning what we once had, and the child we lost. I couldn’t see a way of moving on.

  I’d love to go back in time and meet my past self. Tell her that it does get better-- the pain does heal. That she won’t be stuck being a lonely old spinster that no one wants. Nobody will judge her, nobody will whisper as she walks past ‘look at that sad cow, she couldn’t keep her husband or her baby’.

  I’d hold her tight letting her cry her frustration and hurt out on my shoulder. Soothing her by letting her know that she has a bright future ahead of her. She will be successful beyond her wildest dreams. She will have friends and family who she loves beyond measure and who love her just as fiercely in return.

  I’d also tell her that she’d end up seeing the world, having some pretty amazing sex with some seriously hot guys and will end up happy with her life now.

  This is the life I’ve forged for myself, not because of Alex but despite him. The only thing missing is a family of my own. Who knows, maybe one day soon, I’ll meet the true love of my life and we’ll start a family.

  Alex has no part of my life now. My memories of him have been tucked away in the deepest recesses of my mind. That, my friends, is where he will stay.

  ALEX

  San Francisco, C.A.

  PRESENT DAY

  “HOLY SHIT! What the...Christ!”

  Once again, I’ve woken up to find wet underwear stuck to my body. In fact, it’s the third time that I’ve woken to the nasty, sticky feel of cotton attached to my skin. On the flip, side it’s the third night in a row that I’ve had an incredibly enjoyable dream involving Summer, me and whipped cream. The downside of it is waking up to find my cum all over the bed instead of all over my ex-wife.

  I should just get up and clean this shit up. Instead I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling.

  I just can’t understand why Summer keeps invading my thoughts lately; she’s always there. I’ve been thinking of her every waking hour. I see her on the street, in a passing car, on the T.V and now she’s taken over my dreams.

  I sometimes wonder if Summer still thinks of me. Whether she dreams of me at night, what she’s doing, if she knows how completely fucking sorry I am that I hurt her.

  I know that she’s still single. I forced that out of Becks a few weeks ago on a guy’s night out at Jerry’s bar. All it took was a few beers plus a threat to tell Alyssa about the unfortunate hair dye incident he had in 9th grade and my boy sang like a canary.

  In the years that Summer and I’d been apart, I’ve not once asked Lyssa or Becks if they knew if she’d been seeing other guys. It’s not a case of not wanting to know because I don’t care; it’s because I do and just thinking about it kills me. It’s my way of punishing myself for what I’d done to her. No one would believe me after the way I acted or what I did, but I think about Summer all the time. The image of her banging other guys plays in my head on a painful, fucking loop.

  Yeah, there’s a sadistic part of me that wants to keep self-flagellating as a way of atoning for my many sins against her. Imagining what she gets up to with other guys is worse than actually knowing that she’s screwing someone else. For me, it’s the thought of another man taking what’s mine – taking my girl. Giving her pleasure, finding out what she likes, how she likes to be teased. Whether he knows that she likes to be licked from the base of neck right down to her pussy; him making her cum time and again. Summer carrying another man’s child…

  Not knowing is pure torture to me. There’s been a few times I’ve gotten close to begging them to tell me, to give me just the smallest peek into her world. I’ve always chickened out at the last minute. I gave up any rights to know about Summer’s life without me when I decided that screwing around with another woman was a good idea. I wish I never met Rachel, let alone have an affair with her.

  I hurt the only woman I’ve ever loved, destroyed our lives for nothing. If I could go back, I’d stop what I did before it even had a chance to start. Hell, if I had the opportunity to talk to Summer I would be on my knees begging her for forgiveness. I’d tell her I’m sorry that it wasn’t her fault, it was all down to me. I wouldn’t expect her to take me back, I just want her to know how sorry I am and how wrong I was. Rachel was a mistake; the biggest fucking mistake of my entire shitty life. What I thought was love turned out to be lust. I never loved her.

  I lost the most beautiful and pure thing in my life because I was an idiot; it’s that simple. I won’t make that same mistake again.

  So here I am, three years later, lonely as fuck. I'm circling thirty and I’m still having wet dreams about the beautiful woman who I let slip through my fingers.

  Fucking A.

  Mind you three years ago I was a mess; wouldn’t even have been able to tell you my name I was so fucked up on drugs. If Joe hadn’t found me that day, then I’m sure I’d be dead. Probably from an overdose in some shitty back alley after getting my dick sucked by a hooker with no teeth. I’ve got a lot to thank that man for. Actually, while I think about it, Brad Kreiger deserves an honorable mention too.

  After that episode up at Devil’s Slide Joe frog marched me over to the nearest Narcotics Anonymous meeting. Meeting other people in the same boat was a real eye opener. Just listening to the stories about how drugs screwed up their lives…

  Families had been lost; homes--some had even turned to prostitution.

  That was the day I figured that I didn’t want to end up like that. I’d been lucky that Joe saved my life and was kicking my ass. I still attend meetings to this day; I hope that my story can, in some small way, help others.

  So how did Brad come into it?

  Turned out that he’d turned to drugs when his life went to shit years ago. The N.A. had helped him; now he wanted to help repay them for saving his life. So my ex-boss became my sponsor. Between him and Joe they cleaned me up and put me back on my feet. Brad and I are still close to this day. As for Joe? Well, after I was clean for a few months he offered me a job at the garage and the rest, as they say, is history.

  Not to sound too much like a pussy but I owe them both.

  Big time.

  Anyway, I can’t keep lying in a pool of kids I’ll never have.

  Takes me a while but I finally drag my ass out of bed and into the bathroom. Emerging ten minutes later (three of which I spent jerking off in the shower thinking about Summer bent over in front of me) fresh as a daisy, ready to take on the world, with only a towel around my hips. Nah, don’t think that’ll go down too well If I turn up to the game in that. So I hunt around for a clean pair of Levi’s and my 49’ers Jersey, and throw the cum stained sheets and boxers in the wash.

  Taking one last look around, in case I missed anything, I grab my shit and head out the door to Becks and Alyssa’s in San Leandro.

  “Hey sexy lady, you sure you’re not going to pop back there?” I grin over my shoulder at the beautiful, heavily pregnant woman in the back seat of Beck’s SUV.

  “No asswipe, I might need to pee though,” the little minx retorts.

  “We stopped twenty minutes ago.”

  “Try telling the baby that, shithead!”

  “Sho
uld you be sayin’ shit like that? The baby can probably hear you. The way you talk with that potty mouth, Alex Jnr is going to come out cussing.”

  “FUC…”

  “Tut tut Lyssy Wissy, think of Junior.”

  “Screw you!” Alyssa spits out, flipping me the bird as she desperately tries to suppress a smile.

  “Will you two knock it off!” Becks laughs from next to me in the driver’s seat as we cruise along the freeway on the way back to their condo. “And for the last time I’m not calling our son Alex junior! So turn back around and stop annoying my wife, dickhead.”

  “I love it when you’re feisty.” I mouth to Alyssa. In return she blows me a kiss, placing her hand on her bump to caress my future godson before turning her attention to the world outside the window. I take that as my cue to leave her alone and turn back around again to watch the road ahead.

  If I were a chick, I’d say that pregnancy really suits her-- seriously, that girl is glowing. Which is great but I’m not a chick. From what I can see; Lyssa, kind, sweet, beautiful Lyssa has been replaced by a pod person. What the fuck is up with that? What the hell does pregnancy do to a woman that changes them overnight into a snappy, irritable, paranoid, obsessed-with sterilizing-every-damn-thing, cry-for-no-reason, crazy person?

  Don’t get me wrong, I love Lyssa, I really do. I’ll be damned if I’ll ever understand how the hell Becks puts up with her blowing hot and cold like she does at the moment.

  The man has the patience of a motherfucking saint.

  Take when I arrived at their place earlier today. I walked in to find Lyssa sobbing hysterically on Beck’s shoulder. Honest to god, I thought something really bad had happened; turned out she was crying over a dog food commercial for fucks sake! Then, the next second, she stopped bawling, sniffed the air and ordered me to take a shower because, and I quote, “your deodorant smells funny and the chemicals could harm the baby.”

  I’d looked at Becks who’d shrugged at me helplessly as I was pushed towards their bathroom and ordered to scrub myself clean.