by Rylee Swann
“Why are you here?” I ask again when I finally find my voice. I need an answer, but we’re interrupted yet again.
“Dee! Thank you so much for picking me up,” Isaac says as he bounds up, angling for a hug but stopping just short of me. I guess that wouldn’t be a cool thing for him to do in public.
To my surprise, Jayson greets him like they know each other. “Hello, again, Isaac.”
“Sir.” Isaac nods respectfully.
What exactly is going on here?
“You two know each other?” The utter shock in my voice brings forth a small grin from Jayson.
“We do. I’m the reason he’s not being booked today. He and I will be meeting for the next couple of months until I can assure everyone that Isaac is no longer doing drugs.”
Drugs?
I glance at Isaac, who has winced, and nod, still incredulous. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”
Both Isaac and Jayson nod in agreement and I find myself hiding a wry smile. I was talking to Isaac but the statement certainly fits Jayson too.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, Dee. Can we go?” Isaac glances at Jayson and back at me, an awkward expression on his face.
I’ve had about enough apologies for one day.
Holding up my hand, palm toward Isaac, I pin Jayson with a stare. “Well? I asked you a question.”
He takes a deep breath. “Have coffee with me? There’s so much I want to tell you.”
“I don’t drink coffee.” Annoyance simmers under my skin, bursting out in my words. The connection between us makes it seem like no time has passed, and he should know this about me.
A smile curls his lips upward. “Have hot chocolate with me, Dee. Please.”
My heart throbs. He remembered. I wish I’d never run into him. “I…gotta take Isaac home.”
“Then tomorrow.” Jayson’s voice, his eyes plead with me. “Just tell me where and when to meet you.”
I stare at him, still dumbfounded and expecting him to disappear any second. Damnit, I don’t want any part of this. Yet, he’s somehow involved with Isaac, which means that I’ll be running into him again. That’ll be awkward, especially if he keeps asking to meet with me. I might as well get this over with now even though I don’t want to. So why am I drawing it out? To make him suffer, of course.
At last, I tell him about a little café a couple of blocks from where I live. “One p.m. tomorrow. Don’t be late.”
Relief flooding his face, he nods. “I won’t be. Thank you, Dee.”
“Let’s go,” I say to Isaac and head to the door.
“Thank you, Mr. Fox,” Isaac calls back to Jayson as he comes along after me.
Mr. Fox. That tickles me, like he’s a grown-up adult instead of the man-child I knew.
Just before I reach the door, I turn to look back. I find Jayson still standing where he was, watching me.
He’s caught me looking.
Damn, I wish I hadn’t turned around.
I drive in silence for a few minutes as Isaac stares out the passenger side window. I need the time to compose myself, when all I really want to do is scream.
Laugh.
Cry.
Scream some more.
My day has turned upside down, and I don’t want this insanity to turn my life upside down too. It could so easily happen. Jayson always had such a hold on me. But I’m stronger now.
Wiser.
I won’t lose myself in his web, ever again.
“Dee?” Isaac’s voice is impatient, like he’s said my name more than once before I hear him. I glance over at him and he blinks in relief. “Are you okay?”
No, I’m not.
“Yes,” I say as convincingly as possible. “I thought I’d give you a moment’s reprieve before I start on the third degree.”
“Oh.” He sighs, sitting back in his seat. “I…umm…”
“How exactly do you know Jayson Fox?” I ask before he has a chance to finish his thought. Jayson barely scratched the surface of an explanation and my morbid curiosity is getting the better of me.
“I…don’t. I just met him today.” He pauses, screwing up his face like he’s about to come clean and figuring out the best way to do so. “Uh, he helped me outta my bind.”
“Go on.” I motion with my hand while keeping my eyes on the road.
What he says next comes out in a maddening blur of words. “I got caught buying pot and they handcuffed me and brought me to the police station in the back of a cruiser. I was scared shitless and Mr. Fox said if I agree to meet with him they’d let me go without booking me.” He heaves in a breath. “Please don’t tell my mom. Please let me do it.”
I blink rapidly as I take a moment to process everything he just said. “Whoa, one thing at a time, Isaac. Since when do you smoke pot?” I ask this first even though all I want to know about is Jayson. Asking about the pot situation is the right thing to do though.
“Not too long. It’s the first time I ever bought any.”
He’s lying. I can smell a lie a mile away. My legacy from my time with Jayson.
“So, you’re saying you tried pot for the first time recently?” No point in giving away I know the truth.
“Umm, yeah.”
“How’d you get it?”
“My umm, friend.” His tone is so reluctant that I know this time he’s telling the truth.
I sigh and tap my fingers on the steering wheel. “We’ll get back to that. What about Jayson? Meet with him for what?”
“You’re saying his name like you know him.”
“Don’t change the subject. Meet with him for what?” I’m dying to know. Maybe that’ll answer some of my questions about why he’s here.
“He’s a drug addictions counselor, so if I meet with him until he’s satisfied I’m clean, I’m off the hook.”
Isaac’s answer steals my breath. It’s everything I can do to keep the car in my lane.
He’s a drug addictions counselor? Does that mean he’s sober? I never thought I’d see the day. And now he’s here. In my hometown. With a job.
What the hell?
My stomach lurches. I wanted answers, but now more questions are poking at me. Then another thought strikes me, along with the urge to vomit.
What if the Universe is playing a colossal joke on me? What if Jayson didn’t even know I was here? He needed a job and this is the one he got, even if it meant leaving Canada.
Why is Jayson Fox here?
4
Jayson
Back in my apartment, I get water boiling for a cup of coffee, hoping it’ll settle my stomach.
Ever since December walked into the police station it’s been roiling like I’m going to throw up. It’s strange to feel this way and not be hungover. The sensation gives me no sense of pride in my accomplishments or how far I’ve come.
Fuck. That was not how I wanted our first meeting to go.
I didn’t want to run into her. I wanted to call her, break the news that I’m here, and beg her to see me.
Ah, well, I goofed that up by waiting so long. No sense crying about it now.
A mental picture of present-day December floats before my eyes. My god, she’s stunning. Glorious. Beautiful. A petite, curvaceous angel. Everything I remembered and more. My fingers still itch to slowly, delicately, peel back each layer of her clothing. To kiss every inch as it is revealed. I groan with need and make a concerted effort to push such thoughts aside. If I’m to have any good luck at all, there will be time for that later.
Pouring the hot water into my reindeer mug, I stir it and take a sip. The brown liquid is bitter and I grimace. I pour in a healthy dose of milk to soften the taste, wondering not for the first time if I even like this swill. I’ve given up so much, maybe I want to hold on to coffee despite the taste. If I still need an addiction to something, let it be coffee.
Carrying my cup to the couch, I set it on the floor and grab my cell phone. I promised Carrie that I’d call after seeing Dee. My sister is invested
in my life, wants to stay close, loves me. I love her too. When we were kids, we only had each other when things went south with our parents. When one or the other of us, or both, were being spanked, punished, or verbally abused often for no other reason than we were there. Wrong place, wrong time. Wrong parents.
She picks up on the first ring. “Did you talk to her?” she shouts into the phone.
I pull it away from my ear, laughing at her exuberance. “Well…”
“Oh, come on, Jayson.” Her glee quickly turns to exasperation. “What do I have to do…?”
“I spoke to her,” I say, my tone flat.
She squeals. “Yay! Finally! What did she say? Tell me everything!”
Nervous about how things went with Dee, I’m finding Carrie’s enthusiasm less than contagious this time. “We’re meeting for coffee tomorrow to talk.”
“That’s fantas—wait, why don’t you sound happier?”
I sigh, remembering how Dee’s face changed in an instant from happy to angry when she caught sight of me. “It didn’t go the way I’d hoped. We ran into each other by accident. I didn’t get the chance to reach out to her like I wanted.”
Carrie tsks. I want to tell her to stop this new annoying habit but don’t. She’s fragile and doesn’t need me harping on something so unimportant.
“Oh, brother. It doesn’t matter how it happened, silly! Besides, it sounds like it went well. She agreed to see you again tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah,” I admit grudgingly.
She tsks again through laughter. “Then celebrate! Burn the bad box of memories. You don’t need it anymore.”
My bad box of memories. BBM, my extra hard bowel movement of self-flagellation. Everything I ever kept from my relationship with Dee is in that box, and I have a sudden need to torture myself with it.
“Yeah, maybe,” I lie. I have no intention of destroying it. “I’ll call again when I have more news.”
“You better!”
“I will, I will. Everything okay with you?”
“Hunky-dory. Have a good night.”
We disconnect and I go to the one small closet in my tiny studio apartment and pull down the box of memories. The oversized shoebox was originally Carrie’s. For an expensive pair of leather boots, I think. Everything she bought was expensive. Never enough money and an addiction to shopping while drunk. She once claimed in a drunken slur that she “loved all the pretty things.” We made quite the pair. The box is frayed and taped up to the point where the label is hidden. I should throw it away but know that I can’t. Not yet.
With a resigned sigh, I set the box down beside me on the couch and open it. Lying on top of the pile is a little green finger puppet shaped like a silly monster. It brings a fond smile to my face even as it cuts a new gash into my heart. I pick it up and slip it on my finger, remembering what a good day this was from. Dee and I won it at the miniature golf course in the hotel we stayed at the first time we met in person. Despite my fear-induced protests, she’d come to Canada and we’d wound up having a fantastic time. My suspicions had been confirmed then—she and I were soulmates meant to find each other and be together.
She’d won her own finger puppet that weekend but I doubt she still has it. During one of our many breakups, she’d angrily informed me that she threw out everything that reminded her of me. She might have said that just to hurt me, but I never asked. I didn’t want to know if she really got rid of her side of our history together.
Leaving the monster on my finger, I sort through our old back and forth emails. Once upon a time in a drunken fit, I’d printed them all out and purged my inbox. Shaking my head, I know there was no logic to it—drunks do a lot of inexplicable idiotic things.
The real torture begins as I pick an email at random and read the terrible words. I’ve chosen a bad one to start with. Like the ass that I was, I broke up with her after going to rehab for the first time. I was confused and not as ready to quit drinking as I’d tried to convince myself, and… well, there are no excuses. Months later, I tried to win her back.
From: “Rooster Boy”
To: [email protected]
Subject: The end is the beginning
Date: Tue, 26 Sep
I am sorry. I know that doesn’t even begin to cover what I put you through, but I am sorry. For so long I hated myself, I created a persona because I never thought I could be good enough or interesting enough for someone as great as you. Everything I told you about myself was a lie. I hated myself so much I feared if you ever found out who I really was there was no way you would be interested. Too late I realized that you did love me for me. By the time I realized you wanted me it was too late, I was too afraid to tell you the truth, there had been so many lies. I was and am a sick alcoholic. I never lied about how I felt about you. I loved you in my own twisted way, and wanted to move to New York to be with you, to escape from myself maybe? To start over in a new place? Create a new me? I don’t know. I know I did want to be with you, I know I did love you in my own warped way.
I can do nothing to erase the past, to ease the pain of what I put you through, but know that I am sorry, truly sorry. I am back at my parent’s house, if ever you want to call me.
If this e-mail causes you pain I am sorry for that, and I understand if you want nothing to do with me. In all honesty, I wouldn’t blame you at all. I needed to apologize, I needed to let you know that it is the rare day that goes by that I don’t think about you and how horribly I mistreated you. I’m not asking for your forgiveness or your understanding, it was important to me to let you know that I am more sorry for how I treated you than I am sorry about anything else I’ve done in my life.
--------
From: “Dee”
To: [email protected]
Subject: RE: The end is the beginning
Date: Sat, 30 Sep
I hate you.
I wish I didn’t, I really do. That would mean that I didn’t care anymore, that I didn’t feel. That I had reached indifference. I’m working hard to get there. I can’t wait.
You had no right at all to send me this email, especially when only a couple of months ago you had Carrie tell me that for both our sakes I’d never hear from you again. So I guess that was a lie too, huh?
But you did send this email, this horrible, pitiful excuse for an apology and gave me the opening to finally express my side of this breakup, when you so cruelly shut me completely down and out a few months ago. So now you’re going to hear it because you deserve to.
I loved you with all my heart and soul. I would have done anything for you. Anything. The saddest thing of all, and what I think you don’t know, is that I would have forgiven you almost anything. All the lies you told, I understand the sick reasons behind them. I could have forgiven everything, except for one thing.
What I can’t forgive is that you cheated on me. Again and again, while keeping me from having a physical side to a relationship for so many years. I never cheated on you. That is who I am. And on top of all this...Tara.
You played me for such a fool with her. The way you used me and held not an iota of respect for me. You purposely drew me in and made me a part of that relationship. You once told me that you thought you had two soulmates...Tara and me. You tortured me with her pregnancy scare, and for me to find out that it would have been your baby. To find out that the engagement ring you said you had bought for me...you gave to her. Carrie told me all of this when we continued emailing for a time while you were in rehab.
For this you should burn in hell.
There must have been five or so minutes when you were engaged to be married to her and still leading me on. What would have happened if she hadn’t screwed you over? Would you have married her and still led me on?
For this I can’t forgive you.
Did you really think all that time that you were getting away with the lies? Did you think I was that stupid? I wasn’t. You’re not that good a
liar. You contradicted yourself so many times and some of the lies were so ridiculously outrageous that it was obvious. In fact, the day you called me at work to tell me that all your blood clots were gone was the day I stopped believing that you ever had such a medical condition in the first place.
There were occasions when I wanted to call you out on this lie or that, but I didn’t. Why bother, I’d say to myself. We’re in love with each other and it doesn’t matter. So I started compartmentalizing and stopped thinking about the lie until you again said something that was just too absurd, and then I’d just shake my head. I was in love, it didn’t matter.
And now I get this sad little email from you. How am I supposed to believe any of it? I choose to believe that you have realized that you did love me, for to believe otherwise bruises my ego and is too ridiculous. Of course you loved me in the only twisted way you could. But how can I believe that you haven’t sent similar emails to all the others you screwed over the years? To that married woman, the one Carrie told me about...to Tara?
I have recently discovered that you broke me, physically broke me. Time passed and I didn’t get better, the pain didn’t lessen. It got worse. So I started to see a psychologist. It seems that I’m having some trouble assimilating back into a “normal” life. I also saw a doctor who told me that catastrophic events can cause the brain to stop producing serotonin. So now I’m on antidepressants to fix my broken brain.
You hurt me more than anyone has the right to. You stole more than anyone should ever take. Was this email your attempt at making amends? If it was, it failed miserably. Some quotes from your email... “I wanted... I needed... I’m sorry if this causes you pain... I... I... I...” Was apologizing really your intention? Or after everything that has happened, is it really still all about you???
