What's Left of Me (Finally Unbroken Book 2) (2 page)

EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER

“Thanks, Sarah, I’ll take it from here,” I tell my co-worker at the community center. The place that’s been my home from home for the last five years, ever since I lost Larissa and Rocco.

“Sweet. I’m going to head off. I have Jim and the twins waiting for food. You know that house doesn’t function without me,” she says laughing and rolling her eyes. Like it’s a hardship when everyone here knows how much she dotes on her family. Watching her walk out of the center, I pull my shoulders back and get ready to enter another new class. Walking in, I purposefully don’t look at anyone. Always finding it easier to say the first few words without looking. I’ve perfected my opening address since I started holding these classes about eighteen months ago. Unlike back then, I now start every new group with my story, to help them talk about theirs. Talking about my experience, usually helps them see that I do understand and that I can relate. I like to be the first to show my vulnerability, to show them I’m opening myself up to them, before asking that they do the same for me. Tying my jumper around my waist, I pace the circle of chairs, walking around the outside.

“I lost my sister and nephew five years ago. I took it hard, really hard…” I say offering a small smile to the group. “Grief is difficult. That part is obvious. Everyone knows it’s not easy, even people who have never suffered through it. What’s not always realized, sometimes even taken for granted… is the type of loss. I’ll give you an example. Everyone in this circle has lost someone. Someone so important to them that they feel the need to come to a bereavement class. So, out of everyone in this building,
you
should know how hard it is. But even though we know that, I’d bet if I could get inside your minds, I’d find that at least one person out of the six of you heard me say… I lost my sister and nephew. And whether consciously or subconsciously, you thought, well that’s not as bad as me… I lost my wife, husband, child, etc. It’s a natural reaction, even if it’s not a fair one.”

I stop speaking and swallow, knowing the hard part is coming. “If I then went on to say… my sister was my twin. She was my world. She had my nephew Rocco when she was seventeen. Her then boyfriend left, and our parents disowned her. I took her side, left when they kicked her out. We moved a lot, and at seventeen, we weren’t supposed to be in the big wide world on our own. Not yet, especially when one of us was pregnant. As Larissa got bigger, I picked up whatever jobs I could. I’ve been a checkout girl, right through to a stripper…” as I hear them gasp, I smile.

“I was eighteen when I had to strip. Still, I have no regrets, it was good money. Rocco needed diapers and formula, and I’d pretty much do anything for that kid.”

I stop pacing and hang my head for a second. “Larissa began having problems. She’d fall for no reason. It started happening a lot, then it escalated. She started having trouble getting up when she was lying down, and she was having lots of muscle pain and stiffness. It was hard to find out the cause because even at eighteen, we didn’t have healthcare insurance. She was eventually diagnosed with Muscular Dystrophy. It started affecting her pretty badly. It would’ve been easier on her if we could’ve gotten the treatment she needed. But all the money I made went on Rocco, making sure that little boy got everything
he
needed, but forgetting in the process that what he needed most was his mother.”

I clench my teeth as my tummy flutters. Second guessing myself, my actions, and wishing I’d made different choices. Maybe if I’d focused more on getting her the help she required, we wouldn’t have been in the car that day. I give my head a little shake, trying to push out the questions I’ve asked myself a million times since that fateful day, and still not having the answers. I don’t look to the group, knowing their attention is solely on me. Instead, I pull myself together and continue the story.

“She got depressed and I would be out all day, trying to work, to get money and providing, so Rocco could eat, and every other night we too were able to eat. She was stuck at home, with her beautiful son. But he was a baby, he needed everything doing for him and eventually, she couldn’t do it anymore. Physically it was too difficult, and she was getting worse, rapidly. I started spending more time at home, which meant less money for us, but I got to look after Rocco. From nearly his birth, until he died, I was that kid’s mom. I bathed him, fed him, and went to his soccer games.
Loved him
.

“Five years ago, Rocco was eight and Larissa twenty-five. We were getting a ride in a neighbor’s car to the clinic for Larissa. She wasn’t doing too well. Our neighbor was a lovely gentleman, he was around sixty. His wife had died a few years before, so he was on his own. We used to bundle together, like a makeshift family. He’d take us to appointments, and we had him over most nights for charades. He would often bring food, which I’d cook for all of us. I hated the thought of him being across the hall all alone when he could spend some time with us. That Monday was no different to countless others over the years. Except it was. That Monday changed my whole life.”

I stop talking, biting my lip instead. The next part is always the hardest. The emotion rolls through my chest, stopping at my heart which is now thumping hard and fast. And I know if I don’t just breathe, I’ll break down in the middle of class. It’s happened before and it wasn’t pretty. These people need to see someone stronger, someone who’s survived death and loss the same way that they have, or at the very least, to show them that they can. They don’t need to know I’m still broken, hollow, and that sometimes everything just seems pointless. In truth, the people here, they’re what keep me going. To know there’s a small chance I can help someone else, makes me feel like my life is worth something, and that’s all I have to stop me from giving up some days. I turn to the circle of faces, not really seeing any of them, everything’s a blur at this point.

Sucking in a breath I climb my personal mountain.
Again
. “Mr. Kendall had a heart attack on the way to the hospital. We crashed. Larissa died on impact. Mr. Kendall had already died from the heart attack, well… that was what they told me later. I came out practically unscathed, just a few cuts and bruises. And Rocco…” I shake my head sadly, “…he survived, in hospital, for three days. He fought, with everything his little body had to try and survive. Ultimately, he couldn’t win. He didn’t win. He was bleeding internally, and so never woke up. But I swear…
I swear
he squeezed my fingers right before he passed.”

I wipe away the single tear that I allow out of my eye, as I remember them, him. “I miss them all. But Rocco… he was like my child. And I know nothing will ever fill the hole in me. The one that he left. I could meet someone, get married, and have my own children. Still, nothing will ever take his place. He’d be thirteen now. Probably cheeky…” I stop and chuckle to myself, imagining the little man he would have turned into.

“Sometimes I see him, in the people I pass in the street, wondering what he’d look like. How tall he’d be. I also wonder if Larissa would still be with us. She was deteriorating, so there’s no saying. But Rocco was only eight… eight years old…” I still and breathe deeply, controlling, calming, “…so when I say I lost my sister and my nephew, there’s more to it than what probably meets the eye. We all have our own loss, no
one
person is worse than the next. It took three years for me to tell anyone my story. Another six months to be able to bring the story into these groups. In the last eighteen months, I’ve held a group like this nine times. A new one every two months. I can safely say, on my experience so far, it never gets any easier.”

I look at my hands which are now shaking. “Each time I feel like my heart is being ripped out. But, I’m going to tell you something else. At the same time the pain is there, I can feel the healing that’s taking place too. Who knows, maybe in another eighteen months it’ll feel easier telling my story. What I do know is that I have to keep trying, and maybe I’ll always be trying. I won’t ever stop, though. Because I knew a little boy, one that would’ve loved to live his life, but had it taken away too soon. What am I showing him if I waste my existence? I’m saying it doesn’t matter. The
he
didn’t matter. After all, if I don’t care about my own survival, then why would I care about any of it? I might as well be telling him that it doesn’t matter that he died because life isn’t worth living. Personally, I want to know, that if he’s looking down at me he’d be proud. Not ashamed.”

I finish the introduction to my bereavement class and take a few moments, for myself and for everyone else, to hopefully allow my words to sink in. Then, slowly, I raise my head and look at each of them, one by one. Some are crying, some remain impassive. The one thing they have in common is the pain in all their eyes. Then, the last person makes me jolt.

Ruben Asher.

It’s a face I haven’t seen for eighteen months. He’s the reason I changed these meetings. He’s the one I couldn’t reach. And he’s staring at me like he finally wants me to save him.

I watch her walking back and forth. Can’t take my damn eyes off her. When I last saw Laurie all those months ago, she was a different person. Confident, but completely closed off. I never saw her suffering, she kept it hidden well. Now she’s raw. I’m not surprised I didn’t see it before. Although I didn’t care to look back then, only coming to the bereavement group because Anabel strong-armed me into it, saying some shit about it being what Amanda would want. I didn’t want to know about Laurie’s pain.
Fuck, I didn’t care about my own pain.
Using alcohol to keep me numb for the most part, but still wanting to
feel
the torment. No.
Needing
to feel it. Figuring, if Amanda can be dead then I should, at least, be able to hold onto the agony of her loss. I didn’t want to forget. The pain helped me to always remember.

Now, watching Laurie, it’s the first time I’ve ever really seen her. Before, in the other group I attended, she kept it hidden well by wearing a mask. I wasn’t looking too hard, consumed in my own grief, but even so I could still see that she was hiding behind it. Now she’s ripped wide open, it’s like the loss is fresh. And I just can’t seem to look away.

It’s been five years since I lost Amanda. I have good days and bad days. I’m still fighting every damn day, just to live a little. I spiraled, and was completely out of control, nearly killing myself in the process. Danny and Anabel stepped in, making me go to rehab. It was the best thing they could have ever done for me, but I hated them for it. Since coming out of rehab, I’ve been to a few meetings. I started with the alcoholics group. Getting clean from the alcohol was something that I desperately needed. But I can’t lie and say there aren’t days I just want to reach for the bottle. Still, I’m working on it. Having come out on this side, I’m only just now starting to see clearly. I wish Amanda were still alive. It constantly hurts, but I don’t feel like I’m going to drown all of the time. Sometimes, though… sometimes I could use a fucking motorboat to pull me out from the all-consuming waves that engulf me.

“So, I’m going to go around the group. If you could give your names, I’d appreciate it. If you want to add a bit about yourself, or your loss, then please do,” Laurie tells us all. She moves, sitting in the empty chair, completing the circle and she looks to her left. The girl who sits there can’t be more than twenty-two.

“H-Hi, I’m Shana. I’m twenty-three. Three months ago I lost my mom.” She smiles sadly at Laurie but doesn’t say any more.

“Hi Shana, welcome to the group,” Laurie returns, then looks to the next person. This time, it’s an older man, about fifty. He grabs hold of Shana’s hand and smiles the same sad smile as her.

“I’m Chris, Shana’s pop. Three months ago I lost my wife, Veronica.” His voice breaks at the end and Shana shoves her face into her pop’s chest.

“Hey Chris, thanks for joining us,” Laurie tells him, her voice is raspy and warm. She shows the emotion she feels, letting them know that she understands their sorrow.

Next, we move onto the woman who sits to my left. She’s around thirty, well dressed and obviously has money if her designer clothes are anything to go by.

“I’m Estelle. Last week my husband died. I’m here because I’m devastated,” she says, matter-of-factly. I can see it takes the whole group aback slightly. Laurie welcomes her, and I wonder what her story is. At that thought, she glances up to me, obviously not having seen me before. She smiles, it’s a flirty smile, and she makes me feel uncomfortable.

Laurie interrupts with a cough.

I look back and realize it’s my turn. “Oh hey, I’m Ruben. Thirty-Seven.” I add my age as an afterthought. Not really wanting to say anything else. Laurie holds my eyes for a second, offers me a sad smile, then nods.

“Hey Ruben, thanks for being here,” she murmurs.

Before she can look to the last person, the dude on my right gets up and rushes out.

Calmly Laurie stands. “Sorry everyone. Please, just give me a moment, okay?” She smiles and walks out.

Looking around the group and not knowing what to do. But feeling—not for the first time—

like it’s all a lie. That none of this crap is going to ever help me. I’m always going to be damaged and just like Laurie, I’ll be looking for someone to save me for the rest of my life. Glancing around at everyone, I do the same as the other guy. Standing, I grab my jacket, throwing it on as I move to the exit. Once I’m outside, I breathe, leaning against the wall. Fresh air enters my lungs and I exhale, trying to regain my composure.

“Ruben?” The angelic voice makes me close my eyes, hoping I haven’t just been caught running away. I open them and look to my right. The entrance to the community center is only a few feet away. “I came outside after that guy, but he’s gone. You’re leaving, too?” Laurie asks even though it’s obvious.

“Just needed some fresh air,” I lie.

“Can I ask you a favor?” she ask biting her lip. I nod. “Can you hang around? There’s a coffee room out back. Stay, please, at the end of the hour I’ll come find you. Of course, if you don’t want to stay, then go. There’s no pressure,” she tells me, then slips in through the emergency exit I just exited closing the doors behind her.

I don’t move. Just breathing seems to scar my lungs. My minds conflicted. I’m so used to the pain. Since I came out of rehab, since it took the edge off, it’s made me start to face the things I’ve avoided before. Even the consideration of trying to heal has never been an option for me.

What if I get better?

What if I try and succeed?

I’m not sure if I know how to be whole anymore. I’ve lived broken for so long, I’m not sure I can live any other way. It’s been a worthless life for the last few years. If it weren’t for Danny, taking control of my company, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t still be a wealthy businessman either. I lack interest in that side of my life, but I’m trying. I’m still half the man I want to be. I never really lived a full life until I made my way back to my hometown until Amanda came back into my world. I had two glorious months of living full and complete. Being whole. I know how it feels now. Knowing you have to live forever with that loss, not just of her, but of yourself, is a pretty big fucking hit. I’m so scared that if I change, if I heal, if I start leading a life worth living, I’ll forget Amanda and I’ll sully her memory.

No. I need to remember the pain.

Pushing off the wall, I walk away from my chance at absolution. I don’t deserve to live happily. I couldn’t save Amanda. She doesn’t get to be by my side. I only ever wanted to find my other half, the one who would make me a better man. I remember my mom telling me that there was one person who was our perfect fit. I lost mine. But my heart was torn in two in the process. One side is scared that this is all I have to look forward to for the rest of my days. The other half is telling me I’m a selfish prick for even thinking that way, and that I should be glad I got to have two months with my perfect person.

Stopping to look up, my feet have automatically brought me to the nearest bar. Checking my watch, I see it’s opening time. I hear the doors unlock, then swing open. The man on the other side stands looking at me. “In or out?” he questions after I stare at him unmoving.

“In,” I reply and enter the first bar I’ve been in for over twelve months.