Illusions Complete Series (Illusions Series Volumes 1-3)

by Annie Jocoby

  Ryan half-smiled at this suggestion. “Yes, that would be great, Iris. Please bring them in.”

  At that, I walked to the door and whistled for the dogs. They came bounding in, and started nudging Ryan while they whined and tried to lick his face. He smiled wanly, then looked at me with his now-familiar blank expression. “Thank you, Iris. And thank you for giving me my space. Be sure to check on me in a couple of hours, ok?”

  I only nodded, then silently left, shutting the door behind me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ryan

  I was shutting out the most important person in my life, and I really didn’t know why.

  I only knew that I really didn’t want to be around her anymore.

  But it wasn’t just her. I didn’t want to be around anybody anymore. Yet, there I was, in the house with not just her, but also Nick and Dalilah. Inevitably Alexis was going to join the party, because she was going to need a place to stay after she got out of her own treatment center.

  This scenario was exactly what I didn’t want. I loved Iris for doing this, though. Her heart certainly was in the right place, even if her brain necessarily wasn’t. It was bullshit that Dr. Hahn chose to drug me up past the point of coherence. But, then again, I probably deserved it. I pretty much went ape shit in that hospital room. It was a reaction from the self-loathing that began the moment I started spinning into my negative thoughts about the actions I had taken during my life.

  And I just couldn’t seem to stop those dark thoughts from crowding my headspace. It wasn’t just Nick that I treated like crap during my college days. It was also Natalie and all the random women who shared my bed. I don’t think that I even remember most of their first names, let alone their last ones.

  I’m not sure if I knew their names then.

  I only knew that getting women was something that was never a problem for me. I’d roll into a bar, find the hottest girl there and, before I knew it, we were making out on the dance floor. An hour or so later, it was back to her place or to a hotel, where we’d fuck and I’d make an excuse to hightail it out of there immediately afterwards. It was always a game for me. I couldn’t care less about any of those women.

  As for Natalie, she was always a great friend. I’d call her in the middle of the night, booty call her, and she always let me come over. We’d screw, I’d crash, then leave the next morning while she was still sawing logs. Then she’d invite me over to watch movies or something, and I always found an excuse not to. Because I never wanted anything from her. I never wanted anything from any of the women I bedded.

  To tell the absolute truth, I really never wanted anything from Alexis either, although she was always the most steady girl in my life during this period. Which wasn’t saying much, considering we were broken up far more than we were together. Alexis was my drug buddy more than anything else. Sid and Nancy she called us, and that’s who we were. Completely destructive for one another. But, we were mutually destructive, so it worked for us. Symbiotically destroying each other, like two parasites devouring each other alive. To think that I always thought that I was in love with her. Now, I know that it was never love, but more like a kind of obsession that both of us had for one another.

  Now, since I was obsessed with examining my past, I was feeling the need to examine the using of women thing as well. I still needed to get to the bottom of who I was and why I was the way that I was. All those years of therapy really hadn’t helped me do this. The therapy helped me overcome trauma about the abuse from my father and from losing my mother at such a young age. Recently it had helped me move past the trauma from the sex parties and Rochelle, and it had also helped cement the fact that I had forgiven my father for putting me through everything that he had.

  But all my years of therapy hasn’t really touched upon the shame I felt for how I treated the people in my life for so many years. Nick was the only one I physically abused, and, I’m ashamed to say, mentally abused as well. But the women were also victims of my narcissism. And I needed to come to terms with that.

  And I was obsessing about Rachael Smyth. I needed to find a way to make amends for what I did to her. Find some kind of closure and peace about that.

  So, I was obsessing about Rachael, when I really should’ve been obsessing about my wife, because she thought that I attempted suicide, when it wasn’t that at all. When I broke the mirror in the bathroom, I accidentally put both of my arms on the counter, and the shards of glass cut into my wrists. I was bleeding pretty badly – I guess I really didn’t know what I was doing, because I was in such a blind rage about my life. I didn’t even realize that the mirror shards were cutting deep into my skin.

  Then, the next thing I knew, I was being injected with something and I don’t remember much after that.

  Now, Iris thought that I was suicidal again. She no doubt was angry with me for wanting to kill myself, when she and Dalilah were in my life. But I just didn’t have the energy to talk to her about what was going on with me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Iris

  I just left Ryan’s room, and I ran into Nick, who was standing just outside the room, wanting to go in to talk to Ryan.

  “Ryan wants to be alone right now,” I said to Nick.

  Nick just nodded and shrugged his shoulders. “Sure, sure. But he shouldn’t be alone too much. So, I’m going to make him join us for dinner. He obviously isn’t having too much trouble using his legs if he was able to ransack the hospital room like he did.”

  “Yeah, about that. Is that something that he used to do?”

  “No, never. He never was a property damage kind of guy. Aside from kicking the living shit out of me that one time, and just generally being a pain in the ass junkie, there was always a part of him that was very polite and respectful. I know, it seems weird, but he always seemed to have two distinct sides to him. So, no, he would never have been disrespectful enough to destroy property back then.”

  “Wonder what made him do it this time?”

  “Dunno. I’m sure we’ll find out in time.”

  I certainly hoped so. I didn’t want to examine my feelings about this new turn of events. Ryan was treating me like a stranger, not the love of his life. I tried not to take that personally, how weird he was acting just now. Calling me Iris, instead of his usual nicknames for me, and generally acting like I was somebody whom he barely knew. The one good thing was that he was seemingly desperate to get the Pooh Bear back. Considering that he was not that fond of Pooh – I was the one who was crazy about the bear – I presumed that there was still a part of him that was very much in love with me. The bear somehow represented those feelings.

  At least I hoped that was the case. Maybe he just wanted the bear back because it was soft and fun to cuddle with. Kinda like how he used to feel about me.

  I had been replaced by a bear.

  ∞

  That evening, Ryan refused to join us for dinner. Sheila had made a beautiful roast chicken with all the trimmings. She seemed to be an amazing cook. I was salivating as she brought the bird to the table. I had talked to Ryan earlier in the evening about coming to dinner, and he was non-committal about it.

  “I don’t know, Iris. I really don’t want to be around a lot of people right now.”

  By “a lot of people” he meant “anybody,” I was finding out. He didn’t even want Dalilah to come and visit him in his room. “She doesn’t need to see me like this. It might traumatize her,” he said.

  “But honey, she’s desperate to see you. She’s been talking about you all day. She even made a beautiful little watercolor painting just for you.” And by watercolor painting, I didn’t mean rudimentary dogs and stick people. She had painted a little cottage in the woods, with purple exterior walls and a real thatched roof. There was a light that shone through the window. It wasn’t Thomas Kinkaid, but, considering her age, it was very good. It resembled a painting that an older child would paint, perhaps a five-year-old painting in kindergarten.

&n
bsp; “I know, honey, but I don’t have the energy to see her. And she might be haunted by the sight of her dad with his wrists bandaged up for the rest of her life. You have no idea how that sort of thing affects a child.” Then he looked out the window with a faraway expression. “It happened to my mom, you know. She cut herself on a window that she broke when she got into a fight with my dad. It was extremely scary for me. I think that I was permanently scarred by seeing her bandaged up like that.”

  Fair enough. “Ok, then, I won’t force you to see her. I can bring food into your room, though. You need to eat. I don’t think that you’ve eaten all day.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Listen, just like you forced me to eat when I was attacked by Rochelle, I need to do the same for you. Now, Sheila has made a wonderfully juicy roasted chicken with new potatoes and green beans. She seems to be an amazing cook. I need for you eat.”

  “I’m not hungry, goddammit, now leave me the fuck alone!” Ryan’s eyes got wide and a little vein was popping out of his forehead.

  I had never, ever seen him get this angry. Well, maybe that one time when he threw me out of his house when I first started living with him, but that was over something that was kinda major. This fury was coming over roasted chicken. And the anger came on so suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere.

  “Ok, ok, ok. I’ll just go and eat dinner and I’ll be back to see you afterwards.”

  “Don’t bother,” he said with a hard-edged tone. Then he softened some. “I mean, I’m really, really tired. These painkillers are doing a number on me. I’ll be ok, just see me in the morning, ok?”

  I nodded my head. It was going to be very difficult to know how to treat him. One thing was for sure, he was going to need to see his therapist, soon. He was spiraling, and I had no idea how to reach him.

  Over dinner, I felt uncomfortable. Sheila had joined us, along with the two live-in nurses. One was named Gercon. He was a French immigrant, with black tightly curled hair and a lean and trim body. He spoke perfect English, but with a very thick accent. The other nurse who stayed with us was Tammy, a willowy blonde who had eyes for my husband. I could see the way that she looked at him. But, then again, it wasn’t any different from how any other woman looked at him, so I wasn’t offended.

  But Dalilah was pretty upset about the fact that her father was in the next room and refused to see her. “I wanna see daddy now!” she had screamed earlier, her little face getting as red as her hair, her hands balled up into tiny little fists. “Why can’t I see daddy?”

  “Baby, daddy’s tired. He wants to see you, but he needs his rest.”

  Dalilah looked unconvinced. “Give me painting. Daddy’s painting.”

  I went into the other room and brought the painting to her.

  She promptly tore it up in tiny little pieces.

  Oh, boy, she’s going to be a handful.

  “Dalilah, why would you do something like that? You worked so hard on it.”

  “Daddy make me mad. Daddy don’t love me.”

  “Baby, please. Daddy loves you very much. He’s just very tired right now, that’s all. He needs his rest.”

  I was amazed at how perceptive she was about the situation. She clearly wasn’t satisfied with my explanation of why her daddy wouldn’t see her.

  So, dinner was uncomfortable. Dalilah sat in her high chair, eating her chicken and fixins, clearly still very angry. She usually was quite chatty, but tonight, she ate in a sullen silence. Combine Dalilah’s attitude with the fact that I was sharing dinner with three strangers and Nick, while my husband was in the same home, and I felt that the entire affair felt surreal.

  My life was, once again, like a Dali painting. Nothing made sense.

  Nick kept shooting me meaningful glances, but I just shook my head. We would have to discuss everything later.

  After dinner, I helped Sheila clean up, while Gercon and Tammy went to check on Ryan before retiring for the evening. Then I joined Nick in the den, where he was playing with Dalilah. He was showing her an Old Maid game, which seemed to cheer her up some. She was quite good at the game, and laughed at the different characters on the cards. Then she saw me, and she started pouting again.

  Ignoring me, she asked Nick if they could play Chutes and Ladders next.

  “No, Dalilah,” Nick said. “You have to get ready for bed. Your mother’s here to give you your bath and tuck you into bed.”

  “NO,” she said. “You to give me bath and tuck me into bed.”

  I just shook my head. My daughter, entering her terrible twos already, before she even had her first birthday.

  I didn’t want to deal with it. “Nick, do you mind doing that for me?”

  “Sure,” he said, “but don’t make a habit of it. You’re the parent, not me.”

  “I know,” I said. “I just really need a glass of wine right now. I know it sounds selfish, but I’m at my wits end right now.” And Dalilah wasn’t helping one bit.

  “Ok,” he said, picking her up. “Say night night to mommy.”

  Dalilah just shook her head and stuck her thumb in her mouth.

  If she had the power to flip me off, she would have.

  About an hour later, Nick joined me in front of the fire. I was on my second glass of wine, staring at the fire pensively.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Nick asked.

  I just looked at him. He was so hard to figure out sometimes. He could be such a controlling, insensitive jerk. But there was also a sensitive side, and I was seeing this more and more.

  “I don’t know what to do about Ryan,” I began. “I mean, I know I need to give him time and space and everything. I understand that. But it’s so hard for me to figure out what I need to do to help him. I’m not good at this kind of thing. A part of me wants to force myself on him – go in there, whether he wants me to or not, and force feed him and sleep in the bed with him. Hold him and tell him that everything is going to be ok. Then there’s another part of me that says to give him his space, and he’ll come around. What should I do?”

  “Give him time and space. He’ll come around and let you know when he’s ready for your help. In the meantime, take your cues from him. Trust me, I know what he’s like when he’s forced to do something he doesn’t want to do. That’s what almost got me killed, when I pushed too far. So I suggest that you tread lightly.”

  I sighed. I knew that he would say something like that.

  “What about his therapist? He should see Dr. Halder.”

  “You can’t force him to go. He’ll go willingly when he’s ready. Iris, I’ve known this guy almost my entire life. I know him very well. No offense, but you’ve known him for just a few years. Please listen to me when I tell you what you should do. I’m a Ryan expert if ever there was one.”

  I took another sip of my wine. I wondered if I should even go and see Ryan and tell him good night. Even that small gesture might be somehow intruding on his space.

  Nick changed the subject. “So, what’s going on with the Rochelle thing?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Ryan needs to be a part of that. He needs to be deposed. The trial has been rescheduled for next month, but I don’t imagine that Ryan can be a part of that so soon. So, I would imagine that it would be drug out some more. That’s the least of my worries, now, though.”

  “Yeah,” Nick said. “Ryan is the star witness for the prosecution. I would imagine that the entire case will hinge upon his testimony.”

  I nodded my head. “You know, it’s strange. Before all this other stuff happened to myself and Ryan – the shooting, the rape, etc., etc., I was obsessed with Rochelle and what she did. Now, it’s like a distant memory. I really don’t care what happens to her, to tell you the truth.”

  “That’s understandable. I would imagine that all your mental energy is focused on that guy in the bed in the next room.”

  “That’s an understatement. He’s all I think about. That’s probably why Dalilah is mad at me – I don�
��t think that I’ve been giving her enough of my attention, because I’ve been so fixated on Ryan. I hope that she’s not scarred about all this.”

  “Well, you are unfortunate in that Dalilah is probably the brightest child I’ve ever met. Which means that she probably won’t forget about whatever it is she’s angry about, like other children would. You might be stuck with a pouty little girl for awhile.”

  “Ugh. One stressor at a time. I can’t even think about the fact that she’s going to be uncontrollable for me. I’ve never dealt with a genius in my life. Well, except for my husband. I wonder if he gave his parents the same type of attitude?”

  “No, he didn’t. Sarah did, though. From the stories I have heard from Maggie, Sarah was a lot like Dalilah when she was little. Ryan never gave his parents grief, though. They gave him a lot of grief, but not the other way around. At least that’s what Sarah and Maggie tell me.”

  We stayed up talking for a little while later before I begged off and went to bed. “It’s been nice talking with you, Nick. But I really need some shut-eye.”

  “Sure, see you tomorrow.”

  Then I went to my huge empty bed, and cried myself to sleep.

  The next morning, I crept into Ryan’s room. I had prepared breakfast for him – I was energetic the previous evening and made a cheese strata that was refrigerated overnight. That was one of his favorite breakfast meals. I went to the market to buy some Challah bread, which was a Jewish egg bread, and some special imported cheeses. Then I layered the Challah bread with the cheese in a heavy baking dish, and poured an egg mixture over all of it. I added some spices and refrigerated it overnight so that the bread could soak up the egg mixture, then put it in the oven that morning. Cheese strata was always a favorite of us both, and it was what he had made for me on our first breakfast together, so it had a special meaning for us.

  My mouth was watering as I brought it out of the oven. It smelled divine, and I couldn’t wait to share it with him. I made some Mimosas and Bloody Marys to go with it, and some chicken breakfast sausage. I actually made the sausage myself in Nick’s meat grinder – I simply ground up some chicken breast, added apple, fennel and spices, and made it in to patties. Then I went into Nick’s garden to prune a few roses, with Nick’s permission, of course.