Fix Up

by Stephanie Witter

  She throws her cell on her bed and comes back to me, a forced smile on her lush lips. I try to say something, ask her if Derek is coming, but no words are passing through the wall of my gritted teeth.

  Kate brushes my hair softly, repeatedly like my mother would do if she was here. It should calm me, even just a little bit, but it’s not. All I can think about now is how my parents would be horrified to see me losing it like this. They’d be afraid, and I don’t want that. I don’t ever want to see the frightened expression on their face again.

  I’m shaking badly now, my strength deserting me. I can’t even claw at my thighs anymore and the shaking is worse. A knock at the door makes me whimper pitifully. Kate stands up abruptly, her feet tangling in my sheets on the ground. She catches herself on my desk before she runs to our door. As soon as the door is open, I freeze and don’t breathe. I don’t breathe at all.

  Derek is there, his eyes immediately on me and beside him is Duke. He pushes aside both our friends, his dark eyes intense on me, worried. Rings under them give away how much he’s not sleeping well either. He’s not shaved, and his goatee is less pronounced now that his cheeks are not perfectly smooth.

  He walks fast to my bed as I recoil against the wall, my breathing coming back, louder even. He sits on my bed, his eyes on me and his hands in his lap. I glance back at Derek and Kate, silent side by side as they’re looking at Duke and me with an uncertainty I share.

  “Did you have a nightmare?” Duke asks me softly, his deep voice just above a whisper.

  I close my eyes at this sound. Why is he so sweet with me? Why isn’t he angry like he was the other day? Why does he have to be so … amazing? Why? Why am I that screwed up all the time? Damn it!

  I nod and force my jaw to unclench, not much, but just enough to ease the ache in my teeth and in the muscles of my jaw.

  “Try to take a deep breath, and it’ll be all right.” Hesitantly, he puts a hand over my bare knees. The heat in his palm warms my whole body, making my bones feel like lava. I shiver this time, but I’m not shaking. Only with his one touch.

  “Wh … Why are y … you here?” I stutter in a whisper so low I’m not even sure Kate and Derek hear me.

  “I can’t bear it when I know you’re suffering like this. I must be masochistic,” he replies with a frown, shadows in his eyes taking the place of the worry I saw moments ago. But he keeps his hand on me, and I selfishly don’t push him away. “But don’t worry. I’m not going to beg you to take me back.”

  And my heart breaks a little more. I’m the epitome of contradictions because I think a tiny part of me wanted to see him beg me or ask me to take him back. Maybe it’s because I always need reassurance, reassurance that my feelings are not one-sided in their intensity. In the end, it shows how conflicted I am and how much I’m not ready for a commitment like he deserves.

  And suddenly Dr. Marshall’s words ring in my head. I have to see Sean for closure. I need closure, not to live happily ever after with the man I love so deeply, but because I can’t just wait and see. It’s difficult and will hurt. To get better, you have to touch rock bottom first. That’s what you often hear people say about depression.

  My breathing is almost back to normal, my muscles are slowly relaxing and I lean against the wall on the side of my bed. Duke’s hand is still on me, but not for much longer now. I imprint in my head the feel of his big hand slightly calloused on my soft and sensitive skin, the way his long fingers round my knee and squeeze the underside of my right thigh.

  “Thank you for coming.” I take a deep breath and brace myself. “I’m better now, and I know what I need.”

  Kate walks toward us, followed by Derek. “What do you mean?” she asks with a tiny voice.

  I glance back at Duke who’s looking intently at me. He’s stiff, his hand weighing heavier on my leg. He knows me well enough to guess that what I’m about to tell them won’t be pleasant.

  “I’m going to see Sean at the prison.”

  Kate steps away into Derek, who hugs her sideways without even thinking, both of them stunned. Duke’s hand claws at me for a second before he pulls away. He grits his teeth and tugs on a handful of his hair.

  “Let me guess, it’s your psychologist who put that idea in your head.” He leans toward me, his eyes burning me on my spot. “Your Dr. Marshall,” he spits out the name, disgust clear on his face, hiding the lingering pain.

  “He told me I needed closure, and it’s true. You know better than me that it’s important for victims to go and see their aggressor,” I reply evenly, knowing perfectly well that he studied this in his psychology classes.

  He shakes his head and stands up. “I don’t even know why I’m asking. Do whatever you want after all. It’s none of my business anymore.” His voice is cold, so cold that I have to grab back my sheets and cover myself.

  He turns around and without a goodbye leaves the room. Derek walks quickly to me, kisses me on my forehead and follows his best friend. Kate crosses her arms on her chest and sits next to me on my bed.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  I nod, but don’t say a word. I don’t know if I prefer Duke’s anger toward me or his coldness, but both are digging a hole in my chest, a hole so deep that it feels bottomless.

  “I’ll call my parents tomorrow. They’re asking to come back here. I didn’t want them to see me adjusting, but I think I’ll need them afterward.”

  “I think it’s the first good decision you’ve made in a while.”

  I don’t reply. It’s useless. I already know she doesn’t understand why I broke up with Duke, even if she was the first one saying that we were hurting each other. Deep inside of her, there’s a little girl hoping for some romanticism, and she wanted Duke and me to embody that. Tough luck, unfortunately.

  She links her left arm through my right one under the cover and puts her head on my shoulder. Once again, I don’t know what I’d do without her, the best friend I never thought I’d ever have in my crappy life.

  ***

  DUKE

  “Duke, wait a second,’’ Derek calls me back, running to catch up with me as I’m already walking down the stairs.

  “She’s going to see him!’’ I seethe and shake my head. “She breaks up with me, and now she proudly announces that she’s going to visit that asshole, as if it’s the most natural thing.’’

  “Hey.’’ He grabs my shoulder and forces me to stop in the middle of the last flight of stairs. “Maybe she needs some answers. Cut her some slack.’’

  I glare at him. I feel like punching everything and anything again. “You want me to cut her some slack when she broke my heart and is now ready to run to her ex?’’

  He leans against the wall and rubs at his neck. “She’s not running to him, and you know it. Stop being a jerk. You saw her just now. Do you really think she looked like a happy girl? Fuck, Duke, she had a panic attack!’’

  I swallow and nod, my shoulders slouching. My anger deserts me immediately, and that pain that is starting to look like my best friend these days comes back. If I listen to myself, I’d run back up to Skye’s floor and hug her, cuddle with her in her tiny bed. I’d also try my fucking best to convince her to stay away from Sean just because I know seeing him again is going to be hard on her. And I won’t be there to pick her up or make her smile and forget.

  I won’t be there.

  Chapter Eleven

  DUKE

  I don’t move from my bed, don’t watch Derek leaving with my roommate. For the last few days I’ve barely managed to give them one word answers whenever they’ve tried bringing me into their conversation. I’m the picture of pathetic, and I don’t give a shit. My work is piling up on my desk, I should be focusing on graduating. But I’m not. Nothing matters anymore.

  If I didn’t have Derek on my back, I’d be either stoned or drunk out of my mind. That’s the only way I know how to shut everything out, how to numb myself. Every time I take air into my lungs, it feels like some
one is cutting me wide open because that means more seconds, minutes, hours without Skye.

  And the fucking nightmares.

  I growl and rub my face, keeping my eyes closed as more images of Skye come to me. I’ve seen all of her, the good, the bad, the ugly and the beautiful, and yet it’ll never be enough. I’m still craving her even though she’s fucking me up beyond anything I ever thought possible.

  Just thinking about her going to that prison to visit that asshole … Fuck. I know it’s going to break her, and I won’t be there for her. I’ve missed so much already, pushing her away from me with my bouts of jealousy. And why? Just because I was scared of losing her. What a joke.

  I blindly snatch my cigarettes from the bedside table and light one. Inhaling the smoke in my lungs, I let it burn on its way down while polluting my body. I slowly open my eyes and don’t blink when daylight hurts my eyes. That’s a pussy kind of pain, not enough to even distract me for a second from what truly has me in emotional agony.

  I glance at my cigarette and see the ash ready to fall all over me. I slowly scoot up and grab the ashtray, flipping off the ash when my eyes land on Derek’s phone. I frown at it, my heartbeat increasing.

  I lock my jaw and with a shaky hand, grab it. In no time I find Skye’s phone number. That girl broke up with me, crushed my heart without an inkling of doubt, and yet I can’t bring myself to hate her. Worse, I want to contact her. I guess I’m self-destructive to the end. Instead of just hiding in a corner and licking my wounds, I’m looking to be sliced open again and again. I just want to know if she’s all right; I just want to make sure she’s fine. Just because I want to hear her voice, just one more time. But if I call, I know she’s going to hang up once she knows it’s me calling from Derek’s phone. No, I need to settle on a text.

  I take a deep breath, my cigarette forgotten in the ashtray, my pain throbbing inside of me in perfect time with my heartbeat.

  Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

  It’s still beating for her, no matter what.

  ***

  SKYE

  Standing and waiting in an airport is not the thing I enjoy the most. Not when it’s packed and people are bumping into me, some barely muttering an apology and most just way too busy to pay any attention to me. But my heartbeat is not increasing with the proximity of unknown people; I’m not feeling threatened or nervous. I still hate crowded places, but for the first time in a while, I’m not afraid. In all this mess that is my life right now, it’s a big improvement.

  When I called my parents yesterday, they didn’t waste another second before packing and buying tickets online for the next day. I have yet to tell them why I want them here in Seattle, but they don’t have to know why I wanted them to come; they just up and came. Just knowing that I need them is enough for them, and I know I’m very lucky to have parents like them. Not everybody can say that, just witnessing how Kate suffers from the behavior of her parents is enough.

  And here they are. My mother with the same hair as mine, but tamer, is running-slash-walking toward me with her handbag in one hand and her vanity in the other. While my father, towering a head taller than her, is carrying his kaki bag, very military looking, and my mother’s way too big suitcase for a short visit. That’s how women are I guess.

  They don’t have any trouble recognizing me in the middle of the crowd with my wild curly hair. As soon as my mother is at arm’s length with me, she grabs me and crushes me against her thin body without a word. The force of her embrace surprises me, but I put my arms around her. The fabric of her blouse is soft under my fingers and her smell, the same smell that put me at ease since my birth, engulfs me. It’s a mix of roses and something sugary. I inhale, my nose in her hair. Tears blur my vision, but I hold on. I don’t want to start it here in a public place because I know that my mother will have ten tears for every one of mine. It wouldn’t be pretty.

  “Can I hug my daughter too?” my father says gruffly, a hand on my mother’s shoulder.

  My mother releases me and steps back with a small smile, but her eyes convey all the worry she feels. And I understand. Looking tired and not that happy, my eyes still have a hint of red from all the crying I did these last few days. I can’t exactly hide my broken heart, and they have every right to know that Duke is not in my life anymore.

  My father engulfs me in his strong arms which makes me relax even more. My father is a teddy bear, even if he’s known to be a real pain as an instructor in the US Air Force. He always told me that my mother and I are his weakness, and that he’d hope for all the men across the world to have such a weakness.

  “How are you?” he asks me in my ear, his breath smelling of the chewing gum he’s often chewing when he’s not working.

  I shrug and pull away. I offer them a smile, but my cheeks and mouth are so numb that I’m not even sure I managed it. From the expression on their face, I didn’t.

  “Are you ready to go? I’ll drive you to your hotel, and then we can see where we can grab lunch.” I start walking toward the exit, not waiting for their answer. All of a sudden I’m afraid of what I need to tell them. I know they really like Duke and have confidence in him to take care of me so telling them it’s over won’t be very pleasant. And telling them that I want to see Sean? I’m more afraid of the reaction of my father as I know my mother is going to cry. My father is more … unpredictable.

  In the car the silence is weighing on me. I know them and how they work, but I keep my eyes on the road, on the red light driving me crazy because I have nothing to do besides wait for it to turn green.

  Without looking at them, I know my mother is looking at my father with insistence, her soft brown eyes turning to an inferno as the silence stretches on. My father is glancing to and from my mother and me with his all-seeing eyes, way too clever for my liking.

  The green light appears, and I make the mistake of looking at my father in the rear view mirror. Our eyes, the same shade of blue-green, lock. My knuckles turn white on the steering wheel, and I straighten my back.

  “Where is Duke?” My father’s voice is serious but soft, and even if I want to believe that I’m strong, just talking about Duke with my parents make this break up all the more real. I don’t really know why, but maybe it’s because when your family has met the guy you’re in love with, it means that it’s an important relationship. Telling them it’s over when they actually like the guy … it’s like a punch to the stomach. And above anything else, I don’t want to disappoint them.

  I clear my throat and park in the underground parking lot of their hotel, the same one they stayed at the other times they were in Seattle to see me. I turn off the car and glance at them before keeping my eyes trained on the silent radio.

  “I broke up with him.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I open the car door, climb out and open the trunk.

  My father is the first one out, his stance not as controlled and calm as earlier. “What did he do?”

  If it wasn’t such a sore subject, I’d laugh at the menace in my father’s voice. But it’s not funny, and it’s all worse when your dad thinks that it’s you’re ex-boyfriend’s fault when it’s in fact your own damn fault. For my parents, I can’t do anything bad, anything to hurt others. I thought I couldn’t either, but I forgot how easy it is to afflict pain on someone else. It’s way too easy to hurt someone and ruin everything. Sometimes, just a word can ruin everything.

  I glance around us and sigh with relief. We’re alone. But it’s creepy to have such a talk with them in an underground parking lot where half the lights are not working. My mother steps out of the car and grabs my father’s hand. This little thing, them holding hands, tears my heart out. I envy them. I envy what they have.

  I look around us one more time and will myself. Apparently, whenever I have something important to tell them, it’s in weird places. The last time was outside a restaurant, and that was when I told them about what Sean did to me.

  “He didn’t do anything wrong.
It’s … it’s just better this way.” Even to my own ears my voice is weak and not very assured, but that’s what I think. I only hate feeling so weak and unsure of myself and my choices.

  “But, honey, you love him. Why would you break up with him?” my mother asks me, and between the lines I can read what she says without words. After everything you two shared.

  I lean against the car, not caring for one instant if the car is clean. “I hurt him. He’s not happy with me, and with everything he went through, he deserves some peace and happiness. I can’t give him that, so it’s over.”

  My father shakes his head, and for the first time I see something on his face I never saw before when he looks at me. Disappointment. He’s disappointed by me. He sighs and runs a hand on his smooth cheeks. “What are you doing, Skye? Are you trying to punish yourself?”

  I open my mouth, ready to reply, but nothing comes out. I’m speechless because that’s a question I can’t answer with absolute certainty. Am I punishing myself? Am I that accustomed to pain that when my life is starting to brighten, I have to create some drama to feel safe in my pain because that’s something I know, something I’m close to?

  My mother leaves my father’s side and brushes my jaw softly, her thin fingers careful on me. She’s afraid I’m going to bolt like I used to do most of the time. But I don’t. I take a deep breath.

  “Duke isn’t the reason why I asked you to come,” I say, changing the subject. I grab the little chocolate-brown vanity and wait for my father to take their suitcases before I hit the lock button on the fancy key of Kate’s expensive car. “I’m not sure talking about this here is a good idea, though.”

  Both my parents narrow their eyes on me, and I feel five years old all over again, like the time I stole a whole jar of cookies without permission. My father straightens his back even more, and my mother scrunches up her nose. Both cross their arms over their chest.

  I dry my empty sweaty palm on my jeans and bite the inside of my cheek. I hate this. Looking away, I focus on a bulb blinking, on the verge of dying. I don’t really see it, but somehow it’s easier to stare at an object instead of at people I care about when I’m getting emotional.