I guess that’s what makes the reality of dating so sad for someone like me. Sometimes I was the leaver, and sometimes I was the left, not that the distinction mattered much anyhow, the conclusion inevitable regardless. The fall out always being that a part of me was now sewn into the fabric of their heart’s memories. Truth be told, I’d given away so many pieces of my soul over the years that the woman looking back at me over the bathroom sink was often a stranger at best. We’d all sell our souls to the devil himself for a chance at being loved, so I never faulted Leighton for that, but perhaps I had none left to bargain with, soul that is.
I was nothing if not frequent in my fondness of “in for a penny, in for a pound,” but like every gambler, my luck would run dry and I’d turned up broke more than a time or two.
If love was a loan shark, my debt was already well past due, and I’d be left black and blue before the night was through.
It was because of this that hope and I remained in a lustful tangle as frienemies.
You know, I think that was the problem with using people to manufacture and generate a high. People were unpredictable. They were an uncontrollable chemical substance, and thus, the high varied dramatically from person to person encounters, as did the fall.
Some left bruises that faded, and others left scares that wouldn’t ever go away.
Leighton had heartbreak too, frequently, but she rebounded like a warrior. She became braver and more determined with each and every relationship misstep.
It was admirable.
For my heart, albeit wild, was grossly without bravery. The fear in me had bred a coward’s heart.
I’d spent many a night over the years bathing in the dim light of my alarm clock raining black tears on white pillowcases because of men. I was a smart woman, constantly bested by her own romantic inadequacies. I had to wonder though if the tears always came because fear whispered to me that I’d never be enough of something for a man, or if it was because fear challenged that I’d never be enough of something for myself.
I guess that’s why they say don’t believe everything you tell yourself in the night.
If I did, I was worried that in addition to having a coward’s heart, I’d find in me a gutless soul, and that was more than I could seem to bear.
Morgan returned with champagne to interrupt my self-loathing, and Leighton’s dramatic portrayal of the author with whom she’d effectively ‘bagged’ this week.
I politely declined his offer for a glass.
I never drank at my events, but especially not this one. Not on Henry’s night. Not when I would tell a room of strangers about the brother I loved who died too young.
“Of course.” Morgan nodded sympathetically, and I decided maybe I did like him. He had soulful eyes.
“I need to go check in with Tom and make sure we’re running smoothly. I’ll come find you after the speech, okay?” I leaned forward and kissed my best friend on the cheek.
“Char.” Her fingers curled around my upper arm. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I will be.”
“All set.” Tom adjusted the small mic affixed to the neckline of my dress.
“Ladies and gentlemen, here to provide this evening’s opening address, I have the pleasure of introducing the founder of the Halo Foundation, and the woman behind tonight’s fabulous event, Miss Charleston Smith.”
Tom cued me, and I stepped onto the stage as the clapping grew louder at my introduction.
It was a small stage and only took a few paces of my long legs to reach Kevin. He welcomed me in a dramatic showboat of a hug, no doubt for the guests’ benefit, and as we separated, he squeezed my shoulder in comfort, no doubt for my benefit, before he exited the stage and left me alone.
My hands gripped the edge of the podium and I looked down at my speech.
I didn’t need to read it. It wasn’t very long and I’d memorized it weeks ago. Nevertheless, I was comforted by the safety net it provided.
“Good evening, everyone.” I smiled as a hush fell over the crowded room and all remaining eyes came to me.
This was always the hardest part of the speech, the hook. The hook was Henry, and it gutted me a little every year I used him for it, but it had to be done.
Henry was the reason we were all here. He was the reason I was here.
“I buried my brother the year he turned twenty-four.” I heard gasps as I expected I would, and paused accordingly like I’d been taught to do.
“Henry was my favourite person in the world, my only sibling, and with him, I buried his suffering, but our family’s suffering lives on with his memory.”
My chest burned in a way that made me grateful for the crimson of my dress. This way, if my heart actually was bleeding, they wouldn’t be able to see it.
“Addiction is a petty thief; it steals the ones we love from not only us, but from themselves. He was only fifteen when addiction began stealing pieces of who my brother was. It started so innocently, as it often does with teenagers. Just a little fun here and a little danger there, but it was the gateway to a world that inevitably cost him his life.”