"So, even though we were together and you loved me, I still felt like shit all the time about myself, while you're like the anti-shit. You're Z who everyone knows and loves, and wants, and admires. You've been described as New York's former bachelor extraordinaire, you're in magazines and newspapers because of your wineries and charities, and yeah, you're just Z Zinfandel who is amazing. So what am I beside you? I'm the shit wife. The ugly, scarred, nasty wife with the even nastier past. I'm shit beside you, and with you, and that hurts me all the time. I feel like shit anyway about myself, but knowing the world, or at least New York thinks I'm shit as well really hurts. And sometimes..."
Shit. Here it is. Okay, just say it.
"Sometimes?" Z questions me staring ahead until I realize we're parked in his spot in the underground of our building. Wow, I'm so oblivious to my surroundings it’s a miracle I can get from the mall to home without getting lost most days. "Sometimes?" Z actually begs bringing me back to our reality.
"Sometimes, I've wished I never met you so I was just Suzanne Anderson in Chicago. I wished I was completely unknown, and just a woman without a past who no one knew or looked at or read about or even cared about. I sometimes wished I was back before you, blissfully ignorant of my past, and my family, and everything else that’s so awful. I wished I was the old Suzanne who was good at her job, professional, emotionally detached and sure of the boring, unfulfilled, mediocre little life she lived then."
When Z turns his head to look out his window I know he's hurt. I know my words have hurt him, but that wasn't my intention. Shit. Finish this!
"But only sometimes. Like when I'm really sad and depressed, and just looking for anything to be an excuse for why I feel so shitty. But most of the time, I thank god for you, Z. Honestly," I whisper touching his leg until his hand reaches to cover mine though he still doesn't look at me.
"Kayla says I'm fabulous," I grin as he does briefly. "But of course I don't feel fabulous. I feel insignificant, and ugly, and just so goddamn insecure and paranoid all the time I can't really ever let myself be fabulous with anyone, but especially with you. But I want to be. I really want to be fabulous with you like you are with me so I can finally feel like I deserve you. I don't want to think I'm shit anymore so I don't feel like shit anymore. I really do want to be fabulous, Z. But I need your help."
"You have it," he says quickly before closing down again.
"I'm so sorry for all the things I've put you through. I’m so sorry, Z," I cry gently. "I never meant to make our life together worse, and I didn't realize I was making it worse until everything happened again. Then I didn't know how to fix it, and that's why I wanted to kill myself."
"Suzanne..." Z chokes, but I continue anyway.
"I know you've wanted to really understand why I felt that way, and why I wanted to do that to myself, and that's why. I knew I was screwing us up, but I didn't know how to stop myself until all I thought about was stopping everything. I guess I didn't want you to finally realize I was shit, too," I exhale and wipe the tears sliding down my cheeks.
"I've never thought you were shit, Suzanne. Not ever."
"I know you didn't, but I did. So it didn't matter what you said or did. I couldn't get past thinking the way I think, which just made me turn everything bad onto you. But again, I really didn't mean to hurt you. I just didn't believe you could actually like me, or want me, or even love me. It has never made sense to me, so I never truly believed anything you said to me," I admit finally.
"And now?" He asks quietly.
"Now, I believe you," I whisper as more tears start falling.
"Why now?" He asks in a tone that sounds both confused and somewhat disbelieving.
"Um, because you're here. For whatever reason, you keep coming back. After all I've done and said and put you through, the fact that you showed up at the hospital demanding to take me home, made me believe you finally. For whatever reason, I believe you love me and I want you to love me as much as I love you."
"But you still think you're shit," he says like now he doesn't believe me.
"Yes, but I'm trying to see the woman you see, and I'm trying really hard to believe she's the woman you love. It's like, if the famous, amazing, sweet, kind, sexy as hell Z can think I'm not shit, then maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm just a screwed up woman with a shitty past, who isn't actually shitty herself. Maybe..."
"Definitely," he exhales squeezing my hand tighter on his thigh.
"I'm going to try so hard this time, Z. But I'll try for both of us this time, because I hate being without you more than I struggle with my past now. And that was the biggest difference this time when I was in the hospital. Before, my past was bigger than me, or you, or both of us combined. But this time my past felt smaller than the loss of you in my life. So as Mack would say, I finally woke up to my reality now and what's actually important within it."
Winding down, I think I'm finally at the point I'm trying to make to Z. "Look, I know I'm never going to be completely stable. I think we both know that. But statistically, the fact that I'm not a junkie, or an alcoholic, or even worse, a whore because of my sexually abusive past and lack of self-worth says something good about me. And I want it to say that I'm stronger than I thought I was."
"You've always been strong," Z says turning to me.
"Again, you always said that, but I didn't believe you at the time because I didn't feel strong. Now though, I believe it because I'm starting to think it's true, too," I admit with a little smile as Z watches my face closely. "Um, I don't think I'm as shit as I thought, and I want to live with you and love you as best as I can now," I whisper as Z tears up beside me.
In the darkened underground within the darker windows of his truck, Z and I watch each other for long, intense minutes until he finally nods.
Squeezing my hand, Z leans across the front seat and hugs me so quickly I gasp at the movement until I just exhale in his arms. Holding me tighter than necessary and longer than usual, Z doesn't move or speak, and I don't want to. His scent and his warmth and his everything makes me suddenly feel totally grounded and loved.
Pulling away slightly, Z kisses my lips softly before he says the sweetest words I've ever heard in my life. "You are everything to me, Suzanne. And if or when you feel like you're shit, you just tell me, and I'll love you harder until you don't feel like shit anymore. You just tell me when the shitty feeling hits, and I'll love it right out of you. Okay?" He whispers kissing me again softly.
"Okay," I whisper back with a little cry of relief.
"Let's go home, love," Z smiles his beautiful Z smile, and even as my tears falls harder, I nod.
➰➰➰➰➰
Walking to our front door, both Z and I are grinning and kind of moving awkwardly. We're still holding hands, but as we walk down the hall we aren't in step with each other so my arm pulls, or his leg pauses to wait for my leg to move to catch up. It’s really awkward, but thankfully as I giggle he huffs a quick laugh.
"Losers?" He smirks.
"Totally," I laugh as we reach our door.
"Come on then, loser. I want to hug you," Z smiles opening the door to the home I wasn't sure I would ever enter again.
Looking around, everything is exactly as I remember leaving it, with the exception of the beautiful bouquet of flowers sitting on the coffee table. Walking to them, I lift the card and open it to find Z's handwriting with only 'I love you' written inside and nothing else.
"I didn't know what to say, and they don't have cards along the lines of ‘Welcome home from the nuthouse, ya crazy psycho’ so..." he says so deadpan with a shrug I burst out laughing as he grins.
"They're beautiful and the card is perfect, Z," I smile until the awkward hits us again.
Looking at each other, I don't know what to do, and clearly neither does Z. I mean really, what the hell do we do now? Talk, cry, laugh, sleep? Actually, I'd like any or all of those options with him.
"I'm just going to take my things to our room if that's okay?"
I ask awkwardly.
"It's your home, Suzanne. Do whatever you'd like. I'll stay here so you can have a moment if you'd like," Z says almost as a question.
"I don't need a moment. I'm tired but a little hyper as well. Um, would you lay down with me?" I ask sure of my question, but unsure of his reaction.
"Of course. I've slept horribly without you, and I need to hold you Suzanne," Z admits so sadly, I walk right back to him still near the door and take his hand. Not even pausing, I pull him with me to our room as he wheels my luggage behind him.
Walking straight to my room pulling Z, I kick off my heels, drop inches lower to the floor, and continue pulling him as I crawl up our bed. Pulling his hand, I don't wait for him to climb up before I'm against the headboard making him fall into my side and partially on my chest as I wrap my arms around his shoulders.
Holding him tightly against my chest for once, I want to weep with the sadness and the happiness, and the overwhelming sense of right in this room with Z. This is where I should be, and where I want to be, and where I'll always be from now on.
"I’m never going to screw us up again," I whisper against his head as he snuggles into my chest harder. Nearly squeezing the breath from my lungs, Z doesn't speak, and I don't need words. I need this- me holding Z for a change.
Threading my fingers through his hair, I breathe Z into me and find the strength I need to tell him our last unanswered.
"I have to tell you something before I can listen to anything you want to say, and before I can finally move on with you. I'm going to be very honest and I want you to listen and believe me, okay?"
"Okay," he moves pulling away from my chest to lie on his side beside me.
Turning to my side as well, I sit up quickly to pull my favorite throw blanket over the 2 of us before settling back down on my side. Staring at Z's beautiful face waiting for me I know what I have to do and I know what he needs to hear.
Inhaling deeply as he waits, I smile quickly before speaking. "I do love Thomas, Z. I always have," I whisper as he jolts beside me.
Burying his face in our bed I hear him groan, 'oh fuck, Suzanne,' and I immediately reach for him. Throwing my leg over his hip, I tug him into my chest as I feel him collapse under me. Wrapping my arms tightly around him he moans nearly silently against our bed, and I feel like I need to protect him this time. From me, from our past, and from the pain I wish he didn't always feel so he can finally move on.
"Listen to me," I whisper against the side of his face. "I do love Thomas. I think I always did, but then he died and it hurt me so much to see you in so much pain, I just shoved my own feelings of loss aside so that you could have his loss as your own. I didn't want to take that away from you, or make it about me. So instead I made myself feel nothing. But I did feel his loss, and I still do. And I hate what happened, and I hate that we lost him. I hate that you lost your beautiful son because of me," I whisper choke.
"You didn't," he struggles to sit up but I hold him tighter so he won't look at me.
"Come on, Z. At the end of the day, for whatever reason, it was my body that wasn't enough for him and he died. So that's my burden to carry, and that's why I didn't want to act like I cared or loved him. I didn't want you to have to split your pain, or have to do or feel anything for me as well. I wanted you to feel his loss however you needed. I know you see him and that’s why when I found out you were still visiting him once a month I didn't say anything to you. Because I didn't want you to have to add the Suzanne to your feelings for him."
"Mack just told me you knew for a while now," he mumbles under us.
"I know he did. He told me he told you I knew."
"I'm sorry I hid that from you."
"Never be sorry for anything you do for him. Thomas was going to be your son, so you can handle that however you need. And that's why I left it for you alone. Not because I didn't feel sadness, and not because I didn't love him, Z. I pretended I didn't care, so you were free to care however you needed to by keeping all the dramatic Suzanne shit out of it."
"But-" Z tries to lift away from me, but I pull him tighter to me again.
"I have the picture," I whisper as Z jolts beneath me again. "Mack told me about it when I found out and I asked to see it. I know, Z. And Mack made me a copy when I asked, and it's in my wallet, and sometimes I look at it and I just cry. I know it's the only picture you have of him, and I know when I was in recovery after the C-section Mack took the picture for you. I also know you have it in your wallet as well. I know, Z..." I whisper as the pain threatens to crush me. But I push through my sadness for Z.
"That picture of you holding our little baby boy in your arms, so gently, is the most beautiful, heart-breaking picture I've ever seen in my life. It’s so sad, and lovely, and just heart-breaking, Z. And when I see his little face poking out of the blanket, I can't believe he's dead, and I can't believe the look of love and sadness on your face as you hold him. And I can't believe how badly I wish everything about that day was different for both of us. But I can't change the fact that he died, so all I can do is try to never forget him, or how much you wanted him in your life. And that's what I do. I remember him with sadness and regret, and with almost a promise now that I won't ever cause you that much pain again."
"But you didn't kill him, Suzanne. It just happened," he cries, finally pulling free of my death grip to turn to his side as I resettle. "I've never blamed you for even one second for what happened to him."
"I know you haven't. And I love you so much for that. So, so much, I want to try to make it up to you one day," I admit with the implication of my sentence hanging all around us and all over our bodies. It's just there in our silence and I know Z understands, and I know Z finally feels hope for our future.
"One day...?" He questions as I nod.
"2 more things," I say as he huffs like he's had enough for today, which naturally makes me grin. "I promise I'm almost done my shit," I smile as he does. "I'd like to go with you next month on the second anniversary of Thomas' death, and I'd like to make a copy of that picture so I can frame it and put it in our atrium, if that's okay?"
Pausing again, Z seems to think before he answers me. Inhaling deeply, he says, "Of course you can come with me, I'd love that. And that picture framed I’d love, too. I've always wanted one but I thought I was hiding it from you," he smirks. "But why the atrium?"
"Because that's the place I thought of ending it all. Where I made my decisions, and wrote my letters, and where I saw the end of me so clearly. I think I need a picture of what could've been to remind me of what might one day be again, in a different little version. But the atrium is kind of about death for me, so somehow the picture of you and Thomas feels like it might make it about life for me. Or something," I fade out when my words make less sense than the emotions behind them.
"Okay," Z says gently, moving on our bed to lean back against all the pillows like he always does. Pulling me up on his chest and side, everything suddenly feels like it should between us.
"I know I'm not normal, Z. But I'm going to try to be."
"Suzanne. Shut up now," Z says with his smile-voice and I stop speaking immediately with a grin. "You're so beautiful," he whispers pulling me up against his lips. And for the first time I appreciate his words and I accept them from him.
"Thank you for saying that," I whisper against his mouth as he huffs an agonized sounding cry. Leaning his forehead against my own, Z exhales and I feel the smile on my face I should've had all along when he tells me I'm beautiful.
"You aren't normal, and I'm not perfect. But this right here is what we are. We are US, Suzanne. And I love us," Z exhales all the tension and sadness for both of us as I'm pulled back down his chest to snuggle into his warmth and love.
BREATHE
Chapter 22
"Holy shit! You're a psycho," Kayla starts laughing as Z pauses beside her shaking his head with a grin.
Turning around quickly to glare at her I defend myself immediately. "I'm
not a- okay, I am. But not about this," I growl as she hands me a pumpkin pie she swore she was going to bake herself, but clearly didn't from the packaging. "Nice pie, Kayla," I glare again.
"Whatever. I burned my real attempt, so I bought one to make up for it. Honestly, how tall is it?" She stares up at the ceiling.
"At least 18 feet," Z adds not so helpfully with a cough laugh.
"And how tall are your ceilings, Z?"
"16 feet, I believe," Z says again just barely holding in his laughter.
"You know what? Both of you can piss off!" I growl. "It's going to look beautiful when it's finished." Laughing as I walk toward our kitchen I still hear the 2 of them laughing at my back. The assholes.
I've been out of the hospital for 2 amazing months, and thankfully after a heavy conversation with each Kayla, they seemed to forgive my actions and the choices I almost made. Kayla Lefferts even still comes to our house frequently though she has her own cool apartment just 2 1/2 blocks away from us now.
And we're all really good. Mack still councils me and Z, together and individually, and though it’s hard for him sometimes to keep the shrink out of it when we're out of his office, somehow he manages for us which we appreciate.
After the hospital I stopped seeing Dr. Phillips completely, and I seem so much better. I am so much better, but neither Z nor I are naive, nor do we think the darkness will always stay behind us. We do however talk more about the dark things when they bother me.
I even keep a journal now, which though a little high schoolish, has been remarkably helpful for us. I write almost every night before bed, or when the mood strikes, or when I've had a 'thing' throughout the day. And every morning Z reads the previous day’s entry with his coffee before work, so he can see where I'm at, and it seems to be working.
Amazingly, I don't lie or alter the truth knowing Z's going to read it, and he doesn't react poorly or pissed off if I write something negative. Sometimes, he even talks about the negative with me and I either see his side, or he sees mine, and we both feel better. I know I could just tell him at the time what I’m feeling which is ideal, but it's not ideal for me. I still have a hard time expressing what it is I'm feeling exactly when or how I feel it, but by writing everything down I seem more able to express my thoughts clearly for Z, which he loves.
We are US... (I am HER... Book 3) Page 26
