SCARS (2 page)

              When I reached other side I exhaled and looked back and prayed James would not return, at least not to end his life. I started to jog again. It might take me a minute to get home. But home I would soon be. And man did I have a story to tell.

***

              “Get out of here!” Ellen exclaimed over her oatmeal. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

              “Maybe, but he needed help.”

              “No. He needed professional help. What if he had jumped at the exact moment you grabbed his arm?”

              “I guess we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”

              “Rayna, you’ve got this huge heart. Are you sure letting this guy in is a smart decision.”

              I sat there with my feet propped up on the table. Truthfully I was unsure. My head told me to run, not walk away. My heart on the other hand told me the opposite. All I could think about was the look he’d given me when I’d spilled my guts in order to save his life.

              “I don’t know. Head says one thing. Heart another thing completely, Ellen. I can’t just abandon him. He’s a wreck. When we were standing out on that bridge I was reminded of when you were the only one to stand strong beside me. To hold my hand in the roughest of times. Maybe taking the worst of my emotional breakdowns when I couldn’t hold my shit together. The times when the medicine made me sicker than the disease. The times when they still do.”

              “You do realize there’s a difference between you and James.
You’re fighting to beat back the darkness. He’s slipping into it.
”

              “There was a time I was drowning in it too. You got in it with me. You got messy with it. Rolled around in it. I don’t know if I would have made it through those early months without you.”

              “I know you would have. The word quit isn’t in your vocabulary. I’ve seen men like James take women under with them. I don’t want that for you.”

              I took my feet off the table and leaned forward.

              “I’m not going down some lovestruck path to self-destruction.”

              “Maybe not, but I’ve witnessed an alcoholic in action before. Nice as pie one second brutal and wicked the next.”

              “I know sweetie. And that’s why I try not to burden you with this stuff.”

              “I just remember what you were like when Kevin shattered your world in so many ways. I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

              “Ellen, remember the day I came home from the coffee shop inspired and wrote ten pages on a new book?”

              “Yes?”

              “That’s how I feel today. Inspired but filled with trepidation and anxiety. It’s been years since someone managed to pry open the doors to my heart. Or scale the walls that surround them. It took everything I had to reach out to James.
Everything.
I’m just as scared as you that I’m walking back into the world of darkness I worked so hard to escape. I don’t want to go back into that place despair and hopelessness. But sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants even when you should know better.”

              Ellen smiled wanly and said, “Okay.”

              Sometimes there’s just a special language between friends. An unspoken one. One that rarely needs a waterfall of explanation.

              Okay meant just that. She had spoken her piece but that if need be she would speak up again. But chances were slim. She wouldn’t judge if things blew up in my face. But she wouldn’t hold back her judgment on the man I was reaching out to. No, if I got hurt she would tear him to shreds.

              I walked into the bathroom and stared at my reflection. I looked healthy. My cheeks were flushed and my face was thinner. To the naked eye nothing was wrong with me. But deep down inside I knew the truth. I was sick. I was dying.

              Seeing James out on that bridge brought that home to me in a huge way. I could look like a runway model. I could rock out like a New York Times Bestseller but I would never escape I was marked as an other. As an outsider. I might have some friends. James might be grateful to me. However, these things, as with most things in life were fleeting and that sand fast slipping through the hourglass from the top to the bottom was something I didn’t want to face.

              I envisioned myself out on that bridge again, giving a damn about another human being. The clock was ticking. My time on this earth fast evaporating. The struggle to make life worth living a day to day battle.

              Ellen was an angel Heaven sent.

              But James?

              He was in need of salvation himself. He was as broken as I ever dared to be.

              I was in desperate need of being loved. Of being in love.

              How long had been since I’d enjoyed the intimate touch of another human being? The reflection looking back me began to fight the tears threatening to overwhelm her.

              Every now and again this happened.

              I would cry.

              I would rage.

              Damn it Kevin.

              I secretly hoped he was on his deathbed somewhere suffering greatly for what he had done to me and the other women in his life. But I knew the truth. He had a sugar mama who paid for everything in exchange for those intimate touches. In a way I pitied her. In a way I hated her.

              I turned around locked the door and leaned against it. My legs which all morning had been threatening to give out finally gave way and I slid to the ground. And then, as if I had my still beating heart ripped out of my chest I sobbed.

              I cried for my past indiscretions.

              I cried for my present.

              And I cried for future that would never be.

Chapter Three

              After my shower the coffee shop beckoned me and my laptop to its warm and wondrous atmosphere. The clinks of the cups. The grinding of the coffee beans. The smell of scones and cookies baking. It was a siren call to a raw and bruised soul.

              I sat there listening to Pandora and wondering if I would be able to find my muse again after such a harrowing experience. Ellen was right. When I reached for James he could have unintentionally taken us both for our last swim. That was the last thing I wanted.

              As much as he protested that he wanted to die and that his soul wasn’t worth saving in my gut I knew for sure that neither of those things were true. As the Wailin Jennys played over the coffee shop speaker and I sipped on my coffee I let the ambiance wash over me.

              “Coffee. Large. Black.”

              His voice cut through the music but I kept my head down. I wasn’t quite sur where we stood after that morning. Were we closer? Would we be further apart? Or would we act as if nothing had happened, the elephant always in the room between us.

              My hands stood poised over the keyboard and my gaze bore holes into the blank on the monitor in front of me. Soon I felt his presence standing over me as sure as I tasted the coffee I had gone to take a drink of.

              “So,” he said announcing himself as he took the seat across from me. “Are we going to talk about what happened this morning or are we going to pretend it didn’t happen?”

              James was nothing if not direct when something was on his mind. Not cruelly so. But he certainly didn’t stand on ceremony when he wanted something. And what he wanted at the moment was my attention.

              Usually he was the one I had to draw out of hiding. But I had to admit I wanted nothing more than to hide. I wanted to build up the walls and hide behind them all over again. Being vulnerable was okay when I could use to keep others at bay. However I could feel myself trembling in his presence. I set the mug down as gingerly as I could and looked up.

              His gaze piercing blue even though his eyes were bloodshot. Surprisingly he smelled of soap and Obsession for Men. And he was dressed in black t-shirt and jeans. It was hard to keep my gaze from drifting. When I refocused I could tell there was a smile playing on his lips. Embarrassed I slammed my laptop closed and went to leave. He reached out and touched my hand.

              How long had it been since I held hands with someone. Felt the warmth of human touch. Reluctantly I caved in and sat back down. When I went to pull my hand away he held gently to it. It took me a minute realize, this was no game. That hadn’t come to tell me he was running in the opposite direction. That when my walls had crumbled, so had his.

              “Tell me, what made you come to me on that bridge? What made you open up like you did, what made you drop all your defenses in an effort to save a worthless soul like mine?

              What was I suppose to say? The truth. On the face it, was simple.
I cared. I gave a damn. I knew what it was like to be on that bridge because, at least metaphorically I was there every day. Without fail. Wondering if anyone would ever give a damn about me again.

             
“I care about you. You’re my friend, James. I did for you what I would do for anyone.”

              I could see him sizing me up.

              “Nope.”

              “Nope? Are you calling me a liar?”

              “Yes.”

              I went to pull away again, this time he held fast. I was hurt, angry. Honestly, I was confused. I was terrified of opening up again. If I did and he rejected me I knew the fallout would be horrible. The incident on the bridge had torn a hole in me that might only be filled with love. Ten years. Ten years without a touch. Without a kiss. Without the warmth of another’s embrace knowing they were in love with you. I was on unsteady ground.

              I could feel the tears springing to my eyes.

              “I…I didn’t want you to die…I don’t make friends easily. And…” I couldn’t look him in the eyes. I was afraid all I would see was pity. And if there was one thing I had learned to loathe it was pity. I needed no one’s pity. I needed their empathy and compassion. More than anything I didn’t want to lose my shit in the middle of that coffee house.

              His fingers tenderly curled around mine.

              “Look at me, Rayna.”

              My gaze came up slowly.

              “Have you ever walked out on that bridge wanting,
intending
to harm yourself?”

              “It’s pills for me. Everyday it’s a struggle. Do I take them? Or do I let that bastard win? Steal the light I’ve been working so hard to get back to. So everyday it’s a choice. Am I going to be happy today? Or is this the day I slip away? Some days are harder than others. Seeing you out on that bridge. It took me out of myself and forced me to reach out in such a way that it would leave me raw in the end.”

              I felt something on my knuckles. He was softly running his thumb back and forth over them. My mouth went dry again like it had in front of his trailer.

              “I’m sorry about that,” he said so quietly I almost missed it. “Your days must be hell.”

              “Every day brings with it something I never planned on. My Medicaid and Medicare cover my treatment, although I wonder what would happen if the government dismantled the ACA altogether.”

              “Try being a vet.”

              I knew his pain was as daily as mine. “Listen I helped you because I wish that someone was in my life pulling me back from the brink. I don’t think you equipped to do that, or believe you even want to. But you need to know I’m living a battle everyday like you. It’s a war of attrition and it really offers no relief. Survival is a natural instinct. Love? Everyone wants to be loved. And I suppose I give it, to some degree to everyone around me. Right now Ellen is dealing with her the terminal nature of her best friend’s illness. So, I try very hard not to unload on her.”

              “What do you do when it’s so bad you can’t take it?”

              “I go in the bathroom. Shut the door. And stare at myself in the mirror until the tears come.”

              “So you just…feel?”

              “What else is there to do?”

              “So there’s no one to comfort you?”

              “Don’t get me wrong. Ellen is great. Couldn’t ask for a better soul sister. She down for whatever. I cry every day. In the beginning it was much worse. I hadn’t mastered the side effects. And the management of my disease, at least the HIV has nearly killed me on more than occasion. Ellen was there every day. Putting out the crisis of near death. She’s very protective of me. But the crying gets to her.”

              “How do you mean?”