Forget Me Not (30 page)

“Don’t you see? This
is
me making it up to you.”

“NO! I can’t believe I’ve let you do this to me twice. You have been wasting my time all along.” He doesn’t try to stop me as I move towards the door. “This has been such a mistake. The biggest mistake.” I repeat to myself. I slam the door as I leave, but not satisfied with my parting words I open the door once more. He’s standing with his hands on his head looking defeated and miserable. I’m glad.

“You know what, this isn’t my biggest mistake. My biggest mistake wasn’t that I loved you, it was that I believed you loved me too!”

I race through the club, desperate to be seated in Emma’s car as my legs continue their decline to numbness. As I make it onto the street I hear the doors open behind me and a strong familiar hand grabbing my arm. Instantly I turn and push away with everything I have. His grip doesn’t loosen and I find myself being carted off further down the street. Away from the eyes of the queuing partygoers, Jesse leans in to my line of sight and regards me with stern but sore eyes.

“How are you getting home?” he asks.

“That’s none of your business.”

“I don’t want you driving home in this state. Not after last time. Please, Michaela.”

“My safety is none of your concern anymore.”

“I still care. I’ll drive you home.”

“I’d rather break every bone in my body in another accident than spend three hours in a car with you.” My anger takes over my speech and I walk away feeling regretful at my choice of words. The sadness plastered across his face is enough to bestow another course of tears to line my cheeks and heavy sobs to stab at my chest. I make it to Emma’s car and drive far enough away that I feel safe to park without worrying that he’ll come after me. I give in to the gravity of my pain and begin to cry myself dry.

Chapter 31

Somewhere in between the sobs raining down relentlessly on my chest, I remember my promise to Emma. I reach for my phone in my bag tucked in the passenger foot well. Four missed calls and two text messages. All from Emma.

Have u arrived safe? xxx

U r 10 mins away from a very hormonal lady coming 2 get u. CALL ME! xxx

I dry my eyes as best I can, but the tears continue to fall. My breathing is harsh and interrupted by involuntary shudders that come from too much crying. I lean back against the headrest and will the angst in my voice to soften enough for Emma to stop worrying.

She picks up on the first ring.

“Mickey?” Her voice is alarmed and I immediately feel bad for being the cause of her concern.

“Yes,” I manage.

“Are you okay? Are you in New York?

“Yeah.”

“What’s happened?”

“Oh, Emma,” I sob, unable to hide the hurt.

“Asshole! What has he done?”

“It’s over.” I can’t explain any further. I can’t even organize my thoughts mentally let alone vocally.

“Mickey, your sister’s coming for you.”

“What?”

“Joanna’s coming for you. It’s been hours since you left and I hadn’t heard a thing. I was worried,” she explains.

“How long ago did she leave?”

“A couple of hours. Let her drive you home. She has Zoe with her. She can drive my car back.”

“Emma, I’m sorry. Thank you,” I whisper.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Is Benji okay?”

“He’s probably had more ice cream than he should have, but yes, he’s fine.”

“Thanks,” I sniff. “I’ll give them a call and find out where they are. I’ll be round in the morning.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you.”

After calling Zoe’s mobile and finding that they’re only half hour away I give them the directions to my whereabouts and curl up in my seat. The tears continue their attack without any encouragement. I haven’t even thought specifically about mine and Jesse’s conversation, but I guess my body is perceptive to what’s being played over and over again in my subconscious.

I think about how I have let everyone down and a fresh tsunami of pain lances through my chest. My parents had finally accepted Jesse and now I have to tell them that they were right not to trust him. Joanna had him figured out all along and now I have to deal with her smugness. Emma doesn’t need my issues clouding her hormonal mind and yet here I am adding to her concern.

Then there’s Benjamin. I have seen such a change in him lately. He has always been a happy child but for the last couple of weeks his happiness has expanded beyond the realms of his previous six years. Now I have to dispel his contentment. I will take his hope for a fairytale family and screw them up like an unwanted break-up letter. His life is going to be changing so much over the next few weeks, what with the introduction of his real dad, and I can only hope that he continues to handle change much better than I do.

I must have dozed off because when I open my eyes Joanna is banging on the passenger window with a look of horror in her eyes. Her alarm relaxes a touch when I acknowledge her and move to open the locked door.

“Jesus, Michaela! I thought you’d done something stupid!” she cries before climbing into the seat. She looks at me again and softens, reaching across to me. Her kindness is my undoing as the sobs that slept with me awaken with energized enthusiasm.

“It’s okay. I’m here now,” she whispers into my hair, holding me to her and stroking my bangs away from my face. I idly recall how unlike Joanna this mothering is.

“Why has he done it again, Jo? To break my heart once wasn’t enough?”

“Shhh. It’s okay,” she continues with her generic coo’s.

“No,” I say as I sit up enough to look her in the eyes. “Tell me. Tell me it’s because he’s an asshole. That he’s a nasty, jackass incapable of love.”

She shifts uncomfortably. “He’s not, Mickey. He’s just…damaged,” she mutters. She’s excusing him? The one person I could rely on for a good Jesse-bashing and she’s excusing him? I don’t want to feel anything other than rage for him right now and she wants me to pity him.

“You can’t be serious?” I ask, incredulously, straightening myself up further in my seat.

“Mickey, you know all about his upbringing, but you don’t know the full extent of how it has affected him. I can’t excuse what he’s done, but I can understand he thinks he’s doing the right thing.”

“Do
you
think he’s doing the right thing?”

“No, not at all. But, you can’t force him to stay with you. He wants to do best by you and whether he’s right or wrong, that should show you how much he really loves you.”

“He doesn’t love me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she scorns.

“Joanna, he just told me he doesn’t want me. I think that makes it pretty clear,” I scoff, wiping my nose unattractively on my sleeve.

“He called me to ask me to come and get you. We were already on our way of course, but he obviously cares,” she offers.

I’m a little taken aback by the news, but I soon recover. “Just because he doesn’t want me to die in a car accident doesn’t mean that he loves me.”

“He sounded really upset,” she adds quietly. I shake my head, unwilling to justify her empathy with an answer. She sighs, despairingly. “Zoe will drive this car back. You can ride with me.” I roll my puffy eyes and exit the car.

After an intense morning with Joanna and tears from a hormonal Emma I have sworn to remedy both of their reactions. Having already put them through so much this last twenty-four hours, never mind the last ten years, I won’t be the reason for their worry again. I’ll just continue with the pretence that I’m coping. I’ve sworn them to secrecy, not wanting my parent’s reactions to bring me down any further than I already have.

The moment Benji and I step into our home, into the quietness, I know I can’t stay here. I should probably go to work. I have a million things to be catching up on, but I can’t bear the thought of being trapped in my office with my loud thoughts. Benji and I therefore spend the remaining day doing anything other than go home.

Relying on taxi cabs and public transport, we spend the day hopping between distractions. We go to the sand dunes, but I find it tainted with memories of Jesse and our not so long ago happiness. We go for food, but I can’t bring myself to eat anything. Benji insists on going to the cinema, but I can’t even recall what the movie is about. By nightfall, Benji has fallen asleep in the taxi drive home.

Somehow, I find the strength to carry Benjamin to bed. I pull off his shoes and leave him in his clothes, not wanting to wake him after an exhausting day, but when I tuck him in, he stirs and wakes.

“Mom, are you sad?” he asks.

I immediately force a smile, hoping to dispel his concern. “A bit, sweetheart. But it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

He ponders my reply, pouting. “Are you missing Jesse? It’s okay, he’ll be back soon.”

I breathe through the pain that comes with his name and manage to nod and smile at Benji. I know I’ll have to tell him eventually that Jesse is not coming back, but it will be at a time when I can bare to say his name without falling apart.

Downstairs, I find myself cleaning, bleaching everything in sight, hoping that the saying, ‘clean house, spotless mind’ deems true. I buzz around the house as if I have been possessed by my mom. I wish. She would be strong enough to deal with this. I contemplate calling her and relying on her understanding words and expertise, but I can’t bring myself to unload my problems onto anyone else. I’ve already been so selfish.

When the house resembles one that my mom would be proud of, I contemplate starting work on the recent wedding photographs. I soon disregard that idea, unwilling to accept anyone else’s happiness when my own has been taken so cruelly from me.

With nothing else to do I know that my only option is sleep. I crave the peace it can offer. I need so desperately to escape the quietness of my home and the overriding loudness of my mind. Sleep won’t come unaided, though. I head downstairs to the fridge and finger the neck of a half empty bottle of wine. This won’t do. I close the door and reach for an overhead cupboard, shuffling unused jars and condiments out of the way to expose a small bottle of vodka. I pour myself a glass and add a couple of ice cubes. Sipping the drink, I ignore the burn, knowing that with each drop I am closer to numbness.

With the fifth glass and ever increasing fogginess, the drama of last night seems less painful. I go to bed feeling stronger only to wake up many hours later in the darkness that entombed me ten years ago.

No…

C
hapter 32

The next week or so fade into one long episode. Sleep doesn’t break up the monotony. Instead it comes for brief moments throughout the day and only when I’m physically unable to fight it. I eat enough that I don’t feel as though I’m going to pass out and the only time I smile is in the company of Benjamin.

I’m existing.

As much as I try to appear happy, I can’t fail to notice Benjamin’s wariness of me. It pains me to see the effect that my pathetic mourning is having on him. He’s asked me many times whether Jesse is returning, and each time I’ve responded with the same lie, “yes, Jesse is coming home.” With every lie I hate myself more and the more I hate myself the more I drink. The second Benji is in bed I find my solace at the bottom of a glass. It doesn’t lend me the numbness of sleep anymore. Instead, I drink to fool myself into thinking that I am coping and that the world is a good place, only to be met with the distorted reality come morning. It’s a vicious cycle that’s slowly spiraling out of control.

I’m not even granted the release that comes with crying. Numbness has stolen my tears since that night in New York. I tell myself that I will soon see the light and as long as I internalize my misery rather than burdening others with my angst then I will be okay.

Emma and Joanna have taken it in turns to come and see me and I want to believe that they’re oblivious to my depression. They don’t mention Jesse’s name, no doubt scared of the effect it will have on me. Instead they skirt around the issue with questions about what I have eaten and how much sleep I’ve been getting. I can see they’re worried, but I don’t know what else I can do to eradicate their concern.

My parents are still oblivious to the misery consuming me. I can’t face telling them, reliving the drama, retelling the events that have caused the angst and dealing with the returning worry that I have witnessed from them before.

I’ve made it into the office almost every day, but I may as well have sat on the sofa watching crap on TV for the good I have done. Tonight I work my last night at The Cellars. It will be the first time I have been anywhere other than my house, my car, or my office. Emma has offered to have Benjamin for me and it bothers me to know that he’ll be so much happier there than in his own home.

I pack extra candy and treats in Benji’s overnight bag, understanding that through gifts is the only way that I am contributing towards Benji’s happiness right now. I am a terrible mom. Miserable or not, I am being a terrible mom.

I have a reminder set on my phone to call and make an appointment to see the doctor. It’s been reminding me every day but I’m the master of avoidance. The idea of relying on medication to ease me through the darkness is something I never considered throughout my previous bout in the shade, but I’m gradually becoming aware that I need to do something, for Benji’s sake.

Maybe tomorrow.

Dressed in my skinny jeans and a black tank I stomp down the stairs and find my biker boots. For the first time in days I’ve applied make-up and when I look in the mirror I’m almost fooled into believing that I’m okay. The jeans aren’t as snug as they should be and there are heavy bags underneath my dull eyes, but to someone who doesn’t know of the marathon my mind and body has been though over the last week, I suppose I pass as acceptable.

I take a cab to The Cellars and the moment I step onto the sidewalk I can’t ignore the beaming presence of
Sweets
. I’m shocked to find that work is continuing to be carried out on its restoration. I wonder whether it has just slipped Jesse’s mind to cancel it. I quickly redirect my thoughts away from anything that resembles…him.

Quickly making my way to the bar upon my entrance to The Cellars I consume a lengthy glass of JD and coke within seconds. I head down towards the main stage, feeling grateful for the alcohol generated warmth in my throat and the throbbing music in my ears. The current band bashing their way through a particularly angry song is a local one that’s played here for years. I lose myself in the pounding base and quickly shoot a series of long range shots of the stage and the surrounding crowd.

The Cellars is a standard bar up top with a brick-lined basement at the bottom of a long twist of stairs. The stage is a good size, and the acoustics are fantastic, bouncing off of the cocooned walls with speakers in every corner.

The band gives me everything I need and I think I’ve gotten some great shots. I definitely deserve a drink. It takes me a while to get back to the safety of the bar and as I order a beer I notice the time on the till. I’ve been here almost three hours and have only had one drink. Two, counting this one. That’s progress. I allow myself a smile. Maybe I can beat these blues without resorting to medication.

The reason for the positivity is that I feel calm here. Considering the thunderous music and barrage of shoulders that bump into me frequently, ‘calm’ is an odd word to choose, but it’s true. The music is basic. The melody is difficult to ascertain but the loudness is enough to drown out any unwanted thoughts. The bar is a great place to people watch and so I’m able to change the channel from the depressing scenes that have been playing on a loop in my head.

I should come here every night. This is me, my scene. Here, I am comfortable with who I am because nobody cares. Everyone is here for the music and for a good time. The brick walls are plastered with posters and any free space is colored with modern graffiti. The wooden floor is sticky from endless pools of spilt drinks and there is a continuous smell of sweat and dry ice in the air. I’d work the bar here if my hands weren’t already so full. Besides, my current thirst for alcohol is already at its peak without enticing it further with the lure of easily obtainable poison.

My untouched beer no longer seems as appealing as hope sits on the horizon of my consciousness. I order a JD-free coke and take the beer to the side of the stage before instructing for it to be given to the lead singer. I don’t even know his name but we have interacted many times over the years, albeit through the camera lens. He nods gratefully and I return to the bar where I take a weight off my feet, waiting for the next band to start so that I can continue shooting.

Checking my phone I notice that I have a missed call and a message. The number is unknown. It looks familiar, but I don’t want to believe why until I’ve read the text message.

I need to see you. Please call me, sweets. x

I’m thankful for the bar stool beneath me when my legs lose their strength and air gushes from my lungs. I expect tears, but they remain asleep. I wait for the anger, but that was left in New York. Have all of my emotions been substituted with the deadness of this depression?

Stuffing the phone back into my shoulder bag, I continue to sit and drink, already regretting my haphazard decision to give away my beer. Maybe I should buy another. No. Don’t be weak just because he has found a way to penetrate your life, albeit in a text message.

What does he want? Does he feel guilty for how he left things and want to apologize? Well, I won’t give him the chance. He doesn’t deserve it. I try to think whether I’ve left anything in New York for him to be notifying me of. Shit, what if it’s to do with his friend at EDDEX? Well, I can’t call him, whatever the motive behind his contact. There isn’t a reason important enough for me to punish myself with the sound of his voice.

As my phone rings yet again, suddenly a horrifying thought pierces through the walls of my numbness. What if it’s an emergency? My heart flutters, awakening from its grief induced sleep. He has nobody, no family. What if he’s been in an accident? Immediately I take my phone, camera and bag, and run up the stairs to the quietness of the street. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything happened to Jesse and I had just ignored him. After all, even if he doesn’t love me, he still found it in his hardened heart to be there for me and my family after my accident.

And I love him.

As much as I hate him, I love him and I would look after him despite the pain it would cause me to be so near to him and yet so far.

My camera has already been put away and my phone is at my ear, calling him back, by the time I make it outside. His heavenly voice shocks me before I’ve even registered that the phone is ringing.

“Mickey.” He’s breathy with what I think is relief.

“What’s happened? Is everything okay?” I ask, unable to hide the panic in my wavering voice.

“No, everything is not okay. I need to see you.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Somewhat.”

Slightly annoyed at his obtuseness I continue to dig. “Have you been in an accident? Are you physically hurt, Jesse?”

“No, of course not.”

I sigh, relieved. My respite at being informed of his safety is short-lived as I realize I have opened up the line to my heart and Jesse is clawing his way back in. The adrenaline from my overwhelming fear and concern leaves me and consequently my legs return to their jelly-like state. I lean against the outside wall of The Cellars and sink to the floor, resting my head against my knees as I steady my breathing and nerves.

“Please come and see me,” he murmurs, quietly. “I have so much I need to say to you and I really don’t want to say it over the phone.”

The numbness is fading like morning fog and as much as I’ve despised it lately I am now praying for it to sustain its hold. I want to pretend that I am unaffected by him and feel nothing. I want to hate him, but the harmony of his voice sings to me and lure’s me in like the pied piper.

“I’m working, Jesse. I can’t do this now.”

“You’re working? Where?”

“The Cellars. Why?” I hear his breath quicken down the phone and the line crackle with what? Wind? “I mean, I’m hardly going to drive all the way into the city to hear you out. I tried that once and it didn’t work out, remember?” I remark, snidely.

“I’m not in New York. I’m In Starling.”

I look up, sharply, scanning the street expecting him to jump out and shout
Surprise!
Is he joking? “Where are you?”

“Here, Mickey.”

I’m instantly drawn to a tall figure jogging lightly down the sidewalk towards me. I’m only certain that it’s Jesse when the dim light of the streetlamp reveals him. The adrenaline returns with a vengeance at the sight of him. My knotted arms unwind from beneath my knees as I feel the need to stand and straighten up in order to channel the electricity that courses through my body.

Without liberating my eyes from his I hang up the phone and watch him do the same. He’s slowed to a walk and I allow myself to appreciate how good he looks, from a distance at least.
is wearing his grey
Wearing his gray flannel pants and a white shirt that has been rolled up at the sleeves, he looks like he’s spent all day at work. His stance is withered, counteracting his height and broadness. My memories have failed him, again. I remembered him as a glorious sunset, when in reality he is the panoramic New York skyline that graces his apartment. Or perhaps, heaven. Yes. This is what heaven looks like.

Without consciously instructing them, my legs guide me over the remaining distance between us. He smiles at me as I stand before him but it’s a broken smile. It fails to reach his tense eyes and it ends much too quickly.

“Hi,” he mouths, but barely a whisper exits his sculpted lips. He’s panting a little. Where has he run from? “How are you?”

I scoff at the nonchalance of his question. “What are you doing here?”

Taking a step closer he reaches his hand to skim over the bare skin of my arm but his touch feels like a burn and I pull away. Having to look and listen to him when I can’t have him is difficult enough without having to be reminded of the effect his physical contact has on me. I can see it hurts him to see me recoil away from him, but I struggle to care.

“I have made the biggest mistake of my life for the second time and I am here to beg for your forgiveness, again, and pray that you will still let me be a part of your life.”

The sincerity behind his words is disarming. The tension in my body begins to wilt and I have to remind myself aggressively that his words have fooled me many times before. He has confessed his love to me on several different occasions and yet he never meant a word of them. Why should I believe him now? He’s probably just struggling with hurting me. Beneath it all he is a good man who just feels responsible.

“Are you here because you feel guilty?” I ask. He steps closer and begins to speak but I continue. “You should feel guilty, but that shouldn’t be the reason behind your being here.” My voice is betraying. It sounds confident and angered. Only I know of the extra effort that I have to exercise simply to stop myself from falling to his feet.

“That’s only a small part of why I’m here.” I raise my eyebrows expectantly, permitting him to speak even when I can’t bear to hear his lies. “I was a fool to think I could selflessly leave you to have a better life. I don’t know how I ever imagined I could be apart from you again. It almost killed me the first time, but this time…I may as well have been in hell. Mickey, I am sorry. I’m so sorry. Sorry is too small a word for how regretful, remorseful and damn shitty I feel for my behavior.”

He takes my hands in his and I have neither the speed nor the strength to pull away. In truth, with his hands around mine, I feel better, I feel safe, I feel home.