I stare off and the dark cherry stained cabinets and black countertops blur in my vision. “No.” I’m exhausted. I don’t feel like getting into with her right now.
After Rosa pours herself a drink and one for me, she starts chatting up some Emo guy named Chad from her history class. I take that as my cue to exit.
Climbing the stairs, I decide to head to a familiar spot. Henry’s bedroom. I can’t be around people right now. I feel like an open wound. An open cesspool oozing from flesh and there aren’t any doctor’s around to stitch me up.
I’m standing in his doorway and I’m hit with a swarm of emotion. My bottom lip quivers and I bite it and I suck back my on-coming tears. The tidy, bedroom with the grey walls and hardwood floors brings back a vivid stain of flashbacks. The first time he kissed me, I was sitting on the edge of the bed.
My eyes wander over to the french doors that lead to a balcony. We watched the stars together and he told me he loved me. Reminiscing about our good times is making me a mess. I’m spoiled milk knocked off the counter—spreading—a huge puddle on the floor. Somebody help me. Somebody please clean me up.
Inside the room, I set my cup down on his nightstand and center on the photo of him and Callie. A rush of anger circulates through me. What’s so special about her? If he loves me like he says he does, why is her face the last thing he wants to see before he lets sleep take over him? I’m trembling. So overwhelmed with hurt and anger that I do the only thing I can think of to eliminate the way I’m feeling. I flip the picture over, and then flop down on his bed.
His smell lingers on the pillow case and creeps up my nostrils. Tide and True Religion. I want to bathe in it, wash my body with it so I’ll never forget it. The enticing scent blankets my entire body and I want to stay wrapped up in it forever.
Hysteria comes out through screams and I grab the pillow to my right and smother my face with it, screaming louder. Even though I’m fully clothed, I feel naked. Lying bare on a bed waiting for my lover to come to me. This is the real me.
When I go to set the pillow down a rectangular object catches my eye. The crumpled up object lies face down the mattress and I pick it up, holding it up in front of my face.
“Oh,” I gasp and throw my hand over my mouth.
The crumpled up object is a photo of me and Henry. I close my eyes and tears spill onto my cheeks.
I’m smiling, beaming, so elated and happy that my face looks flawless. The sunlight hits my cheeks and I look like I’m glowing. Henry is kissing my forehead. His lips curled up into a half-smirk. For a moment I forget my depression. I forget about everything. I’m lost in that moment.
Then a thought hits me and I frown. I’m still a secret. I might be the last thing he thinks about before going to bed at night, but I’m still hidden—banished to an eternity of darkness underneath his pillow. I’m not special enough to earn a place on his nightstand and it kills me.
I’ve been told that it takes a long time for a broken heart to mend, but as I lie there in my loves bed, I wonder just how long it will take me. When I’m away from Henry he haunts me. With his voice. Surreal hallucinations. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, he’s there. A constant reminder.
How long will my obsession last? How long will I feel so consumed by my love for him that I can’t think of anything else? I’ve done the best I can to stay away from him. I’ve done the best I can to not answer his messages or calls. But long will it be before I crack? I’m certain it won’t be long at all.
At night, I tremble alone in my bed. I’ve bitten my fingernails down to the stubs. I’ve had dreams about him every night since we’ve been apart and even though it’s only been days it feels like we’ve been separated for years.
There are times where I tell myself I hate him and then I think of something Mom told me when she and Dad split up. “Love and hate are such passionate emotions. They are so powerful that they blur the lines between one another. Even though you tell yourself you hate a person if you’ve ever loved them at all, that’s a lie.” She’d stared off blankly when she told me the next part. “I stand by this when I say it, together or not, it is impossible to hate someone you love.”
Mom is a wise woman. Love drives people to despair and distorts the lines between fantasy and reality. Love can knock the wind out of your lungs. The emotion can lock you down and make you feel imprisoned—s
hackled to a wall. There is no escape. Once love takes hold, it will always be inside of you—always apart of you.
Love is a sickness. It is a disease. One minute you feel like you’re flying. You’re a bird soaring through miles of endless blues sky. Nothing can pull you down. Nothing can put out the sizzle burning inside of you. Yet at the same time, love can make you nauseous, and grief stricken. The inside of your stomach churns. You’re dry heaving. So insane and delusional that love might leave that you start rocking back and forth like a maniac in a mental institution.
I’m almost there.
Is it worth it? The ups and down of the emotional rollercoaster called love? Is it worth a person losing their mind, having a broken heart, and constantly questioning their judgments or feelings?
I glance at the picture of Henry and me one more time before setting it face down on the mattress and covering it up with the pillow and I know the answer to the question.
Absolutely.
I love Henry and I don’t care anymore. I don’t care if I seem stupid for wanting to be with him under the circumstances we’re in. I don’t care if people think I’m a moron. My love for him is the Marianas Trench, vast, deep and wide—never ending.
I need to tell him. I need to tell him that nothing or no one can put out the fire for him burning inside of me. Not Callie. Not anybody. It will blaze bright and vibrant forever and ever. Until the day I meet my maker. Until the day I die.
As I sit up, on the edge of the bed pushing myself to my feet a sudden urge of relief sweeps over me and I know that I’m making the right decision. And I squash the tiniest bit of doubt that was left in my mind.
But as soon as I stand. I hear them. Footsteps.
Two pairs of footsteps. I freeze. There are two people heading toward the bedroom. Muffled voices throb in my ears. They are outside the door. My eyes center on the brass door knob as it starts to turn. Almost like the circular handle is an orb suspended in front of me, glowing in the dark.
“Henry,” Callie snaps.