I can’t breathe. F*ck. My chest hurts. My eyes blur. My body shakes. The panic attack hits me full force as I grip the steering wheel, knuckles turning white and heart pounding like a motherf*cking freight train in my ears. I try to close my eyes—try to calm myself—but all I see is her face inside the house in front of me. All I hear are those poisonous words falling from her mouth.
My chest constricts again as I force myself to pull out of her driveway and make myself concentrate on the road. To not think. To not let the darkness inside take over or allow the memories to seep through.
I do the only thing that I can do—I drive—but it’s not fast enough. Only on the track is it ever fast enough to push myself into that blur around me—get lost in it—so that none of this can catch me.
I pull into the dive bar: blacked out windows, no sign above the door with it’s name, and a myriad of overflowing ashtrays on the window ledges. I don’t even know where the f*ck I am. I park my ride next to some piece of shit clunker and don’t even think twice about it. All I can think about is how to numb myself, how to erase what Rylee just said.
The bar is dark inside when I open the door. Nobody turns to look at me. They all keep their heads down, crying into their own f*cking beers. Good. I don’t want to talk. Don’t want to listen. Don’t want to hear Passenger on the speakers above singing about letting her go. I just want to drown everything out. The bartender looks up, his sallow eyes sizing up my expensive clothes and registering the desperation on my face.
“What’ll you have?”
“Patron. Six shots. Keep ‘em coming.” I don’t even recognize my voice. Don’t even feel my feet move toward the bathroom in the far corner. I walk in and up to the grungy sink and splash some water on my face. Nothing. I feel absolutely nothing. I look up at the cracked mirror and don’t even recognize the man in front of me. All I see is darkness and a little boy I no longer want to remember anymore, don’t want to be anymore.
Humpty f*ckin’ Dumpty.
Before I can stop myself, the mirror is shattering. A hundred tiny f*cking pieces splinter and fall. I don’t register the pain. I don’t feel the blood trickling out and dripping from my hand. All I hear is the tinkling as it hits the tiles all around me. Little sounds of music that momentarily drown out the emptying of my soul. Beautiful on the surface but so very broken as a whole. Irreparable.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Humpty back together again.
The bartender eyes my wrapped hand as I walk up to the bar. I see my shots lined up by some fellow patrons, and I walk to the other vacant end of the bar and sit down. My stomach churns at the thought of sitting between the two men there. The barkeep picks up and delivers my shots to me and just stares as I place two one hundred dollar bills on the bar top. “One hundred for the mirror,” I say, lifting my chin toward the bathroom, “and one hundred to keep them coming, no questions asked.” I raise my eyebrows at him, and he just nods in agreement.
The bills slip off the counter into his pocket before my second shot is being tossed back. I welcome the sting. The imaginary slap to my face for how I just left Rylee. For what I’m going to do to Rylee. The third one’s gone and my head still hurts. Pressure’s still in my chest.
You know that you’re only ever allowed to love me, Colty. Only me. And I’m the only one who’ll ever really love you. I know the things you let them do to you. The things you enjoy them doing to you. I can hear you in there with them. I hear you chanting ‘I love you’ over and over the whole time. I know you’re convinced you let them because you love me, but you really do it because you like how it feels. You’re a naughty, naughty boy, Colton. So very bad that no one will ever be able to love you. Will never want to. Never. And if they did and found out all of the naughty things you’ve done? They’d know the truth—that you’re horrible and disgusting and poisoned inside. That any love you have inside of you for anyone but me is like a toxin that will kill them. So you can’t tell anyone because if you do, they’ll know how repulsive you are. They’ll know the Devil lives inside of you. I know. I’ll always know and I’ll still love you. I’m the only one that is ever allowed to love you. I love you, Colty.
I try to push the memories from my mind. Push them back into the abyss that they’re always hiding in. Rylee can’t love me. No one can love me. My head f*cks with me as I glance down the bar. The man sitting with his back to me causes sickness to grapple though me. Greasy dark hair. A paunchy gut. I know if he turns around what he’ll look like. What he’ll smell like. What he’ll taste like.
I toss back the seventh shot, trying to force the bile down. Trying to numb the f*cking pain—pain that won’t go the f*ck away even though I know in my right head that it’s not him. Can’t be. It’s just my mind f*cking with me because the alcohol hasn’t numbed enough yet.
I push my forehead in my hands. It’s Rylee’s voice clear as day that I hear in my head—but it’s his face that I see when I hear those three words.
Not Rylee’s.
Just his.
And my Mom’s. Her lips and that ragged smile giving me her constant affirmation of the freakish horror inside of me.
The blackness has already poisoned me. There’s no way in hell I’m going to let it kill Rylee too. Number ten goes down and my lips are starting to not work.
A catastrophic exit. The perfect f*cking meaning to Ace. I start laughing. It hurts so f*cking much that I can’t stop. I’m barely holding it together. And I’m afraid that if I do stop, I’m going to fracture just like the goddamn mirror.
Humpty f*ckin’ Dumpty.
“This is the way you want it to be. Guess you don’t want me,” I sing solemnly with my old standby, Matchbox Twenty, as I drive home after my shift the next day. I still haven’t heard from Colton, but then again I hadn’t expected to.
I pull into my driveway, the past twenty-four hours a blur. I should have called in sick to work as it wasn’t fair to the boys to have a guardian around who’s so wrapped up in their own head they weren’t really present.
I’ve relived the moment so many times that I can’t think about it anymore. I didn’t expect Colton to confess his undying love for me in return, but I also didn’t think he’d act as if the words were never spoken. I’m hurt and feeling the sting of rejection and am uncertain where to go from here. I took an important moment between us and f*cked it up. What to do now? I’m not sure.
I trudge in the house, drop my bag rather unceremoniously on the floor by the front door, and collapse on the couch. And that is where Haddie finds me hours later when she walks through the door.
“What’d he do to you, Rylee?” Her demand rouses me from sleep. Her hands are on her hips as she stands over me, and her eyes search mine for an answer.
“Oh, Haddie, I screwed up royally,” I sigh as I let the tears that I’d been holding back flow. She sits down on the coffee table in front of me, hand on my knee in support, and I relay everything to her.
When I finish she just shakes her head and looks at me with eyes full of compassion and empathy. “Well, sweetie, if anything’s screwy, it’s definitely not you!” she says. “All I can say is that you need to give him a little time. You probably scared the shit out of Mr. Free-Wheelin’-Bachelor to death. Love. Commitment. All that shit...” she waves her hand through the air “...is a big step for someone like him.”
“I know.” I hiccup through my tears. “I just didn’t expect him to be so cold…so nonchalant about it. I think that’s what hurts the most.”
“Oh, Ry.” She leans in and hugs me tightly. “I’ll call in sick to the event tonight so you’re not alone.”
“No don’t,” I tell her. “I’m fine. I’ll probably just eat a gallon of ice cream and go to sleep anyway. Go...” I shoo her away with my hands “...I’ll be fine. I promise.”
She just stares at me for a moment, debating whether I’m lying or not. “Okay,” she says, taking a deep breath, “but just remember something…you’re awesome, Rylee. If he doesn’t see that...if he doesn’t see everything you have to offer in and out of the sack...then f*ck him and the horse he rode in on.”
I give her a slight smile. Leave it to Haddie to put it eloquently.
The next morning passes without hearing from him. I decide to text him.
Hi, Ace. Call me when you have a chance. We need to talk. XO.
My phone remains silent for most of the day despite how many times I’ve looked at it and checked to see if I have good service. As the day drags on, my unease settles in, and I start to realize that I’ve probably done irrevocable damage.
Finally at three o’clock I receive a response. My hopes soar at the prospect of having contact with him.
Busy all day in meetings. Catch you later.
And then my hopes take a nosedive.
On the third day post the I-love-you disastrous confession, I get up the nerve to call his office on my way in to the office. “CD Enterprises, can I help you?”
“Colton Donavan please,” I answer, my knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel.
“May I ask who’s calling please?”
“Rylee Thomas.” My voice cracks.
“Hi, Ms. Thomas, let me check. Just a moment please.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, anxiety eating at me as I hope he answers and then at what to say if he does.
“Ms. Thomas?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry. Colton’s not in today. He’s out sick. Can I take a message? Can Tawny help you with anything?”
My heart moves up into my throat at the words. If he is in fact sick, she wouldn’t have had to check. She would’ve known.
“No. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”