RETRACE (22 page)

I’ve been, to some degree, controlling my grieving episodes, they’ve been somehow calculated and restrained. For a while they even disappeared, Reeves made them disappear together with my nightmares. But whatever is taking over me right now is stronger, it overpowers any ability I may have to be sensible. Tears erupt from my eyes uncontrollably. Acid climbs up my throat and I gasp for air.

The bathroom door banging against the wall shakes the apartment as I slam it open. I turn the shower on, wait for the heavy steam to veil the glass, and step inside. I flinch at the first encounter with the fiery cascade. Soaking up the water, my clothes cling to my body in burning dampness. I fall to my knees and cover my face with both hands, rocking back and forth on my bent legs. And this time the images and voices come in a clarity that overwhelms me, it’s so real, I’m back in my room, in my bed, hearing the news about Patrick.

My mother’s sharp cry, my father’s broken authoritative timbre as he tries to calm her down. Sounds of footsteps, a duet of light and heavy cricking on the old stairs leading to my room. Their faces as they appear in my doorway, a sight of fatality. My heart accelerates, and the familiar hopelessness and immense pain sinks in and feasts on my soul.

Their heavy, stretched, almost unreal voices as they tell me what happened. As they tell me Patrick took his own life. They tell me, and I conjure the visions before my eyes. I see nurses in white uniform running to his room. I see an illuminated bathroom with a twisted sheet dangling from a high showerhead. I can even smell the medicine mixed with soup scent the facility he was kept in always had.

It turns my stomach. Silent cries of desperation that leave my mouth blend with the murmur of the falling water. I shake my head, crying for losing him, crying because it was me who killed him. It was me who made him die.
Crying because I need Reeves
. My skin stings with the heat of the water that covers me now from head to toe. My clothes feel heavy, drained with the scorching water. I can’t take it anymore. I can not. I need Reeves, I need him to take it all away, because this time, it’s bigger than me. I can’t handle it anymore. Panicked, I step out of the shower and rush to the front door.

I run up the stairs to the level above, leaving a trail of puddles that drip from my sodden attire. I knock at the door once and it opens to a display of anxiety, concern and tenderness in Reeves’ eyes as they look back at me. Without saying a single word, he wraps me in his arms, covering me with every muscle, sensitivity, warmth, and security that is him. I let out a painful cry. Sobbing, I meld into him. For a long moment he lets me hide inside his shielding hug. He says nothing, but radiates an abundance of protective strength as he lifts me to be held in his arms. I wrap my legs around his waist, my face buried in his neck as he carries me to his bedroom.

He releases me gently till I’m standing on both feet before him. He leaves me for less than a breath and comes back to tower over me. Reeves drops to his knees and slowly takes off my shoes, one after the other. He unties my sweater and lets it slide to the floor. With nothing but a gentle stare, he starts peeling my clothes off, piece by piece. With a soft towel he dries my glowing, red skin. A twitch of pain hovers over his features as the harm I’ve caused myself is revealed to him.

In one swift move he peels his own shirt over his head, the shirt I’ve managed to wet in a matter of a few stretched moments. He takes me in his arms again and carries me to the bed. Reeves lays me on my side and slides to embrace me from behind, so close, till our bodies unite in a human puzzle. He lifts the blanket over us and deepens his embrace around me. Painful sobs inflamed with uncontainable shudders and pants leave me as I let myself melt into his hold.

“I’m here for you,” he whispers to my ear in a low, soothing, voice. His healing embrace on me tightens. He leaves a soft kiss on the crown of my head. I turn around and melt into him, burrowing my face in his neck, crying into his warm skin. I cling to him so desperately, as though he is my source of life. Which in a way he is, he is the only one that can take my pain away. It feels like I’ll never be as protected if I ever let go.

“Cry it out.” He kisses the top of my head, his voice rasp yet gentle. “I know it’s painful. Cry. I’m not leaving you.” He deepens his hold on me, reassuring my broken heart. He dismantles me, slowly and painstakingly. Layer after layer, he peels off my barriers and clothes until I’m naked—physically and emotionally, naked. I am completely bared before him, body and soul. It's a blanket he covers me with, but I know it's his heart that wraps me to truly feel as warm and protected as I finally do.

For the first time since forever, I cry with all my heart. For the first time, no one tries to sooth me and tell me it's going to be okay. Because it will never be okay. Patrick will never live again. He'll never laugh with me again. He'll never be mine again.

Even though Reeves has no idea what I’m crying about, he seems to understand me, to know exactly how it feels, and what I need from him, and from myself. And he lets me do it, silently absorbing my grief, not even once attempting to stop me.

I’m weak and weary by the time I am left with no more tears to shed. I feel empty but in a liberating way. As the room falls silent, Reeves turns to lie on his back and slides me on top of him so we are chest to chest, heart to heart. He kisses me softly.

“I’m sorry I’ve scared you,” he says, oceans of remorse in his eyes backing his words.

“You cannot be violent ever again.”

He nods in determined affirmation. “Talk to me.” His voice is so supple and caring, gently crumbling the remains of my walls.

“I killed my brother.” I gasp.

Reeves’ brows pull in. His body slightly edges below me, but he doesn’t let go.

“He is dead because of me.” We are both silent for a pause. Reeves kisses me again, this time even softer. “Patrick was five years older than me. He was also my best friend. We played together all the time as kids, we fought a lot, made each other’s lives a living hell from time to time, like any siblings are meant to, but always loved each other very much. I looked up to him. He was my smart, beautiful, caring big brother. When we grew up I was even a part of his gang—I used to go out with him and his friends. …” A knot tightens in my stomach and I close my eyes. “Manic depression can be controlled, the symptoms are usually harmless to everyone beside the person suffering from the disease. But there are times…

“Patrick was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder by his late teens. For the first couple of years we all learned how to cope, how to help him, and us. It’s a hard thing to get used to, especially when the person suffering from the disease is one of the people you love the most.”

I heave heavily, having Patrick handsome face before my closed eyes. I flutter my eyes open into attentive green ones. “The worst times for me to deal with were feeling Patrick’s pain when the mood swings ended, and he was mortified, ashamed, and truly repentant regarding what happened. Time after time it broke my heart.”

Reeves cups my cheek, giving me his empathy, care and utter attention with one single look.

“He was usually very responsible with practicing the treatment, he took medications when needed, never missed his weekly therapy sessions. With our support and his dedication, his illness was, to a degree, controlled. That is until it wasn’t…”

The lump forming in my throat silences my voice. My eyes gloss over as I recall images from the events and finally the night that started a rollercoaster big enough to have my brother take his own life at the age of twenty-five.

Reeves’ expression fills with pain as he watches me shudder and for new tears to leave my eyes. I press my cheek to his chest and shut my eyes forcefully.

“He was going through a stressful period—midterms, our grandma passing away, his girlfriend leaving him—his mood swings had increased drastically. He was mostly down.” I take another needed breath. “He went out with his friends one night, which I encouraged. I thought it would do him good, that he needed a break. He ended up drinking too much. When he returned home, I was alone in the house. Later we were told that perhaps it was the alcohol that triggered it, whatever the cause was, the mania was that strong that night, strong enough to turn him violent.

I heard things crashing to the floor, sounds of glass breaking, and went down to the kitchen to check what was going on. Patrick didn’t even notice me at first. He was smashing dishes, his eyes full of rage.” As I say the next words Reeves’ arms wrap around even tighter. “When I tried to talk to him, calm him down, he attacked me. I knew he wasn’t controlling any of the violence he directed at me, I was both scared for me and him.” A sharp exhale leaves Reeves lips with my name in it.

“I came out of that night with shiners, split lips, and a broken rib. Patrick came out of that night mortified and ashamed. A few days after, my parents called me for a “family talk.” We sat around the kitchen table over apple pie and milk when they told me they came to a conclusion together with Patrick that it would be best if he was admitted to an open ward facility where he’d be treated and have time to rest.

I resented the idea. I hated it, thinking he was going away from his own home because of me, because he’d hit me. Patrick reassured me it was his idea and that my parents said they would support him. He was there for less than two weeks before they found him hanged in the shower. He left a letter, addressed to me.”

I cry so hard into Reeves’ chest and he lets me, comforting me in his warm hold.

“He wrote that he loved me and that he was sorry for ever hurting me. I didn’t want his apology. I didn’t care for an apology. I wanted him back.”

I tremble under Reeves. He kisses my head and gently pulls me deeper into him. After moments of hugging me in silence, when I start to shiver, Reeves leaves the bed only to come back with a sweatshirt which he helps pull over me. He then gets back into bed, settling with his legs straight. Leaning on the headboard, he sits me astride him. He takes my hand in his, and threads his fingers into mine.

“I feel so guilty,” I say.

He pulls me closer to him, he dips his head to kiss me. “I know,” he says. “It’s the hardest thing. That’s how I feel about Ben’s accident. I feel like I could have prevented it.”

I blink at him.

“Go on…” He coaxes softly.

“I feel guilty and I’m so mad at my parents for going through with it. I can’t let go of my anger toward them. And, I can’t tolerate violence—it scares me, repulses me—it’s the reason my brother is dead.” I look Reeves straight in the eyes. He nods, confirming he understands the gravity of my words. “You can never again act like you’ve acted tonight.”

Reeves’ hands move to frame my face, “I will not. I promise you, Nia.” He brushes his lips to mine. “It’s not an excuse, but seeing fear in your eyes, having that guy grab you like he did, hit me so hard.” He pulls me closer to him and our breaths mix. “Now listen to me, I’m done. Nia.
We are done
.”

My brows sink together.

“We are done playing this game we’ve been playing for far too long. I got jealous tonight, you know why?”

I tilt my head, and he hovers closer.

“Because I want you, like I’ve never wanted anyone before. You make me happy. I don’t want you seeing anyone else. I want you to be mine.”

“What are you saying?” My words funnel between us in a soft whisper, followed by my racing heart.

“I’m saying I want you to be mine, and so much more. I’m saying
I need you
and
want you
.”

“Are you sure? We are like two grenades waiting to explode…” I say shakily, because I want him, I want him so badly I can hardly breathe. But I’m afraid it’s what I’ve just told him that makes him take pity on me and give me what I want.

“Don’t two negatives make a positive?” He gives me a sweet side smile. I can’t help for my lips not to curve up.

“Are you willing to deal with all my baggage? You have enough of your own to take me with mine.”

He nods. “Our scars and wounds are a great part of who we are. And who you are is so amazingly beautiful. I’ve been fighting myself, for the life of me I don’t know why, not to tell you this. I want you so fiercely it’s almost unreal. Without the baggage you bring with you, you wouldn’t have been the you I’m totally crazy about.”

I bite my lip, fighting happy tears this time. “Maybe sometimes we need to be completely shaken up, maybe even tore apart and suffer so we’ll be able to be at the place we’re meant to be, with the one we’ve meant to be. I guess everything, sick and painful as it may be at times, does have a purpose. I know I’ve found my purpose, I can’t imagine me without you. I don’t ever want to imagine that.” His lips hover next to mine. “Are you with me?”

Okay, here goes. Although this is something I’m not so inclined to bring up, especially at this moment, but I got to.

“I’ve asked you this already and I’m going to ask it again before telling you what I’m about to tell you.” I push out a tense sigh. “Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you and Katie?”

“Why are you bringing this up now?”

“Because that’s what she told me.”

“Hold up, what? When?”

“After dinner. She told me you two apparently have this grand plan to be together, that you love each other and always did.” Anger seeps to Reeves’ expression.

“I love Katie. Like. A. Sister. We don’t have any grand plan and we sure are never going to be together.
Nia, I’m telling you I want you
. Only you! So, I’m asking, are you with me in this?”

It’s a whisper that leaves my lips next, a whisper into his mouth, but we both still hear it clearly, together with the arsenal of emotions it carries.

“I love you, Reeves.”

When he kisses me next, it’s a kiss so tender, so warm, so emotionally saturated. With his touch he gives my words back to me. We kiss for hours, just kiss, long and profoundly. Our hands caress each other as if it was for the first time. We love each other through our touches till I’m too exhausted to keep my eyes open.