Fix Up (19 page)

Chapter Eleven

DUKE

I don’t move from my bed, don’t watch Derek leaving with my roommate. For the last few days I’ve barely managed to give them one word answers whenever they’ve tried bringing me into their conversation. I’m the picture of pathetic, and I don’t give a shit. My work is piling up on my desk, I should be focusing on graduating. But I’m not. Nothing matters anymore.

If I didn’t have Derek on my back, I’d be either stoned or drunk out of my mind. That’s the only way I know how to shut everything out, how to numb myself. Every time I take air into my lungs, it feels like someone is cutting me wide open because that means more seconds, minutes, hours without Skye.

And the fucking nightmares.

I growl and rub my face, keeping my eyes closed as more images of Skye come to me. I’ve seen all of her, the good, the bad, the ugly and the beautiful, and yet it’ll never be enough. I’m still craving her even though she’s fucking me up beyond anything I ever thought possible.

Just thinking about her going to that prison to visit that asshole … Fuck. I know it’s going to break her, and I won’t be there for her. I’ve missed so much already, pushing her away from me with my bouts of jealousy. And why? Just because I was scared of losing her. What a joke.

I blindly snatch my cigarettes from the bedside table and light one. Inhaling the smoke in my lungs, I let it burn on its way down while polluting my body. I slowly open my eyes and don’t blink when daylight hurts my eyes. That’s a pussy kind of pain, not enough to even distract me for a second from what truly has me in emotional agony.

I glance at my cigarette and see the ash ready to fall all over me. I slowly scoot up and grab the ashtray, flipping off the ash when my eyes land on Derek’s phone. I frown at it, my heartbeat increasing.

I lock my jaw and with a shaky hand, grab it. In no time I find Skye’s phone number. That girl broke up with me, crushed my heart without an inkling of doubt, and yet I can’t bring myself to hate her. Worse, I want to contact her. I guess I’m self-destructive to the end. Instead of just hiding in a corner and licking my wounds, I’m looking to be sliced open again and again. I just want to know if she’s all right; I just want to make sure she’s fine. Just because I want to hear her voice, just one more time. But if I call, I know she’s going to hang up once she knows it’s me calling from Derek’s phone. No, I need to settle on a text.

I take a deep breath, my cigarette forgotten in the ashtray, my pain throbbing inside of me in perfect time with my heartbeat.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

It’s still beating for her, no matter what.

***

SKYE

Standing and waiting in an airport is not the thing I enjoy the most. Not when it's packed and people are bumping into me, some barely muttering an apology and most just way too busy to pay any attention to me. But my heartbeat is not increasing with the proximity of unknown people; I'm not feeling threatened or nervous. I still hate crowded places, but for the first time in a while, I'm not afraid. In all this mess that is my life right now, it's a big improvement.

When I called my parents yesterday, they didn’t waste another second before packing and buying tickets online for the next day. I have yet to tell them why I want them here in Seattle, but they don't have to know why I wanted them to come; they just up and came. Just knowing that I need them is enough for them, and I know I'm very lucky to have parents like them. Not everybody can say that, just witnessing how Kate suffers from the behavior of her parents is enough.

And here they are. My mother with the same hair as mine, but tamer, is running-slash-walking toward me with her handbag in one hand and her vanity in the other. While my father, towering a head taller than her, is carrying his kaki bag, very military looking, and my mother's way too big suitcase for a short visit. That's how women are I guess.

They don't have any trouble recognizing me in the middle of the crowd with my wild curly hair. As soon as my mother is at arm's length with me, she grabs me and crushes me against her thin body without a word. The force of her embrace surprises me, but I put my arms around her. The fabric of her blouse is soft under my fingers and her smell, the same smell that put me at ease since my birth, engulfs me. It's a mix of roses and something sugary. I inhale, my nose in her hair. Tears blur my vision, but I hold on. I don't want to start it here in a public place because I know that my mother will have ten tears for every one of mine. It wouldn't be pretty.

"Can I hug my daughter too?" my father says gruffly, a hand on my mother's shoulder.

My mother releases me and steps back with a small smile, but her eyes convey all the worry she feels. And I understand. Looking tired and not that happy, my eyes still have a hint of red from all the crying I did these last few days. I can't exactly hide my broken heart, and they have every right to know that Duke is not in my life anymore.

My father engulfs me in his strong arms which makes me relax even more. My father is a teddy bear, even if he's known to be a real pain as an instructor in the US Air Force. He always told me that my mother and I are his weakness, and that he'd hope for all the men across the world to have such a weakness.

"How are you?" he asks me in my ear, his breath smelling of the chewing gum he's often chewing when he’s not working.

I shrug and pull away. I offer them a smile, but my cheeks and mouth are so numb that I'm not even sure I managed it. From the expression on their face, I didn't.

"Are you ready to go? I'll drive you to your hotel, and then we can see where we can grab lunch." I start walking toward the exit, not waiting for their answer. All of a sudden I'm afraid of what I need to tell them. I know they really like Duke and have confidence in him to take care of me so telling them it's over won't be very pleasant. And telling them that I want to see Sean? I'm more afraid of the reaction of my father as I know my mother is going to cry. My father is more ... unpredictable.

In the car the silence is weighing on me. I know them and how they work, but I keep my eyes on the road, on the red light driving me crazy because I have nothing to do besides wait for it to turn green.

Without looking at them, I know my mother is looking at my father with insistence, her soft brown eyes turning to an inferno as the silence stretches on. My father is glancing to and from my mother and me with his all-seeing eyes, way too clever for my liking.

The green light appears, and I make the mistake of looking at my father in the rear view mirror. Our eyes, the same shade of blue-green, lock. My knuckles turn white on the steering wheel, and I straighten my back.

"Where is Duke?" My father's voice is serious but soft, and even if I want to believe that I'm strong, just talking about Duke with my parents make this break up all the more real. I don't really know why, but maybe it's because when your family has met the guy you're in love with, it means that it's an important relationship. Telling them it's over when they actually like the guy ... it's like a punch to the stomach. And above anything else, I don’t want to disappoint them.

I clear my throat and park in the underground parking lot of their hotel, the same one they stayed at the other times they were in Seattle to see me. I turn off the car and glance at them before keeping my eyes trained on the silent radio.

"I broke up with him." As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I open the car door, climb out and open the trunk.

My father is the first one out, his stance not as controlled and calm as earlier. "What did he do?"

If it wasn't such a sore subject, I'd laugh at the menace in my father's voice. But it's not funny, and it's all worse when your dad thinks that it's you're ex-boyfriend's fault when it's in fact your own damn fault. For my parents, I can't do anything bad, anything to hurt others. I thought I couldn’t either, but I forgot how easy it is to afflict pain on someone else. It's way too easy to hurt someone and ruin everything. Sometimes, just a word can ruin everything.

I glance around us and sigh with relief. We're alone. But it's creepy to have such a talk with them in an underground parking lot where half the lights are not working. My mother steps out of the car and grabs my father's hand. This little thing, them holding hands, tears my heart out. I envy them. I envy what they have.

I look around us one more time and will myself. Apparently, whenever I have something important to tell them, it's in weird places. The last time was outside a restaurant, and that was when I told them about what Sean did to me.

"He didn't do anything wrong. It's ... it's just better this way." Even to my own ears my voice is weak and not very assured, but that's what I think. I only hate feeling so weak and unsure of myself and my choices.

"But, honey, you love him. Why would you break up with him?" my mother asks me, and between the lines I can read what she says without words.
After everything you two shared.

I lean against the car, not caring for one instant if the car is clean. "I hurt him. He's not happy with me, and with everything he went through, he deserves some peace and happiness. I can't give him that, so it's over."

My father shakes his head, and for the first time I see something on his face I never saw before when he looks at me. Disappointment. He's disappointed by me. He sighs and runs a hand on his smooth cheeks. "What are you doing, Skye? Are you trying to punish yourself?"

I open my mouth, ready to reply, but nothing comes out. I'm speechless because that's a question I can't answer with absolute certainty. Am I punishing myself? Am I that accustomed to pain that when my life is starting to brighten, I have to create some drama to feel safe in my pain because that's something I know, something I'm close to?

My mother leaves my father's side and brushes my jaw softly, her thin fingers careful on me. She's afraid I'm going to bolt like I used to do most of the time. But I don't. I take a deep breath.

"Duke isn't the reason why I asked you to come," I say, changing the subject. I grab the little chocolate-brown vanity and wait for my father to take their suitcases before I hit the lock button on the fancy key of Kate's expensive car. "I'm not sure talking about this here is a good idea, though."

Both my parents narrow their eyes on me, and I feel five years old all over again, like the time I stole a whole jar of cookies without permission. My father straightens his back even more, and my mother scrunches up her nose. Both cross their arms over their chest.

I dry my empty sweaty palm on my jeans and bite the inside of my cheek. I hate this. Looking away, I focus on a bulb blinking, on the verge of dying. I don't really see it, but somehow it's easier to stare at an object instead of at people I care about when I'm getting emotional.

"I need closure with Sean, and I'm going to see him in prison tomorrow morning before my psychology class."

A low growl makes me look back at my parents. My father is red with anger ready to explode. The growl comes from deep within his chest while my mother isn't blinking or crying. She's stunned.

"You're not ever going near that punk again. Ever. Do you hear me?" he yells, his voice echoing in the deserted parking lot, freezing me on my spot. I don't dare say another word.

He takes the suitcases and without waiting for us starts walking toward the exit leading to the hotel lobby. After a good five seconds, I come back to life and follow him, my mother on my heels. Her little heels are making way too much noise as a headache is quickly taking residence in my temples, beginning to beat a steady rhythm.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I barely pay attention to what is happening around me until I'm alone again with my parents in their small hotel room with a large king size bed that takes up most of the space.

I look around at the white carpet, white comforter and grey walls until there's nothing else to look at besides my parents who are very quiet, but intently looking at me. I know they're expecting an explanation that would solve everything and reassure them, but in all of this mess, there's no good explanation or well-thought out words I could or should say to them. I'm navigating in dark and muddy waters, never sure if what I'm doing is right or if it's going to make everything harder for me and the others around me. I don't know. I know nothing, and it's frustrating, frightening and maddening for me.

"You know," I sigh and will myself not to cry, "I'm not asking for your understanding, but I'm asking for your support."

"How can we support you when you're telling us that you want to see him? He destroyed you!" my mother replies, her voice harder than I expected coming from her.

I gasp and take a step away from them, a little closer to the door. "I'm still standing, Mom." I wave at myself with jerky movement. "I'm getting better."

"So much better that you break up with the man you're in love with and who loves you back just because you think it's better for him. I don't really see the logic there."

My father puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes, calming her. She's breathing fast, but she nods and turns around, walking to the window. She's gazing outside, but I'm not sure she's really seeing anything that’s out there.