Past Imperfect (17 page)

I was immediately blinded by the fluorescent lighting above, as my eyes fluttered open and frantically darted around the sterile room. The rest of my body remained frozen in the bed. I was confused, having no idea where I was, how I arrived, or why I was here. Just then the door swung open. A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and dressed in scrubs entered. He didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure if he knew I was awake. I watched him flip through some papers and then look up at the machine that was beeping with my heart rate. He returned looking down at the papers in his hands as he approached my bedside. The beeping got faster with each step he took until finally he looked up and saw me looking back at him.

“Well, hello. I’m Dr. Burnett.” He showed me a slight smile before glancing back at the papers.

“Where am I?” I asked.

“You’re in the ER at Wake Forrest Baptist Medical Center.”

“Why?” I tried to remember the events from earlier in the day, but kept drawing a blank.

An entire month had already passed since Becca’s memorial service, and memories of her and my mom continued to plague me. I knew attending the service had the potential of being a major trigger for me, but I felt I could handle it and keep my emotions under control. I did okay initially, but then images flooded back, first in my dreams and then during the day. I’d find myself spacing out a lot in class. My mind wasted no time placing me back in my mom’s room staring at her lifeless body. Then fast forwarding to see Becca lying in almost the same position in her bed. I’d been fighting the urge to self-harm. I knew if I kept banging my head that eventually I would cause permanent damage. I started digging and scratching my nails into my upper thighs, thinking that it was less dangerous. It worked for a little while, but didn’t numb me to the pain the same way head banging did. But I knew if I banged my head only a time or two, I would slide right back into the behavior. So I fought the urge as long as possible until this week when I fell off the wagon.

The reason was nothing out of the ordinary. I was at a bar, met a guy, got drunk, screwed said guy, felt empty, went home, let the loneliness consume me, and gave in to the urge. I’d banged my head and scratched myself every day this week without even one trigger causing it. I craved the adrenaline rush that I got when my head made contact or my nails scraped across my flesh. Relief washed over me every time I saw blood rise to the surface of my skin or in that millisecond when my head bounced forward after pounding it against a solid surface.

“Ms. Darnell, are you in a relationship?” the doctor asked.

“What?”

“Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Have you been the victim of a recent attack?”

“No. Why are you asking me these questions and why am I in the ER?” My tone was a mixture of panic and anger.

“You were brought in by your roommate,” he said.

“Why did Alexis bring me in?”

“She found you unconscious on the floor of your bathroom. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I didn’t eat today. My blood sugar probably just dropped and I passed out.” I shifted my eyes to look just over his shoulder instead of directly at him.

“You have scratches on both upper thighs, extending from the knee all the way up to the very top of your leg. You also have multiple abrasions along with bumps and bruises on the back of your head. This didn’t happen because you skipped a few meals. If someone did this to you, you can tell me. It would be strictly confidential.”

“No one did anything to me.”

He hesitated for a moment, cleared his throat, and asked, “Mabry, do you hurt yourself?”

Chuckling slightly, I answered, “That would be insane. Why on earth would anyone physically hurt themselves?”

“Different reasons. Some people do it because the physical pain is easier to deal with than the mental or emotional pain. Some people do it to numb themselves. Some people think it’s no big deal. After all, they control when and how they hurt themselves. But the natural endorphins that the brain releases when you inflict pain on yourself is addicting. Soon you have to cut or embed sharp objects deeper, burn your skin longer, or slam your head back harder to achieve the rush. You could end up causing permanent damage or worse.”

Looking into his warms eyes I could tell he knew that he had discovered my secret. “Are you keeping me here for any reason?”

“You have a mild concussion, but since you don’t live alone, I feel okay with discharging you.” Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a business card and handed it to me. “Take this. It’s the name and number of a counselor who’s there to listen.”

I glanced at the card and then back up at him. “Can I go now?”

“Sure, I’ll go sign your discharge papers.”

As I watched the door close behind him, panic and shame overtook me. I knew he legally couldn’t tell anyone, but the fact that someone knew my secret was mortifying. I knew there was a possibility of brain damage, but I was always careful not to let things go too far, except for a few times. I read the name and phone number on the card before I began flipping it through my fingers. I didn’t believe talking to this person would do any good. No amount of counseling would erase the pain of my past. It was buried in me too deeply.

It’s been a month since Mabry and I had our romantic weekend at Middleton Place Gardens. Opening up to me about her mother’s suicide and the way her father basically checked out was extremely difficult for her. When she allowed me to see her pain, I knew she had let me into her heart completely. Since then, I’ve shared more with her about my upbringing and how my parents left me to raise myself. Mabry wasn’t surprised. She picked up on how my family was from the first day she started at the firm. My parents are able to fool a lot of the people most of the time. They appear as warm and caring people who still respect each other even after years of being divorced. They are just as cold and calculating now as they’ve always been. Mabry saw right through their act.

We’ve talked a little about our past
“
relationships
”.
I knew Mabry wasn’t a virgin when I met her, although I wished she had been. The thought of another man’s hands on her was almost too much for me to bear. Some of the females around the office had warned her to stay away from me. A few of them knew my reputation from high school. The rest I had fucked at some point during my summer internships. When I graduated from law school and came to work here at the firm, my past followed me. I had changed by then and wasn’t the same asshole these women once knew, but none of them believed it. Anytime a new female joined the firm she was immediately informed to stay away from me. It never bothered me before because there hadn’t been anyone I cared about until now. I told Mabry most of the stories were true a long time ago, but I’m a different person now.

I haven’t opened up about Becca and how she was the catalyst that caused me to wake up, grow up, and change. I struggle back and forth about my decision to tell Mabry everything. I mean, it was in the past. I’m not that guy anymore. What’s important is that I’ve changed. I love Mabry and I’m committed to her in every sense of the word. It’s because of that commitment to her that I know I need to be honest and tell her everything. I’m sure she’s wondered what caused such a dramatic change from the way I used to live my life, I just have to wait until the right time presents itself and so far it hasn’t, or I haven’t let it. I’m scared Mabry will leave me if she finds out I was even remotely involved with a girl’s suicide since she saw the way it destroyed her own family.

Since Becca’s death, I’d gone out with a couple of girls. I even tried to seriously date this one girl, Stacia. She was nice, smart, and exotic looking. All her stats looked great on paper. There was just something missing between us. Admittedly, I have been pretty gun-shy about even going out on a date since Becca. I never saw her death coming and I sure as hell can’t live through another experience like that. But when Mabry walked into the conference room that first day at the firm all my apprehension and fear evaporated.

In the beginning, I thought of Becca every single day after her death, because I never wanted to forget the way in which she changed my life. Her death forced me to look at myself and how my actions affected others. Now I think about our brief encounter and how, because of it, I could possibly lose the most important thing in my life, the woman I love. I’m not sure if I’m overthinking it or not. I mean, we’re in love so maybe it isn’t the biggest deal, but just the thought that it might destroy us makes my voice catch in my throat, stopping the confession. I wonder if I will ever truly be able to leave the past behind.

I love any time with Mabry, but Sundays are my favorite. We don’t plan anything. We just spend time together. We started switching off staying over at each other’s place. Today we are at my place. It’s late morning and we are still in bed, working. Being new lawyers, you never really have an entire day off. I glance up at her and smile. She’s sitting with her legs crossed in front of her, reading over case studies. Her hair is piled up on top of her head, all messy. She’s wearing one of my blue Duke T-shirts, loosely knotted at the waist exposing my favorite pair of her black lace boy shorts. Her face is still flushed from our early morning horizontal workout. Dark-rimmed glasses frame her beautiful eyes and she’s concentrating, which means her tasty bottom lip is drawn into her mouth. I’m leaning against the headboard, my legs stretched out in front of me, crossed at the ankles, wearing a pair of faded jeans, drawing up a few contracts on my laptop. We’ve been in these same positions before, doing the same exact thing, and still I can’t get over how perfect it feels to
be
with her.

“What are you staring at, buddy?” she asks, giving me a flirtatious smile.

“The most beautiful creature on the planet.” I wink at her.

“Well, aren’t we full of cheese this morning,” she teases.

“That’s one of the reasons why you love me so much, Sweetness. I provide you with your recommended daily dose of calcium.”

“That reminds me, I’m hungry.” She removes her glasses and places them on top of the files in front of her. Leaning toward me, she brushes her soft lips over mine and kisses me lightly. “Do you want anything to eat?”

A wicked grin slowly crosses my face. “Oh, you mean food? Nah, I’m not hungry for food.” She narrows her eyes at me and shakes her head before climbing off of the bed. I watch as her sexy little ass sways its way out the door.

My life has never been as good as it is at this moment. When I look at Mabry I have a thousand different emotions run through me. I’m happy, content, excited, and completely at peace. I feel wanted and needed. I have a purpose now. Mabry has given me a life I never knew could exist. The raspy sultry voice of Duffy singing “Mercy
”
from the other room catches my attention.

As I reach the kitchen I see Mabry standing in front of the fridge, looking in. With one arm resting over the door, her hips move back and forth to the music. I cross my arms over my bare chest, lean against the doorframe, and enjoy the view. She grabs what looks to be a yogurt. Closing the fridge, she absentmindedly starts singing as she dances over to the drawer and pulls out a spoon. She still doesn’t notice me staring at her. I can’t help but think that her singing and dancing in the kitchen is a trait she inherited from her mom. She gets into her performance a little more, using the spoon as her microphone. My smile grows so big it makes my face hurt. Closing her eyes, Mabry hits a high note and spins around toward me. Her eyes shoot open and she startles seeing me there.

“Dammit! You scared me,” she yells.

“Please don’t stop. This is the best floor show I’ve ever seen.”

“Dance with me.”

“Oh no, Sweetness. This is all you.”

She places the yogurt on the counter and seductively saunters toward me. “I know you have to be a great dancer.”

“Yeah? How do you know?” I ask.

She unfolds my arms from my chest, tugging me to the center of the kitchen. “Because, I’ve seen and felt your hip action.”