New Title 7 (21 page)

I couldn't argue with that. I placed my chin to my chest and bore down as hard as possible. My gut was splitting in half and so was my long-suffering vagina.

I clenched my teeth as Zachary ripped his way into the world.
Oh Christ! Hurry up and get this thing outta me! Now now now! Oh fuck oh shit oh god.

Barely audible cries filled the room, softening the sterile environment and bringing warmth. A tiny cry, similar to the sounds of a kitten's mewling.

And the ripping sensation vanished.

"It's a boy," Dr. Truman said, scissors snipping the winding cord. I hoisted upright to look. Within Truman's arms squirmed this creature—the tiniest human I'd ever seen. And it squalled, squalled, squalled, its skinny legs kicking the thin blanket, arms flailing, fists circling. Its face flamed red as it threw a massive tantrum. Enraged to be torn from the security of its host's body. His eyes were sealed shut and he appeared slimy.

And I'd never seen such a miniature set of male junk.

My god. This little thing was inside me the whole time. Fucking awesome, amazing.

After it was all said and done, I cradled Zachary Isaiah in my arms. He weighed 7 lbs. 15 oz. and was twenty inches long, quite a way from his father's six-foot-three-inch, 205 lb. frame.

Zachary quieted but still twirled his fists and 'spaghetti' legs. His eyes were swollen, dark blue and flicked over my face in wonderment. Would his eye color eventually change to jade?

I'd texted Brandon hours before Zachary's birth to let him know I was in labor. So far he hadn't shown. I wasn't too surprised.

He was supposed to be out of psychiatric treatment by now.

As always I had mixed feelings about the possibility of seeing him. I missed his good side—but certainly not the Mr. Hyde version.

Dad was in the waiting room while Tina had thankfully stayed home. I loved Dad but it depressed me that he was the only one here. I wished Zachary had his father, a
real
father who could've coached me during our baby's birth and be there for us afterward.

No use in whining about things that can't be changed.

It is what it is.

Zach and I are lucky just to be alive.

Regardless, a tear escaped and slid to my lips. It tasted bittersweet. 

* * *

B
randon never showed.

It neared midnight, a full 271 days after I met him. Ever since that day I'd been counting obsessively as if afraid I'd forget. I figured it was a OCD quirk.

My baby was in the nursery so I could get a wink of sleep. Yet sleep wouldn't come. It never did.

I rolled to my side, facing an IV pole I was no longer bound to. '
Bound,' what a familiar word
.

There was
one
good thing that happened aside from Zach's birth. My panic attacks had tapered and I experienced two or three episodes per week, instead of the usual six to ten. Maybe because I hadn't seen Brandon or his family in months and the threat was no longer there. Still, my therapist recommended I start anti-anxiety medication as soon as Zach was born, which meant I couldn't breast feed.

He recommended a particular non-addictive brand.

Speaking of addiction, Zachary didn't seem to be suffering withdrawal from Tyler's injections of Lorazepam.

The circular clock struck midnight, marking the two hundred and seventy-second day since meeting Brandon.

Since it all began.

How would it end?

* * *

I
t wasn't until noon when I started to doze, completely bone-tired. But I
should've
known a nurse would enter and interrupt my belated slumber.

"Mia?"

"Yeah?" My eyelids fluttered.

"This is for you. A young man brought this to the nurse's station. He said it's a gift for the baby and a letter for you."

She held a sky-blue plush teddy bear with a cerulean ribbon fastened on its neck and pink stained its cheeks. The outline of a heart was stitched in the upper corner of its tummy. In her other hand the nurse pinched a blue envelope.
To Mia
was scrawled on the front.

I took the bear, envelope and the nurse headed out.

First I read the letter:

My Angel,

sorry for my sloppy handwriting. Anyway I got your text, and now I'm sitting in the hospital waiting area writing this. I thought I saw your dad but not sure. I got the bear a while back, planned to give it to you after Zachary's birth. I had it specially made and you'll see why.

I saw Zachary. He really is a beautiful baby, Mia, you did a good job of "baking" him (should I insert LOL here?). Saw he was 20" long and weighed almost 8 lbs. Wow what a little whopper. He already takes after me.

It's been so long since we spoke, I feel weird writing to you. Like we're strangers.

My tears spotted his letter when I read the part "Like we're strangers." I couldn't stop the anguish from taking over. It resembled a physical pain which shot through my heart. He wrote the letter as 'sweet Brandon', not Mr. Hyde, which made it more painful, made me ache for him, for that was the side I'd fallen in love with.

The intensity of my longing knocked the wind out of me and left me breathless, yet I read on.

I completed psych treatment and got back on the meds. This time I've been taking them religiously without skipping. I'm determined to stay well, Mia. Truly I am.

I know I've given you NO reason to believe my promises, given my history of breaking them... and breaking your heart. There's nothing I can say that will make you believe me and I know that's MY fault, not yours. I've caused all of this BS between us, shot myself in the foot so many goddamn times it's pathetic.

I feel I have no right to see our son. I don't have that right because of my past actions. Too many times I acted crazy and abused you emotionally, physically and I totally hate myself for it, Mia, you gotta believe me, I honestly despise the things I did to you and the things I said.

I remember some of those things and how horrible they were. I'm almost crying as I write this. This guilt I feel is like a knife in my heart, twisting. I think I'd rather be stabbed with a real blade than to feel this depth of guilt.

Having said that, I was hoping one day you'd let me see Zachary, let me have regular visits? I promise not to hurt him. I'll be good to our baby, I love Zachary already, I loved him before he was born.

I flipped the letter:

I've gotten a job as a bouncer at some nightclub. It pays decent. I also recently moved into my own apartment. It's not as nice as the house I had, but it's better than living with Mom and Dad. At my age I have no business living at home, I turned 26 last month. (lmao)

I also wanted to say I never once blamed you for killing my brother, I know you didn't have a choice, I know what he did to you and Alicia.

I know because I know HIM. And because he's a lot like me. It's too bad the way he and I turned out. It was only a matter of time before something like that happened to one of us. When I found out what he did to you I was so pissed off, I couldn't stand it. Even though he died, it still pisses me off. He could've killed you and the baby.

Mia, my mom doesn't blame you either. She wanted me to let you know that. As for Dad, well forget about him. He's an asshole anyway.

I won't lie and say I don't miss knowing my brother's here on earth. Sometimes it hurts that he's not around anymore and I'll never see him again. But we didn't get along anyway and I guess that helps.

Oh shit, sorry this letter's so long. Once I started I couldn't stop. Plus we have a lot to catch up on. I'd better cut this short.

Mia, do you think we have any chance whatsoever of working things out? I want to be there and watch Zachary grow up. I want to be there for you.

If you say no, I can't blame you. I know what I've done. I know how I've traumatized you, and I really don't deserve to have you.

But—I still love you. My heart will always belong to you, Mia. No matter what happens. I'll never stop loving you.

On the bear there's a heart. That heart opens up and there's something inside the little cubby. Please look at it.

My angel, only you have the key to my heart, and I pray I still have the key to yours. If not now, maybe someday you'll give it back to me. If you can forgive me.

So look in the bear (it also plays music) and don't make a hasty decision about anything. Give it time.

If you miraculously decide to take me back, the key's there and ready to unlock my door.

All my love forever,

Brandon

(the boy next door who lost his way and is desperately trying to find it)

By the end of his letter I was freely sobbing. My face was hot and drenched. I clutched the sky blue bear and thumbed its heart that doubled as a doorway.

Inside the hollow chamber lay a key. I fished it out. A teeny note was attached to the ring:
the key to my apt. #87 on 5th. St. in Houston, should you ever forgive me.

Sadly it wasn't just about forgiveness. Trust had a lot to do with it as well. How could I trust him to keep his promises?

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me thrice...

I placed the key on the night stand. Then I rotated the bear till I found the turn key and I wound it.

I smiled as Nocturne #2 chimed a whimsical lullaby.

T
hree hundred days had come and gone.

Zachary was a plump, robust one-month-old. His arms and legs were rounding out and a fine mist of hair covered his scalp.

Hair the color of mocha and at times it glittered a golden tint.

Dark, long, thick lashes lined his eyes. He had the smallest button nose and rose bud lips which curved to a smile as he dreamed. What did he dream about? I often wondered. Maybe he dreamed of colorful bottles filled with formula? Or cute toys that rattled and played music? Or maybe he dreamed of my face, the thing he saw twenty-four hours a day.

I loved him and loved to gather his plump, warm softness into my arms, whisk him up and swing him around, lifting him high in the air. Usually it lulled him to sleep and his teeny eyelids drifted lower, lower. His adorable head would loll on his shoulder and make his cheek puff so his rosy face resembled a chipmunk's.

Oh, I was glad I'd had him—despite the circumstances of his conception. I thanked god for him. There was nothing in his precious face which reminded me of bad things. When I gazed at Zachary I didn't recall horrible memories or go into a panic.

All I saw was his face, a
cute
beloved face and how wonderful and angelic he was. And how deeply I loved him.

Zachary completed me. He completed my life.

I had him bundled in a thick blue blanket as he lay on my bed, kicking his feet. Little pink toes peeked through the folds. I leaned and stuck his tiny foot in my mouth. The whole darn thing fit. He made his noises, cutely gurgling. The fuzz atop his head swayed and raised due to static. It never failed to make me laugh.

I hadn't been living a lonely existence since having Zachary. I'd been dating a nice guy (Jeremy) who was twenty-one. He was tall, dark blond and good looking, though not as handsome as Brandon.

Not too many guys could compare to Brandon in the looks department. But that didn't matter, of course. As long as a guy was stable and not abusive.

However, Jeremy hadn't taken an interest in Zachary. He ignored the baby whenever he was around. I tried not to let it bother me—but it did. I needed someone who would consider my son the next best thing to his
own
child.

Maybe it was a pipe dream.

I still had Brandon's key and letter. I kept both in the dresser drawer and often reread his letter, even though it hurt to relive those memories.

Twice I'd driven by the apartment building downtown where Brandon lived. Out of curiosity. The place looked okay.

I cuddled Zachary and brought him to the car seat. I laid him inside, then snapped the harness between his feet with those curling toes. His miniature arms rose and flailed. He was energetic to the extreme and I figured he'd become a famous quarterback someday.

He blew bubbles from his small lips.

I grabbed the carrier, purse and left.

My car (the same shitty car) rattled along as I drove toward Jeremy's house. The massive city skyline surfaced beyond the towering overpass.

Zachary gurgled in the backseat and exhaled saliva bubbles. I kept watching him in the mirror.

And when Jeremy's house emerged, for some reason I didn't press the brake.

No. For some reason I didn't stop. I pressed the gas pedal instead.

And for some reason I took a detour to an apartment complex.

I parked, got out and plucked the car seat from the rear. Additional gurgling and cooing ensued as I carried Zachary's car seat. We started for the entrance of the brick building.

For some strange reason, I found myself and Zachary inside an elevator.

Yes. Very strange.

Button number two lit up. Metal doors slid apart, tempting me further with an invitation.

Swinging Zachary's seat as I strode past each door, I scanned for a certain apartment number, rushing through the corridor as if the world might end tomorrow and I'd never get another chance.

Fuck it. Fuck it all to hell. People can change if they really want to. Can't they? Of course they can. Nothing is impossible.

Nothing.

And then—then I found the right one and tapped the door.

He answered, standing in the doorway as he gazed at me, astonished. My mind went blank. His appearance stole my breath and it dawned on me that I hadn't gotten over him.

Not by a long shot.

Brandon wore a white polo shirt that brought out the richness of his tan and made his eyes appear a deeper bluish-green. As usual his silky hair was upswept in front and streaked with amber highlights.

Absolutely
exotic
.

Seeing Brandon caused me to forget the other guy's name. I think it started with a
J
or something.

But who cares?