Bellissimo Rilascio (Beautiful Release): The Family Series #3 (9 page)

“Hell no, I like black.”

“Of course you do.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Black is universal. Goes with everything. No muss. No fuss. What you see is what you get.”

“You’re observant.”

“Very.” So the evening continues with silly questions and debating the validity of our choices. I find myself wanting the night to continue when we get back to the complex, but I know I’m not fully available. Just touching on the heavy shit tonight made me remember.

Feel.

Miss her.

I think Lisa is great, but she isn’t Bianca. Nobody ever will be. Isn’t your first love supposed to be your strongest? In my case, she’s become my weakness, and in turn I made her fragile. Remembering her in the hospital bed puts me in a somber mood. I try to hide it from Lisa, but she’s perceptive and keeps up the idle chitchat until we reach her door. “I would tell you to call me when you get home, but I’ll just listen for the door to slam.”

“Shit, we haven’t even switched numbers.”

“True. But we can just tap out Morse code on the walls for emergencies.”

I laugh at her. She’s one of a kind. I hand her my cell, and she does the same. The awkward moment seems to last forever as we both stare at one another then my mind shuts off, and I just feel. Gripping her hand, I tug her closer to me and kiss her. I intend for it to be sweet and chaste, but feeling her lips under mine has something inside me doing the opposite. I pull away breathless and watch her eyes open; she stares at me dazed.

“Goodnight, Lisa.”

“Goodnight, Dakota.” I step away to my door. I see her back up to enter her apartment. I wait to hear the click of the lock. It doesn’t come, but instead she sticks her head back out. “After that kiss I’m kind of disappointed I didn’t get my end of the night present. I probably could put them to good use tonight.” I stand there stupefied until I hear the click of her lock before letting the chuckle escape. Shaking my head, I go inside.

Climbing in bed, I grab my phone to set my alarm and see notifications from Facebook. My breathing halts as I open the application.

Six months.

Empty.

Guilty.

Six months since I’ve seen that smile. On the night I make progress, she halts it all with one photo of her and Callie toasting each other with wine glasses. She’s gone incognito; she hasn’t posted once in six months until tonight. Surely this isn’t a sign - reminding me of what we had, what I wanted more than anything is right there and healing. In an instant, I’m more confused than I was six months ago. I click the like button and turn off my phone.

Repent.

Forgiveness.

Absolution.

It doesn’t come. It never does.

More questions. More doubts.

Visions of Bianca blurred with a blond hair scamp swirl until sleep claims me.

Chapter Eleven

Bianca

What if it is?
A million dollar question swirling in my mind on constant loop. I don’t know what I’m afraid of.

Failure.

I failed him; therefore I failed myself in a way, and I can’t do it again. I have to be ready, complete before contacting him. Last week I joined the land of social media again. I was elated as I did it, until the notifications started coming in. That one “like” halted all of my progress.

‘
Dakota Hyatt liked your photo
.’

I deleted the app from my phone, again, and refused to talk about it. Now I’m sitting in Dr. Adams’s office zeroed in on the candy dish he replaced . . . with no Airheads. Fucking mints. He’s trying to piss me off. Who in their sane mind wants to suck on a fucking mint while purging their deepest, darkest secrets? I’m wondering who the crazy one is.

“What has you agitated today?”

“I’m not agitated.” I don’t think I was convincing with the rolling of my eyes and nasty tone, but I wasn’t trying to be.

“So sitting on my couch while emptying the contents of your purse, in complete silence, and clearly trying to yank your hair out isn’t agitation?”

“No, I’m fucking pissed. Not agitated. Not irritated. Not upset. Fucking. Pissed.”

“Okay. What caused this?”

“Your fucking mints. Where are my Airheads?”

“My candy choice doesn’t meet your standards. Noted. What else has you
pissed
?”

“Are you being condescending, Doc? Isn’t that Psychology 101? Thou shalt not condescend ones patients.”

“We don’t have commandments, Bianca. I’m not the Bible. I’m not the truth on all. Yes, I was being condescending showing you how ridiculous you are being over candy.”

“Candy is not something to joke about. You can’t take the choice of good candy and bad candy lightly. It’s a staple in the diet.”

“I’ll remedy that by your next appointment.”

I want to smack the smugness out of him. “You do that, and I’ll make sure to deduct the error of your ways from this session.” His lips turn up slightly, and now I am irate. “He liked my fucking picture on Facebook. I haven’t seen or heard from him in six months. Six months, Doc! I was strong enough to enter the world of social media again. Drinking wine with my best friend; laughing,
truly
laughing for the first time in months, and he liked my fucking picture.”

“Slow down. Breathe. Explain it to me.”

“I just did. Buy a clue because I’m ten seconds from catching a charge for bludgeoning my therapist in his office with a candy dish with motherfucking mints in it.”

“Let me rephrase this. Who liked your picture on Facebook?”

“Dakota.” I spit.

“Why does that make you angry?”

“Holy shit. I’m rethinking paying for this visit at all.”

“I have to say, in spite of your anger, it’s refreshing to see you with some fire in you. Why are you angry? Tell me, Bianca.”

“Because he started all this bullshit. He created a situation I couldn’t get over by sticking his dick in someone else, blaming me, then apologizing to me in the same breath. Refused to let me go. Everywhere I turned I was assaulted by memories of what we were, what we had, the potential to be and the utter failure of what we became. He pushed and pushed for us to be together, and I broke. He broke me and then left. Didn’t stick around to put me back together and hasn’t called once. But he found the time to like my picture. Who does that?”

I’m sure he is on the verge of calling for a straight jacket. I sound hysterical to myself, but I can’t get over this. “Your anger is justified, but I think it’s misplaced.”

“English, Doc.”

“I wasn’t aware I was speaking in a different language, Ms. Agosto.”

“You’re pissing me off today.”

“That’s been established. Your anger at him is warranted but not over liking a photo. That is your excuse for dealing with the suppressed rage towards him. Did you ever let him know how you felt?”

“Yes.”

“Did you feel guilty at the same time for making him upset or take blame?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Yes.”

“By absorbing the guilt over something you
didn’t
cause you weren’t able to process your feelings. Get angry, write him a letter, and confront him. Invite him to a session to work through it, but you have to acknowledge it.”

“So I’m overreacting about the picture?”

“And the mints, but that’s a topic for another day.”

“I can’t see him. I’m not ready for that.”

“What about talking to him. We can do it during your session.”

“No. I’ll write him a letter.”

“Okay. That’s good. Don’t worry about hurting his feelings, worry about expressing yours. You can send it to him, burn it, do whatever you want, but getting your feelings out, giving them a place to be acknowledged will free you from this burden.”

“Then we only have about a million more.”

“A million is better than a million and one.”

“Thanks, Doc. Don’t forget my Airheads next week.”

“I’ve already written it down in your file.”

“You’re going to miss me when I’m cured.”

“Bianca, feelings aren’t a disease. The sooner you realize that the sooner I can stop buying Airheads.” I roll my eyes and leave.
Without paying
. I make a short stop at the store and buy a notebook. I have a lot of pent-up rage and think this notebook may be a little small, but I can always buy a few more if needed. On the way to pay, I stop at the candy aisle and pick up three bags of Airheads. I’m mentally flicking off Dr. Adams while I pay for these purchases. Never underestimate the power of good candy. Male mistake numero uno right there.

I send a quick text to Lynsey.

ME: What is the most heart breaking, gut-wrenching, ugly-cry song you know?

LYNS: Do I need to worry?

ME: For your safety if you don’t just answer the question.

LYNS: Nice to see you back, Binks. Missed you. Breathe Me by Sia.

ME: TY.

LYNS: Anytime.

I situate myself on the couch and buy the song. I set it on repeat and put pen to paper.

Dakota,

So my ‘therapist’ (I’m debating if his degree is real. Some days I really like him, today not so much) told me to write this letter. Something to do with communicating my feelings. I wasn’t always bad at that.

I remember seeing you for the first time. I immediately tried to fix my hair and called Callie. I fell for you that day without knowing why. I was drawn to you, yet I pushed you away all the same. I own that. Maybe if I had opened up to you easier you wouldn’t have punished me instead of turning to me.

Shit! I’m doing it again. Blaming myself for your shortcomings. I own my shit, but you, you make excuses for your mistakes, and in turn placed some of the blame on me. Well, let me tell you it wasn’t my dick inside your roommate. Nope, that was all you. That was the first time I hated myself. That day you brought hatred in my life, and for that, I hate you. But I don’t hate you.

It would be so much easier if I did. I don’t understand how you can say you love me, yet do that to me. I sometimes think love is overused. I’ve become numb to that word, and that is all because of you.

I don’t want to be that girl anymore. I guess we are all a product of what we do, but you took my creation and remolded it to your actions, and I hate that. I hate that I chose your feelings over mine, but at the time I didn’t know another way. Truthfully, I still don’t. That’s love to me. Putting others first.

If I stop and reminisce, I know you loved me. I think you still do in your own way. I remember sobbing on your chest after I admitted my feelings the first time. I was terrified, and that feeling never went away. Does that mean what we had wasn’t exceptional? I don’t want to think so because your first love is supposed to be the one you compare to everything else in life.

I remember you looking at me and seeing me. The real me. Without the walls and defenses. You fought for me. You wanted that girl, and I wanted to be that girl. I was for a short time.

You hurt me more than I ever thought possible. Then refused to let me heal. You kept pushing and pushing, tearing apart everything in my life that was good. I may not have been perfect at
telling
you how I felt, but I showed you how much I loved you every day.

There were times you put me first, but that’s because I would never allow you to be hurt in doing so. I feel you used my love against me in the end, and I lost all trust in you. In myself. I don’t know who I am. The most formative years of my life, I was part of a couple. A quartet. You, Callie, Bronson, and me. One action tore that apart. I know you feel bad, and you’re sorry, but is there a point where that isn’t enough? I hope not. I want to hear that word from you and be able to accept it.

I’m not there yet, but hopefully one day I will be. Your pain caused me pain, but you didn’t acknowledge that. You drove the wedge deeper and deeper between us until it was irreparable. Until I believed I was unfixable. I’m not. I’m learning to fix myself. I don’t know if you accept the responsibility because I haven’t talked to you, and that sucks. Besides Callie, you were my best friend. When Callie was gone, I don’t know if you realize how much I depended on you. The day my dad was murdered you held onto me, you didn’t let me slip away. You kept me present with your words, your love, your shelter. When that was ripped away, I didn’t know how to deal with it.

You took my virginity, my innocence, my heart, and in the end you took my faith. The faith in myself, in love, in truth. You took those, and they weren’t for you. They were mine, and I want them back.

In short, I’m mad as hell, Dakota. I’m hurt as hell. I’m so confused and conflicted about what I feel and what is right. You did that.

I don’t know what else to tell you, except no matter what, I’ll always believe we had it all. We could have been forever and not fleeting, but YOU ruined it. All. I know I will always love you, always remember you, and maybe one day we can find what we once had but right now, I can’t be that person for you. I hope you’re happy. I hope you’re healing, and if it’s with me or not, I hope you find love.