by Ally Sky
The people in my life can read everything. There’s no telling how they’ll react when they find themselves between the words, between the sheets, in my loves, and in my fears.
If the man who was once mine reads this, he’ll find himself naked and exposed, but loved and idolized. What will he choose? To be angry with the imposed exposure or to appreciate that someone, a screwed-up, broken creature, loves him infinitely? The terrible thing is that I still do; I still miss him. I’m angry, enraged, hurt, and yearning for him. But he has chosen another, and I need to learn how to breathe again. I need to learn to be without him, even though he was never really mine. Now, he’s with Snow White in the world of fairytales and I’m in Barcelona, on the edge of a cliff, as close as ever to falling.
Talia
I save the file and take out my mobile. A new message from Danny.
12:45
Have you gone completely nuts?! What is this blog?
What the hell were you thinking? And now everyone knows who you are?!
Where is your head?! You are coming home immediately!
I gulp. So many question marks and explanation marks.
I send him a reply.
15:10
Calm down right away. I’m not coming back.
It’s my blog. Deal.
I turn my phone off. I don’t want to hear from him. I lean back in my chair and drink my red wine.
At four in the afternoon, I return to the hotel and take advantage of the Wi-Fi in the lobby to post what I’ve written and to read some responses. My blog is buzzing. Since I posted my photo, the messages haven’t stopped coming in. I’ve surprised them all, both at home and in my blog. The responses are varied. Some are encouraging and some are calling me “crazy Talia”. This is me, the crazy one behind the keyboard, scared, broken, and at the edge of a cliff.
I go into my Facebook and a red sign at the bottom of the page signals there’s a new message. I open it, and my heart skips a beat.
Ben Storm: Take down the blog now! Damn it, Talia! I’m a businessman. What were you thinking? I never asked to be exposed! Even your brother wasn’t supposed to know about us, not that it matters now after what you’ve done. You’ve gone completely crazy. I don’t get you. The entire world can read it. Every night we spent together is described in the most surgical detail! Fuck! Where’s your privacy? Where’s mine? You’re inconsiderate and I’m telling you, take it down now or else…
I’m standing in the middle of the lobby, and the tears can’t wait till I get back to my room. His message ends in an insinuated threat. Take it down or else…
Go back to your Snow White and leave me alone!
I close my laptop and storm into the elevator, crying all the way to my room.
I just want to stop hurting. I turn my phone on, still crying softly, and send a message to Ben.
16:37
What more do you want to take from me, that you haven’t already?
I gave you more than I ever dared give anyone.
But it just wasn’t enough for you.
You can’t break me more than you have already.
I curl up and spend the whole afternoon crying in the room.
What have I done? How did I get myself into this situation?
In the evening, I force myself to get out of bed and leave the hotel. I walk through the alley, which is filled with laughing, happy people. I’m burned out. Once again I’m just a shadow of myself. I enter the nearest bar where they have a Wi-Fi connection, so I’ll be able to write. Danny has probably been hanging around the house all day, half-crazed with worry. Thinking about that turns my stomach. He doesn’t deserve that, not after everything he’s done for me. He didn’t deserve what I did and he didn’t deserve what Ben did either. Have I destroyed their friendship? All the years of working together, of shared suppers, and of football in the park—have I ruined it all just because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut?
The thought is horrific. I sternly order myself not to think about it. It’s not in my hands anymore. They’ll get over it. Danny will calm down, Ben will apologize, and they’ll go back to being friends. I just need to stay away. They don’t need me, nobody needs me. I’m nothing.
Saturday
August 4th 2012
My demons are celebrating. Forcing me to hide under the blankets in bed. Demanding their pound of flesh. I’m taking all the punishment I deserve, quietly and submissively. I played a game and I lost. Big time. I allowed myself to let down all my defenses and now my demons have left me defenseless, and they’re pleased, going wild in my room and in my head, and in my heart. Causing the air to swirl around me, so that it’s almost impossible to breathe. They’re not going anywhere. They are here to stay. Celebrating my destroyed life.
I can’t do anything; I can’t eat or sleep; I can barely get air into my lungs.
I want to stop hurting. I want to shout out, but I’m voiceless. Abandoned and neglected, at the edge of the cliff, there’s no one around to pull me away. One more shove, and I’m gone.
Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe it’s the only way to get everything to stop, to let myself fall from the cliff into the deep abyss, never to rise again.
Since the morning, the responses haven’t stopped. I go over them, reading them all and approve them. I have more wine, hoping it’ll dull the pain and make me numb.
A response from Sheena Blaire: Talia Blum, without masks or defenses you’re even more amazing. You’re vulnerable, exposed, and so very brave. Don’t break down. You have so much to give. Forget about Snow White; your prince is just a toad. And you’re not Rapunzel. You are a modern-day Brothers Grimm. You are writing your own story.
A response from Dorothy Kraus: Those who play with fire shouldn’t be surprised if they get burned.
What can I say? She’s right and I deserve it. Pathetic.
I walk slowly through the side alleys of the quarter. I swear the walls here can tell stories. I haven’t eaten in a few days, just consuming the wine, which gives me some calories and some relief. But without any food, it also dulls my senses. My head is dizzy, floating, and I can’t do anything. My thoughts keep going back to him: to one large, soft bed, to his beautiful body, and the words he whispered in my ear, lovingly and deceitfully. I feel a yearning that’s overwhelming and destructive. Once again I can’t breathe.
I don’t know how long I wander the streets of Barcelona, in blessed anonymity.
Eventually I find my way back to the hotel and curl up in bed under the blanket. Tornado Talia has swept through, ripping apart the lives of other people. They never asked for it to happen, and that thought hurts, bringing on all the tears again.
Sunday. The afternoon shade of the trees in Park Güell is wonderful. My sunglasses protect my swollen eyes, which are still burning. Songs are screaming through the earphones of my phone as I write quietly. The park is packed with people strolling amongst Gaudi’s amazing works. They are colorful and lively, in complete contrast to the darkness looming over me, as my demons push me closer and closer to the edge. I light up a cigarette and smoke as I type away, and the words spill out, honest, painful, and tormented.
My phone rings, startling me. I look at the number. Danny. I haven’t heard from him since yesterday. I don’t know if he needed the time or thought I did. But now he’s calling, from London. I answer, my hands shaking.
“Hello…” My voice is hesitant. I have no idea what kind of mood he’s in.
“Talia,” he sighs. He doesn’t sound angry, he sounds…tired. “Talia, you can’t stay in Barcelona,” he says softly.
“I’m not coming back,” I whisper. My voice wavers slightly.
“Talia, we’ll deal with what happened. All of us. But we’re worried, and you need to come back.”
Stop worrying about me. Just forget what happened and get on with your lives.
“I can’t. I don’t want to deal with anything,” I mumble. I can barely deal with myself.
“You’re not in good
shape, and it’s not going to get better.”
How does he know what I’m going through? Where does the confidence in his voice come from?
“I just need some time.”
“I’m reading what you’re writing, we all are, and we’re very worried.”
He’s reading what I’m writing in my blog? I thought he hated my blog. I thought he wanted to pretend it wasn’t his crazy sister who spread her entire life all over the internet.
“You’re reading my blog?” I stammer. The thought of Danny reading my descriptions about demons, fairies, and passion-filled nights…well, that makes me rather uncomfortable.
“I’m reading what you’re writing about now. I skipped the parts I don’t want to know about.”
Okay. Maybe he hasn’t read it all.
“Ben freaked out yesterday. He sent me a message through Facebook,” I say before I can stop myself. Am I supposed to speak to him about Ben?
“I know. Can you blame him?” His voice is steady and calm.
“No, I can only blame myself.”
“It doesn’t matter now, anyway. What matters is that you come home.”
“I can’t come home,” I whisper, as tears wash over me uncontrollably. I’m trying not to let Danny hear, but there is no chance of hiding it.
“God, Talia, you can’t stay there alone,” his voice breaks.
“Please leave me alone. Really, just leave me alone,” I sob into the phone.
“I can’t. Where are you staying?”
“In a hotel.”
“Which hotel?” he insists.
“It really doesn’t matter.”
“Talia,” he tries again. He wants to know where I am.
“It doesn’t matter. I have a room in a hotel and I’m not coming back, so let it go,” I mumble through my tears.
“I’m not letting it go. I’ll call again in the evening. Please, don’t turn off your phone.” His voice is pleading.
“Okay,” I answer.
“Sweetheart, it really isn’t as bad as you think. We’ve all calmed down, and what’s important now is that you come back.”
“I’ll leave my phone on.” I completely ignore his last sentence and end the call. I’m not going back. I don’t have anything to go back for. The only thing waiting for me in London is heartbreak. In Barcelona, I can sink into the silence and disappear.
I open a pair of tired, burning eyes, swollen from hours of crying. It’s ten p.m. Shit. Danny probably tried to get hold of me again. And now he’s going to be even more concerned. I pull my phone off the dresser next to the bed. Five unanswered calls and three messages.
20:05
Talia, please answer me.
20:17
I’m really worried. Please, call home.
21:05
You’re driving me mad.
Why aren’t you answering?!
I dial home quickly. I really didn’t mean for him to worry more than he already does.
He answers after the first ring.
“Where are you?”
“I fell asleep,” I try to mumble an apology.
“Damn it, Talia. You’re coming home, now.” His concerned, aggressive tone returns.
“Please, don’t fight with me. I’m sorry I fell asleep but I’m not coming home because of that.”
“What can I say to make you understand that we’re all going crazy with worry here?” he asks, frustrated.
“I don’t want you to worry about me. Please, go to sleep, I’m fine. Nothing happened to me,” I murmur. I know it won’t help, and he’ll worry anyway.
“I’m going to call tomorrow morning and if you don’t answer me again, I’m coming to take you home,” he says decisively.
“Don’t be stupid. You are not coming to take me anywhere, and I’m not returning to London. Please, just relax for the evening.”
“Don’t turn off your phone.”
“Okay,” I answer tiredly, ending the call and turning onto my side, but the little device on the dresser rings again.
I take it and answer softly, “Hello.”
“Talia.” The masculine voice on the other side is cold and distant. I stop breathing. My heart starts to pound as I sit up in bed. Why is he calling me?
“Ben…” I mumble.
“Talia, you have to come back,” he says in a quiet, confident tone.
“Why are you calling?” I whisper.
“Danny hasn’t slept in two days. He won’t say anything to you, but I will. You need to come back.”
“I’m sure Danny can take care of himself.” He’s worried about Danny, not me.
“We’re all worried about you. You don’t sound good.”
“Because you woke me up,” I lie to him. He doesn’t need to know about my endless weeping.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“What did you mean?” I’m still speaking softly and my heart is still racing.
“I’m reading what you write, and I’m worried about you.”
He’s also reading my blog? He wanted me to take it down.
“Why are you reading it?”
“We’re all reading it, Talia. How else would we know what’s going on with you? At least you’re honest with your readers,” he says tiredly.
“What do you care?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I care.”
“Because I’m Danny’s problematic, little sister?”
“Because I think you should be at home, not hiding out in some hotel in Barcelona, trying to avoid sorting out your life.”
“It’s not your problem,” I say, feeling miserable.
“It is my problem, when all our lives have been spun into a whirlwind because of you.” He sounds firm.
“So stop the whirlwind and just leave me alone,” I snap.
“Would you stop thinking about yourself for one moment? There are other people involved in this as well.” He must mean himself. I’ve complicated his life in the last few days and he obviously doesn’t like it.
“I’m sorry if I’m causing anyone any inconvenience,” I grumble softly.
“Your apology doesn’t solve the problem. You have to come home so that the whole world can stop worrying about you.” He sounds very serious. He’s dying for me to come back. It can’t be good for business when everyone is running around concerned about me and not involved in his new buildings.
“If you called to annoy me, you’re doing a great job. You may as well hang up.” I feel my throat closing. He’s a thousand kilometers from here, yet he still has the ability to make me cry. I don’t want to think of what would happen if I came back, knowing he lives only two streets away from me.
“I’m not trying to annoy you, just to knock some sense into that stubborn head of yours.”
I choke up. Just a week and a half ago, he loved my stubborn head. Fighting with him was simultaneously fun and annoying. And now I don’t interest him at all; it’s only Snow White, Danny, and his work. The thought has me blubbering again, tears pouring down. I know he can hear it.
Way to go, Ben, you made me cry. Again. Are you happy now?
“Talia.” His tone softens once he hears me sniveling. “Please, don’t cry.”
“Then don’t call me anymore,” I blurt out. I don’t want to hear his voice. I can’t handle it.
“I’m worried about you. You need to come home,” he says, almost whispering. Why is he doing this?
“It’s not your job to worry about me. Don’t call me again.” I end the call. He just wants his life back. I’m in Barcelona, upsetting the normal course of his business and his time with Snow White. I wish he’d stop calling and sending me messages. I get that he doesn’t care about me. I burst out crying again, sobbing loudly and hugging the pillow. He’s not mine…he’s not mine.
The hot, August sun burns my eyes. My dark sunglasses barely do their job. I have to eat. I know I have to eat, even though I have no appetite. Feeling weak and dizzy, I walk slow
ly down the noisy alley, to the bar across the street. The last thing I need is to faint with no one to find me. I sit down on a sofa in the bar, behind a wall packed with red wine bottles. I order a packet of chips and a Diet Coke. I know the chips are actually a snack in a packet. That’s how it is in Barcelona, but it’ll do the job. Even if I eat just a bit. I’ve lost even more weight this week and my pants are hanging loosely from my waist. I need to hike them up so that they don’t drag on the floor and get dirty. I’m such a mess. I’m happy with how thin I am, although I know I can’t afford to lose any more weight whatsoever. Still, my protruding hip bones make me happy and have provided some moments of relief during the past few days of torment.
My snack arrives with a small Diet Coke. I take a sip, open up the packet, and take out a chip. My fingers are soaked in oil. Just do what you have to. I put the chip in my mouth and chew it. A terrible feeling overwhelms me. Get over it. You don’t want to fall in the street. Danny will be on the first plane. I force myself to eat another chip.
I open up my laptop and go into my blog.
A response from Gwen Grinday: Two articles in one month! Crazy!!
Two articles? I have no idea what she’s talking about.
A response from Rachel Blodwin: Why don’t they interview you for the article? It’d be so cool.
What article are they talking about? I open another window on the Internet and go into Google. What am I looking for? I type “Talula”, then erase it. Then I type with a shaking hand “Talia Blum”. I click on the search icon, waiting to see what will come up.
