Backstage

by A. m Madden

  Before leaving, Farley said he’d be back to check on her later. He handed me his card and said to call him no matter what. I have a strange connection with him now. It’s sort of an unspoken alliance and I know he has my back. It’s funny how connections are made in the most absurd situations.

  The Rodstons settled in the waiting room and I’ve been pacing the halls, avoiding them. Once I am given the green light to see Tara, I quickly walk down the hall toward the ICU. Her mom calling my birth name stops me long enough for her to reach me. I do have something to say to her as well, and I plan on saying this once.

  She approaches tentatively. “Trestan?”

  “It’s Trey.”

  “Oh, my mistake.” She looks confused before continuing. “I just want to say thank you. I don’t know what she told you, but we are her parents and we have the right to see her…”

  “Listen up,” I immediately cut her off. “I really have no desire to hear what excuse you could possibly have to cut your daughter out of your life. When she wakes up, I’ll ask her if she would like to see you. You may think you have some sort of rights over her, but you don’t. You lost them. So stay away from her until she can decide on her own if she wants to see you.”

  She stands stunned, open-mouthed and emotional in the middle of the hall. Without another word, I turn and walk away.

  Fuck her.

  That woman just became a substitute recipient of the hostility I hold toward my own mother. As far as I’m concerned, they come from the same mold.

  I’m instructed to stop at the nurses’ station, which I do. The nurse assigned to Tara explains ICU procedures and protocol. She walks me over to Tara’s station and slides open the glass door. “Go ahead,” she waves me into the room.

  It’s dimly lit and depressing. The machines surrounding her create the only sounds in the room, besides my own erratic breathing. She lies completely still, except for her chest rising and falling mechanically. They cleaned her up, but the evidence of her ordeal can’t be washed away.

  When the nurse sees me staring, she says, “She’ll heal.”

  “What are her exact injuries?” I ask, sounding breathless.

  “Besides all the kicks and punches she received, her lung collapsed. The tube is to remove the excess air in her chest. Once the lung re-expands, we can remove the tube and move her out of ICU. She also has a few cracked ribs, her arm was broken, and her esophagus was severely bruised. The bruises on her neck are from strangulation.” The elderly nurse pauses, but I know there’s more. There’s something she isn’t telling me.

  “What else?” I prompt.

  She turns to eye me carefully. Without words, she is able to fill in the blanks.

  On the outside I stand stone still, showing no emotion. On the inside, I feel that familiar crushing pain in the center of my chest that I’ve gotten so fucking used to. I’m finding it difficult to breathe, once again. The nurse pats my arm, before leaving to give me privacy. Once I hear the door slide shut, I bend at the waist in an attempt to steady my breathing. My legs start to shake uncontrollably. In slow motion, I move to sit in the uncomfortable metal chair that’s next to her bed. Her tiny hand lies palm up beside her. I take it between both of mine, rubbing some warmth into her cold, clammy skin.

  She has been through the worst form of hell…because of me. The broken bones, the physical injuries she will heal from. This horrific experience will most definitely leave a scarring on her heart, on her emotions that will never go away. Whenever she looks at me, she’ll remember what he did to her. If I ever get to make love to her again, she’ll remember him. I’ll be a constant reminder to the hell she had to endure.

  I can’t stop staring at her face. I try to visualize her smiling, happy. I can’t. The image I see is of her frowning, upset, crying. Is it because those moments of happiness are so rare? Did she spend the past months of her life in a constant state of misery because of me? I was so consumed with my own life, I honestly don’t know if she was happy.

  All the arguments I’ve waged against myself these past few days resume. The little voices in my head show me no mercy. Do I keep her? Do I let her go? Do I keep her? The dominant thought that is currently winning the battle is that I don’t deserve her. More importantly, she doesn’t deserve the torment that I’ve caused her. I can’t control what decision she’ll make when she wakes up.

  I do know I most definitely love her. I also know that doesn’t mean shit. I’m mature and experienced enough to know it all means nothing. The question is do I love her enough to selflessly let her go? Then the tinier, weaker voice reminds me of Leila’s words. Let her decide. Let her make that choice. It’s not my place to choose what she wants.

  For the next few hours, I watch her face willing her to wake. Her nurse comes and goes, checking and poking, but Tara still doesn’t wake. The room becomes darker once nighttime hits. The only light leaving a dull cast on her pale skin.

  “I’m so sorry Tara,” I breathe out before placing my forehead on her arm. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  I love you, Tara. I love you enough to walk away before I can hurt you again.

  The hand I’m holding clenches. Her eyes are still closed, but her hand tells me she heard me. Her fingers curl around mine, gripping me tightly.

  “Tara?”

  She relaxes and flexes again. She’s with me. She’s back.

  “Baby, let me get you a nurse.” Her grip becomes iron clad. She doesn’t want me to go. I search for a call button and push it frantically.

  “Come on, Baby. Open your eyes. Can you hear me?”

  She squeezes again.

  The nurse comes into the room in a flurry. “She squeezed my hand a few times.”

  “That’s great. She’s coming to.”

  “But she won’t open her eyes. Is she in pain?”

  The nurse bends so her face is inches away from Tara’s. “Miss Tara?” she calls in a singsong voice. “Come on, now. Your handsome boyfriend wants to see you. He’s been waiting for you to wake up. Can you do that for him?”

  Tara’s fingers relax and flex. “She’s trying,” I say.

  The nurse checks the machines, pushes some buttons and nods. “Keep talking to her. She’ll open them soon.” She points to the dispenser hooked up to her I.V. “Her meds. Push it if she’s in pain. I’ll be back.”

  Once she’s gone I lean in closer. “Tara, I need you to wake up. Come on, Baby. Wake up for me.”

  Without warning she opens her gorgeous brown eyes, and they focus right on mine. I’m instantly filled with warmth the minute they land on me.

  “Hey.” She just continues to stare. “Are you in pain? Squeeze my hand if you are.”

  Her fingers squeeze. I push the button as instructed and watch her relax into her pillow. Her eyes never leave mine.

  “Do you remember what happened?”

  She nods slowly, tears fill her eyes, and her hand clenches mine. It feels like she’s reaching into my chest and squeezing my heart with that same hand. Her eyes become wide with fear. They dart around as if she’s watching the events unfolding in her subconscious. As she remembers, the tears fall freely. I automatically reach out to wipe them away. She flinches at my touch.

  I put on a brave face, ignoring the pain that rips through me from her reaction to my touch or the look on her face. She’s still in pain, and I’m in no position to help her. It’s like the blind leading the blind. But, she needs me.

  “Baby, look at me.” My voice brings her back, and her eyes dart to mine. “We’ll get through this, okay? We’ll get you help, and we’ll help you get better.” She looks away, uncertainty marring her features. I feel her hand slipping from my grip. With a turn of her head, I feel her slipping away.

  This isn’t Tara…my Tara. This is a shell of the girl she was. The spirit is missing from her eyes. That fire that knocked the wind from me the day I met her is gone.

  After twenty-four hours, they removed the chest tube and moved her out of ICU. H
er vitals are good, and the doctors feel she can leave in a day or so.

  Except for yes and no, Tara hasn’t spoken any other words.

  Not when the doctors came in to speak to her. Not when she was told her parents were waiting to speak to her. Even when I spoke to her, the only words she would utter were yes or no.

  She did agree to see her parents. I asked her if she wanted me to stay and she did. The first ten minutes of their visit were extremely awkward and uncomfortable. They held back what they wanted to say, filling the time with small talk. I sat beside Tara, the entire time staring them down as if they were on trial. They squirmed and fidgeted under my glare. When I saw that their visit was going nowhere fast, I asked Tara if she was tired. She said yes, so I asked them to leave. Suddenly their floodgates opened and they spent the next ten minutes apologizing profusely. They asked her to visit, she said no. They asked if they could visit her instead, she didn’t respond. They left after promising they would give her time, but they would keep in touch.

  Jack and Leila visited. Tara became a touch more animated, smiled a bit more, and even laughed once. She still only used the words yes or no. They stayed a while. Leila showed Tara pictures of the twins on her phone. She told her of Hunter and Scott’s latest antics. She even invited us to the beach house for their birthdays and anniversary next weekend, and asked if we could stay a few days to relax. Tara said yes, which left Leila very optimistic.

  I walked them out, promising Tara I would be right back. Once out of the room the smile Leila had been sporting faded, and her eyes became moist with emotion. “She’s hurting, and my heart is breaking for her.”

  “I don’t know how to reach her.”

  “Give her time,” Jack said to both of us. “She just went through hell. You can’t expect her to act as if none of it happened.”

  I didn’t voice out loud that I worried time wouldn’t help her.

  When I returned to her room, she withdrew again. I watched from the door as she stared into space. I’ve given her time without me. Leaving to go home to shower, or grab some of her things. Every time I returned, the gap between us grew more and more. With each hour that passed, she became more and more distant.

  Today is a bad day.

  She turns when she realizes I’m watching her. “Are you tired?” I ask from the doorway.

  “No.”

  She lifts her hand and motions me closer. After I walk to her bed, she motions closer still. I sit on the edge, taking her hand. “What’s wrong?” I ask, concerned that she’s in pain.

  “Trey, you don’t have to stay.” It’s the first real thing she’s said to me in days. The message speaks volumes.

  “I want to stay.”

  She shakes her head. “No, you feel guilty. That’s why you’re here. You are here because you feel it’s your fault. It’s not. I think it’s best if you leave.”

  “Tara, I’m not leaving.”

  She pulls her hand away, frustration all over her face. “You and I broke up. You watched me walk out that door, Trey. You didn’t try to stop me. You weren’t ready for this to become more. You cannot convince me otherwise. I’m sorry. I can’t be with you for the wrong reasons. Your reasons stem from guilt and pity. You need to go.”

  “You’re wrong. You’re all wrong.” I take her hand back in between mine. “Listen to me. You don’t know what I was feeling when you left because I never had the chance to tell you. You have no idea that I was miserable. You didn’t know I finally, FINALLY, was honest with myself. I admitted to myself that I cared about you. You know what? Just like everything in my life, I wasn’t allowed to have you. Because when I realized that I did care, I also realized I needed to let you go. You have no idea what I’ve been carrying with me for years. I’m toxic, and I’m not good for you.

  “The universe decided to prove my points correct at that exact fucking moment. Just when I realized you’re better off without me, a higher power decided to be sure I knew that.”

  She looks at me impassively. “I don’t know what you’re saying. I never understand what you’re saying.” Tears appear from frustration, and I skim them away. She flinches again from my touch. “Don’t. Please don’t make this harder than it is. Please,” she pleads through her tears.

  The voices tell me this is my cue. This is my time to go. I’ve said all along, if she sends me away, I’ll go. But she’s sending me away because she thinks I don’t have feelings for her. She needs to know the entire truth before I walk away.

  All of it.

  I retrieve my wallet from my pocket. She watches me remove Taylor’s picture and stare at it for a few seconds before I hand it to her. Her eyes widen immediately. Of course they do. They can be twins.

  “My first love. Her name was Taylor.”

  I pull in a huge breath and start from the beginning. With each sentence, Tara’s breathing becomes more labored. With each part of my story, her tears increase in volume. I tell her everything. I leave absolutely nothing out. She watches in horror when I tell her about my parents, Taylor and I running away, her death and his arrest, me deciding to run without my Taylor. I share my new identity and how I decided on it. I confess how I used mindless fucking to forget my life. How the first time I let my guard down, I was taken advantage of. I tell her about my story with Kate and with Zane. Jack and Hunter finding me. I explained how I’ve been living in constant fear and paranoia. I admitted how I always wondered when the other shoe would drop. I tell her the relief I felt when I learned my dad died, and the nervousness I felt when I found out that his brother took over and was even worse than my dad. She sits ramrod straight as I talk and talk.

  I end with the day I met her. “Yes, at first glance, you stole my breath because of who you looked like. Yes, I fought my growing feelings at every turn. I pushed you away, but you stayed. I denied and tried to kid myself. I lied that I didn’t need you. Truth is…I did. I do. I need you.” I skim her bottom lip with my finger before palming her cheek. This time she lets me touch her. I remove the picture from her fingers. “So, Taylor was my first love, my only love…until you. I love you.”

  She watches me through her tears. They slowly slide down her face, my hand catching them as they fall.

  “Tara, I love you. I love you enough to agree that I need to go. You deserve more than what my negative aura brings to your doorstep. You deserve better than me.”

  When I kiss her swollen lips, she pants into my mouth. Her fingers grip my shirt. I can now feel her tears against my face. I am the first to break the kiss. Gently, I dry her eyes, her cheeks, I tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear, and I smile warmly and say, “I love you.”

  She whimpers at my next kiss. Her eyes screwed tightly shut when I pull away. She opens them slowly, their color dull and lifeless. I smooth out the wrinkle that appears in her brow and add, “Now I’ll go.”

  She doesn’t say anything to stop me. She watches quietly as I walk out the door.

  The pain has been replaced by an ache.

  After I left her room, the ache took hold of my heart and hasn’t stopped once. It’s different than the crushing pain I felt when Taylor died or when I realized Tara was taken. It’s not that crippling pain that sucks the breathe from your lungs and makes you feel like you’re dying of a stab wound or a bullet to the heart. It’s just a constant, throbbing ache. And it’s not just in my heart. It’s also in my head.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Constant.

  The ache is far worse.

  I had asked Jack and Leila to pick her up. Knowing Tara, she would’ve called a cab to take her home from the hospital, not wanting to bother anyone. I went over to her place, picked up some things I knew she would need, and left before they arrived. When I shut the door to her apartment, I consciously decided that was the last time I would meddle in her affairs. I asked Leila to help her get settled and to let me know once she was safe in her apartment.

  That night Leila called me as instructed while Tara was showering. T
ara became extremely emotional once they got her home. Leila ended up spending the night when Tara refused Leila’s offer to go to their place. Tara said she needed to work through this. She opened up to Leila that night. Leila didn’t go into detail, not wanting to betray Tara’s trust. She said it was going to be a long hard road with lots of therapy before Tara will be able to get past what happened. I agreed and said her recovery would be more productive if she didn’t have anything else to focus on.

  Of course, Leila and I disagree on that subject. She thinks Tara needs me more than ever and I should be there for her. She doesn’t understand. I don’t expect her to. The two have become great friends, and they spend a lot of time together. When Tara is in the mix, I’m not. When I’m in the mix, she’s not. This is with no help from Leila, either. I’ve told Leila that she needs to accept it. We are over, done. That pain in the ass has been trying to get us together for weeks. She’s constantly having parties at the beach house, inviting us both to attend. Neither of us will budge.

  Without invitation, Leila has been keeping me informed of Tara and her progress. The first month after she got home was rough. The second month is when she finally started to show some signs of improvement. She went back to work remotely, keeping herself busy. Leila said her therapy was going well, and she was slowly becoming the Tara she used to be. I would nod at the updates, thankful to hear she was getting better. Tara was healing, and with each day that passed, she was most likely realizing we’re better apart. When I picture her, I still picture the broken, bruised girl they carried out of that hotel room. I guess my mind finds it easier than picturing the gorgeous girl I fell in love with.