“You wanna know something? I was looking forward to dying. I almost wish you hadn’t saved me. I mean, really? What have you saved me from? My life will never be the same. So no, I don’t have anything else to say. I just want to go upstairs now. Please let go of me.”
I can see it on his face that there are things he wants to say. Pulling his hand back, he stays silent, holding onto his words, knowing I don’t want to hear any of them.
At the top of the stairs I debate going into Cass’s room, deciding against it. If she wants to see me, she’ll come to me. I don’t know if I could handle another confrontation anyway. Shutting my bedroom door silently behind me, I slide down it, landing in a puddle on the floor.
I want to cry, but I don’t have it in me to shed another tear. Instead, I contemplate the events over the last few months; a stalker, being kidnapped, Rogan dying, mom and Cass being less than supportive through it all. This is my life now?
Closing my eyes, I drift into a tense sleep. My body not relaxing enough for anything more.
Soft taps wake me to a dark room. Momentarily I’m back in the basement, terrified and trapped beneath that man, but a soft glow from the nightlight in the corner of the room reminds me I’m home.
“Honey, can I come in?” I hear mom whisper from the other side of the door.
I move enough so the door can open, and mom can walk in. Looking down at me before taking in the dark bedroom I’m in, she turns the lamp on my nightstand on, illuminating her and my room in a soft light. Closing the door, she sits next to me.
“I just wanted to check on you. I haven’t gotten to talk to you since you got home. Bruce said he talked to you about doing a press conference. Are you okay with that?”
“No, not really, but what choice do I have? Bruce said if I don’t, the reporters might show up at Rogan’s funeral. I can’t let that happen, mom,” I say desperately. “I won’t let that happen!”
“You’re stronger than I ever could be. I’m so proud of you. I don’t know if I’ve ever said that to you. I’m so sorry about Rogan. I know how much you two loved each other. It was obvious to anyone who looked at you two. I just can’t believe he’s gone.”
“What am I going to do, mom? I’ve been missing him so much, but I got through it because I thought we’d be able to be together again after this monster was caught, but that will never happen now. I feel so lost. My heart hurts so bad I don’t know how I’ll survive this,” I say while grabbing my chest and falling into her embrace.
“I can’t tell you how to feel or what you’ll feel like tomorrow, next week, next year, and I’m not going to tell you it will get better in time. I think this will stay with you for the rest of your life in one way or another, but I do think you’ll find a way to accept it and learn to live with the reality of it all.
“Things like this don’t happen every day, at least not to anyone we know, so I don’t have anything to go by as far as a twelve step program, if you will, on how to heal. Just know I’m always here for you. You will never be truly alone. I’ll always have you.” Holding me tighter, she rubs her hand up and down my arm, reassuring me of her presence, her love for me, and her constancy in my life. This is what I needed. Bruce is great, but nothing can compare to being held by my mother.
“Do you want something to eat?” she asks.
My belly rumbles in response. “I guess so,” I say with a smile.
“Well then, let’s get up off this hard floor and get you some food. I’m old, you know. I can’t be sitting down here like you youngsters.”
“Oh please, mom,” I say at her quip. “Like you’re so old and decrepit you can’t sit on a floor, a carpeted floor, might I add. It’s not as if we have hardwood floors or anything. Stop acting so old.”
“That’s my point. I am old,” she says, while laughing.
Pushing her out the door once we’re both standing, I tell her to make me some grub before her senility kicks in and she can no longer remember how.
“Smart ass,” she retorts.
“Nice language, mom!”
“Oh please, you know I learned it from you.” She wiggles her finger in my face.
“And now you’re accusing me? Where will it end, I ask?” I beg sarcastically for an answer.
Throwing her arm around my neck, she pushes me toward the stairs. “Get down there and we’ll see what we can find you to eat.”
“Should we ask Cass if she’s hungry?” I ask before descending the stairwell.
Mom’s face goes pale, recovering so fast I’m not sure I actually saw that. “No, I’m sure she’s fine. She ate earlier. Now come on, slow poke.” She nudges me.
Sitting at the island, I watch as she busies herself with pans and skillets, the fridge door opening, closing, freezer door opening, closing, cabinets opening and slamming shut. “Mom! What are you doing? You planning to cook for the whole neighborhood? I’m good with a sandwich, you know.”
She stills, her face drawn, as she looks at me. “Mom? You’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry, honey,” she says repeatedly. “Sometimes it’s just so hard.” She trails off.
“What are you talking about? What’s hard?”
“Nothing,” she says with a fake smile plastered to her face. “Would you mind giving me a minute?” she asks, without giving me a chance to respond before she’s running up the stairs.
What just happened? I guess this is a lot for her to handle, too. Closing what cabinet doors are still open, putting the pans and skillets away, I decide to go to bed. I’m not hungry anymore. At the top of the stairs I look between Cass’s closed door and mom’s, debating knocking to see if they’re okay, deciding against it. Mom seemed to need her privacy and apparently so does Cass.
Crawling into bed, I wish I hadn’t thrown away my pink bed sheets. I need to feel as close to Rogan as I can possibly get. Opening the drawer to my nightstand, I rifle through all the crap until I find what I’m looking for, a picture of Rogan and me from when we first got together. We were so happy.
Holding the picture to my heart, I remember what that day was like, what every day was like when I was with him.
I wish those were the memories I dreamt about.
Waking up, sweaty and panting, it takes everything in me not to scream. I just had the worst dream. It was from the day Luke died. We had just dropped him off, but something was different. What was it? I can’t remember, but it was terrifying. Everything was more vivid, the stories on the news more detailed, the description of the blood at the scene more gruesome.
I fought harder in my dream not to leave him. I felt even more adamant about bringing him back later when we knew his mom would be home.
I don’t know why I didn’t push harder for that. I could have saved him.
Rogan was in the dream, consoling me as he had done in real life, but even that was different somehow, like I was more upset than I remember being, and he wanted to take the pain away, but didn’t know how.
Tears were wracking my body uncontrollably, and in my dream mom was there, almost more upset than I was. I don’t remember much about that time. I think my mind blanked it out for me, as if it was just too much for me to handle, it had to lock it away so I could never get to it, but I know I don’t remember mom being as upset as she was in my dream.
Maybe the past with Luke and the present with Rogan and me being kidnapped is all overlapping in my dream world, culminating in the nightmare I just had. Whatever caused that, I hope the Cosmos don’t subject me to that ever again!
Throwing the sweat-soaked sheets off my body, I sit up in bed with my legs hanging over the edge. I’m restless. It’s 2:08 in the morning. Hoping my phone still has a charge after not being used or plugged in in over a day, I pull up Bruce’s number. The low battery warning spans the screen letting me know I don’t have long before it shuts down. Reaching for the charger I keep plugged in and hanging over the curve of my white wrought iron headboard, I plug it in before send
ing a text to a hopefully awake Bruce.
Me: Are you awake?
One minute passes. Two minutes pass. After ten, I’m about ready to put my phone away and forget about talking to him tonight.
Bruce: Of course, aren’t I always?
Me: I was starting to think you weren’t.
Bruce: Sorry, I was in the kitchen pouring a bowl of cereal.
Me: At 2 in the morning?
Bruce: Sure. Why not?
Me: Silly me, I’m just used to people eating cereal for breakfast.
Bruce: Boring people eat it only for breakfast. And I am anything but :)
Me: That is true. You’re anything BUT boring.
Bruce: Keeps me young.
Me: I don’t know, I think I saw some gray hairs.
Bruce: Hey now, no need getting hostile! So, what are you doing awake? I thought for sure you would sleep through the night. You must be exhausted.
Me: I had a terrible nightmare. I don’t want to go back to sleep.
Bruce: You wanna talk about it?
Me: Not really.
Bruce: Do you want to hear about the tattoo I got during spring break when I was 19?
Me: Um . . . Yes! Dish!
Bruce: Okay, but you are sworn to secrecy! I probably shouldn’t tell you about this. I’m supposed to be the adult here, but this is the only story I can think of at the moment that might cheer you up.
Me: Cross my heart. I’ll keep your secret and, it’s me, I think after everything we’ve been through together, the things you’ve seen involving me—namely a personal photo—we’re past a “normal” relationship here.
Bruce: I suppose you’re right. I have a question about that actually, but I’ll tell you my story first. This is kind of a long story, would you mind if I called?
Me: Do what you gotta do, so long as I hear this story!
About three seconds later my phone is ringing. “Okay, spill it mister!”
“Wow. You really want to hear this story, huh?”
“You bet I do! Mister perfect getting a tattoo while on spring break? This is going to be awesome, I know it!”
He chuckles at my demand to know this scandalous tale before calming himself enough to tell the story. “So, it was the summer after I graduated high school and some buddies of mine decided they wanted to go to Cancun for spring break. They said we had to because that’s what you do when you’re nineteen. Being nineteen, I was stupid and, completely down with this idea!
“When we got there, it was crazy. People were drunk and screaming, hanging over balconies, stripping out of their clothes, throwing their clothes at complete strangers. It was awesome for a group of teenage guys! We’ll skip over the less than mature things I did and got into and move on to the tattoo.
“After a party one night, I met a girl I really hit it off with, but she was nothing like the girls I normally went for. She was covered, head to toe, in tattoos. She was awesome, though. After about the sixth shot of vodka she had me doing whatever she asked of me, including going with her to an all-night tattoo parlor. Sobriety kicked in about halfway through the inking process, I think the pain knocked me sober, needless to say I couldn’t stop halfway through. No matter how bad it was, I didn’t want a half-finished tattoo permanently inked to my skin.
“After it was done, I flipped. I bailed on the girl, running down the street, completely freaking out. I didn’t even know what the tattoo looked like. When I got back to the hotel, I ran to the bathroom, stripping my clothes as I went, thankful my friends weren’t back yet!
“Standing in front of the floor length mirror, I saw it. Right there on my ass was a rose and underneath it, it said, Cupid was here, with puckered lips underneath the script. It was terrible! It gets even worse. Because of where it was, I couldn’t sit without being in pain, so I did a lot of standing. I couldn’t wait for that vacation to end!”
“Oh my God! I don’t even know what to say to that! That is hilarious! You keep talking about it in the past tense, though. Did you have it removed?” I ask.
“Damn straight I did! As soon as I had the money, I had that horrible thing removed. Sadly, I didn’t have the money until about three years after.”
“That’s even better! So you had to go three years with it on your toosh? That must have been fun explaining it to girlfriends?”
“I explained that I was very ‘in tuned’ with my emotional side! ‘That I loved love!’ I still can’t believe I said that to girls!” he says while laughing.
“I can’t believe any of them would fall for that. I would have called your bullshit if you had tried that with me,” I state.
“Well hopefully you’ll never have some dude tell you a line like that! Kick him in the ass if he does—I’ll back you if he tries to press charges!”
“Glad to know I have your support in said ass kicking!” Now I’m the one laughing.
“Damn straight! Do you feel any better? Please tell me I didn’t share that gem in vain.”
“No worries. I definitely feel better. How could I not after hearing that?” I ask.
“Glad to hear it! So can I ask you a question? And don’t feel like you have to answer me.”
“Okay?” I answer slightly afraid of what he’s going to ask me.
“It’s nothing bad. I’m just wondering what it is about that picture of you and Rogan that has embarrassed you so much. Is it just because of the obvious or is there something I’m missing? Again, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m not trying to pry”
I mull over his question. Do I want to share something so personal with him? I mean, it’s Bruce, but does he need to know this?
“Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked,” he says.
Taking my silence as an answer, I have to decide whether I want to open up to him or not.
“Sorry, I was just thinking. You’re right that that picture is embarrassing on face value alone, but beyond that, well, that was taken on our anniversary. It was our first time.” I confess before I can think too much about what I’m confessing to.
He hasn’t responded yet. Did I freak him out with that confession? Is he going to think I’m childish? I’m starting to panic. Why hasn’t he said anything?
“Bruce? Say something. Are you freaked out?”
One long minute passes before he finally responds to my confession.
“No. I’m sorry, I just don’t know what to say that won’t sound inappropriate, or just, I don’t know, just wrong. I feel bad that I asked. I’m sorry.”
I’m so stupid! I never should have confessed that to him. He didn’t need to know. I could have just let it go, but no, I had to tell him.
Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
“I’ll just talk to you tomorrow, okay? Sorry to bother you. Good night.” I rush my words, too ashamed to stay on the phone any longer.
“Wait! I don’t want you to go,” he shouts just as I’m about to hang up. “I’m just at a loss as to what to say, what to say that’s appropriate anyway, and since I can’t seem to find those words, I’ll just say what I’m thinking and pray I don’t cross a line between us.
“I’ve come into your life under terrible circumstances, been there with you through terrible experiences, but I’ve never been so in awe of someone as I have been with you. You take everything that has happened almost as a given, but in a good way. It’s allowed you to deal with whatever might happen next calmer than most people would. When you cry, it’s when anyone would cry. The times you don’t cry, though, are when everyone would cry.
“You amaze me and I feel so privileged that, even though it was a horrible way for it to happen, I’ve been let into your life. All that being said, what you just told me breaks my heart. I wish I could have saved Rogan. I wish I could have done more. I wish I could be the hero you need me to be. You don’t deserve any of this. I’m just hoping things will be better for you soon.”
For the first time in I don’t know how long, I cry because I’m happy.
&
nbsp; “You’ve saved me, not only physically from dying, but emotionally as well. There were plenty of times I wanted just to give in, but you were always in my head telling me to stick it out, that one day it would all be over. It’s you who has gotten me through most of these past few months. I’m happy that you’re in my life, even if it is because of some asshole who wanted to torment me. Speaking of which, when will I get to see him? To know his name?” I ask.
“He was being arraigned the last I heard. When we go to the station to fill out your report I’m sure you could see his mug shot if you wanted,” he answers emotionlessly, as if he’d rather I forgot about my attacker all together.
“I can’t see him in person?”
“Absolutely not! You will see him if, and only if, it’s absolutely necessary. I’m not letting you within a hundred yards of that prick!” he yells into the phone.
Wow! He’s mad.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to push. It’s just that I need to know, for my own sanity. You can get that, right?” I ask in a whisper afraid to make him even madder.
“My main concern is your safety. I do get that seeing him is a part of what you need to have closure; I just want to make sure he’s locked away before you’re let near him. I’m not trying to be a jerk here; I just want you safe.”
“Fine. I’ll let it go tonight, but don’t think you can hide him from me forever! I’ll beat your ass, I will!” I say jokingly trying to lighten the conversation.
“Oooo, I’m shaking in my pj’s.”
“Hehe, you’re in pj’s?”
“Well, yeah, what did you think I slept in?” he asks.
“Don’t know. Guess I never really thought about it. You’ve always said you don’t sleep much, so I guess I figured you just stayed dressed all the time. I suppose that’s pretty silly, huh?”
“It’s not silly. I’m sorry to burst your bubble, though, in admitting I do wear pj’s. I’m still a normal guy, you know?”
“I guess this is what happens when you only know someone based on how they are around you, not how they are outside of the you surroundings,” I state.
“That was oddly put, but yeah, I guess that’s true. You only know the cop Bruce, not the baseball, pizza, anything fried, Stallone loving Bruce. Maybe one day you’ll get to meet him. I think you might like him,” he says teasingly.
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