by SJ Molloy
“Lucca, I know how you feel about being with her through everything, how you don’t want to miss out on anything, and how you want to protect her, but I personally think it would do you wonders to have some time with your own friends. Some man time. When was the last time you played football, had a night out, or spent quality time with your guy friends?” she asks quizzically.
“Now I think about it, it has been a long time, but it is not something I crave or need. I crave and need Lexi. I can see my mates whenever I like … when all this passes. Lexi … I made her a promise, and I cannot stand the thought of not being near her. It is not that I do not want to see my mates, it is just …” I pause and take a drink of wine, the warm infusion of grapes heating the back of my throat.
I do not expect Casey to get it. I need to think of a way that I can make Lexi happy, bring her girlfriends here, see my mates, and never leave her side. Kill two birds with the one stone.
“And sleep. You are obviously sleep deprived, and that’s adding to you feeling stress.” My body has got so used to being on call, alert and awake, that I do not even feel like I need much sleep. I am used to it.
“Sleep is a luxury I cannot afford,” I retort, a little offhandedly.
“Why? Tell me a good reason. You know fine well that to function properly, a person needs an adequate amount of sleep. If you’re having trouble switching off, I can prescribe you a sleeping tablet. I think you’re afraid to fall asleep in case you have flashbacks or nightmares.”
Is she for fucking real?
I place my glass down, lift her mug, and head to the bar to make her a fresh cup of coffee. Clenching my teeth, I remain quiet. I cannot believe she would suggest such a thing, that she would insult me this way. Flashbacks, I see them all day, every day, in my mind, so during sleep would be no different.
“Lucca?” she probes.
Walking back, feeling all the hairs on my back erect, I pass her the cup of coffee. Instead of sitting back down, I pace the floor.
“Casey, I have no intention of taking sleeping tablets. I need to be alert. I have already told you that,” I say, running my fingers through my hair.
“Lucca, you could start on a low dose, just something to let you nap at night.” She turns to face me.
“No. The answer is no.” I raise my voice, sounding terse. Sighing, I apologise.
“Tell me why you refuse to sleep.” Casey removes her spectacles from her head and places them on the armrest of the sofa, although I know I am still on her radar. She rubs her eyes before putting them back on.
“Because. I am scared. Okay. I. AM. SCARED. Scared fucking senseless.” I practically spell it out for her. Her lips curl at one end, a smile beginning to appear.
“Tell me what you’re scared of?” she says quickly.
I am so wound up, tired from crying, and angry. Angry that she is making me confess my inner fears. I want to admire my girl every ticking second I can and appreciate her beauty … inside and out. What if something happened to her and I never had her in my arms to appreciate her beauty. I cannot waste any time. Time is precious and so is Lexi.
“Everything. Okay. I am scared of everything.” I throw my hands up, my skin burning, head throbbing. Casey does not say a word. She watches me. I grab my wine goblet and take a long glug then slump back down on the sofa beside her.
Spreading my legs, I lean forward, resting my forearms on my legs, wine glass still in hand. There is an intense mist in the air between us, an uptight silence of unspoken words. My mind screams, distracting me from the straining silence.
“I am scared that he steals her, takes her away from me. I am scared that if I shut my eyes, when I wake she will be gone. Every time I open my eyes, I panic if she is not in my arms. I freaked out once because I woke up and she was in the bathroom. I am scared my cancer comes back and I need chemotherapy. I am scared I become sick again and cannot look after them. I am scared that something happens to our baby. I am petrified that he takes our baby away. I am scared fucking shitless that I lose them both. I cannot lose them.” I lower my tone, trying to calm myself down. I must sound irrational as hell.
I cannot lose them.
I have lost before.
God takes them.
But he is not taking them.
Swallowing, I try to get fucking rid of the huge lump stuck in my throat. It does not budge. Shaking my head, I sigh and feel fresh tears seep from my eyes. Casey is quiet. She is processing. I hope to God she is rummaging about for glue, because she better fix me fast if I am going to be able to be whole and strong for my dolcezza.
Part Two: Lucca’s Therapy
Chapter 2
Baby, I Am Scared
“Ah, I see. Now it makes sense,” Casey says, placing a reassuring hand on my back.
I stare at the circle of deep burgundy between my hands and watch a lone teardrop fall from my chin straight into my glass making a small ripple in the wine.
Ironically, I think of blood. This could easily be my blood from the spilling of my heart … or maybe it symbolises Michael’s blood. The blood I will draw from him when I fucking crucify him. The thought sickens me. I place the glass on the table.
“Lucca, this sounds very normal to me. I’m so pleased you’re able to identify what’s making you scared and in turn making you stressed. You can’t be everything, be everyone, and control everything, Lucca. Life doesn’t work like that. You’re going through a trauma and your mind is reacting to it, controlling your cognitive behaviours,” she says carefully.
I crack my knuckles, tap my hand on my knee, and turn to face her. I want her to tell me how to calm down, but she is still quiet.
“Lucca, you’re suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder again, which explains all your actions, and would explain why you’re so possessive of Lexi. I noticed similar signs in you after Jasmine and your son died, when you were in psychological shock. You’re hyper-vigilant … sweating, trembling, irritable, aggressive, not sleeping, and seem to be in a hyper-aroused state of mind,” she says, tapping her chin with her middle finger.
She has labelled me with this before. The thing is, I do not think I am exhibiting signs of it now. I am just stressed. I know Lexi and Grace both suffer PTSD, and both deal with it in very different ways. What I have been through is in no way comparable to what they have endured.
The only disorder I am guilty of is being crazy in love. And as for Jasmine and my son dying … it is called grief, Casey!
“You’re showing signs of co-dependency,” she tries to explain, but she has lost me. I scrunch my brow before wiping my cheek with the back of my hand.
“You feel like you’re not meeting Lexi’s needs. You’re full of self-doubt … you’re a perfectionist … you’re in denial of your own personal problems, you get jealous, you desire contact constantly, you’re sensitive to rejection, and you are so obsessed with caretaking … idealising her … spoiling her, taking care of her, that it’s made you paranoid you’re not doing enough for her.” She ticks off with her finger. God, she is so perceptive.
“All these signs of anxious, restless behaviour fit your personality and would explain your reasoning. You’re still grieving the loss of your son, and Jasmine, and you still feel abandoned because Fran walked out on your relationship. It was out of your control and you need to control everything around you now. And you’ve not fully come to terms about your Uncle Genaro’s death. You feel abandoned.” I am lost for words. I hear her, but I do not want to hear her. Shit, her words are like a hot poker probing my ears.
Why does she have to go and bring up Jasmine, Fran and the baby? They have nothing to do with this. Yes, I want to control what happens so we can get on with our lives. Yes, I am possessive of Lexi, but does that make me emotionally challenged? No, it makes me a loving fiancé who would cross the seven seas and go to depths of Hell and back for her. And Genaro? I learned to accept what happened. I cannot change it. I am paranoid about losing Lexi. I need to protect her.
>
I spoil Lexi because I want to. She had nothing but a sick, fucking empty, tortured childhood … I want to give her the best and I love her. I should be able to spoil her. It is not as if I cannot afford to. I would not say that is an illness; it is who I am.
I have no idea why she is opening up that old chapter anyway. Casey knows I have moved on from that period of my life. I cannot say I have given Fran a second thought since she walked out. Sure, I care about her well-being, but I am not broken because of it, far from it. I am a better man and I have Lexi.
Tutto. Whole.
Completo. Complete.
Insieme. Together.
“Fran has nothing to do with the way I feel now. I love Lexi, a million times more than I could have ever loved Fran, and we would have separated regardless. Yes, it was out with my control, but I accept that it was meant to be, and I would not be with Lexi now if Fran did not leave. Now Lexi … keeping her and my little one safe, that is in my control,” I say, pressing my thumb against the sharp pain in my temple.
She can fucking dissect me, brand me, and spout her clinical bullshit all she likes. The fact is I cannot change the way I feel. I worry about losing them. It consumes my every thought, and if staying awake makes me feel better about protecting her, then it is not the end of the world. I do what I need to do. Love changes everything.
“I cannot lose them, Casey. I am so scared that I cannot protect them,” I say with a fragile quiver in my voice, my lip trembling. Christ … I am shaking.
Casey smiles compassionately and now that she has told me what she thinks, she just listens to me for the next ten minutes. Then she gives me her advice.
“Remember the steps. One: explore your thoughts and feelings. Two: work through your feelings of guilt, self-blame, and mistrust. Three: address it, be honest.” I have heard this from her before … and yeah, it works, but on my first session I am always hostile. It just seems too challenging. Normally by the third session, I am not so argumentative.
“I’d like you to start journal writing again. It really helped you before and it’ll help you again. Everything you’ve told me tonight will have no difference on your actions whatsoever because you’re not hearing yourself. You’re blinded by love, Lucca. Is that a bad thing? No, but you need sleep and you need to look after yourself. I promise you everything will seem less stressful when you get a good sleep.” Casey senses I am becoming despondent and extremely exhausted. It sounds like she wants to finish up her session soon.
“Even if I sleep, it still will not take away my fears,” I add, placing my fingers in the neck of my shirt to stretch it, creating a bit more room to fucking breath.
“Sleep will help you see straight and focus. But as for your fears, you need to address them. Just like I’ve told Lexi many, many times before. Write them down, address them, look back at them, and accept you’ve moved on from that feeling.”
“Yes, I will because I know this helped me in the past and I see how good it is for Lexi, but how am I ever going to address these fears until I know my girl, my little one, and all our family and friends are safe?” I ask, raking my fingers through my hair, scrapping my scalp. God, I wish it was Lexi’s soothing little hands massaging my scalp right now. That always helps me unwind.
“Step one: you must tell Lexi that you’re scared. Open up and share with her the reasons you’re paranoid about abandonment. I know she’ll understand. You’ll feel so much better. It’s a small step but it’ll help. Step two: journal writing. Step three: You need to test your will power, your restraint. Spend some time away from her, bring her girlfriends over, spend time with your friends. Get outdoors, learn to relax, and it’ll be healthy for your relationship.” She nods her head, reassuring me that this is best advice.
“When you see that you both cope without being together continually, and see that Lexi and the baby will be safe, then you’ll be closer to accepting she isn’t going anywhere … that you can be apart from her and nothing will happen. Step four: book another session in with me. I am not done with you yet.” She pinches her thumb and index finger, jerking her hand in the air as if she is dotting her I’s or crossing her T’s.
I close my eyes. As always, Casey is right. I cannot say if it will make it any easier on me, because when my girl’s safety is concerned, I will never let go of being possessive. Hell, I might never let go of it, I love her that much.
I agree to accept her advice, or challenge, because that is what it very much feels like. I am doing this for Lexi. I hate that I have hurt her. As much as Casey has helped me open up and showed me comfort and sympathy, I just need my dolcezza right now.
I feel a little buzzed, probably because I have forgone having a meal tonight. I am such a hypocritical prick. I obsess about Lexi eating healthy and taking care of herself.
After thanking Casey, telling her that I need Suzanne at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning for our conference calls, I kiss her cheek goodnight. I quickly phone Marco who is working next to Suzanne in the dining room and tell him to make sure Marcario gets Grace to bed and settled. I do not want them to see me in this state. I have no idea what I must look like, but all that pussy-like crying must make me look like my eyes have been dipped in something toxic.
After grabbing some bottles of water from the fridge in the study, I meet Lloyd in the hallway. I ask if he has done his usual sweep, routine checks, and camera feed updates. Satisfied with his report, I take the stairs to find Lexi. My stomach churns with a feeling of unease but also yearns with a deep ache of neediness as well. An unnerving longing that only Lexi can settle makes me feel alleviated and calm.
I enter our suite, lock the door behind me, place the water down, kick off my shoes, and remove my socks. I lift my pen from my pocket and remove my cufflinks and watch, setting them on my bedside drawer like I do most nights.
The curtains are drawn, a lamp dimly lighting the room, and the light from Lexi’s laptop screen glows from where it sits on her bedside drawers. She must have just been on it, as it has not gone into screensaver mode. I look at the screen and see she has been on skype, the last video call to Hazel.
That adds salt to my open wounds. If she is as hurt as Casey is saying, then she has been confiding in Hazel while I have been denying her my honesty. Not that I mind her talking to Hazel, because she is good for her and is a great support to her, but I worry that Lexi has been finding my moods and stress too much to deal with and would rather confide in Hazel since I have been shutting down. I need her to depend on me. God, I am fucking useless.
Lexi is not in bed, but her robe is lying across it. I hear the shower running. Not even bothering to undress, I walk into the bathroom, barefoot in my trousers and shirt and go in behind her. I cannot wait any longer. I wrap one arm around her bust and the other protectively over her stomach, dropping my head onto her shoulder. She automatically tilts her head to the side and wraps her arms over mine.
The warm water hits my body, soaking my clothes, but I do not care. All I care about is holding Lexi. God, the feeling of her luscious soft skin, the smell of her body gel, the feeling of her rounded tummy secure in my embrace, it is enough to set me off again, making me feel a whole new sense of vulnerability.
I press my lips on her shoulders and close my eyes. She is here, she is safe, and she is in my arms. My mantra of recent. “Lucca, honey, what’s wrong? You’ve got your clothes on and you’re shaking,” she says with panic in her voice.
“Baby, just hold me,” I croak, dipping my knees to bend slightly so I can bury my head in the crook of her neck. Her long wet hair sticks to my face, fingers gripping my sodden shirt, and when she lifts my trembling hand from covering her breasts, she places it against her wet lips and kisses it.
It is enough to make my legs buckle. The steam from the shower clouds my senses, making me unsteady. I already feel light-headed from tiredness and buzzed from the alcohol. Fuck! I stumble backwards but do not let go of Lexi. She staggers but I hold her and steady us. Shit. What I am d
oing? I need to lie down, not fucking fall all over the place. Lexi tenses and gasps, probably because I have alarmed her. Fucking prick.
“Lucca, are you drunk?” she asks innocently. She sounds concerned, not interrogating. The sincere softness and compassion in her voice makes me appreciate her all the more. She is so concerned and patient she would not object if I was drunk because she senses I am under pressure. My caring, selfless, sweet girl … understanding and forgiving.
“I had a couple of beers and some wine, but I am just … just hold me, baby.” I break. I sob. That is it. The fucking dam has busted open again.
“Lucca, oh my God. Honey, please tell me what’s wrong.” She frees herself from my grip, turns around, and takes hold of my face in both her hands.
“Lucca, you’re worrying me. Has something happened?” She panics. I shake my head side to side, forcing back another meltdown and swallowing the tears.
I sway, closing my eyes, pressing my forehead against hers. Water trickles down our foreheads and noses, dripping from our chins. Lexi tries to steady me by turning me around, placing my back against the tiles of the shower. Then she wraps her arms around my neck and places her head on my chest.
Immediately I engulf her in my arms and kiss her head.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Lucca, so I can help. Sweetheart, you’re scaring me.” Her voice is laced with empathy and love, muffled against my wet shirt, but I hear her. Her angel voice.
She lifts her head up to stare right into my eyes. “You’ve been crying, baby,” she whispers, rubbing her thumbs over my cheek. Gently nodding my head, I look into her eyes, big, startled and filled with trepidation. The pain etched all over her face is enough to tell me I am hurting her already, and I have not even opened up yet.
“I am so sorry, Lexi. I lied about the business meeting tonight.” I sigh, snorting and sniffing like a fucking school boy. I feel her body tense and go ridged. “I had a session with Casey. I did not want to worry you,” I shamefully admit.
