by B. L. Berry
Maybe Ivy is right? Maybe I’m just like Sully ... a worthless piece of shit. There’s no way that anyone can understand the regret and confusion I feel with the whole situation, so I don’t even bother trying to explain. Instead, I just keep my eyes down toward the bar and nod.
“That’s fucked up, man.” Brock drums his fingers against the wood rhythmically. I feel it reverberate all throughout my pounding head. I should really stop drinking.
“I know.”
“How’d she find out?”
“Me,” I sigh, running my hands through my hair with a firm pull. The pain is surprisingly soothing. “I’m an idiot. I slipped up earlier in the night and then in my gloriously eloquent intoxicated state, I spilled it all on the walk home after the bar. I know I needed to tell her, but not like that. I’m such a fucking dick.”
“Can’t argue with you there, Tiger.”
The truth has been gnawing me raw for months and guilt has become a permanent part of my DNA. I thought I’d feel relief once I didn’t have to carry that secret with me anymore. But instead, I just want to hole up and die.
“It gets worse though…”
“If you slept with her mom too, I am officially de-friending you.
I snort at the absurdity of the thought. I’m pretty sure if I ever see her mother again, some choice words will be exchanged. She’ll be lucky to be alive after all is said and done.
“Nah, nothing like that. I’m not that big of a douchebag. To keep a long story short, I had a friends with benefits sitch with my old roommate Hailey. I immediately called it off when I met Ivy but never told Ivy about the arrangement. To me, it was irrelevant and didn’t mean anything. Then a few weeks ago, Hailey flew in out of nowhere and tried to play up our alleged ‘relationship.’ Before she left, she said some things alluding to what happened with Genevieve and I don’t think Ivy has wholeheartedly trusted me since. Needless to say, it put a huge fucking wedge between us for a while, but we worked it out. At least I thought we had.”
“Fuck. That's heavy.” He rakes his hands through his hair.
I know what he's thinking. It's the exact same thing I'm thinking … that Aston’s thinking … that every other person in this whole bar is thinking…
I’m a fucking asshole.
“I know I’m not the perfect guy Ivy thought I was. But she makes me want to be that man. A girl like Ivy? I’m not worth her time and affection and I’ve been holding on for dear life, trying not to royally fuck everything up even further. Which is why I have to give her the space that she wants. I’m just hoping a little time apart will ultimately bring us back together. That time helps her realize that all that happened before I even knew her. If it were any other girl, we probably wouldn’t even be in this situation?”
“Do you really believe that’s what she wants?”
“Yes? No? I don’t know.” Right now, I would give her anything she wants to have even the slightest chance of getting her back.
Brock leans against the bar on his elbow, resting his chin in his hand. “Giving her time and space won’t change things. Believe me, I know this all too well. The only ones who can change anything in your situation are you and Ivy. You both have to recognize that the past is what it is. You can’t just jump in your time traveling DeLorean, go back a few years and change the course of your present. From what I’ve gathered in the short time I’ve known Ivy is that she’s absolutely crazy about you. And girls? They act out on emotions rather than logic. She’s clearly hurting right now. And I understand why you’re giving her space, but I’m not so sure you should be rolling over to give her what she’s asking for. She’s a stubborn bull, that one, but she probably doesn’t truly know what she wants right now because she’s too focused on the hurt. Once she can get beyond that, I imagine she’ll see the reality of your situation—that all of this happened before you fell in love with her. Hell, before you ever met her. I wouldn’t give up on her just yet. But she’ll probably need a nudge in the right direction.”
Maybe he’s right? Maybe I shouldn’t have left. Maybe I should have shown more fight. Stayed there until we talked it out. Made her listen to me. But no, I gave her what she thought she needed. Me out of her life.
Ivy is the typhoon. And I know that if I give myself to the storm, I will help destroy everything in her path. Including us. I have to refuse to let that happen. I have to get her to hear me out. Make her understand. I need her to realize that sometimes wrong choices bring you to the right ones.
And she is all that is right.
Brock wraps an arm around my shoulder, shaking me from my thoughts. “Your past doesn’t define you. What you do right here. Right now. That does. And that is the only thing that matters.”
I didn’t think Brock was capable of this kind of sage wisdom. He sits back and pulls his wallet from his back pocket, tossing a credit card onto the counter for his drinks. “So she really threw you out?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I roll my neck feeling the pain from last night’s fitful sleep in the hallway. I’m going to have to go and sleep on the floor in my office when I finally leave this bar. Fitting, considering trash belongs on the floor.
He claps his hand on my shoulder as he begins to stand. “Well, we can't have a pretty boy like you out on the street. You'd be eaten alive. C'mon, you unlucky Casanova, you’re coming home with me.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I think I'm just gonna stay here a little bit longer.” Another drink or two should help erase this trip down memory lane. I lean against the bar as the room spins around me.
“It wasn't an offer. I'm leaving, and you’re coming with me. End of story.”
I snap my gaze up to him and try to look threatening. “Don’t you dare try to make out with me tonight, Brock.”
“Ivy would cut off my balls if I did. And I’m quite fond of my junk.”
I go to stand, but my legs turn to jelly. Brock scoops under my arms and somehow holds my body weight upright. “Easy does it, El Capitan.” As he steadies me, I feel a rogue hand squeeze my ass.
“Watch the hands!”
“Sorry,” he apologizes with a wink. “Hey, Aston, can you help me get him out to a cab?”
The barkeep grunts in response, not bothering to hide his annoyance. He obviously hates me. I find it humorous because there isn't a person in this world who hates me more than I hate myself in this moment.
Aston opens the door as Brock helps keep me upright. I practically stumble over my own two feet.
A high-pitched whistle shrieks.
Tires squeak in front of me.
I slump face first into a curry-scented cab.
And the whole world goes black.
MY DAMN PHONE WON’T SHUT up. I would have chucked it into the Hudson River days ago if I could afford a new one.
The first thing I did was change my ringtone. Foo Fighter’s Everlong has been replaced. Now, whenever my phone rings or I receive a text, I’m treated to some generic shrilly jingle. It makes me cringe when it sounds off, but it doesn’t make me cry, so that’s a bonus.
I guess.
Then I trashed the selfie that Phoenix and I took in Central Park that served as my phone’s wallpaper. I didn’t bother replacing it with anything, so my phone remains a black screen void of any memory.
Black is fitting.
The past week has been broken up into flights of work and fits of deleting. I work for hours, check my phone and delete the latest traces of him, then I put my head down and continue to work again.
I avoid the apartment we once shared as much as possible. It hurts too much to be there alone in my thoughts and all of the photos of us happily smiling down at me.
I lather, rinse, and repeat into the late hours of the night.
Today is no different.
Phoenix: We need to talk.
Delete.
Phoenix: Can I come by later?
Delete.
Phoenix: Ivy … please call me.
Delete.
/> Phoenix: I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.
Delete.
Phoenix: Ivy … please … I love you.
Delete.
Phoenix: We can work this out.
Delete.
Phoenix: I know I'm a fuck up. Just let me explain.
Delete.
Phoenix: It's been days, Ivy. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't function. Please talk to me.
Delete.
Phoenix: Look. I know you're pissed as hell at me right now, and you should be. And I hate myself enough for the both of us. But you need to know that that night meant nothing to me. You’re my everything. YOU ARE.
Delete.
Phoenix: I miss you. Will you at least hear me out?
Delete.
Phoenix: You can’t end things like this. You can’t end things, period.
I’m half tempted to write back and remind him that he ended things before we even began. But I refrain.
Delete.
Phoenix: I realize that no apology will ever make things right. Those are just words and while I mean them, words will never repair the faith you lost in me. But damn it, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.
Delete.
Phoenix: Please?
Delete.
Phoenix: I don’t just love you, Ivy. I’m in love with you. Don’t you fucking see that? And nothing from my past, present or future will ever change how I feel about you. Nothing.
My finger hovers over the trash can icon, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. While I can delete his words from the screen, I’ll never be able to delete the imprint he’s left on my heart, and I can never forgive him for what he’s done. But no matter how much I hate him, I just can’t stop loving him.
No matter how hard I try.
I SIGN MY NAME AT the bottom of the square and begin mindlessly folding.
Corners in.
Crease.
Unfold.
Refold.
Tuck.
Spread flat.
It’s amazing how something as complex as origami becomes second nature once more, even after all these years. I’m beginning to understand why my mother spent so much time making these damn cranes after we left my father. It’s much easier to lose myself in trivial work than actually face my problems. It’s all I can do to keep the fucking head games at bay.
I’ve lost count as to how many times I’ve sat down to write this letter and ended up staring at a blank page for an hour. But now that I’ve finally got my thoughts out on paper I’m afraid I’ll second-guess myself and chicken out if I attempt to re-read the words on the page.
I hope this works. It has to work. The past week has been torturous. She says she needs space, but I know the more space she puts between us, the easier it will be for her to push me away. And I can’t lose her.
I can’t.
When I finish folding the crane, I pinch the beak and hold it in the palm of my hand.
“Is that it?” Brock asks coming out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He eyes the bird tentatively. While I certainly appreciate him letting me crash on his couch until I figure out what the hell is going on, I wish he would at least act like he has a houseguest. The walls of his studio apartment are getting smaller with each passing day, but I can’t complain about his generosity.
“Yeah.” I take a slow, deep breath and try to release the building tension from my shoulders.
“Want me to take it in for you tomorrow?” He shakes the water from his hair and droplets rain down on me.
“No. I know she doesn’t want to see me, but I really think a few moments together will help.”
“Your funeral.” Brock takes the towel from around his waist and rubs it through his hair. I turn my head and look out the window. I’ve lost the number of times he’s conveniently found a way to flash me his dick.
“Is it really that bad with her?” The clouds are rolling in and I can tell we’re due for a storm. How fitting.
“I don’t know, man,” he calls out from the bathroom. “She refuses to talk about anything other than work. She’s bitchier than normal and she still looks like she’s been put through a meat grinder.”
Typical Ivy. Throwing herself full force into her career. Classic avoidance.
“Your girl has serious issues.”
If only you knew the half of it.
I look down at the paper bird, realizing I’ve done the same damn thing. Only I’ve thrown myself into the mindless mundane to avoid letting myself feel the magnitude and hurt of our situation. I look at the ever-growing pile of paper cranes on the table.
“You know, with enough of those things you could re-enact Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds but those little bastards could slay you with paper cuts instead of pecking out your eyeballs. So are you still planning on running away to St. Louis?” Brock comes back out wearing underwear.
“I’m not running away,” I lie. I’m simply leaving for a few days so I don’t continue to look after Ivy from the shadows like some creeper. I kind of hate myself for acting like such a pussy. At least work granted me the time off when I told them I needed to head back home for a few days to be with my ailing father.
“But you’ll be back in time for the opening, right?”
“Yeah. Though I’m pretty sure I’ll be on some security list to be escorted out of the building if I make an appearance.”
“You trust me with this, right?”
Not really. I nod, knowing that this convoluted plan of his is probably the last legitimate shot I have of getting her to talk things out.
“I just hope it works,” I sigh.
“It will. Girls may not be my forte, but I am the master of apologies.”
I’M SURPRISED TO SEE FARRAH at the gallery so early in the day. Normally she doesn’t show up until the afternoon when her hangover wears off. But there she sits, typing away and brushing her golden locks from her eyes every few seconds. Why she doesn’t just clip it back, I’ll never know.
“Phoenix came by earlier this morning.” She doesn’t bother looking up from her computer.
Oh? “And what did he want?”
“He didn’t say much, actually, looked like shit. But he left that for you.” She gestures to a soft blue paper crane perched on the edge of the desk. I finger the delicate paper bird for a moment and notice the words I’m sorry penciled lightly upon the wing.
My heart sighs for one hesitant moment before anger coats my insides at the thought of his confession. I snatch the bird in my fist and crush it before dropping it in the silver wastebasket. I don’t need this right now. I need to just let go and move on with my life.
Farrah glances up from her laptop and gives me a pointed look before taking a long sip from her oversized coffee cup. I notice the barista has butchered her name in big black bold letters—Fairuh. I’m convinced that baristas deliberately make a mockery of people’s names with bogus spellings. Once, they spelled my name as I.B. and Rachel claimed it stood for irritable bitch. And in some ways, I guess she wasn’t so wrong about that.
Farrah looks from me down to the wastebasket and back to me again.
“Don’t ask,” I deadpan and her eyes soften ever so slightly. My stomach falls because I don’t want her pity. It’s no secret that there’s trouble in paradise. Anyone can tell just by looking at me. You can’t hide sadness when you wear it in your tired eyes and your plastic smile.
“Listen, Ivy. I know you’ve got a lot going on in your personal life right now. Why don’t you take a mental health day? I’ve got things covered here.”
“But the show is in a few days and—”
“Exactly. We open in a few days, I’m wrapping up the final details here and just about everything is pretty much set. You’ve done a great job preparing for Sleeping Shadows. But you need to be on your A-game this weekend when we open. Go home. Read a book. Get some sleep. Go for a run. Do whatever it is you need to do to unwind and get back to your usual self.�
�
I can’t control the audible sigh. Farrah’s right. I certainly don’t want to be here. Although I don’t want to be anywhere else, really.
She stands up and walks around the desk, gently touching her hand to my arm. I think she’s trying to comfort me, which is a little weird considering how abrasive and standoffish she’s been since day one. “All you’ve been doing lately is working. You need to get out more.”
These days my idea of getting out is a dose of Nyquil chased with a bottle of wine. Who knows … maybe she’s right? Maybe I do just need to sleep this off so I can wake up with a renewed sense of life. But when I sleep, my dreams and nightmares are made of Phoenix. It’s a winless situation.
“Thanks for covering for me, Farrah.” The last thing I want to appear as is out of my element during the press preview. I can only hope that calming my busy mind will help pull me together.
Farrah squeezes my arm and gives me a reassuring smile. I turn on my heel and head out the door, determined to walk home.
Alone.
IT’S FUNNY HOW ACUTELY AWARE of the deafening silence you become when you are alone.
Actually, it’s not funny at all. In fact, it’s kind of depressing.
Alone.
That word has never bothered me. I’ve always been content on my own. But now that little word has two very different meanings.
First: Alone. In the company of one’s own self.
Second: Alone. In the absence of those who helped define who you are.
Similar concepts but completely different contexts. And for the first time in my life I’m falling into the latter category.
Alone.
And it fucking sucks.
The void that Phoenix left is just as painful as the truth of his past. He slept with my sister. And without even knowing it at the time, ruined the course of his future … my future … our future. Then, to add insult to injury, he knowingly lied about it straight to my face. That’s nearly as unforgivable as the act itself.
