by Shey Stahl
When I don’t, his face loses all the emotion he once had. “For the record, Amberly, the drugs weren’t mine,” he reminds me, again.
I tell myself to walk away from him right then before we say something we shouldn’t, or maybe we already have. Tears well up in my eyes. I don’t have a response.
“To you, and every other girl, I’m that guy. I’m the one they can forget their lives with and not have to think about how I might feel about it. Your sister used me. So did you. I’m not even sure you think of me as a person. I’m just. . . the mysterious fuck you can have when you want and then when you’re done, who fuckin’ cares, right?” he says, so matter-of-factly, sadness lurking in his eyes.
“It’s probably best for you, then. That we leave.”
What am I saying? I’m not even making any sense.
His expression offers no apologies.
When I don’t say anything more, his anger rages.
Taking the edge of his nightstand, he flips it over. “What’s best for me?” he shoots back. “Me?” He points his finger at his heaving chest. “Why don’t you go ahead and let me decide what’s fucking best for me. Never bringing her here in the first fuckin’ place would have a been a good start.” I close my eyes, tears releasing down my heated cheeks, thinking he’s done. No. He’s far from that. “Goddamn it, Amberly! I was fine. I was perfectly fine with this life and now you. . . her. . . why? Why did you have to fucking bring her here? Why did you have to go and. . . FUCK!” he screams in my face and I flinch back.
“Tiller, I didn’t—”
His glare silences me. “Yes, you did. You did this on purpose. Don’t even try to deny it now.” His lips curve at the corners, but his smile definitely isn’t one of amusement.
I shake my head, trying to deny it with actions.
“You knew this wouldn’t last.” Lowering his mouth to my ear, his harshness sends a shiver through my body. “You make me crazy. You annoy me. I can’t fucking stand it.” Drawing back, he stares, waiting for me to say something, and when I don’t, he steps back. My head snaps up, horrified by his words as my heart sinks. I gasp, feeling the blood rush to my heart with each word. I can’t deny his words sting deeply inside of me.
“Fuck you, Tiller.” I’ve never ever said words like this to him, to anyone, but I mean them.
“Honey, you already did.” His hand comes up, running over his jaw, his eyes narrowing at the door over my shoulder. He’s quiet, and part of me wonders what he’ll say next to further hurt me. What he does, only makes me angrier. “And this part, this is how it’s supposed to go.” He winks, and oh, God, does it piss me off. He gives me a more condescending smirk. “I only wanted your virgin pussy.” He shrugs and then turns away from me. “I got what I wanted so why don’t you leave?”
For some reason, his words, “I’m never not thinking of you,” comes to mind. Is he thinking of me now as he rips my heart out?
Does your heart ache like mine? Are you pissed at him? Do you believe he means what he’s saying? I’m not sure I do. He’s just trying to hurt me. This is what he does. Remember when I said he’s destructive? This is what I’m talking about.
He’s wrong. He knows it, too. God, does he know it. I can see it. The way he glares to cover it up. He has pride, and he’s protecting it. I know that much. Bitter and cold, his eyes never meet mine again.
Tiller Sawyer doesn’t burn bridges. He lights them on fire and pisses on the flames.
Do you hear the tortured sound of heartache strangling me? Alone, I know I’m never enough. For her. For them. I don’t know how to process what’s happened. My mind can’t, won’t stop. I know she’s gone for good. You can’t blame her, can you?
All I know is deep down is I’m scared and have been all along. It’s where my insecurities lie and the truth I refuse to accept. I’m scared of hurting her. I’m scared of being hurt. And in the process, surrounded in fire, I’m left alone to cough up the ashes.
I call her the moment she leaves. Then obsessively. I smoke, and drink, and call her, over and over again. She doesn’t answer. Not once. Finally, I leave a message. “I’m so sick of this bullshit! Fine, fuck you, ya stupid bitch.”
I know, not my proudest moment, but just wait. When I self-destruct, I do it all out.
Think back to the Beauty and the Beast movie. Remember when the beast was singing about his sorrows after Belle left?
That’s me. Just add some vodka.
My heart’s in knots, tangled around feelings I don’t understand or want to. I know one thing. She lit my fucking heart on fire and threw it.
“Where’s the kid?” Camden asks when I stumble downstairs. Naturally, he’s eating.
“Gone,” I snap, slamming the coffee pot down on the counter after pouring myself a cup. It shatters, and I don’t bother to clean the glass up.
Camden jumps at the sound, looking from the coffee pot to me. “Why?” There’s little-boy hesitation in his voice. He shouldn’t be here. Not today.
I move past him, over the glass and the hot cup of coffee. “It’s for the best,” I grit out, wishing I wouldn’t have just drank a scalding hot cup of coffee, but at least the pain in my throat is better than the pain in my chest. I can handle physical pain. Emotional, I turn to anything to drown it out.
“For you or her?” Camden asks, pushing his bowl of cereal away and wiping his chin.
“Both.”
“Why both?”
Silence fills the room and every space in my head. For once, I hear nothing around me. No beat, no blood, no screams. . . just Amberly and the moment she’s going to decide to break me completely. I take it out on the innocent kid in front of me. “It’s fucking complicated, Camden. Just leave it alone and go home.”
Camden’s chin quivers and I want to slit my throat with the glass beneath me. “Why do grown-ups do stupid things?” he asks, tears flooding his eyes. He hops down from the stool and heads for the door.
I reach for my cigarettes on the counter as the door slams behind him. “’Cause we’re dumb.”
The fiery tip of my cigarette glows as I stand. I think about River and the things I said to Amberly.
My mind spins, my thoughts wild and unpredictable.
Do you notice me? Can you hear the raging thoughts in my head? They control my mind and obscure my rationalization.
I smoke. A pack. The nicotine feels good, but it does nothing for this. I want something to speed my heart, slow my brain and settle my hands. I want something strong enough to kill every emotion inside me that’s suffocating me. I want to get fucked up.
When you’re hurting, when nothing takes the dark thoughts away, that’s when you’re the most vulnerable, and your mind is a dark, empty hole of instability. I don’t remember the first time the devil whispered to my soul, but I know he woke it up and I haven’t truly slept since then.
You know what makes it worse? Emotional pain. Caring. It makes you do stupid shit.
“What do you need?”
My eyes are barely open, my skin ice-cold and aching. “I need something.”
I want this pain gone. It’s what I’ve tried to destroy for years and have never succeeded, and now it seems I’ve made the pain so much worse.
“You sure? Are you competing tonight?”
It’s not a question. At least not one I’m going to answer. The dealer, the nameless face who knows me, hands me another bag of Vicodin, Oxycodone, and a bag of cocaine.
Pain makes you believe you’re not worth it. Makes you feel like you’re not worth it.
I drink.
I smoke.
I pray for darkness.
I find it.
My problem is finding it in ways I shouldn’t. Ways that lead me to trouble with no way out but down. My tortured mind screams wake up, while my soul says it doesn’t give a fuck. Leave me numb. Go back to sleep.
I don’t even know where I am. I’m on my knees in a room that’s too dark, too loud and filled with people I don’t know. I think it’s my hous
e, but I don’t know for sure. Everything’s spinning and I’m gone. My stomach burns when images of River flash behind my closed lids.
I roll on my back and stare at darkness. There’s a steady rain falling and I’m outside now. It’s not rain, it’s water, but I don’t know where it’s coming from.
How’d I get out here?
I don’t know.
I blink.
And I blink again. I breathe. And then again. My chest feels like someone is on top of me.
I’m in the middle of the yard, smoke circles pitch-black. I’m screaming, laughing, cursing, shaking my fist at the sky and calling God a son of a bitch for doing this to me. It’s not Him, it’s me.
I’m jumping around, on tables, knocking shit over. I do a line, then three, and drink. I’m full of it, swallowed whole by it. I’m fucked up beyond comprehension and comfortable for the first time in weeks.
I find a gun, whose I don’t know. Picking it up, I hold it, spin the chamber and open my mouth. I put the barrel in my mouth. It’s cold, dirty, and tastes like metal.
I hook my thumb around the trigger, only to have someone take it. “Don’t take what’s not yours,” a hard voice says.
I blink and I’m on the ground, again, this time someplace else, shaking and short of breath. My head spins. I’m dizzy. My stomach’s on fire, my mind blank.
Rising up on my elbows, my head spins again while my body threatens to give out.
As I look around, there’s a girl on her knees, my dick in her mouth. The heat leaves my body all at once and I start to shake. “Stop,” I say, but she doesn’t listen.
I blink.
And again.
I think I see Shade, but I can’t see, everything is so blurry and dark. I try blinking again. Maybe it will stop.
More images. It’s all wrong, and my stomach turns, my throat tight as the vomit rises.
The girl on her knees, she’s the wrong girl so I push away.
Lifting my hand, it feels so weighted, I push against her. “Fuck you. Get away from me.” I don’t say it loud enough. She stays.
I try to move back, but she doesn’t let me, her hands circle around my waist. “Come on, baby. I can get you off.”
She’s wrong.
I don’t want her. Or this.
“Get off him!”
That voice is familiar. Substance swims in my veins, my pulse like a heavy drum beat. I turn to the voice.
My body is heaved by strong arms that hold me close to his chest.
It’s Shade.
“Tiller. . ..” His voice is distant, but he helps me up. “What did you take?”
“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to pry one eye open. It’s hard, an effort I don’t have.
“You’re naked. I’m trying to get your fucking shorts on.” He taps my knee. “Help me out. Lift up. I need to get you to the hospital.”
I roll away from him, or at least I think I do. “Let me die.”
I think I say her name, but I don’t know. Maybe it’s my mind that won’t let it go. I close my eyes, and when I open them, I’m on the floor in our house and puking. Ricky’s there, holding a bucket. Scarlet’s rubbing my back.
“Jesus. . . .”
“What did he take?”
“Fuck.”
“I don’t know.”
“Should we call an ambulance?”
I moan, shaking my head. Let me fucking die. Make it stop.
“Are you all right?”
I nod. I’m fucked up.
“You need help.”
I shake my head. “I decide what I need.”
They stare. I’m talking, but the words aren’t coming out.
“I think we should call 911.”
I moan again. “No. . . ,” I manage to get out. They don’t hear me.
I’m not okay, but I know this feeling, and eventually, I’ll pass out and this pain will subside.
Ready for the tragic ending?
My life is insignificant.
Heavy, huh?
It’s the truth.
Kill the beast.
“I’m so sick of this bullshit! Fine, fuck you, ya stupid bitch.”
That’s the message he left me. Have you heard of that song “Jar of Hearts” by Christina Perri? Not only does that song play on the radio this morning, on two different stations, but I think she wrote it about me. And Tiller. She probably didn’t, but when you’re sad, every song is written about you and your life.
I gave Tiller the benefit of the doubt with the truck incident on the way home from the wedding, but this, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. And not after the things he’s said to me. Or the things I said to him.
Do you see me standing next to the grave? Do you see the way my head’s buried in my hands, the way my shoulders are slumped? I’m sad. That’s the simple way to put it. I’m overwhelmed and confused and unsure what I’m doing in my life, let alone raising a three-year-old. I can’t believe yesterday happened, let alone the reality that I’m standing in front of Ava’s grave.
I haven’t been here since the funeral and thought for sure I would have been here more. I should be bringing River here every day to see her. Making sure her memory of her mother never fades, right?
A good person would, but I don’t feel like a good person today. I feel like one who put herself before the needs of the child her sister trusted her with.
I’m notorious for messing up my life. I do it all the time.
“I don’t know what you were thinking when you asked me to introduce River to Tiller,” I whisper, sitting cross-legged in front of her grave, tracing my fingertips over her engraved headstone.
Tear-filled eyes lift to the one I keep disappointing, even if she doesn’t see it. I flash back to the night I held her, twirling purple locks and untwirling. Reaching for my hair, I do the same and I’m only reminded of Tiller.
“I don’t think he’s ever going to be capable of being who she deserves,” I admit softly. “For about a minute, I really believed that maybe—just maybe—he could change. Maybe he could be someone River could count on. Who we could count on, but it was just me trying to fool myself into thinking someone as bad as him could be good. I so badly wanted to create a perfect world for River, and having Tiller there was part of that dream. But you know me. I mess everything up.” Emotion wells up, my throat tightens, but I have to admit this to her. “I came so close to losing her today, Ava. I found her, unattended, holding a razor blade playing with lines of cocaine.” The image of her innocently staring at the razor blade and the white lines will forever be engrained in my brain. “When I saw her, I think I stopped breathing until I had her in my arms and out of that house. What if I hadn’t walked in when I did? What if she had hurt herself with the blade or even worse, what if she had tried to taste the cocaine?” I pause, still not sure she didn’t. She’s awfully relaxed this morning, but then I supposed if she had ingested cocaine, she’d be wild, right?
I bury my face in my hands. “Oh my God, I can’t even imagine,” I cry. “But I promise, Ava, I’m going take care of her exactly how you would have. I’m going to make sure she has the life she deserves where the biggest stress is which princess dress to wear that day and not whether or not I’m gonna find her standing in front of a pile of drugs playing with a razor blade in her little hand. I know you wanted her to know her father, but I’m sorry, that’s just one thing I can’t do. He’s never gonna put anyone before himself, and I’m not willing to risk either of our hearts waiting to find out.”
For her, I have to stay away until he gets help, but I can’t be the one who makes him chose it. He needs to do this for himself, without us.
My phone rings in my bag. I don’t want to answer it because deep down, I know who’s calling. Tiller. He hasn’t stopped. But when I peek at the number, it’s not him. It’s Scarlet.
My heart races in my chest and I think she’s probably calling to check on me after hearing our fight. After it, I rushed out of the house with River ye
sterday. I refused to talk to anyone, unable to process anything that’d happened, other than I knew I needed to leave.
I slide my finger over the screen. “Hey, Scar.”
She breathes out. “Are you okay?”
“Not really.” There’s no sense in lying to her.
“I uh. . .” She pauses, withholding, and then lets out a sigh. “It’s Tiller.”
Does your heart pound like mine? Do you find it hard to swallow not knowing what’s going to come next? You know Tiller. He disconnects and self-destructs and eventually I know one of these days he’s going to overdo it. “What happened?”
“He’s in the hospital. He uh. . . he tried to overdose we think. Shade found him at some guy’s house in the valley.”
“Is he. . .?” I have to pause, my hand on my chest, my eyes on River in the distance, placing flowers on her parents’ grave and talking quietly to them. My heart aches to go to him, to feel the warmth of his body against mine, to hear his voice, but I know I can’t. “Is he okay?”
“I think so, but he’s either going to jail or rehab. Wrecked his Ducati somehow and Ricky’s pissed, and Willa wants to murder him.”
I can’t say I blame her. “I want to see him, but I can’t,” I admit, feeling guilty.
“I know, babe. You just take care of that little girl. He’ll be okay, we just wanted to let you know what happened. Ricky said he has his phone and noticed he kept calling you last night.”
“Yeah, he called constantly. I had to shut it off.”
The line’s quiet, our breathing, mine unsteady, hers nervous. “Is River all right?”
“She’s fine. I don’t think she even remembers what she was playing with or what it was.”
“That’s good.”
Awkward silence envelopes me and my eyes burn with tears thinking of Tiller in a hospital bed, knowing I drove him to do what he did. “I just can’t. I need to go.”
“Oh, yeah. Let us know if you need anything.”
We hang up. I look at River. I cry. Maybe I’d been blind to everything so I could know what it felt like to have him, to have her, to have a life that I loved, if only for a moment. While my back was turned, I let it all fall apart.
