Past Imperfect

by Alison G. Bailey

  I watch her bottom lip disappear into her mouth. Her concentration is intense, wanting to choose her words carefully. “Brad…” She doesn’t want to tell me the truth. She gives up and allows the tears to fall. Her expression slowly morphs into a weird combination of warmth and detachment.

  “Say it, Mabry. I’m a big boy. I can take it.” We stare at each other for several minutes until I finally break the silence. “You think I’m responsible for Becca’s death.”

  Her head shakes before any words leave her mouth. “I never said that.”

  “You didn’t have to, I can see it in your eyes. It’s been there all week.” My throat is burning as I try to hold back my own tears. “Please talk to me.”

  Her chin trembles so much I can hear her teeth chatter. “I don’t want to hurt you more.”

  “If I’m losing you, then it’s not possible to hurt me any more than I am right now.” Tears spill out of my eyes.

  “You used to make everything bad in my life disappear.”

  “And now?” The words stick in my throat.

  “You remind me of all the pain in my life. I found out about the bets you used to make and how you humiliated the girls. Did you do that to Becca? Is that why she finally killed herself?”

  I’m frozen in place by her words. Somehow she’s learned the details of my past. I never wanted her to know how disgusting I used to be. “I don’t have an excuse for what I did to those girls. I didn’t mean to hurt Becca, Mabry. She was getting too attached. She was sick,” I trail off.

  “In her email she seemed so happy. She was in love with you. She wasn’t thinking about killing herself until you left her. She slit the radial artery in her wrist. Did you know that?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. The memories of the last time I saw Becca come rushing back to me. The way her arms clutched on to me, not wanting me to leave her. The sad, vacant look in her eyes. Her tear-stained cheeks. Mabry’s voice forces me back to the present.

  There’s a distant tone in her voice. “My mom used Dad’s box cutters. You have to cut lengthwise along the radial artery if you’re serious about killing yourself. It’s a painful death. You know physical pain sometimes relieves the pain inside. Maybe that’s why my mom did it that way. People think it’s a quick death, but that’s not true. First, your heart rate goes up, then you become pale, clammy, lethargic, dizzy, and lightheaded. You start to become short of breath, like you’re starving for air and you can’t get a full breath. Eventually your blood pressure drops until you lose consciousness. Finally, you lose so much blood that there’s not enough left to circulate to your organs and you die. That’s how Becca died that night.”

  “I didn’t kill her, Mabry.” I can barely get the words out.

  “I know, but I feel like you did.” Her body convulses as sobs gush out.

  I instinctively take a step forward, getting ready to wrap my arms around her. I’m still not ready to admit this is coming to an end. She takes a step back away from me and my world shatters.

  “I’m a different person now. You have to believe me. I’d never treat you that way. I love you.” The plea pouring out of me.

  “Our pasts will always be a part of us, Brad, no matter how much we want or try to escape from it. The way my mom was… I have that in me. There have been times in my life I didn’t want to get out of bed, the pain was so stifling. And what’s to keep that part of you that you’ve tried to bury in the past from resurfacing? I can’t take that chance on either one of us.”

  “God, don’t do this, Mabry,” I beg.

  “I knew from the very beginning we were a mistake.” The words are barely audible through her sobs.

  A mistake. The word echoes through my head.

  “Don’t say that. Everyone has always looked at me as a fucking mistake. I thought it was true until I met you. You give me meaning and purpose, Mabry. You’re the only person who has ever wanted me in their life. That can’t be a mistake. What I feel for you isn’t a mistake. Let me spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”

  We stare at each other for several seconds. Both our faces streaked with tears and desperation. My gaze pleading once again with Mabry’s. I think I see a flash of indecision in her eyes right before she closes them. She’s reconsidering. Hope fills me. It will be difficult, but I know we can get through this.

  Her head slowly shakes and she whispers, “No.” I stand, frozen, not believing that this is really happening. Her eyes remain closed as she clears her throat, and says in a more commanding voice, “I need my key back.”

  My entire body feels weighed down in defeat. I take a couple of steps toward her, placing me at her side. I see her body visibly react to our closeness, sending a shiver through it. I bend down close to her ear, my breath causing wisps of her hair to swirl away from her cheek. “I don’t know how to be without you,” I say, my voice deep and low.

  I fish my keys out of my front pocket and slide hers off the keychain, tossing it on the coffee table. She still won’t open her eyes. I stare at her for as long as she’ll allow.

  “Mabry…,” I whisper, my voice strained.

  “Please just go, Brad.”

  My hand raises on its own accord toward her cheek. I want to wipe her tears. I want to take her sadness and pain away, like I had once before. Sensing my movement, she steps to the side, putting more distance between us. I head toward the door, not looking back, but also not giving up.

  Three days have passed since I looked into his eyes and told him we were a mistake. Since then each day bleeds into the next with no beginning or end. My body constantly aches and I’m never fully awake or coherent. I manage to move and make it through a work day, but that’s about it. I’m becoming like my dad. Since I started the new job, my main assignment has been research and collecting data for cases. This suits me because I don’t have to interact with anyone.

  I’ve looked to my usual reliable coping skills to get me through this, but nothing seems to be working. When I’m home, I attempt to keep moving, keep busy, and keep my mind occupied. My self-harm is a daily ritual, more so now than ever before. I’ve even scouted out restaurants and stores close to my new office that have single restrooms so that I can go there during lunch or on breaks and inflict pain privately. No longer does yanking a few strands of hair even register as pain to me. I’m so tired of feeling, of hurting. I lay my head down at night, praying that sleep will come and give me some relief, but it doesn’t. I end up sobbing most of the night dreading that there will be another tomorrow that I’ll have to live through.

  I’m wrapped in my comforter cocoon when the continuous banging on my front door startles me out of my weekend catatonic state. I ignore it, hoping whoever it is will just go away. The loud banging finally stops, but is replaced by the loud voice of Sylvie.

  Shit! I forgot she had a key.

  “Mabry Elizabeth Darnell!” My name bellows through my place just before I hear my bedroom door fly open.

  A cool breeze hits my face as the comforter is pulled off of me.

  “It’s two in the afternoon on a Sunday, what the hell are you doing in bed?” Sylvie asks in a stern voice.

  My eyes stay closed. Stretching my hands out in front of me, I feel for the comforter, so I can return it to its proper place, over my head. “Why do you sound so pissed?”

  My hand lands on the edge of the comforter and I pull on it when suddenly it’s yanked from my grip.

  “When was the last time you showered or ate anything, Mabry?”

  “What’s today?”

  “Sunday,” Sylvie answers, annoyed.

  “Then Friday. I went to work Friday, so I showered then.”

  “And food?”

  “I haven’t been hungry. Sylvie, go home. It’s been a long week and I’m tired.”

  I feel a dip in my mattress as she sits next to me. “I talked to Brad.” Her voice sounding more sympathetic now.

  “Good for you.” I make another effort to claim my comforter back, uns
uccessfully.

  “What are you doing, Mabry?”

  “Trying to get some rest.” I jerk my body, turning away from her.

  Huffing out a deep breath, Sylvie talks, not caring whether or not I respond. “He told me what happened. He sounded as miserable as you look. I understand you’re scared, but to push him away like this is insa…”

  She stops herself from finishing the word, but the damage has already been done. Sylvie of all people knows how those words affect me. I shift my body, trying to get farther away from her.

  “You can’t put Becca’s death on Brad, its irrational thinking.”

  Tossing the comforter off, I quickly jump off of the bed, turning to face her. “Oh, is it?” I snap.

  “I understand your fear, but…”

  I laugh humorlessly. “Give me a fucking break. You don’t understand shit about my fear. You, with your perfect set of parents, who loved and protected you. Who didn’t leave you or forget you existed. Tell me Sylvie, what exactly are you terrified of inheriting from your parents? Teeth that are too straight and white or hair that’s too shiny and soft?”

  Shock crosses her face as tears fill her eyes. “That’s not fair and you know it.”

  Every muscle in my body tenses and my chest heaves as I struggle to hold in my sobs. “Fuck fair. If life were fair I’d still have my mom and her smiles. My dad would give a shit about me and pick up the phone once in a while. And Brad wouldn’t be a constant reminder to me of just how fucking unfair my life is.”

  She stands and walks to the door without saying a word. When she turns to me the tears are streaming down her cheeks. Strangling a sob, she says, “I know you’ve had horrible things happen in your life. I wish I could do something to change it because I love you. I know you’ve fought not to become like your mom, but what do you think is happening now? Your mom was able to function for a while before she holed up in her room, staying in the bed all day. You need help, Mabry. You have for many years. I’m sorry your dad let you down, but you’re a grown woman now. You have a man who loves and adores you. And me, who will do anything in the world for you. Work through this, Sweetie. Learn from your past and apply the lessons to your future. Brad did.”

  We stare at each other for a few seconds. The look on her face tells me she wants to come over and hug me. I stiffen my body wanting to convey that her little speech had no effect on me. My gaze follows her as she makes her way to the front door and out of my place. I let out a deep sigh and climb back into my bed. Sylvie’s words play over in my head. Her words of wisdom are easy for her to say. She doesn’t understand the depth of pain I’m in. I start to pull my comforter back over my head when my phone buzzes with a text.

  Ten: Need u 2 come in early 2morrow.

  Me: K. What’s up?

  I’m barely getting to the office at my regular time.

  Ten: Hyams got moved up. Need u 2 take over Robinson.

  I knew tomorrow was the meeting between the Hyams and Brad. I planned on staying clear of it by hiding out in my office. In my current state, I wasn’t sure if I was the best one to step into the Robinson case, but I had no choice.

  Me: K. Will b there.

  I toss my phone back onto the nightstand and bury myself back under the comforter, shutting out the world for as long as possible.

  I rush out of the bathroom the next morning when I hear my phone go off. I grab it and glance at the screen. It’s a number I don’t recognize. I tap the screen to answer and place it on speaker, so I can continue getting dressed.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Mabry Darnell?” the voice on the other end asks.

  “Yes, it is. Who’s calling?”

  “Miss Darnell, my name is Marilyn Sanchez. I’m a nurse at The Medical University.”

  “Okay?” I say hesitantly.

  “Is someone with you, ma’am?” Her voice is all business, but there is a hint of concern.

  “No. Why?”

  “Miss. Darnell, I’m sorry to have to tell you over the phone, but your father, Thomas Darnell, overdosed. He passed away earlier this morning.”

  My reaction comes in waves. The breath is completely knocked out of me and my knees collapse. I feel the tremors start in my hands and make their way through my arms, shoulders, and chest, until my entire body is covered. I don’t know if the voice on the other end of the phone is still talking or not. Memories of my dad flash across my mind as the realization seeps in.

  “That’s it, Sweetheart, keep pedaling. You’re doing great.”

  “All A’s, I’m so proud of you, Mabry.”

  “You were fantastic out on that soccer field today.”

  “Mabry, I’m sorry. It’s just been so hard. I’ll try to do better. I promise.”

  Sobs burst out of me as I desperately gasp for air. I haven’t had contact with my father in such a long time, but it doesn’t stop the empty ache from growing in the pit of my stomach. I’m all alone now. The phone falls from my hand. Raising my knees to my chest, I curl into myself, as I ease onto my side and allow the loneliness to swallow me up.

  My car has become an early morning fixture in the parking lot across from her office over the past five days. During the day, I attempt to break away at the times I’m most likely to catch a glimpse of her. Already one of Charleston’s finest has paid me a visit this morning, asking if everything is okay. Either Mabry’s going to have to give in and see me or I’ll have to find another vantage point.

  Since walking out of her place I’ve been like a zombie. I haven’t slept, eaten, or felt anything. I started trying to get her to talk to me about an hour after I had left that day, alternating between calls and texts. She never responded. I even went by her place the next day, but she wouldn’t come to the door. That was no big surprise. Finally, I was able to get in touch with Sylvie and sent her over to check on Mabry. She wasn’t exactly met with open arms.

  I glance down at my watch. I’ve been sitting out here for an hour, hoping to see her, before heading upstairs for the meeting with Becca’s parents. So far she’s been quite elusive. I want and need to see her all the time, but this morning especially. I’ve had the strangest feeling all morning and I haven’t been able to shake it. It’s not nerves, just something feels off to me.

  My phone buzzes with a text.

  Father: Pulling into the parking garage. Meet me in lobby.

  Me: K.

  I check my watch one last time before looking around, hoping to spot Mabry, with no luck. I let out a deep sigh of disappointment as the strange feeling intensifies. Maybe she got here super early and is already up in her office. I haven’t seen her car, but I could have just missed it in the parking lot. I take my keys out of the ignition, grab my suit jacket, and head inside to the Law Offices of Clarkson and Ross.

  As I enter the lobby, I’m met with the intense disdain of my father.

  “What took you so long? I’ve been standing here waiting for…”

  “About five seconds,” I shoot back at him.

  “When we get up there, I’ll do all the talking.”

  “Well, good fucking morning to you too, Dad,” I say as sarcastically as possible.

  Leaning in, he glowers at me, and mumbles, “Don’t start shit with me, Bradley, not today.” I simply return his look. “Now, that little prick McGuire never did send us a copy of the suicide note. He kept giving lame excuses. No matter what that note contains, you are to keep your mouth shut. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  You motherfucking asshole.

  The ride up in the elevator is silent except for the thrashing sound of my heartbeat in my ears. My body tenses up, starting with my jaw, then my shoulders, quickly moving downward until it reaches the muscles in my legs. I want to see Mabry, I’m excited at the possibility, but I’m also anxious. Plus, the unidentified feeling keeps gnawing at me. Tilting my head from side to side, I try to loosen up a little. The elevator doors open, revealing a classic-looking waiting room with d
ark woods, large bulky leather furniture, and dim lighting. It’s the polar opposite of our firm, which is modern and sleek. As my father steps out of the elevator and approaches the smiling receptionist, my eyes dart around, looking for Mabry’s name on an office door.

  “Good morning,” the receptionist drawls.

  “Good morning,” my father returns. “William Johnson here for a meeting with Tennyson McGuire.”

  “Please have a seat and I’ll let him know you’re here. Can I get you anything, coffee or tea?” she offers.

  “No, thank you,” my father answers.

  She picks up the phone to alert Sir Douche as my father heads toward one of the huge leather chairs. I stay back at the receptionist’s desk, waiting to ask her which office is Mabry’s.

  Putting the phone down, she announces immediately, “Mr. Johnson, Mr. McGuire is waiting for you in the conference room.”

  I open my mouth to get information on Mabry when I hear the low controlled rumble of my father summoning me. The receptionist and I exchange weak smiles, before I follow dear Dad into the other room. We are met at the door of the conference room by Sir Douche himself. I glance at him briefly before my eyes are drawn to the older couple sitting quietly at the long table. Becca’s memorial service was only a few years ago, but her parents look as if they’ve aged fifteen years since then. Mrs. Hyams looks directly at me. Slight recognition flashes across her face. The sorrow that fills her eyes is as intense, if not more so, than two years ago. Mr. Hyams keeps his gaze focused straight ahead, not giving the slightest bit of acknowledgment that we’ve even entered the room.

  McGuire reaches his hand out to my father and they shake. “Mr. Johnson, welcome.”

  “Mr. McGuire,” my father returns.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Sir. I only wish it were under better circumstances.”

  Kiss ass, motherfucking douche bag.

  Tilting his chin up, my father nods his head marginally in reply. McGuire extends his hand in my direction. I lower my eyes down to it, but quickly glance back up to him. I know I should shake his hand. It’s the professional mature thing to do. I don’t feel like being either one of those things at the moment, so I end up engaging in a staring contest with him instead. His face gets increasingly more self-righteous the longer I look. Keeping my hands down, I shift them slightly behind me, attempting to hide the fists that are forming. He takes a step back and gestures for us to move farther into the room.