Portia Moore - He Lived Next Door

by Unknown

  “Yes, I’m the daughter you raised to fight her own battles, not run crying to you to fix them, right?” I tell her desperately, and she looks away. She knows I’m right.

  “Give me my phone back,” she says calmly.

  “You promise not to call him?”

  She only stares at me blankly.

  “Promise me,” I say again.

  “I will not say anything until I see him in person, that is what I’ll promise.”

  I groan, but at least that buys me some time to figure out this mess. I reluctantly give her back the phone and feel a little relief at the fact that I don’t have to hide this from her anymore.

  “I know the daughter I raised wouldn’t allow herself to be walked over by a philandering man. I know I’ve taught her to know she’s strong, beautiful, and any man on this planet would be lucky to have her. She better not be living some 1950s Mary Lou housewife version of life,” she says sternly.

  I nod, letting her know I understand.

  She stays another two hours. We make plans for me to meet her fiancé next Friday.

  When she finally leaves, I let out a huge sigh of relief and pour myself a big glass of wine. I have to resist the urge to text Bryce though. The desire is stronger than it’s ever been—I want to know what he said to my mom.

  Why hasn’t he reached out to me to explain?

  I can’t shake my guilt that I sort of threw him under the bus even though I didn’t tell my mom exactly what happened. But I didn’t own up much to my part in everything. Why did he even answer his phone for her when he hasn’t bothered to pick it up and call me?

  Tonight wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was supposed to be daydreaming about my trip. Instead, the heaviness I’m trying to run away from seems to be closing in on me. I wish I had booked a flight for tonight. I feel like I can’t breathe, and my head feels stuffy. I just want to feel normal again.

  I can’t concentrate long enough to write, and I keep replaying the conversation with my mother over and over. When I get a text alert, I think it’ll be from Davien, but it’s Carter.

  Are you free to talk?

  I wonder what he could want. It’s a little after ten thirty at night, and though we’ve talked this late before, it’s always been for a reason. Maybe he needs someone. He’s been there for me in the midst of the chaos of my life recently, and maybe he needs the same.

  I text him back that I am. Instead of my phone ringing, there’s a knock at my door a few minutes later. When I open the door, he’s wearing one of those smiles that can make anyone’s day seem brighter, and I’m instantly glad he’s here.

  “You weren’t sleeping were you?” he asks.

  “No, my mom just left actually.” I step aside for him to come in.

  “How’d that go?” he asks with a chuckle.

  I give him a “don’t ask” look. “Well, let’s just hope your visit goes better than hers did. You want something to drink?”

  He shakes his head, so I grab myself a bottle of water and watch as he sits in what’s become his designated seat. I lean on the counter, waiting for him to tell me what’s prompted his visit. He seems a little nervous, sitting straight up like there’s a board attached to his back, and he’s absently drumming his fingers on the counter.

  “Is everything okay, Carter?” I ask.

  His lips are pressed together in a hard line. He smiles and lets out a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “You remember what we talked about earlier?”

  “We talked about a couple of things.”

  “Right.” His eyes are briefly glued to the counter before he looks back at me from beneath his thick blond lashes. “The New York part, I mean.”

  My stomach clenches. “Yeah.”

  His eyes meet mine, and like always, I feel a calm spread through me, all of my apprehension melting away.

  “You know you shouldn’t go on that trip.” His voice is no longer wavering but holds a hint of concern. Not so much that I’m taken aback but just the right amount that I can’t be angry with him.

  “Carter, I told you that it’s not what you think.”

  “You’re approaching a dangerous line.”

  I frown at him and sigh. “I understand why you’d be concerned, but there’s nothing for you to be concerned about.”

  He looks down at his hands, which are clasped again.

  “D-do you have a crush on me? Is this your way of telling me you like me?” I ask, trying my best not to sound conceited.

  “No, it’s not that,” he says quickly.

  I can’t say my ego doesn’t take a bit of a hit.

  “Not that you’re not someone I wouldn’t want to be with if circumstances were different—any man is lucky to have you—but Bryce is that man,” he says quietly.

  Now I’m even more confused. “I just don’t get why you care so much about my marriage. To be honest, it’s starting to feel a little creepy. You don’t even know Bryce.”

  “I do know Bryce.”

  My throat constricts, and I feel the blood drain from my face as I think about all we’ve talked about, all he’s seen. “You what?”

  “It’s not how you think!” he says quickly, his voice raised at my reaction.

  “What are you talking about? You either know him or you don’t,” I say, glaring daggers into him.

  “I know him how I know you,” he says.

  My breathing speeds up. My thoughts are jumbled together. How well does he know him? Will he tell him everything he knows? Has he already done it?

  “Get out!” I tell him angrily.

  “Okay, I really screwed this up. Can we start over?” he pleads.

  “Get out now!” I yell, pointing at the door.

  “I always hate this part. I never know how this is going to go,” he says. “Can you just calm down for one minute? Please, Chassidy?”

  As mad and confused as I am, my racing thoughts slow down and I wait for him to give me an explanation.

  He stands, rakes his hand through his perfectly messy locks, and he looks at me again. “I’m… I’m an angel.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” I clearly didn’t hear him correctly.

  “I’m an angel, and I’ve been sent here to help you.” He’s looking at me, waiting for a reaction.

  I laugh, but it’s sort of strangled. I wait for him to say, “Hey, I’m joking, I just wanted to get your attention,” but he doesn’t. I slowly take a few steps backward until I’m against my counter, where I wait for the right moment to grab a knife.

  “Wow, that’s amazing,” I say, playing along and kicking myself for befriending this guy and letting him in my house. I’ve befriended some religious nutcase and he’s here in my apartment and my only chance of saving myself is if I can get a knife and hope he gets scared off by it. He’s bigger and stronger than me and he’ll probably just snatch it away, and that realization makes tears well in my eyes.

  “Chassidy, I’m not here to hurt you, and I’m not crazy. I really am an angel.”

  “Okay. You’re an angel,” I say softly, as if I’m talking to a child. “A good one.”

  “Yes, sent by God,” he says.

  I laugh out of nervousness. “Well, could you please leave?” My voice trembles.

  “I know you think I’m crazy.” He laughs, but it’s not like his other one; it’s nervous.

  “No, I don’t think you’re crazy,” I tell him quickly.

  “It’s okay. Most humans react this way once I tell them,” he says casually, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, as if he’s just told me he got a new job or asked if I could feed his fish while he’s on a trip.

  I can’t believe I didn’t pick up on any of this. How did I befriend a psycho? Or maybe he’s high. I’d rather him be high than just plain crazy. Is that better?

  “I’m not high either.”

  I swallow hard again. How did he know I was thinking that? Maybe I said it out loud.

  “You didn’t say it out loud.�
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  “I’m going crazy,” I mutter.

  “You’re not going crazy.”

  I pinch myself and wait for my fingers to meld into my flesh like clay, the way it does when I’m dreaming, but instead I just feel sharp pain.

  “You’re not dreaming. I’m not on drugs or crazy,” he says, crossing his arms.

  “Okay, if you’re an angel, where are your wings?” I ask him nervously.

  “Not all angels have wings. There’re actually only two forms of us that do, and I’m not that high up on the totem pole,” he says the last part jokingly.

  “You promise you’re not going to hurt me?”

  He nods, his expression somber. My thoughts are racing. Is this really happening? It can’t be. So what that he guessed what I’m thinking. It’s not exactly like my thoughts were out of the ordinary for a normal person in this situation.

  “If you’re an angel, do something angelic,” I challenge him and he smiles.

  “Would you believe me if I did, or would you rationalize it?”

  “It would certainly help me believe you’re not insane, or that I’m not insane.”

  He walks toward me, and I back into my wall, wanting to sink into it.

  “Take my hand,” he says softly, extending it.

  I look at him skeptically, shaking my head. “I don’t want to.”

  “Are you afraid?”

  I look at his hand, then back at him. It’s actually not that I’m afraid—my heart is racing, but my throat isn’t tight like it was when I thought he was Bryce’s friend. This isn’t making any sense. How can he read my thoughts? Oh crap, he’s reading my thoughts now if this is legit.

  “I can stop if you want me to,” he says.

  “Please!” I shriek, gripping my head with both hands.

  “Okay,” he says with a small grin.

  “This is crazy! This is crazy!” I’m shouting now. “Okay let’s say I believe you, that you are an angel ‘sent by God.’” I use air quotes. “Why are you here? Why would a God I don’t believe in care about me? Why not go to Kelsey? She believes in God, she’d get a kick out of this.”

  “Because he loves you, and you’ve lost your faith.”

  I laugh. “No, I never had faith.”

  He smiles sympathetically. “You lost your faith after losing Logan and Anna.”

  My breath catches. “How…”

  “God still loves you,” he says gently.

  I feel anger replacing my disbelief and fear. “God loves me? He. Took. My babies! If your God is real, he doesn’t love me. He’s torturing me. What he’s done to me isn’t love. Making it unbearable to be around my husband isn’t love. He lets murderers and abusers have children, but not me. Why? Why does he let that happen? How does he love me if he won’t give me what I want the most in the world? How is that fair? How is that loving?” I’m shaking, not out of fear but anger.

  “His ways are higher than ours.”

  I scowl at him. “No. No! You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to stand in front of me and say you’re a freakin’ angel and tell me that generic garbage and spout off that he loves me and not tell me why he’s done this to me!” I don’t know if he’s an angel or if any of this is real, but it feels good to yell at someone about it.

  “God didn’t do this to you, Chassidy.”

  I laugh bitterly. “Oh, who did it then? Who should I blame? Oh, let me guess—the devil, right?”

  “He’s real and he’s after your belief, your faith. He wants to destroy it so you turn away from God.”

  “Well, he’s doing a fantastic job! Even if ‘the devil’ did cause all of this, if he makes all of the bad things happen in the world, why does God allow it?”

  “I can’t tell you God’s plan. I can tell you he knows your pain, he understands it. He’ll never allow it to be meaningless or random. What was meant to steal your belief, to harm you, God can use for his own purposes, which are always good. If you give him your pain, your hurt, he can take it away.”

  He says something else, but my heart is beating hard in my ears, anger coursing through me. I pick up a bowl from my counter and throw it across the room. It shatters, and the loud sound makes me cringe, but he doesn’t flinch. He only looks at me with pity clouding his face.

  “I want you to leave. Right now. If you’re an angel, I demand that you leave. I don’t accept your help or words of wisdom or whatever you’re here to give. I want you gone. Now!” I shout.

  He drops his head in defeat before walking toward the door. “Okay.”

  “You’re not going to teleport out?” I say sardonically, my anger shredding any apprehension.

  He looks back at me with an empathetic smile. “Good night, Chassidy.”

  He walks out the door, and I follow him and kick it so hard it hurts my toe.

  Present day

  “I’m going to ask her to marry me, big bro.”

  I let out a hearty laugh. “Wow, seriously?”

  My immature little brother, the jock, the hothead, is in love and ready to make a commitment. Man, I’ve gotten old.

  Duke pulls the ring from his pocket and shows it to me. It looks more expensive than the one I bought Chas.

  “Woah! How long have you been saving for this?” I ask in disbelief.

  “Since a month after I met her,” he says meekly. He looks embarrassed, but it’s the goofy type of embarrassment, where you’re so happy you don’t care what people think.

  I shake my head and slap him on the back of the head playfully. “Man, you guys gave me such a hard time when I told you I was in love with Chassidy, and now you’re going to propose!” He shrugs and laughs. “Hey, I didn’t understand it then. You don’t understand it until it happens. Max thinks I’ve gone insane.”

  I shake my head. His twin brother, Max, still acts as if he’s in college, never seeing the same girl for more than a month. I remember Duke hid Julie from Max for months. I know that had to be hard, what with the twin thing they have going on. But Duke and I have gotten closer since he couldn’t share how hard he was falling with his no-strings, older-by-a-minute brother.

  “I can’t wait until she has my last name, man,” he says, beaming. “I never thought I’d say this, but I can’t wait to be a husband”

  I smile at him, but I can’t help feeling envious. I remember that was how I felt before Chas and I got married.

  “I want it to be great, like you and Chas,” he exclaims.

  I nod, not having the heart to tell him my marriage isn’t one he should wish for.

  When I don’t say anything, he asks, “Is everything okay?”

  “Oh yeah, everything’s fantastic,” I say quickly, patting his back. “Marriage is a blast.” I give him a thumbs-up.

  His eyes narrow. “Your poker face sucks. What’s up, bro?”

  I hesitate. The last thing I want is to unload about my failing marriage to someone who’s about to propose. “Me and Chas are having a few issues, but tonight isn’t about that. It’s about celebrating you and Julie.”

  “Screw that. What’s going on?” he demands.

  We order another round of beers, and before I tell him anything, I make him swear not to tell my mother. She’s never liked Chassidy and would swoop in with divorce lawyer referrals if she heard what’s going on. After he promises, I tell him that things haven’t been the same since we lost Logan, that recently Chas has asked me to move out, and that I’ve been staying with Jax and Tiffany, not knowing when I can go home, if ever.

  He looks at me in disbelief. “Man, I can’t believe this.”

  Seeing the disappointment on his face, I regret telling him. This is why I didn’t want to talk about it.

  “I knew that losing Logan would stay with us, but I never thought it would destroy us,” I tell him honestly.

  “Destroy?”

  “That’s what this feels like.” I take another sip of my beer.

  “Dude, did marriage make you a pussy?”

  I frow
n at him. Just like that, it’s like I’m talking to my brother Max instead.

  “I mean, she asks you to leave and you just leave? Like you’re roommates?” he asks.

  “What was I supposed to do? Stay there and let her be miserable?”

  “You fight, dude. You fight for her. You don’t just say, ‘Oh, you don’t love me anymore? That’s fine, I’m leaving,’” he says mockingly.

  “She didn’t say she didn’t love me anymore,” I correct him.

  “Exactly! Forget that ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ crap. You’re not in the navy fighting overseas, and half those dudes come back and their wives are knocked up. What I mean is, Granddad used to tell me that marriage isn’t for the weak. And you’re acting pretty damn weak right now.”

  At first I’m angry, but when I think about it, what he said makes sense. She asked me to leave and I walked away. When she had that emotional spaz-out at Jax’s house, I turned my back on her.

  I put my hands on my head and realize what an idiot I’ve been. “Now she thinks I’m cheating on her.” I groan.

  He looks confused, so I tell him about the run-in with Kira and how I didn’t go after Chassidy.

  “You’re a special kind of stupid, Bryce.”

  “At the time, I just felt… I think I wanted her to feel how she made me feel—abandoned.”

  “Tell her the truth. Show her what you’ve been working on. The truth is there. Go back home though. Refuse to leave. Make her know that you love her and you’re never going to stop, so she can just get over it,” he says, reminding me of our granddad.

  I look at my little brother and wonder when the roles flipped. “When did you get so smart?”

  He chuckles. “I’ve always been the smart one. You guys were just too stupid to know it.”

  Chassidy

  Last night was a dream.

  That’s what I tell myself as I get dressed to go to the airport, on the ride to the airport, and on the plane. It didn’t really happen, it couldn’t have happened, or if it did happen, it just didn’t happen the way I remember it happening. I go through the scenario, picking holes in what my brain constructed. Maybe I was writing and since I was drinking, the story I'm working on started to blend with reality.