Authors: Brandy Jellum
It will be better than him finding out later. Because if he decides to
walk away, I will be shattered. I wouldn’t blame him, either. Who would
want to be with a woman who left her ex so unsatisfied that he hooked
up with her mother, which resulted in her mother being murdered by
her father?
It just goes to show what kind of blood I have running in my veins.
If I were him, I would run as fast as I could.
I don’t tell him, though. Sitting here, saying nothing at all, and just being held, I’m the happiest I have been in a while, and I’m not ready
to let the feeling go just yet. Another reason why he should run the
other way: I’m too selfish to think of what’s best for him. I sigh heavily
against his chest, and Reid kisses the top of my head.
At some point I fall asleep. I don’t know when Reid managed to slip
out from underneath me, but I wake up on the couch alone, covered
in a blanket. I glance around the house and see no sign of him. My heart
stops and then drops into the pit of my stomach.
He’s changed his mind,
and now he’s gone.
Tears sting my eyes, and I throw my hands up above
my head. I feel something crinkle under my hand and sit up. A small p
iece of paper with neat script stands out. It has to be a breakup note.
I take several deep breaths before I pick it up and read it.
You seemed so peaceful, and I didn’t want to disturb you.
I ran into the city to grab a few things. I will be back soon.
Until then, I will be missing every second that you aren’t in my arms.
-Reid
With a sigh of relief, I lean back against the couch and smile. Okay,
so I overreacted. When don’t I? It’s not entirely my fault that I am so
cautious. I decide to get off the couch and take a nice long, hot bath as
I wait for Reid to return.
I wonder what he went into the city to grab.
I walk
up the stairs, my thoughts in a daze and a smile plastered on my face.
If only Dr. Uria and Eli could see me now. The thought of Eli tugs
at my heart. With my phone broken, I have no way to see if he has
attempted to call, text, or email me back. Maybe I’ll try to call him from
the landline again after my bath.
I walk into the large bathroom and to the oversized Jacuzzi tub. I
crank the lever to the hottest water setting possible and wait for the tub
to fill up. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and trace my fingers over
my scar. I have to think of something to tell Reid. I will only be able to
keep his hands off my stomach for so long. And eventually, he is going
to see me naked.
What have I gotten myself into? Am I ready for this?
Yes, I am. I am ready for this. I deserve to be happy. I repeat the words that Dr. Uria has told me over and over again like a mantra. I
deserve to be happy. I deserve to be happy. I deserve to be happy.
If I truly
do, why is it that I still feel so guilty? I think of my parents and Jacob.
Jacob. I need to make sure he is okay. I’ve long gotten over the
feelings I may have once had for him, but he was nearly beaten to death
in my
apartment
last night. I blame myself and that all this has happened
because it’s my fault. Reid deserves better. When I think of Reid, I wonder
why he hasn’t questioned me about the other night, but I’m thankful he
hasn’t. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him.
Seeing the tub almost filled, I sigh a breath of relief. I need out of
my head. I need to stop over thinking everything. I need to take things
one step at a time and enjoy them. Starting with this bath. I dip my foot
in the water, welcoming the feel of the hot water against my skin. I
sink the rest of my body into the water, sliding down until the water covers every inch of me except for my head, and close my eyes.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway snaps me awake. I
jump up in the water and splash some out the side. The water has turned
lukewarm, and my skin is wrinkly like a prune. I step onto the bathmat
and grab Reid’s robe from next to the shower and wrap it around me.
I wrap a towel around my hair and take off down the stairs, eager to see Reid.
As I
approach
the front door, I notice that the
vehicl
e in the driveway
doesn’t belong to Reid and stop in my tracks. I tiptoe to the door to
make sure it’s locked and peak out the window to the right of it. A
dark, hooded figure climbs out of the front seat, wearing all black. I
gasp and snap back from the window. I slide down against the door, pull my knees up to my chest, and wait.
The SUV door slams shut, and I can hear the gravel crunching
under the person’s feet. My heart is pounding, and my breathing is
erratic. I hear whoever it is approach the front door. They knock once
and then try the door handle. My heart begins to beat faster. What if
they break down the door and I’m leaning up against it? I hear a loud
thump against the ground on the other side of the door followed by
the sounds of the person walking away.
The SUV starts back up again and slowly pulls out of the driveway.
I sit there against the door, taking slow and steady breaths, waiting for
what seems like forever before I push up off the ground and open the
door. I crack it open, just enough to peek my head out and glance around,
and notice a manila envelope with my real name written across it in
black permanent marker. I grab the envelope off the ground and close
the door quickly, making sure to lock it behind me.
I walk slowly towards the living room with the envelope in my hand, debating on whether or not I want to open it. After a few more
breaths, I decide to see what’s inside. I am not prepared for what I find.
Pictures of my life, from birth until now. Most of the pictures I kept
locked away in the safe at the back of my closet. How did whoever it is get their hands on them? Then I remember that my apartment was broken into. It had to have been then.
The first few pictures are of me as an infant with both of my parents.
They seemed so young and happy then. A tear wells up in my eye. I
haven’t looked at these photos in a very long time. I had them hidden
away, never to look back on them. I stare at the photo of my parents and
me on my first birthday and gently touch it with my finger. The following
photos are scattered from the rest of my childhood, all containing at
least one of my parents in the photograph. As I scan through the photos,
it’s clear to see how time truly changes things. The subtle looks on my
parents’ faces, the fake smiles that don’t entirely meet their eyes, and the obvious distance they tried to put between all of us.
My father and I share no resemblance to each other, and I’m not
entirely a spitting image of my mother either. I used to question my
parents about it, but they were always quick to change the topic.
Then comes the photographs of Jacob and me, from our first dance
freshman year to being crowned King and Queen at the senior prom. I feel like I’m reliving another life I once had through photographs.
The last picture startles me, and I drop them all onto the floor.
Though I don’t have the actual photos, I never needed them. The images
I
have just seen have been burned on the back of my mind for six years.
It’s a crime scene photo. My mother’s body lies under a bloodstained
white cloth with police tape around the room. The photo has a caption
at the top that someone added in black permanent marker. The two simple words stand out:
You’re next.
Several minutes pass by, and I haven’t moved. I don’t think I have breathed, either. I cannot figure out who the hell is behind all this and
why or what they want. I thought it was Robert, but he can’t have
delivered this if he is behind bars. Which I know for certain he is.
I hear another car pull into the driveway. I run towards the door and see Reid’s car approaching slowly. My heart rate goes into panic
mode. I run back into the living room and gather up all the pictures as
quickly as I can. I glance around the room to see where I can hide them,
and I can’t find a hiding place. I see the fire blazing in the fireplace and
rush over to it. With a deep sigh, I toss them into the fire and watch as
the only photos I have of my life become engulfed in flames.
I can hear the car pulling to a stop and rush into the kitchen, just
as the last
of the
photo
s turn to ash. I need
something
to calm my nerves.
Opening the cupboard, I see a row of liquor bottles, so I pull out a
bottle of whiskey and a glass. I pour the dark brown liquid into the
glass and begin to chug it before pouring myself another cup.
“Hitting the bottle a bit early, don’t you think?” Reid’s voice startles
me. I didn’t hear him come through the door. I drop the glass and watch
it break into pieces on the wood floor. Reid kneels down and starts
picking up the larger pieces of glass. “You know, at this rate, I may not
have any dishes left in the house.”
I force a light laugh and help him pick up the pieces of broken glass.
“Can we go back to the city?” Reid raises an eyebrow and stares at me.
He stands up, carries the glass to the garbage, and disposes of it. I know
I should tell him about everything, but I can’t. I need to get away from
him. I have to protect him. I need to take care of this on my own.
“What’s wrong, Liza?”
“Nothing, I just really miss it and all.” He shakes his head as if he
doesn’t believe me. It’s written all over the tight lines of his face. “I miss
watching TV, I feel like I’m missing out on my weekly dose of reality shows.” It’s the furthest thing from the truth. Yes, Reid doesn’t have
a TV here for some odd reason, but I don’t really miss watching TV.
In fact, I could care less about it, but he doesn’t know that.
“I’ll get a TV set up here with more channels than a person needs,”
he says. His jaw is clenched tight as he stares at me, and my breathing
hitches.
“No, I don’t want to disturb the beauty and tranquility of this place.
I don’t want to corrupt it,” I reply quickly. Reid closes the distance
between us, pulls me close, and wraps his arms around me.
“Talk to me,” he whispers. “What is it?”
“I just want to go home.” The truth shocks me more than I expect,
but it’s not the apartment that I want to go back to. I suddenly feel the
urge to return to my childhood home. I want to run my hand over the
railing of the stairs. I want the smell of peonies from the garden to fill
my nose, and I want to hear the sound of my fingers brushing against
the keys of the piano.
I clench my fingers and release them slowly. The grand piano. I
haven’t thought about a piano in years, let alone intentionally been in
the same room as one. My fingers yearn to play some Chopin,
Nocturne
No. 2 in E-flat major,
to be exact. For some reason, that has always been
my favorite piece to play. How did I forget about that? How could I
forget about any of that? Perhaps because it reminds me of my father,
the one who pushed me to learn how to play and reprimanded me
whenever I missed a note.
Everything comes flooding back to me at once. The piano recitals
my mother came to. The ballet recitals my father never watched. Even
then, as a child, they avoided each other like the plague. I always knew
they hated each other but never understood why they stayed together.
Neither of my parents were the affectionate type, and only pretended
to put on a display of a happy home, family, and marriage. Flashes of
my childhood play in my head like a never-ending movie reel. I start to get lightheaded and collapse to the ground.
“Liza!” I hear Reid’s panicked voice in the back of my mind, but
I can’t escape the movie playing on repeat in my head. “Liza! Come on,
sweetheart, wake up!”
THE BLACK AND WHITE
piano keys taunt me as my fingers dance across
them. Daring me to make a mistake, to miss one little note, and screw up the
entire piece. I keep calm and let my fingers play Rachmaninov’s ‘Prelude in
G minor Opus 23’. I play the piece without incident, fully aware of my father
standing directly behind me. Once the song is complete, I feel his hand touch
my shoulder, and grip it tightly.
“Again,” he says sharply. “Without the sheet music.”
It’s not enough that he expects a ten-year-old child to master such a
complicated piece, but now he wants me to play it without sheet music. I love
playing. I really do, except for when my father is around. He drills me like a soldier in the army. Forcing me to play the same piece over and over again, until I feel like my fingers are going to turn raw and start to bleed. While I
love playing the piano, I don’t want to become the next prodigy. I don’t want
to become a concert pianist, like he expects me to. I play the beginning, hitting
all the right keys, and it isn’t until I am halfway through when I miss the first
note. After that, it becomes a disaster. A tear slides down my cheek. I know what is about to come— what always comes next.