-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty:
-------------------------------------------------
My heart beats funny.
The doctor told me a long time ago.
My heart beats funny.
And he wanted me to come in regularly to monitor it.
My heart beats funny.
And the balcony became my safe haven.
My heart beats funny.
And I let life slip by.
The door to the balcony beside me opens.
“Hey Liz,” Eddie says. He closes the door behind him and leans on the railing toward me. “How’ve you been?”
He’s back from another work trip. He’s a professional gambler. Or so he tells me.
“How’s your sister-in-law?” he asks.
I shrug because I don’t know.
She is living with my mother now, while Max is here.
My mother and my husband think it is better this way.
They tell me they know what’s best for me.
New York isn’t an option anymore.
I tried.
I tried packing.
But it was too late.
I filled my suitcase and Max got upset.
He said I’m crazy if I think we’re going to New York now.
New York isn’t an option anymore.
He says I need to stop hiding from my problems.
He says he knows what’s best for me.
Max plans my meals.
Max watches me every second of the day.
But Max isn’t here now.
So I sit on the balcony, in my metal folding chair, with a sweater on, thinking of nothing and everything, all at once.
Eddie lights a cigarette and breathes it in.
I ask for one.
He lights it and hands it to me.
My bracelet hidden under my sweater clinks on the railing when I reach over.
I bring the cigarette to my lips.
I breathe it in.
Max wouldn’t approve.
But Max isn’t here right now. So it’s okay.
Max says he knows what’s best for me.
Max won’t take any risks where I’m concerned.
Max thinks he can control this. But he can’t.
My father couldn’t.
My father was a strong man.
“So how’s your husband?” Eddie asks.
I shrug.
I inhale again.
We watch as headlights drive through the parking lot entrance.
He parks in his usual spot.
“I like his new car,” Eddie says.
I shrug and hold the cigarette to my lips. I inhale.
Multi-million dollar shipping company.
He can afford any life he wanted.
But he chose this one.
Single bedroom apartment. And a dying wife.
We watch him get out of his car and look up at us.
I exhale.
He’s upset. He’s always upset.
I’m used to it now.
I finish my cigarette by the time I hear one door slam shut and another one jerk open.
I stand up and nod at Eddie before I walk through the door my husband holds open for me.
I head toward the bedroom when he starts.
“You shouldn’t be smoking.”
I lie down on the sheets.
“Have you taken your medication yet?”
I close my eyes.
“Liz, this isn’t a game.”
The bracelet is heavy around my wrist.
My hand is on my chest.
I can feel the thumping.
My heart beats funny, the doctor had said.
My father died three months after he found out.
His heart beat was funny, he had said.
How much longer will I have?
How much more can Max take?
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Empty (AU, ML, MATURE) (Complete)
Moderators: Itzstacie, Forum Moderators
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty One:
-------------------------------------------------
Dr. Sanchez wants me to meet with him in his blue room.
It’s called color psychology, he said.
Blue is supposed to soothe illnesses and treat pain.
Blue was supposed to calm me, he said. But it may also make me feel sad or indifferent.
He wanted to see how comfortable I am in the blue room.
Blue is Max’s favorite color.
I would know. I am his wife, after all.
“Would you like to talk about your illness?” he asks.
I’m seated in a chair near the door.
He wanted me to pick a spot to sit where I felt most comfortable.
I stayed standing at the door.
He put a chair there for me.
“How does your husband feel about it?” he asks.
I keep staring past him.
The doctor is unfazed and persistent. “I only want to discuss what you’re comfortable sharing with me.”
He uses that word a lot, comfortable.
I think it’s because I feel very uncomfortable at the moment.
My bracelet keeps clinking on the arm of the chair.
He doesn’t ask any more questions after that.
He waits for me to find something comfortable for me to talk about.
My hour passes in the blue room, in a chair by the door, with me not discussing anything with him at all. Comfortable or not.
“I’ll see you next time, Liz,” he smiles and nods.
I pick up my bag and leave.
My Tuesdays will be spent in therapy with Dr. Sanchez now. Until my husband and the doctor decide otherwise.
Max dictates my life. Max doesn’t take any risks where I’m concerned.
Because he knows what’s best for me. Or so he says.
--------------
My drive home took longer than it should have. But it felt fast.
Max makes dinner in the kitchen.
I sit on the sofa.
“How was therapy?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say.
He makes me answer him now. Or else, he’ll keep asking. Or else, he’ll keep getting upset.
“What did you talk about?” he comes out and leans against the wall, staring at me.
I don’t think I’m supposed to tell him.
I don’t think I want to tell him.
“What did you talk about?” he repeats.
And if I don’t answer, he’ll get upset.
I think I’m used to it now.
He stands straight. His eyes narrow. “What did you talk about, Liz?”
My head hangs. I stare at my hands. I hate this. “Nothing.”
“Liz.” He sits down on the coffee table in front of me. He makes me look at him. “Don’t ever lie to me.”
My eyes close.
He’s referring to three days ago, when he asked me if I had taken my medication.
I told him yes. I lied.
He counted the pills. He knew. He got upset.
I went to bed early that night. I slept alone that night.
On a tear soaked pillow.
Max won’t take any risks where I’m concerned.
I hate this.
“What did you talk about?” he asks again.
I answer him, “Nothing.” It’s the truth.
He looks upset. He’s disappointed in me. He’s always disappointed in me.
I’m sorry I’m sick, Max.
I’m sorry I’m dying.
I’m sorry I disappoint you.
I’m sorry I can’t please you.
I hate this.
Upset disappointment spews through his words, “Dinner is ready.” He gets up and walks to the kitchen.
I hate this.
--------------
I’m supposed to take my medication with food. Because it upsets my stomach.
Max makes sure he eats dinner with me every night.
He feeds me things carrots and rice. Because they’re low in vitamin K. Because I need to limit vitamin K with my medication.
He found this out when I got a nose bleed that stained my pillow. He rushed me to the hospital. Less vitamin K, the doctor said.
Max makes me finish everything on my plate.
Max won’t take any risks, where I’m concerned.
I hate this.
Wear drug medical alert identification, the doctor said …
Take your medication at the same time each day, the doctor said …
Watch your vitamin K intake, the doctor said …
Take your medication with a meal …
Don’t overexert yourself …
Limit your alcohol intake …
Watch out for bleeding …
… Don’t get pregnant, the doctor said.
… He’ll write me a prescription for birth control, the doctor said.
… But even birth control isn’t one hundred percent foolproof.
Max won’t take any risks where I’m concerned.
He’ll sleep on the sofa from now on.
He knows what’s best for me. Or so he says.
I hate this.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty One:
-------------------------------------------------
Dr. Sanchez wants me to meet with him in his blue room.
It’s called color psychology, he said.
Blue is supposed to soothe illnesses and treat pain.
Blue was supposed to calm me, he said. But it may also make me feel sad or indifferent.
He wanted to see how comfortable I am in the blue room.
Blue is Max’s favorite color.
I would know. I am his wife, after all.
“Would you like to talk about your illness?” he asks.
I’m seated in a chair near the door.
He wanted me to pick a spot to sit where I felt most comfortable.
I stayed standing at the door.
He put a chair there for me.
“How does your husband feel about it?” he asks.
I keep staring past him.
The doctor is unfazed and persistent. “I only want to discuss what you’re comfortable sharing with me.”
He uses that word a lot, comfortable.
I think it’s because I feel very uncomfortable at the moment.
My bracelet keeps clinking on the arm of the chair.
He doesn’t ask any more questions after that.
He waits for me to find something comfortable for me to talk about.
My hour passes in the blue room, in a chair by the door, with me not discussing anything with him at all. Comfortable or not.
“I’ll see you next time, Liz,” he smiles and nods.
I pick up my bag and leave.
My Tuesdays will be spent in therapy with Dr. Sanchez now. Until my husband and the doctor decide otherwise.
Max dictates my life. Max doesn’t take any risks where I’m concerned.
Because he knows what’s best for me. Or so he says.
--------------
My drive home took longer than it should have. But it felt fast.
Max makes dinner in the kitchen.
I sit on the sofa.
“How was therapy?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say.
He makes me answer him now. Or else, he’ll keep asking. Or else, he’ll keep getting upset.
“What did you talk about?” he comes out and leans against the wall, staring at me.
I don’t think I’m supposed to tell him.
I don’t think I want to tell him.
“What did you talk about?” he repeats.
And if I don’t answer, he’ll get upset.
I think I’m used to it now.
He stands straight. His eyes narrow. “What did you talk about, Liz?”
My head hangs. I stare at my hands. I hate this. “Nothing.”
“Liz.” He sits down on the coffee table in front of me. He makes me look at him. “Don’t ever lie to me.”
My eyes close.
He’s referring to three days ago, when he asked me if I had taken my medication.
I told him yes. I lied.
He counted the pills. He knew. He got upset.
I went to bed early that night. I slept alone that night.
On a tear soaked pillow.
Max won’t take any risks where I’m concerned.
I hate this.
“What did you talk about?” he asks again.
I answer him, “Nothing.” It’s the truth.
He looks upset. He’s disappointed in me. He’s always disappointed in me.
I’m sorry I’m sick, Max.
I’m sorry I’m dying.
I’m sorry I disappoint you.
I’m sorry I can’t please you.
I hate this.
Upset disappointment spews through his words, “Dinner is ready.” He gets up and walks to the kitchen.
I hate this.
--------------
I’m supposed to take my medication with food. Because it upsets my stomach.
Max makes sure he eats dinner with me every night.
He feeds me things carrots and rice. Because they’re low in vitamin K. Because I need to limit vitamin K with my medication.
He found this out when I got a nose bleed that stained my pillow. He rushed me to the hospital. Less vitamin K, the doctor said.
Max makes me finish everything on my plate.
Max won’t take any risks, where I’m concerned.
I hate this.
Wear drug medical alert identification, the doctor said …
Take your medication at the same time each day, the doctor said …
Watch your vitamin K intake, the doctor said …
Take your medication with a meal …
Don’t overexert yourself …
Limit your alcohol intake …
Watch out for bleeding …
… Don’t get pregnant, the doctor said.
… He’ll write me a prescription for birth control, the doctor said.
… But even birth control isn’t one hundred percent foolproof.
Max won’t take any risks where I’m concerned.
He’ll sleep on the sofa from now on.
He knows what’s best for me. Or so he says.
I hate this.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Last edited by Evelynn on Wed Feb 14, 2007 1:52 am, edited 4 times in total.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty Two:
-------------------------------------------------
He stops me at the door. “Where are you going?”
I’m tired of his questions. I’m tired of his disappointment. I’m tired of this life.
“If you think you’re going to meet with that smoking friend of yours, you’re wrong.”
I hear his words. But he can’t stop me because I’m already out the door.
I reach my car before he catches up.
“Liz,” his voice has a warning tone. He’s upset. He’s always upset. “You aren’t going to meet with her. She’s a bad influence on you.”
I can’t even look at him, my keys in my hand. “Please?”
“No.” He pulls me into the apartment. I didn’t have the strength to fight him.
My Friday was uneventful.
--------------
Saturday morning he stops me at the door. “Where are you going?”
I know what’s coming. I knew what he would say. But I tried anyway.
“If you think you’re going jogging, then you’re wrong.”
My heart hurts.
My head hangs.
“The doctor said not to overexert yourself.”
I don’t argue. I don’t plead. I don’t have the strength to fight him.
“Come have breakfast.”
My Saturday passed without me.
--------------
Sunday tea.
He wouldn’t stop me. Would he?
“Are you going to your mother’s?” he asks.
My hand is on the door knob.
He’s seated on the sofa.
I nod my head.
He stares. He thinks.
He wouldn’t stop me, would he?
“Come back soon,” he says.
I left as quickly as I could.
--------------
“I switched your therapy appointments to Monday,” he says this to me Monday morning.
I stare.
Mondays don’t belong to him.
Mondays don’t belong to Dr. Sanchez.
Mondays are mine. I need them.
He keeps talking. “That way, I can drive you.”
I close my eyes. The tears fall.
I hate this …
I hate this and …
… and I can’t take it anymore.
… “I can’t take it anymore.”
He hear him folding his paper. “What did you say, Liz?
I stare at the door. I can’t take this. I can’t … I can’t … I can’t …
Mondays are mine.
My life is mine.
I feel him coming up behind me. I feel his hands turn me around to face him. “What?”
I can only shake my head. I can only feel myself dying inside. “I can’t take this anymore, Max.”
He tries to not be upset. He tries to be understanding. He tries to speak casually. “The illness? The therapy? What can’t you take anymore?”
My illness. My body. My life.
He’s my husband … and … I love him …
But he can’t control this. He can’t control me.
Multi-million dollar shipping company …
He has people to love him, once I’m gone. He has another lif e… somewhere else.
A life I don’t even know about.
A life he didn’t bother to tell me about.
A life I never questioned.
Business trips.
A quickie marriage.
Maxwell Evans.
Mrs. Max Evans.
Heart murmur.
Illness.
Surgery.
Death.
“What can’t you take anymore, Liz?” he’s forceful.
He lies.
He controls.
He’s angry.
He worries.
He’s upset.
He’s always this way.
“You,” it’s a whisper. But it’s all I have the strength for.
“Me?” he narrows his eyes at me.
He’s questioning me.
But I’m not being cryptic. I’m not lying.
“What are you talking about?” he spits out.
I can only shake my head. I’m tired of this. I hate it.
“No!” he keeps going. “Tell me what you meant by that?”
He knows I’m tired, but he pushes.
He towers over me.
He stares.
He keeps talking, “You want a divorce? Is that what you’re trying to say? Because don’t think I haven’t thought of it either.”
What?
Divorce?
“It kills me, Liz. You don’t even talk to me unless I make you. What kind of marriage is that?”
He stops. He stares.
He’s right.
This isn’t the type of life he’s supposed to have.
Power and prestige. Multi-million dollar shipping company. New York.
One bedroom apartment. A dying wife.
He’s stuck. There’s nothing he can do.
“Is this what you want?” my voice whispers. My legs shake. My eyes stare at the ground.
He’s annoyed. He’s always this way, now. “For what?”
“Your life,” I breathe out.
“No,” he didn’t hesitate with his answer. “This isn’t what I want.”
That was all I needed to hear. All I needed to know.
My arms cross over my chest. I try not to think. I try not to cry. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?” He’s confused.
I try to remember to breathe. “O-okay … t-to … divorce.”
My eyes close.
I can hear him inhaling and exhaling.
I bet he’s staring at me. I bet he’s upset. He’s always upset.
Open my eyes and he’s sitting on the sofa, waiting for me.
He doesn’t say a word.
I sit in the love seat a minute later.
He licks his lips. I try to remember to breathe.
“It’s early,” he doesn’t talk to me. He talks past me. “You aren’t thinking straight.”
“Max-”
“No,” he’s forceful. He’s controlling. “You can’t go through this by yourself.”
He shouldn’t worry.
“I’m not alone,” I whisper. I watch him. “I have my mother.”
She helped my father through this. She prepared him for this. She can help me too.
“Liz … you can’t mean this.”
The tears fall at his tone, like I knew they would.
“Go back home, Max.”
He gets angry again. He gets upset. “I am home.”
Multi-million dollar shipping company. His sister. “New York,” I whisper. “You have people to love you there.”
“Are … Are you saying you don’t love me?”
My voice catches. The tears fall. I let them. I’m too weak to brush them away.
“Look at me! Liz …”
My husband.
New York.
Sickness.
Death.
“Just let me take care of you!” he shouts.
“You can’t control this, Max!” I shout back.
Silence.
We’re both upset.
We’re both angry.
It’s never been like this before.
He stares at me.
I break first.
I’m weaker than he is.
He stands.
He towers over me.
You can’t control this, Max.
His voice is deadly quiet. “I can and I will.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty Two:
-------------------------------------------------
He stops me at the door. “Where are you going?”
I’m tired of his questions. I’m tired of his disappointment. I’m tired of this life.
“If you think you’re going to meet with that smoking friend of yours, you’re wrong.”
I hear his words. But he can’t stop me because I’m already out the door.
I reach my car before he catches up.
“Liz,” his voice has a warning tone. He’s upset. He’s always upset. “You aren’t going to meet with her. She’s a bad influence on you.”
I can’t even look at him, my keys in my hand. “Please?”
“No.” He pulls me into the apartment. I didn’t have the strength to fight him.
My Friday was uneventful.
--------------
Saturday morning he stops me at the door. “Where are you going?”
I know what’s coming. I knew what he would say. But I tried anyway.
“If you think you’re going jogging, then you’re wrong.”
My heart hurts.
My head hangs.
“The doctor said not to overexert yourself.”
I don’t argue. I don’t plead. I don’t have the strength to fight him.
“Come have breakfast.”
My Saturday passed without me.
--------------
Sunday tea.
He wouldn’t stop me. Would he?
“Are you going to your mother’s?” he asks.
My hand is on the door knob.
He’s seated on the sofa.
I nod my head.
He stares. He thinks.
He wouldn’t stop me, would he?
“Come back soon,” he says.
I left as quickly as I could.
--------------
“I switched your therapy appointments to Monday,” he says this to me Monday morning.
I stare.
Mondays don’t belong to him.
Mondays don’t belong to Dr. Sanchez.
Mondays are mine. I need them.
He keeps talking. “That way, I can drive you.”
I close my eyes. The tears fall.
I hate this …
I hate this and …
… and I can’t take it anymore.
… “I can’t take it anymore.”
He hear him folding his paper. “What did you say, Liz?
I stare at the door. I can’t take this. I can’t … I can’t … I can’t …
Mondays are mine.
My life is mine.
I feel him coming up behind me. I feel his hands turn me around to face him. “What?”
I can only shake my head. I can only feel myself dying inside. “I can’t take this anymore, Max.”
He tries to not be upset. He tries to be understanding. He tries to speak casually. “The illness? The therapy? What can’t you take anymore?”
My illness. My body. My life.
He’s my husband … and … I love him …
But he can’t control this. He can’t control me.
Multi-million dollar shipping company …
He has people to love him, once I’m gone. He has another lif e… somewhere else.
A life I don’t even know about.
A life he didn’t bother to tell me about.
A life I never questioned.
Business trips.
A quickie marriage.
Maxwell Evans.
Mrs. Max Evans.
Heart murmur.
Illness.
Surgery.
Death.
“What can’t you take anymore, Liz?” he’s forceful.
He lies.
He controls.
He’s angry.
He worries.
He’s upset.
He’s always this way.
“You,” it’s a whisper. But it’s all I have the strength for.
“Me?” he narrows his eyes at me.
He’s questioning me.
But I’m not being cryptic. I’m not lying.
“What are you talking about?” he spits out.
I can only shake my head. I’m tired of this. I hate it.
“No!” he keeps going. “Tell me what you meant by that?”
He knows I’m tired, but he pushes.
He towers over me.
He stares.
He keeps talking, “You want a divorce? Is that what you’re trying to say? Because don’t think I haven’t thought of it either.”
What?
Divorce?
“It kills me, Liz. You don’t even talk to me unless I make you. What kind of marriage is that?”
He stops. He stares.
He’s right.
This isn’t the type of life he’s supposed to have.
Power and prestige. Multi-million dollar shipping company. New York.
One bedroom apartment. A dying wife.
He’s stuck. There’s nothing he can do.
“Is this what you want?” my voice whispers. My legs shake. My eyes stare at the ground.
He’s annoyed. He’s always this way, now. “For what?”
“Your life,” I breathe out.
“No,” he didn’t hesitate with his answer. “This isn’t what I want.”
That was all I needed to hear. All I needed to know.
My arms cross over my chest. I try not to think. I try not to cry. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?” He’s confused.
I try to remember to breathe. “O-okay … t-to … divorce.”
My eyes close.
I can hear him inhaling and exhaling.
I bet he’s staring at me. I bet he’s upset. He’s always upset.
Open my eyes and he’s sitting on the sofa, waiting for me.
He doesn’t say a word.
I sit in the love seat a minute later.
He licks his lips. I try to remember to breathe.
“It’s early,” he doesn’t talk to me. He talks past me. “You aren’t thinking straight.”
“Max-”
“No,” he’s forceful. He’s controlling. “You can’t go through this by yourself.”
He shouldn’t worry.
“I’m not alone,” I whisper. I watch him. “I have my mother.”
She helped my father through this. She prepared him for this. She can help me too.
“Liz … you can’t mean this.”
The tears fall at his tone, like I knew they would.
“Go back home, Max.”
He gets angry again. He gets upset. “I am home.”
Multi-million dollar shipping company. His sister. “New York,” I whisper. “You have people to love you there.”
“Are … Are you saying you don’t love me?”
My voice catches. The tears fall. I let them. I’m too weak to brush them away.
“Look at me! Liz …”
My husband.
New York.
Sickness.
Death.
“Just let me take care of you!” he shouts.
“You can’t control this, Max!” I shout back.
Silence.
We’re both upset.
We’re both angry.
It’s never been like this before.
He stares at me.
I break first.
I’m weaker than he is.
He stands.
He towers over me.
You can’t control this, Max.
His voice is deadly quiet. “I can and I will.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Feb 10, 2007 8:36 am, edited 2 times in total.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty Three:
-------------------------------------------------
It’s late.
But my husband hasn’t come home yet.
He wasn’t here to make sure I ate all of my food.
He wasn’t here to remind me to take my medication.
He wasn’t here to tell me to not sit out in the cold alone.
I did it all anyway. So he wouldn’t have to worry. So I wouldn’t have to lie.
We argued this morning. We never argue.
I left.
Two coffees. Black.
Hours in the cold on a concrete bench.
He was gone when I came back.
The apartment was empty.
There were two messages.
My mother wanted to make sure I was okay.
Dr. Sanchez’s office wanted to remind me of my appointment.
I showed up for therapy ten minutes late.
He held the session in his main room.
No more color therapy for me.
He asked a lot more questions this time.
He wanted me to say the first thoughts that came to mind. He didn’t want me to think over the answers. He just wanted me to say them.
He asked me about my father. He wanted to know how I felt about his death.
He asked me about my husband. He wanted to know how I felt about my marriage.
I told him I love Max. I told him that Max will be fine without me. I said all this because he wanted me to talk, not think.
He asked if I thought I had people in my life that cared about me.
Our hour ended then.
Dr. Sanchez wanted to keep going.
I didn’t.
I left to come home to an empty apartment.
The clock reads midnight.
I sit on the sofa. Because Max wouldn’t want me outside.
It’s cold, he’ll say.
So I sit on the sofa. And I wait.
The phone rings half an hour later. I pick it up.
“Liz?”
His voice sounds familiar, though it’s been a long time. “Michael?”
“Hey,” he talks loudly. He sounds funny. “Yeah. It’s me, Michael.”
He seems giddy. I think he’s been drinking.
“We’re drunk. And we need a ride,” he says. I don’t have to ask who the ‘we’ is. I know. “And I didn’t want to call a taxi. Can you pick us up?”
I grab my coat. “Yes.”
“I knew you would,” he sounds happy. “Max … Max said ‘no, don’t call her’. But I knew you’d come through. You always do, Liz. You’re such a doll.”
A doll. He calls everyone a doll. He used to call me that all the time. Before I met Max. Before I married Max. Before we lived together, in this one bedroom apartment.
He names the same hotel as before.
I drove as fast as I could.
I find him in the bar, flirting with the female bartender. It doesn’t surprise me.
He turns when I stand beside him.
“Liz, doll! You came!” he speaks loudly. He’s drunk.
“Where’s Max?” I ask.
“He’s over there,” he points to a booth. I can see my husband laid out, asleep.
I walk over to him. His coat is on inside out. One of his pant legs are rolled up. He’s missing a shoe. I’ve never seen him like this.
“He’s drunk,” Michael says, pulling his coat on. “Let me help you help him to the car.”
We got Max into the backseat. Michael sat in the passenger seat, beside me.
We were halfway to his house when I ask, “What happened?”
Michael’s voice is slurred, “He called me out. He bought the drinks. We got shit-faced.” He laughs at his words.
His laughter doesn’t ease my worry.
“How’s Laurie?” I ask.
“Fuck her,” he keeps laughing. “I found someone else.”
I nod. I knew he would. Michael isn’t the marrying type.
Max proposed to me after two weeks.
I park in his driveway, behind a familiar car.
“Thanks, Liz. You’re a doll,” he says, closing the door.
He sways, walking up to his porch.
The light comes on and the door opens for him. She stands there wearing one of his shirts.
She sees me and tries to hide behind the door. But it’s too late. I already saw her.
Max stirs behind me. “What? Where are we?”
“Shh … lay back,” I say, putting the car into reverse. In his current state, I don’t know how upset he’d be at finding his sister at his former co-worker’s house. And Max has been nothing but upset lately.
--------------
“Well,” Eddie grunts, dropping Max on the couch. “I’ve never pictured your husband the type to get this wasted.”
Eddie saw me pull up in the parking lot from his balcony. He came down to help me carry Max in.
“Thank you, Eddie,” I say.
“No problem,” he smiles. I think he’s amused by this. “See you, Liz.”
I lock the door once he’s gone.
I walk over to where my husband is lying.
I take off his shoe. I cover him with a blanket. And I kiss him goodnight before heading to the bedroom.
When I come out of the bathroom, my body tired, he’s sitting on the bed, waiting for me.
“Elizabeth,” he sings my name. “Are you going to talk to me?”
I step towards him slowly.
He pats the bed beside him.
I sit.
“You’re pretty,” he says. He’s smiling.
It confuses me. “I … thank you,” I say. I smile back. In his drunken state, my husband charms me. Like when we first met.
He lies back on his elbows. “You know …” he speaks with his eyelids half closed. “You know when it was, the first time I fell in love with you?”
I watch him. My body tells me that I’m tired. But I want to know. “When?” I ask.
“When I heard your voice,” his smile widens.
It hurts my heart.
“I heard you speak and I just knew I had to have you,” his says, closing his eyes. Is he replaying memories in his mind? “And then I saw you, sitting there, behind the desk, and I couldn’t marry you fast enough.”
His words hurt my heart.
My tiredness takes over. I lie down. I try not to think.
He turns out the lamp and lies down beside me.
A part of me aches to let him be here. To let him hold me.
But my husband doesn’t take risks. Not where I’m concerned.
It hurts my heart. “Max …”
I feel his fingers tracing my lips. His voice is a warm whisper in my ear, “I love you, my heart, my wife.”
It’s hard to breathe.
“Talk to me,” he pleads. “Let me hear your voice.”
I crumble. I pull him to me.
Is this how he’s supposed to be?
Isn’t this the man I married?
Carefree and loving.
Not worried and upset.
Not fussing over a dying wife with a broken heart that he can’t fix.
His hands are caressing and warm.
My loving husband … he deserves all the happiness in the world.
But this isn’t the life he wants.
My breath catches. The words leave my lips, “Promise me …”
“Anything,” he breathes against my skin.
His fingers tease away at my clothes.
I stop him. I make him look at me. I let him know I’m serious. “Promise me you’ll try to move on … once I’m gone.”
“What?” he blinks.
My lips tremble. My eyes tear. “A part of me died with my father, and I let it. Don’t do that. Please.”
He kisses me softly.
He whispers sweet nothings in my ear.
He promises me the moon and the stars. Promises me forever.
He tells me he loves me.
He says he couldn’t live without me.
It hurts my heart.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty Three:
-------------------------------------------------
It’s late.
But my husband hasn’t come home yet.
He wasn’t here to make sure I ate all of my food.
He wasn’t here to remind me to take my medication.
He wasn’t here to tell me to not sit out in the cold alone.
I did it all anyway. So he wouldn’t have to worry. So I wouldn’t have to lie.
We argued this morning. We never argue.
I left.
Two coffees. Black.
Hours in the cold on a concrete bench.
He was gone when I came back.
The apartment was empty.
There were two messages.
My mother wanted to make sure I was okay.
Dr. Sanchez’s office wanted to remind me of my appointment.
I showed up for therapy ten minutes late.
He held the session in his main room.
No more color therapy for me.
He asked a lot more questions this time.
He wanted me to say the first thoughts that came to mind. He didn’t want me to think over the answers. He just wanted me to say them.
He asked me about my father. He wanted to know how I felt about his death.
He asked me about my husband. He wanted to know how I felt about my marriage.
I told him I love Max. I told him that Max will be fine without me. I said all this because he wanted me to talk, not think.
He asked if I thought I had people in my life that cared about me.
Our hour ended then.
Dr. Sanchez wanted to keep going.
I didn’t.
I left to come home to an empty apartment.
The clock reads midnight.
I sit on the sofa. Because Max wouldn’t want me outside.
It’s cold, he’ll say.
So I sit on the sofa. And I wait.
The phone rings half an hour later. I pick it up.
“Liz?”
His voice sounds familiar, though it’s been a long time. “Michael?”
“Hey,” he talks loudly. He sounds funny. “Yeah. It’s me, Michael.”
He seems giddy. I think he’s been drinking.
“We’re drunk. And we need a ride,” he says. I don’t have to ask who the ‘we’ is. I know. “And I didn’t want to call a taxi. Can you pick us up?”
I grab my coat. “Yes.”
“I knew you would,” he sounds happy. “Max … Max said ‘no, don’t call her’. But I knew you’d come through. You always do, Liz. You’re such a doll.”
A doll. He calls everyone a doll. He used to call me that all the time. Before I met Max. Before I married Max. Before we lived together, in this one bedroom apartment.
He names the same hotel as before.
I drove as fast as I could.
I find him in the bar, flirting with the female bartender. It doesn’t surprise me.
He turns when I stand beside him.
“Liz, doll! You came!” he speaks loudly. He’s drunk.
“Where’s Max?” I ask.
“He’s over there,” he points to a booth. I can see my husband laid out, asleep.
I walk over to him. His coat is on inside out. One of his pant legs are rolled up. He’s missing a shoe. I’ve never seen him like this.
“He’s drunk,” Michael says, pulling his coat on. “Let me help you help him to the car.”
We got Max into the backseat. Michael sat in the passenger seat, beside me.
We were halfway to his house when I ask, “What happened?”
Michael’s voice is slurred, “He called me out. He bought the drinks. We got shit-faced.” He laughs at his words.
His laughter doesn’t ease my worry.
“How’s Laurie?” I ask.
“Fuck her,” he keeps laughing. “I found someone else.”
I nod. I knew he would. Michael isn’t the marrying type.
Max proposed to me after two weeks.
I park in his driveway, behind a familiar car.
“Thanks, Liz. You’re a doll,” he says, closing the door.
He sways, walking up to his porch.
The light comes on and the door opens for him. She stands there wearing one of his shirts.
She sees me and tries to hide behind the door. But it’s too late. I already saw her.
Max stirs behind me. “What? Where are we?”
“Shh … lay back,” I say, putting the car into reverse. In his current state, I don’t know how upset he’d be at finding his sister at his former co-worker’s house. And Max has been nothing but upset lately.
--------------
“Well,” Eddie grunts, dropping Max on the couch. “I’ve never pictured your husband the type to get this wasted.”
Eddie saw me pull up in the parking lot from his balcony. He came down to help me carry Max in.
“Thank you, Eddie,” I say.
“No problem,” he smiles. I think he’s amused by this. “See you, Liz.”
I lock the door once he’s gone.
I walk over to where my husband is lying.
I take off his shoe. I cover him with a blanket. And I kiss him goodnight before heading to the bedroom.
When I come out of the bathroom, my body tired, he’s sitting on the bed, waiting for me.
“Elizabeth,” he sings my name. “Are you going to talk to me?”
I step towards him slowly.
He pats the bed beside him.
I sit.
“You’re pretty,” he says. He’s smiling.
It confuses me. “I … thank you,” I say. I smile back. In his drunken state, my husband charms me. Like when we first met.
He lies back on his elbows. “You know …” he speaks with his eyelids half closed. “You know when it was, the first time I fell in love with you?”
I watch him. My body tells me that I’m tired. But I want to know. “When?” I ask.
“When I heard your voice,” his smile widens.
It hurts my heart.
“I heard you speak and I just knew I had to have you,” his says, closing his eyes. Is he replaying memories in his mind? “And then I saw you, sitting there, behind the desk, and I couldn’t marry you fast enough.”
His words hurt my heart.
My tiredness takes over. I lie down. I try not to think.
He turns out the lamp and lies down beside me.
A part of me aches to let him be here. To let him hold me.
But my husband doesn’t take risks. Not where I’m concerned.
It hurts my heart. “Max …”
I feel his fingers tracing my lips. His voice is a warm whisper in my ear, “I love you, my heart, my wife.”
It’s hard to breathe.
“Talk to me,” he pleads. “Let me hear your voice.”
I crumble. I pull him to me.
Is this how he’s supposed to be?
Isn’t this the man I married?
Carefree and loving.
Not worried and upset.
Not fussing over a dying wife with a broken heart that he can’t fix.
His hands are caressing and warm.
My loving husband … he deserves all the happiness in the world.
But this isn’t the life he wants.
My breath catches. The words leave my lips, “Promise me …”
“Anything,” he breathes against my skin.
His fingers tease away at my clothes.
I stop him. I make him look at me. I let him know I’m serious. “Promise me you’ll try to move on … once I’m gone.”
“What?” he blinks.
My lips tremble. My eyes tear. “A part of me died with my father, and I let it. Don’t do that. Please.”
He kisses me softly.
He whispers sweet nothings in my ear.
He promises me the moon and the stars. Promises me forever.
He tells me he loves me.
He says he couldn’t live without me.
It hurts my heart.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Feb 10, 2007 9:15 am, edited 2 times in total.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty Four:
-------------------------------------------------
I woke before he did. That’s hardly ever happened before.
I watch him.
I smile.
His arm still weighs down my body. His breathing is heavy. His skin is smooth.
He’s beautiful. My husband.
How can anyone not love him?
His eyes open slowly.
He stares at me.
I smile.
He smiles back.
Until recognition enters his handsome eyes. Words leave his angelic lips, “Shit!”
My smile falls and he sits up, his mind fast remembering the night before.
“Damn it, Liz,” he says, leaving the bed.
I sit up. I sigh. Because I saw this coming.
Max is always upset.
He wasn’t upset last night though. He was happy.
No defective wife to care over. No worries to wear him down.
He picks up his clothes and looks at me expectantly, his gorgeous jaw grinding together.
I can only sigh. “You followed me into the room,” I say.
But he’s still upset. Because I let him love me last night. Because, for once in a long time, it felt like we were a couple again.
He glares. “But you knew I was drunk.”
I stare back. “I’m supposed to kick my husband out of our bedroom?”
Guilt enters his eyes.
My head hangs.
My heart hurts.
I’m sorry for my words.
It’s just … frustrating.
His voice softens, “Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head.
He turns. “I’m going to take a shower.”
My lips are dry. “Max?”
He doesn’t hear me.
My eyes close. My head hangs. “I love you,” my lips say.
I hear the bathroom door close and the water running a minute later.
I’m dressed by the time he comes out.
The water is still running. He’s still drenched. A towel thrown around his waist.
He’s frowning. He’s upset.
“What do you mean for me to move on, once you’re gone?” He’s upset. Did he just now remember? “You’re not going anywhere.”
I don’t say a word. It’s pointless.
He finishes showering. I brush my teeth.
I have an appointment to keep.
“Are you leaving now?” my husband asks.
My hand is on the door.
He’s dressed nice. He’s always dressed nice.
“I’ll take you,” he says. He grabs his keys.
--------------
“You’re not taking as well to the medication as I was hoping you would,” the doctor is frank. “The next step is to prepare you for surgery.”
“No.” It’s one word. It’s the only word that leaves me.
Max stares.
He’s upset.
He looks towards the doctor, “Can you excuse us for a second?”
The doctor nods.
“Also, Mrs. Evans,” the doctor says from the door, “the blood thinning medication we have you on causes you to bruise easily. So take it easy, okay? The bruises you have now don’t look that bad, but, just be aware.”
He leaves.
Max stares. “Bruises? Where?”
I look away.
I feel him. He pushes up the dressing gown. He sees them on my thighs.
“Did I do this?” he asks.
He doesn’t need me to answer. His hands match up, finger by finger.
His jaw is grinding. His eyes are closed. His head is shaking.
“You need the surgery,” it’s a whisper from him.
He knows my answer. But he asks, “Why?”
“I’m scared.”
“But I’m here,” he says it simply. “I’m here for you. I’m here with you.”
The doctor entered then.
He asked the question.
I told him my answer.
Max argued.
And the doctor said, “Mr. Evans, with all due respect, I understand that you want your wife to have the surgery, we all do, but it’s better if she decides for it on her own.”
The appointment ended then.
Max was silent for the rest of the evening.
I found him on the balcony. A nearly empty bottle in his hand.
He looks at me with half lidded eyes.
I stand at the door.
He smiles. “Did you know my father was an alcoholic? My mother died when I was twelve. He started drinking. He married a bimbo half a year later. Then out pops Maria. We had his funeral when I was twenty five. But I knew … he died a long time ago, on the inside, with my mother.”
I step out onto the balcony. I take the bottle from him. Before he can do more harm to himself.
He stares at me and just laughs. It’s not a happy laugh. “You’re right. I can’t control this. That’s what pisses me off so much. No matter how badly I want you to just be fine again, it’s still not enough. Because it’s not up to me. It’s up to you. And you already gave up … a long time ago.”
He’s bitter.
He’s honest.
I know all this already.
I can only stand beside him, listening to his anger.
He silently sits. He’s thinking.
Until his mind is made up. And he stands. “Maybe you should move back in with your mother. So she can take care of you.”
My head hangs. “What about you?”
He shakes his head. His eyes bear down into me. “I’m not strong enough for this … I can’t just watch you continue on going through the motions. I can’t just watch you die.”
He’s giving up on me. Because I already gave up on myself.
“I’m going back to New York,” he says.
“When?” I ask. But it doesn’t matter. He’s given up on me. He’s already gone.
“Tonight … tomorrow … I don’t know … I just …” he breathes. Too many emotions are running through him. Running through me. “… I’m sorry.”
It’s not your fault, Max. It’s mine.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty Four:
-------------------------------------------------
I woke before he did. That’s hardly ever happened before.
I watch him.
I smile.
His arm still weighs down my body. His breathing is heavy. His skin is smooth.
He’s beautiful. My husband.
How can anyone not love him?
His eyes open slowly.
He stares at me.
I smile.
He smiles back.
Until recognition enters his handsome eyes. Words leave his angelic lips, “Shit!”
My smile falls and he sits up, his mind fast remembering the night before.
“Damn it, Liz,” he says, leaving the bed.
I sit up. I sigh. Because I saw this coming.
Max is always upset.
He wasn’t upset last night though. He was happy.
No defective wife to care over. No worries to wear him down.
He picks up his clothes and looks at me expectantly, his gorgeous jaw grinding together.
I can only sigh. “You followed me into the room,” I say.
But he’s still upset. Because I let him love me last night. Because, for once in a long time, it felt like we were a couple again.
He glares. “But you knew I was drunk.”
I stare back. “I’m supposed to kick my husband out of our bedroom?”
Guilt enters his eyes.
My head hangs.
My heart hurts.
I’m sorry for my words.
It’s just … frustrating.
His voice softens, “Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head.
He turns. “I’m going to take a shower.”
My lips are dry. “Max?”
He doesn’t hear me.
My eyes close. My head hangs. “I love you,” my lips say.
I hear the bathroom door close and the water running a minute later.
I’m dressed by the time he comes out.
The water is still running. He’s still drenched. A towel thrown around his waist.
He’s frowning. He’s upset.
“What do you mean for me to move on, once you’re gone?” He’s upset. Did he just now remember? “You’re not going anywhere.”
I don’t say a word. It’s pointless.
He finishes showering. I brush my teeth.
I have an appointment to keep.
“Are you leaving now?” my husband asks.
My hand is on the door.
He’s dressed nice. He’s always dressed nice.
“I’ll take you,” he says. He grabs his keys.
--------------
“You’re not taking as well to the medication as I was hoping you would,” the doctor is frank. “The next step is to prepare you for surgery.”
“No.” It’s one word. It’s the only word that leaves me.
Max stares.
He’s upset.
He looks towards the doctor, “Can you excuse us for a second?”
The doctor nods.
“Also, Mrs. Evans,” the doctor says from the door, “the blood thinning medication we have you on causes you to bruise easily. So take it easy, okay? The bruises you have now don’t look that bad, but, just be aware.”
He leaves.
Max stares. “Bruises? Where?”
I look away.
I feel him. He pushes up the dressing gown. He sees them on my thighs.
“Did I do this?” he asks.
He doesn’t need me to answer. His hands match up, finger by finger.
His jaw is grinding. His eyes are closed. His head is shaking.
“You need the surgery,” it’s a whisper from him.
He knows my answer. But he asks, “Why?”
“I’m scared.”
“But I’m here,” he says it simply. “I’m here for you. I’m here with you.”
The doctor entered then.
He asked the question.
I told him my answer.
Max argued.
And the doctor said, “Mr. Evans, with all due respect, I understand that you want your wife to have the surgery, we all do, but it’s better if she decides for it on her own.”
The appointment ended then.
Max was silent for the rest of the evening.
I found him on the balcony. A nearly empty bottle in his hand.
He looks at me with half lidded eyes.
I stand at the door.
He smiles. “Did you know my father was an alcoholic? My mother died when I was twelve. He started drinking. He married a bimbo half a year later. Then out pops Maria. We had his funeral when I was twenty five. But I knew … he died a long time ago, on the inside, with my mother.”
I step out onto the balcony. I take the bottle from him. Before he can do more harm to himself.
He stares at me and just laughs. It’s not a happy laugh. “You’re right. I can’t control this. That’s what pisses me off so much. No matter how badly I want you to just be fine again, it’s still not enough. Because it’s not up to me. It’s up to you. And you already gave up … a long time ago.”
He’s bitter.
He’s honest.
I know all this already.
I can only stand beside him, listening to his anger.
He silently sits. He’s thinking.
Until his mind is made up. And he stands. “Maybe you should move back in with your mother. So she can take care of you.”
My head hangs. “What about you?”
He shakes his head. His eyes bear down into me. “I’m not strong enough for this … I can’t just watch you continue on going through the motions. I can’t just watch you die.”
He’s giving up on me. Because I already gave up on myself.
“I’m going back to New York,” he says.
“When?” I ask. But it doesn’t matter. He’s given up on me. He’s already gone.
“Tonight … tomorrow … I don’t know … I just …” he breathes. Too many emotions are running through him. Running through me. “… I’m sorry.”
It’s not your fault, Max. It’s mine.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Feb 10, 2007 8:55 pm, edited 2 times in total.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty Five:
-------------------------------------------------
Max wasn’t home when I woke.
I’ve been waking later and later.
Maria was in the kitchen making coffee.
“Morning,” she says, holding a mug in her hand. “Um … I thought we should talk … you know … about the other night.”
I know what she’s talking about.
“There’s some food for you in the microwave. Maxwell said to make sure you eat it all,” she makes a face. “But I’m not sure if I was supposed to tell you that he said to make sure you eat it all or not.”
She’s rambling.
I lean against the counter in the kitchen. I wait for her to start.
“Okay,” she takes a deep breath. “I know what you think, and I know what it looks like, but it’s not.”
I don’t believe her.
“I ran into Michael in a bar one night and we just got to talking and that’s it. Nothing happened. He just seemed like a nice guy. But I told him I was twenty, not seventeen. And that my name was Maria Deluca, not Evans. And I had no idea that he and Max used to work together until Maxwell called him on his cell phone and I saw the name pop up,” she pushes all the words out together.
Oddly, I hear it all.
“So now I’m stuck in this weird place and I really, really like Michael. But I can’t tell him who I really am or my real age or he’ll never see me again. And I can’t tell Maxwell because then he’ll kill Michael. So I don’t know what to do. But we’re not sleeping together or anything. I was just crashing at his place for the night.” Guilt enters her face, “Yeah, well, we’ve done stuff … like made out, but no sex.”
I stare.
“I mean, I understand, he’s twenty eight and I’m seventeen now and that’s a big difference, but I’ve never felt this way about a guy before. And I just don’t know what to do, Liz,” she sniffles.
I don’t know what to do either. Do I tell her no? Do I forbid her from seeing him? Can I do that?
Michael isn’t the marrying type.
Keys jingle on the other side of the front door.
“Oh god,” she wipes at her tears. She tries to act normal. But her eyes are red and her cheeks are puffy.
Max walks in carrying a paper bag. “Maria, you’re still here.”
She tries to smile. “Just girl talk.”
I say nothing.
He pulls out three bottles of whiskey and puts them in the cabinet.
“What’s with the liquor? Are you having a party?” Maria asks, sipping her coffee.
He ignores her.
There’s more tension between us. It isn’t easy.
He said he was leaving last night. He said he couldn’t stay.
“Your mother wants us to come over for dinner tomorrow night,” he’s talking to me, but he won’t look at me. “I invited Michael too. He’s bringing his girlfriend.”
There’s an awkward silence.
Max takes a bottle from the cabinet and heads out to the balcony.
“Oh god,” Maria freaks. She panics. “What am I going to do? I can’t be there. They’ll find out. Shit. Shit. Shit.”
I can only stare. Because I can’t help her. Because I don’t know how.
“Liz, you have to do something. You have to help me. Michael can’t find out about me. Maxwell can’t find out about Michael,” she’s desperate, she’s terrified. She’s confused.
And I’m helpless to save her. Because there’s nothing I can do.
--------------
Maria left soon after.
I couldn’t help her. She knew I couldn’t.
Max stayed out on the balcony with his whisky.
Something kept me from stopping him. Fear?
I stayed inside. Doing laundry. Cooking.
He would come in sporadically. To go to the bathroom. To grab another bottle.
He would look at me. I would look at him. Then he’d leave.
He gave up on me. Because I gave up on myself. I need to remember that.
After eight hours, I couldn’t stand it anymore.
He didn’t turn when I opened the door.
His head was resting against the railing. An empty bottle on the floor. A half empty bottle in his lap. A newly opened bottle in his hand.
I stand there. I stare. What can I do?
Can I say anything? Do I have the right to anymore?
“Are you going to just stare at me?” his voice is slurred and he still won’t turn.
A sigh leaves me. “Are you coming in?”
He doesn’t answer. It’s almost frustrating, seeing him like this.
My heart pangs. “Dinner is ready.”
Still no reply. No movement. Nothing.
“Please don’t do this.” It’s a whisper.
I don’t know if he heard me or not.
I pick up the empty bottle.
I stare.
I can’t stand to see him like this.
“Max?” I can see him breathing. “I’m going to bed.”
Nothing.
Helplessness is not a good feeling.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty Five:
-------------------------------------------------
Max wasn’t home when I woke.
I’ve been waking later and later.
Maria was in the kitchen making coffee.
“Morning,” she says, holding a mug in her hand. “Um … I thought we should talk … you know … about the other night.”
I know what she’s talking about.
“There’s some food for you in the microwave. Maxwell said to make sure you eat it all,” she makes a face. “But I’m not sure if I was supposed to tell you that he said to make sure you eat it all or not.”
She’s rambling.
I lean against the counter in the kitchen. I wait for her to start.
“Okay,” she takes a deep breath. “I know what you think, and I know what it looks like, but it’s not.”
I don’t believe her.
“I ran into Michael in a bar one night and we just got to talking and that’s it. Nothing happened. He just seemed like a nice guy. But I told him I was twenty, not seventeen. And that my name was Maria Deluca, not Evans. And I had no idea that he and Max used to work together until Maxwell called him on his cell phone and I saw the name pop up,” she pushes all the words out together.
Oddly, I hear it all.
“So now I’m stuck in this weird place and I really, really like Michael. But I can’t tell him who I really am or my real age or he’ll never see me again. And I can’t tell Maxwell because then he’ll kill Michael. So I don’t know what to do. But we’re not sleeping together or anything. I was just crashing at his place for the night.” Guilt enters her face, “Yeah, well, we’ve done stuff … like made out, but no sex.”
I stare.
“I mean, I understand, he’s twenty eight and I’m seventeen now and that’s a big difference, but I’ve never felt this way about a guy before. And I just don’t know what to do, Liz,” she sniffles.
I don’t know what to do either. Do I tell her no? Do I forbid her from seeing him? Can I do that?
Michael isn’t the marrying type.
Keys jingle on the other side of the front door.
“Oh god,” she wipes at her tears. She tries to act normal. But her eyes are red and her cheeks are puffy.
Max walks in carrying a paper bag. “Maria, you’re still here.”
She tries to smile. “Just girl talk.”
I say nothing.
He pulls out three bottles of whiskey and puts them in the cabinet.
“What’s with the liquor? Are you having a party?” Maria asks, sipping her coffee.
He ignores her.
There’s more tension between us. It isn’t easy.
He said he was leaving last night. He said he couldn’t stay.
“Your mother wants us to come over for dinner tomorrow night,” he’s talking to me, but he won’t look at me. “I invited Michael too. He’s bringing his girlfriend.”
There’s an awkward silence.
Max takes a bottle from the cabinet and heads out to the balcony.
“Oh god,” Maria freaks. She panics. “What am I going to do? I can’t be there. They’ll find out. Shit. Shit. Shit.”
I can only stare. Because I can’t help her. Because I don’t know how.
“Liz, you have to do something. You have to help me. Michael can’t find out about me. Maxwell can’t find out about Michael,” she’s desperate, she’s terrified. She’s confused.
And I’m helpless to save her. Because there’s nothing I can do.
--------------
Maria left soon after.
I couldn’t help her. She knew I couldn’t.
Max stayed out on the balcony with his whisky.
Something kept me from stopping him. Fear?
I stayed inside. Doing laundry. Cooking.
He would come in sporadically. To go to the bathroom. To grab another bottle.
He would look at me. I would look at him. Then he’d leave.
He gave up on me. Because I gave up on myself. I need to remember that.
After eight hours, I couldn’t stand it anymore.
He didn’t turn when I opened the door.
His head was resting against the railing. An empty bottle on the floor. A half empty bottle in his lap. A newly opened bottle in his hand.
I stand there. I stare. What can I do?
Can I say anything? Do I have the right to anymore?
“Are you going to just stare at me?” his voice is slurred and he still won’t turn.
A sigh leaves me. “Are you coming in?”
He doesn’t answer. It’s almost frustrating, seeing him like this.
My heart pangs. “Dinner is ready.”
Still no reply. No movement. Nothing.
“Please don’t do this.” It’s a whisper.
I don’t know if he heard me or not.
I pick up the empty bottle.
I stare.
I can’t stand to see him like this.
“Max?” I can see him breathing. “I’m going to bed.”
Nothing.
Helplessness is not a good feeling.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Feb 10, 2007 8:56 pm, edited 1 time in total.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty Six:
-------------------------------------------------
We got out of having dinner with my mother.
I didn’t feel well.
I haven’t been feeling well at all lately.
I don’t think Max wanted to go either.
Instead, we had dinner at home. In our one bedroom apartment. Just the two of us.
I cooked.
My husband set the table.
Like the happy married couple that we are.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asks. He isn’t really eating. Pushing things around on his plate.
I would know. I’m doing the same.
I wait for him to ask again. But I know he won’t. He gave up on me.
I nod my head.
But he doesn’t see it.
He doesn’t look at me anymore. Won’t look at me anymore. He gave up on me.
“Yes,” I say and he stands from the table.
The tension is thick.
It isn’t easy.
He comes back with water for me and a glass of whisky for himself.
Limit my alcohol intake, the doctor said.
But Max gave up on me. He’s leaving. He told me so.
The silence returns.
He downs his drink and I can only watch him suffer.
But I should understand what he’s going through.
Max has his drink and I had my balcony.
My heart beats funny.
I should understand.
But the funny thing about loving someone.
It hurts to see him this way.
He stands from the table.
He comes back with the entire bottle.
He pours himself a full glass.
And I watch.
… And I watch.
… And I watch.
It hurts too much to see him this way.
That’s why my hand comes out to cover his glass when he goes to pick it up again.
There’s tension everywhere.
He stares at my hand.
His eyes travel up my arm to finally look at me.
Like he hasn’t in what seems like forever.
The intensity is earth-shattering.
I stare back.
He shakes his head slowly.
His voice is soft. A whisper. “Just like I can’t control you, you can’t control this.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty Six:
-------------------------------------------------
We got out of having dinner with my mother.
I didn’t feel well.
I haven’t been feeling well at all lately.
I don’t think Max wanted to go either.
Instead, we had dinner at home. In our one bedroom apartment. Just the two of us.
I cooked.
My husband set the table.
Like the happy married couple that we are.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asks. He isn’t really eating. Pushing things around on his plate.
I would know. I’m doing the same.
I wait for him to ask again. But I know he won’t. He gave up on me.
I nod my head.
But he doesn’t see it.
He doesn’t look at me anymore. Won’t look at me anymore. He gave up on me.
“Yes,” I say and he stands from the table.
The tension is thick.
It isn’t easy.
He comes back with water for me and a glass of whisky for himself.
Limit my alcohol intake, the doctor said.
But Max gave up on me. He’s leaving. He told me so.
The silence returns.
He downs his drink and I can only watch him suffer.
But I should understand what he’s going through.
Max has his drink and I had my balcony.
My heart beats funny.
I should understand.
But the funny thing about loving someone.
It hurts to see him this way.
He stands from the table.
He comes back with the entire bottle.
He pours himself a full glass.
And I watch.
… And I watch.
… And I watch.
It hurts too much to see him this way.
That’s why my hand comes out to cover his glass when he goes to pick it up again.
There’s tension everywhere.
He stares at my hand.
His eyes travel up my arm to finally look at me.
Like he hasn’t in what seems like forever.
The intensity is earth-shattering.
I stare back.
He shakes his head slowly.
His voice is soft. A whisper. “Just like I can’t control you, you can’t control this.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Feb 10, 2007 8:59 pm, edited 2 times in total.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty Seven:
-------------------------------------------------
It took him three days to pack his bags. Another two before he booked his flight.
It wasn't until Friday that his departure day came.
I didn't want to be around when it happened.
When he would leave me.
"Long time no see, stranger," Laurie smirks as I walk up, three cups of coffee and a pack of cigarettes on the table before her. "Did Max finally let you off your short leash?"
I sit down in the chair.
And I say honestly, "He's leaving me.” Physically today. Emotionally, over a week ago.
She puts down her coffee cup. She stares at me. She says, "What?"
I shrug. I repeat, “He's leaving me.” But it still doesn’t feel real.
She thinks for a second. Only for a second before she leans back. “Good. That's what you wanted, right?”
Is it what I wanted? How could I want this?
“Then you get half of everything,” she explains. She seems giddy.
I shake my head. “He's just ... leaving.” Leaving me.
“God, I don't understand you,” she groans out. She rolls her eyes at me. “Anyway, so I broke up with Michael.”
That's funny. I'm more than positive it was the other way around.
There was a two week rule with Michael and his dolls.
She hands me a cigarette and her lighter. It's been so long since I've had a smoke.
"What's with Little Miss Thing in there?” Laurie leers. “She's been bitchier than usual.”
I can probably guess why.
Michael isn't the marrying type.
Max proposed to me after just two weeks.
But he’s leaving me. Physically today. Emotionally, over a week ago.
Laurie keeps talking. She goes through her three cups of coffee and four cigarettes before she leaves.
Maria comes out. With more make-up on than I’ve ever seen on her.
She’s the quietest I’ve ever known her to be.
She says three words that explain it all, “I told Michael.”
I take it he didn’t take it well.
She didn’t say anymore. She cleaned up. She went back in.
--------------
His suitcases were by the door when I got home.
My husband sits on the sofa, waiting for me.
I close the door.
He stands.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
I don’t understand.
He doesn’t explain. He doesn't repeat his question. He isn't patient with me anymore. He gave up on me. And now he's leaving me.
My heart hurts.
It’s awkward.
It’s stressful.
It’s painful.
It’s tormenting.
And it just won’t stop.
“Ready for what?” my voice is a gasp.
I can’t breathe.
He’s upset.
Max is always upset.
“I thought you were going to take me to the airport,” he speaks like he’s annoyed. Like he can’t stand to be here another second.
One bedroom apartment. Mansion in New York. There’s no comparison.
It hurts. I hurt. “I-“
“I assumed you would,” he interrupts. “After all, you are my wife.” His sarcasm burns like acid.
My husband.
“Unless you wanted to do something to change that,” he adds in.
My head picks up. My throat closes.
I stand at the door, falling to pieces.
He stands by the sofa, fixing his sleeve.
“Divorce?” it’s a whisper from my lips.
"If it's what you want," he says with such nonchalance. As though he were discussing the weather.
It hurts.
“I'll get the lawyers to handle it. Look,” the annoyance, the hatred, the bitterness, the impatience all surface in his voice, “I have a flight to catch.”
I nod. And I open the door.
We take his car.
I sit in the passenger side.
He drives.
I am to drive his car back.
Drive it if I want, he says. If not, it’ll just sit in the parking lot.
For all the annoying tension, for all his hateful indifference, his actions throw me when we’re halfway there, when his hand reaches out and slides into mine. When his fingers tighten and my emotions flare.
But Max stares straight forward, as though this last strand of hope, this last touch, this last memory of my husband means nothing to me. And even less to him.
He parks the car.
He takes out his suitcase.
He hands me the key.
How can he do this?
How can he end it here and now? In a remote parking lot of some impersonal airport. When my heart beats funny and I can’t breathe and it just hurts.
He walks off.
And I follow. I follow because … because I don’t know why.
Because my husband is leaving me and I don’t know if he’ll come back. Because he’s fed up with me. Because he isn’t patient, he isn’t kind, he isn’t caring anymore. And I want to know why.
I want to know why I took it all for granted. I want to know why I didn’t hold onto him tighter … with both arms.
… I just don’t know how to ask. I never had to before.
He stands in line and I stand beside him. Even though he didn’t ask me to. I stand with him and he doesn’t question me.
My hand grips his while we walk to his gate.
We sit in uncomfortable chairs while we wait for his flight.
The seconds tick loud in my head.
But I can’t think. I can’t speak.
Words are spoken over the intercom.
Max stands. “That’s me,” he says.
Panic engulfs me.
Time speeds up no matter how I try to slow it down.
I stand beside him.
He steps closer.
One hand to my cheek. Lips to my ear. His words rush together, even though he speaks slowly, even though he whispers, “Stay with your mother. Remember to take your medication. Don’t eat too much vitamin K. If anything happens at all … you feel dizzy or you get a nosebleed, go to the doctor. Don’t risk it. Take care of yourself. Don’t be too proud to ask for help.”
He pulls back. He pauses. He looks at me. “If you ever … ever need me ...”
The words hang. He turns. And he leaves.
I watch him hand over his boarding pass.
I watch him carry his bag through the entrance.
I watch him walk away from me without glancing back once.
My heart hurts.
I can’t breathe.
Panic. Panic. Fear.
Pain. Sorrow. Desolation.
Panic. Tears. Worry.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My world spins and I fall with it.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know, she just fell to the floor.”
“Call for help.”
”Ma’am!
Ma’am!”
Blackness.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty Seven:
-------------------------------------------------
It took him three days to pack his bags. Another two before he booked his flight.
It wasn't until Friday that his departure day came.
I didn't want to be around when it happened.
When he would leave me.
"Long time no see, stranger," Laurie smirks as I walk up, three cups of coffee and a pack of cigarettes on the table before her. "Did Max finally let you off your short leash?"
I sit down in the chair.
And I say honestly, "He's leaving me.” Physically today. Emotionally, over a week ago.
She puts down her coffee cup. She stares at me. She says, "What?"
I shrug. I repeat, “He's leaving me.” But it still doesn’t feel real.
She thinks for a second. Only for a second before she leans back. “Good. That's what you wanted, right?”
Is it what I wanted? How could I want this?
“Then you get half of everything,” she explains. She seems giddy.
I shake my head. “He's just ... leaving.” Leaving me.
“God, I don't understand you,” she groans out. She rolls her eyes at me. “Anyway, so I broke up with Michael.”
That's funny. I'm more than positive it was the other way around.
There was a two week rule with Michael and his dolls.
She hands me a cigarette and her lighter. It's been so long since I've had a smoke.
"What's with Little Miss Thing in there?” Laurie leers. “She's been bitchier than usual.”
I can probably guess why.
Michael isn't the marrying type.
Max proposed to me after just two weeks.
But he’s leaving me. Physically today. Emotionally, over a week ago.
Laurie keeps talking. She goes through her three cups of coffee and four cigarettes before she leaves.
Maria comes out. With more make-up on than I’ve ever seen on her.
She’s the quietest I’ve ever known her to be.
She says three words that explain it all, “I told Michael.”
I take it he didn’t take it well.
She didn’t say anymore. She cleaned up. She went back in.
--------------
His suitcases were by the door when I got home.
My husband sits on the sofa, waiting for me.
I close the door.
He stands.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
I don’t understand.
He doesn’t explain. He doesn't repeat his question. He isn't patient with me anymore. He gave up on me. And now he's leaving me.
My heart hurts.
It’s awkward.
It’s stressful.
It’s painful.
It’s tormenting.
And it just won’t stop.
“Ready for what?” my voice is a gasp.
I can’t breathe.
He’s upset.
Max is always upset.
“I thought you were going to take me to the airport,” he speaks like he’s annoyed. Like he can’t stand to be here another second.
One bedroom apartment. Mansion in New York. There’s no comparison.
It hurts. I hurt. “I-“
“I assumed you would,” he interrupts. “After all, you are my wife.” His sarcasm burns like acid.
My husband.
“Unless you wanted to do something to change that,” he adds in.
My head picks up. My throat closes.
I stand at the door, falling to pieces.
He stands by the sofa, fixing his sleeve.
“Divorce?” it’s a whisper from my lips.
"If it's what you want," he says with such nonchalance. As though he were discussing the weather.
It hurts.
“I'll get the lawyers to handle it. Look,” the annoyance, the hatred, the bitterness, the impatience all surface in his voice, “I have a flight to catch.”
I nod. And I open the door.
We take his car.
I sit in the passenger side.
He drives.
I am to drive his car back.
Drive it if I want, he says. If not, it’ll just sit in the parking lot.
For all the annoying tension, for all his hateful indifference, his actions throw me when we’re halfway there, when his hand reaches out and slides into mine. When his fingers tighten and my emotions flare.
But Max stares straight forward, as though this last strand of hope, this last touch, this last memory of my husband means nothing to me. And even less to him.
He parks the car.
He takes out his suitcase.
He hands me the key.
How can he do this?
How can he end it here and now? In a remote parking lot of some impersonal airport. When my heart beats funny and I can’t breathe and it just hurts.
He walks off.
And I follow. I follow because … because I don’t know why.
Because my husband is leaving me and I don’t know if he’ll come back. Because he’s fed up with me. Because he isn’t patient, he isn’t kind, he isn’t caring anymore. And I want to know why.
I want to know why I took it all for granted. I want to know why I didn’t hold onto him tighter … with both arms.
… I just don’t know how to ask. I never had to before.
He stands in line and I stand beside him. Even though he didn’t ask me to. I stand with him and he doesn’t question me.
My hand grips his while we walk to his gate.
We sit in uncomfortable chairs while we wait for his flight.
The seconds tick loud in my head.
But I can’t think. I can’t speak.
Words are spoken over the intercom.
Max stands. “That’s me,” he says.
Panic engulfs me.
Time speeds up no matter how I try to slow it down.
I stand beside him.
He steps closer.
One hand to my cheek. Lips to my ear. His words rush together, even though he speaks slowly, even though he whispers, “Stay with your mother. Remember to take your medication. Don’t eat too much vitamin K. If anything happens at all … you feel dizzy or you get a nosebleed, go to the doctor. Don’t risk it. Take care of yourself. Don’t be too proud to ask for help.”
He pulls back. He pauses. He looks at me. “If you ever … ever need me ...”
The words hang. He turns. And he leaves.
I watch him hand over his boarding pass.
I watch him carry his bag through the entrance.
I watch him walk away from me without glancing back once.
My heart hurts.
I can’t breathe.
Panic. Panic. Fear.
Pain. Sorrow. Desolation.
Panic. Tears. Worry.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My world spins and I fall with it.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know, she just fell to the floor.”
“Call for help.”
”Ma’am!
Ma’am!”
Blackness.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Last edited by Evelynn on Wed Feb 14, 2007 1:53 am, edited 3 times in total.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty Eight:
-------------------------------------------------
Beep … beep … beep …
I hear it for what seems like hours before I have the strength to open my eyes.
Recognition escapes me.
Panic fills me.
“Are you awake yet, dear?” someone asks.
I stare at her. She wears scrubs.
“You’re in the hospital. You fainted and the paramedics brought you in. You’ve been out for about,” she looks at her wrist, “five hours.”
My eyes close.
--------------
When I wake again, I am in a completely different room.
Fear and panic.
“Liz?”
Maria. She makes a face.
“Hey,” she tries to smile. “How are you feeling? No. Don’t answer that. That’s a stupid question considering you’re in the hospital. Oh my god! You have no idea how freaked out I was when I got the call.”
Her eyes water. Tears.
“Anyway,” she keeps going, “I can’t get a hold of anyone. Maxwell is still in the air, I think. His phone is off. And I left a message for your Mother but I think she is out of town shopping. And I’ve just been here by myself, just sitting here and I have no freaking clue as to what to do. What am I supposed to be doing? Am I supposed to be talking to a doctor or something?”
She breathes hard. She panics. She cries.
Someone else rushes into the room.
His face is familiar, but the worry on it is not.
“Liz, doll!” Michael gasps. “Oh my god, are you okay? I just got a call …” He freezes. He notices Maria. “What are you doing here?”
Michael upsets her. She scrubs her tears. Her face hardens. “That’s my brother’s wife, why wouldn’t I be here?”
“Damn it, Maria!” his voice is loud in my head. “You called me down here?”
Anger is everywhere.
And I’m exhausted.
“Look, the hospital called me. I’ve been sitting here with her for hours while she’s all comatose and no one is picking up their phones. I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t know who else to call!” she cries again.
Too many emotions.
Too little strength.
“This isn’t the time or the place to be arguing right now! Why don’t you stop being such a selfish brat? The world doesn’t revolve around you, Maria,” his words make her cry more. “This isn’t about you. This is about Liz.”
“You know what? Fine!” she walks away. “I’m going to get some coffee. Chill the fuck out.”
Silence.
“Sorry about that,” he’s whispering. He’s worrying. “How are you feeling, doll?”
My head hurts.
“I tried calling Max, but it kept going straight to voicemail. What happened?” he asks more questions.
My heart hurts.
“It’s okay,” he smiles at me. It’s not so great. “Rest up. I’ll stay with you until your mother or Max gets here.”
I shake my head. It’s odd to see Michael care. But he doesn’t have to stay. “Maria is here …”
His eyes roll. “She’s just a kid. What would she know about taking care of anyone?”
He’s bitter.
I think he’s in love with her.
“Rest your eyes,” he’s nodding his head. “I’m going to go see if I can flag down a doctor or nurse to see what’s going on.”
He leaves.
I’m exhausted.
“Is he gone?” I hear her. Maria walks in with a paper cup in her hand. “God, he’s such a prick! I don’t even know what I was thinking, calling him for.”
She bites her lip.
She shakes her head.
“Your mother called my cell. I told her you were too tired to talk. She’ll be here tomorrow. I’ll spend the night in the hospital with you. I’m sure Tess will take my shift for me tomorrow,” she speaks absentmindedly. Her thoughts are somewhere else.
She seems overwhelmed.
She seems tired too.
“Let her sleep. She’s exhausted,” Michael enters again. “She doesn’t need to hear you yapping.”
“Fuck you, Michael,” her voice is low.
Again with the tears.
Again with the anger.
“Sorry, toots. But I’m not into statutory rape.”
My head hurts.
My heart hurts.
I can’t hear this anymore.
“Stop … Please …”
“I’m sorry, Liz,” they both say.
One of them leaves. I’m not sure which.
My eyes close. I sleep.
--------------
When I wake again, it is daytime.
The same woman in scrubs is the first person I see.
“Good afternoon, sweetie.” She smiles. She opens a file. “Aortic valve regurgitation,” she reads. “But you’re holding out on the surgery. I wonder why. It’s not that risky a surgery, especially for your age, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I say nothing.
She moves on.
“You’ve been one popular lady. People have been in and out of here all morning. It’s like a garden in here,” she points to the window.
There’s a line of vases filled with flowers.
“Do you want me to read them to you?” she keeps smiling.
I nod.
She reads them out, one by one.
‘Get well soon, doll. Love, Michael.’
‘Get well soon. Sincerely, Richard Pierce.’
‘I hope you feel better soon. Tess.’
‘Feel better, Liz. From Maria.’
‘From Mom.’
‘Feel better. Laurie.’
She gets to the last vase.
It’s filled with white roses and yellow lilies.
They’re my favorite.
“Huh, this one doesn’t have a card,” she turns the vase around. “No, wait. I found it. It says, ‘Love, Alex.’ I bet this is the one you were looking for, isn’t it?” she smiles and winks at me.
Disappointment fills me.
My heart hurts.
She leaves.
My eyes close.
Exhaustion.
I hear a voice.
“Sleep. I’m here now, Lizzie. I’ll watch over you.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty Eight:
-------------------------------------------------
Beep … beep … beep …
I hear it for what seems like hours before I have the strength to open my eyes.
Recognition escapes me.
Panic fills me.
“Are you awake yet, dear?” someone asks.
I stare at her. She wears scrubs.
“You’re in the hospital. You fainted and the paramedics brought you in. You’ve been out for about,” she looks at her wrist, “five hours.”
My eyes close.
--------------
When I wake again, I am in a completely different room.
Fear and panic.
“Liz?”
Maria. She makes a face.
“Hey,” she tries to smile. “How are you feeling? No. Don’t answer that. That’s a stupid question considering you’re in the hospital. Oh my god! You have no idea how freaked out I was when I got the call.”
Her eyes water. Tears.
“Anyway,” she keeps going, “I can’t get a hold of anyone. Maxwell is still in the air, I think. His phone is off. And I left a message for your Mother but I think she is out of town shopping. And I’ve just been here by myself, just sitting here and I have no freaking clue as to what to do. What am I supposed to be doing? Am I supposed to be talking to a doctor or something?”
She breathes hard. She panics. She cries.
Someone else rushes into the room.
His face is familiar, but the worry on it is not.
“Liz, doll!” Michael gasps. “Oh my god, are you okay? I just got a call …” He freezes. He notices Maria. “What are you doing here?”
Michael upsets her. She scrubs her tears. Her face hardens. “That’s my brother’s wife, why wouldn’t I be here?”
“Damn it, Maria!” his voice is loud in my head. “You called me down here?”
Anger is everywhere.
And I’m exhausted.
“Look, the hospital called me. I’ve been sitting here with her for hours while she’s all comatose and no one is picking up their phones. I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t know who else to call!” she cries again.
Too many emotions.
Too little strength.
“This isn’t the time or the place to be arguing right now! Why don’t you stop being such a selfish brat? The world doesn’t revolve around you, Maria,” his words make her cry more. “This isn’t about you. This is about Liz.”
“You know what? Fine!” she walks away. “I’m going to get some coffee. Chill the fuck out.”
Silence.
“Sorry about that,” he’s whispering. He’s worrying. “How are you feeling, doll?”
My head hurts.
“I tried calling Max, but it kept going straight to voicemail. What happened?” he asks more questions.
My heart hurts.
“It’s okay,” he smiles at me. It’s not so great. “Rest up. I’ll stay with you until your mother or Max gets here.”
I shake my head. It’s odd to see Michael care. But he doesn’t have to stay. “Maria is here …”
His eyes roll. “She’s just a kid. What would she know about taking care of anyone?”
He’s bitter.
I think he’s in love with her.
“Rest your eyes,” he’s nodding his head. “I’m going to go see if I can flag down a doctor or nurse to see what’s going on.”
He leaves.
I’m exhausted.
“Is he gone?” I hear her. Maria walks in with a paper cup in her hand. “God, he’s such a prick! I don’t even know what I was thinking, calling him for.”
She bites her lip.
She shakes her head.
“Your mother called my cell. I told her you were too tired to talk. She’ll be here tomorrow. I’ll spend the night in the hospital with you. I’m sure Tess will take my shift for me tomorrow,” she speaks absentmindedly. Her thoughts are somewhere else.
She seems overwhelmed.
She seems tired too.
“Let her sleep. She’s exhausted,” Michael enters again. “She doesn’t need to hear you yapping.”
“Fuck you, Michael,” her voice is low.
Again with the tears.
Again with the anger.
“Sorry, toots. But I’m not into statutory rape.”
My head hurts.
My heart hurts.
I can’t hear this anymore.
“Stop … Please …”
“I’m sorry, Liz,” they both say.
One of them leaves. I’m not sure which.
My eyes close. I sleep.
--------------
When I wake again, it is daytime.
The same woman in scrubs is the first person I see.
“Good afternoon, sweetie.” She smiles. She opens a file. “Aortic valve regurgitation,” she reads. “But you’re holding out on the surgery. I wonder why. It’s not that risky a surgery, especially for your age, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I say nothing.
She moves on.
“You’ve been one popular lady. People have been in and out of here all morning. It’s like a garden in here,” she points to the window.
There’s a line of vases filled with flowers.
“Do you want me to read them to you?” she keeps smiling.
I nod.
She reads them out, one by one.
‘Get well soon, doll. Love, Michael.’
‘Get well soon. Sincerely, Richard Pierce.’
‘I hope you feel better soon. Tess.’
‘Feel better, Liz. From Maria.’
‘From Mom.’
‘Feel better. Laurie.’
She gets to the last vase.
It’s filled with white roses and yellow lilies.
They’re my favorite.
“Huh, this one doesn’t have a card,” she turns the vase around. “No, wait. I found it. It says, ‘Love, Alex.’ I bet this is the one you were looking for, isn’t it?” she smiles and winks at me.
Disappointment fills me.
My heart hurts.
She leaves.
My eyes close.
Exhaustion.
I hear a voice.
“Sleep. I’m here now, Lizzie. I’ll watch over you.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Feb 10, 2007 9:02 pm, edited 1 time in total.
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty Nine:
-------------------------------------------------
I hear his voice.
It’s a voice I haven’t heard in a long time.
“Lizzie …”
He’s not real.
He can’t be.
He died over two years ago.
I was at his funeral.
I was at his grave.
Monday mornings. Two coffees. Black.
“Lizzie …”
Daddy?
“Lizzie …”
Am I … am I … dead?
“Lizzie … Are you scared?”
He asks his questions. He doesn’t push. It isn’t his style.
“What are you afraid of?”
Everything. Everything, Daddy. I am afraid of everything. I am afraid of being alone. I’m afraid of living. I’m afraid of dying. I’m afraid of you. I’m afraid of myself.
“Do you love him?”
There’s no question as to who the him is. But it doesn’t matter now. Because he left. They aren’t just empty threats this time. This time, he’s left me for good.
“Do you love him?”
… No … … Yes … Yes, I love him. I doubt him. I doubt myself. It’s insane. But I can’t stop loving him. I can’t stop loving him long enough to let him forget me. But I try … and I try … and I try …
“Then you aren’t alone.”
But he left. He left me … Because I’m scared.
“Why?”
Because I don’t know how to live without him. Because I didn’t know how to live without you. I fell when you died and I don’t want that to happen again. I don’t want to disappoint. I don’t want to gamble. I don’t want to hope.
Low risk. That’s bullshit because they said the same damn thing about you!
Aortic valve regurgitation. My heart beats funny. Because it’s broken. In more ways than one.
“When your mother died, did I let go of life?”
… I … I don’t …
“Did I?”
No. No, you didn’t. You married again. A year and a half later.
Will Max do the same?
New York. Ex-fiance. People to love him.
But he married me.
Will he forget?
Will he move on?
Don’t I want that?
“No. I didn’t live for Nancy. I lived for you.”
My father asks his questions.
My father doesn’t push.
But when he does, his words always hit hard.
“I didn’t want this for you.”
I know, Daddy. I know.
I love you …
I miss you …
I need you …
… so much …
“He loves you. He misses you. And he needs you. Right now.”
I can’t … I can’t … I’m not strong enough.
“Fear can’t rule you. He needs you. Can’t you see that?”
No. New York. Multi-million dollar shipping company. A life I know nothing about. People to love him.
“But he married you. He married you. He’s here … for you.”
One bedroom apartment. A quickie marriage. Promises of forever.
He’s gentle. He’s patient. He’s passionate. He’s kind. He’s loving. He’s caring.
He kisses me in the morning. He holds me at night. He tells me I’m beautiful. He watches over me. He loves me.
But he left … because I didn’t love him back. Not enough.
But I do, Max. I do.
“Lizzie … What do you regret?”
Not being stronger. Not loving more. Not telling you goodbye. Not being there. Not trying harder. Not telling him I love him … just one last time.
“But you let him go.”
I did it for him. I did it because we don’t belong together. Because a dying wife and a one bedroom apartment just don’t compare. Multimillion dollar shipping company. New York. A past I know nothing about. A part of him I don’t understand … I don’t understand!
“You’re killing him, Lizzie.”
… What? …
“I lived for you. But you won’t live for him.
You let life go without me. And he’ll do the same without you.”
… But I don’t want that.
“Then live for him, because you love him. Like I lived for you. Because I love you.”
I can’t. I can’t because I don’t know how. I can’t because it’s too late … it’s too late for me … it’s too late for us …
“Lizzie … it’s never too late.”
--------------
… Beep … beep … beep …
“Mrs. Evans. It’s Doctor Davis. How are you feeling?”
He’s gone.
His voice leaves me.
Tears stream down my cheeks.
“Let’s get you some more pain medication, okay?”
Max? “Max?”
My mouth is dry.
It’s never too late …
He needs me.
I need him.
He loves me.
I love him.
“Mr. Evans isn’t here, I don’t think. Your mother was here this morning, but she left around noon-”
“I need Max.”
I need to live,
so he can live.
I need him to help me.
I need him to love me.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Evans, but I don’t know what-”
“I need Max!”
My heart hurts and I hate it.
I’m broken but I want to be whole.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
“I’ll have the nurse give him a call. Just calm down.”
No! No! I can’t … I can’t … he left me … but it’s not too late … he promised …
“Nurse, keep a close eye on her for the next hour or so. Keep the medication readily available. And get her husband on the phone.”
My vision blurs …
My head hurts …
My heart aches …
Numbness inside …
“Max … … …
… Max … …
… … Max …”
“I’m here, Liz. I’m here.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Chapter Forty Nine:
-------------------------------------------------
I hear his voice.
It’s a voice I haven’t heard in a long time.
“Lizzie …”
He’s not real.
He can’t be.
He died over two years ago.
I was at his funeral.
I was at his grave.
Monday mornings. Two coffees. Black.
“Lizzie …”
Daddy?
“Lizzie …”
Am I … am I … dead?
“Lizzie … Are you scared?”
He asks his questions. He doesn’t push. It isn’t his style.
“What are you afraid of?”
Everything. Everything, Daddy. I am afraid of everything. I am afraid of being alone. I’m afraid of living. I’m afraid of dying. I’m afraid of you. I’m afraid of myself.
“Do you love him?”
There’s no question as to who the him is. But it doesn’t matter now. Because he left. They aren’t just empty threats this time. This time, he’s left me for good.
“Do you love him?”
… No … … Yes … Yes, I love him. I doubt him. I doubt myself. It’s insane. But I can’t stop loving him. I can’t stop loving him long enough to let him forget me. But I try … and I try … and I try …
“Then you aren’t alone.”
But he left. He left me … Because I’m scared.
“Why?”
Because I don’t know how to live without him. Because I didn’t know how to live without you. I fell when you died and I don’t want that to happen again. I don’t want to disappoint. I don’t want to gamble. I don’t want to hope.
Low risk. That’s bullshit because they said the same damn thing about you!
Aortic valve regurgitation. My heart beats funny. Because it’s broken. In more ways than one.
“When your mother died, did I let go of life?”
… I … I don’t …
“Did I?”
No. No, you didn’t. You married again. A year and a half later.
Will Max do the same?
New York. Ex-fiance. People to love him.
But he married me.
Will he forget?
Will he move on?
Don’t I want that?
“No. I didn’t live for Nancy. I lived for you.”
My father asks his questions.
My father doesn’t push.
But when he does, his words always hit hard.
“I didn’t want this for you.”
I know, Daddy. I know.
I love you …
I miss you …
I need you …
… so much …
“He loves you. He misses you. And he needs you. Right now.”
I can’t … I can’t … I’m not strong enough.
“Fear can’t rule you. He needs you. Can’t you see that?”
No. New York. Multi-million dollar shipping company. A life I know nothing about. People to love him.
“But he married you. He married you. He’s here … for you.”
One bedroom apartment. A quickie marriage. Promises of forever.
He’s gentle. He’s patient. He’s passionate. He’s kind. He’s loving. He’s caring.
He kisses me in the morning. He holds me at night. He tells me I’m beautiful. He watches over me. He loves me.
But he left … because I didn’t love him back. Not enough.
But I do, Max. I do.
“Lizzie … What do you regret?”
Not being stronger. Not loving more. Not telling you goodbye. Not being there. Not trying harder. Not telling him I love him … just one last time.
“But you let him go.”
I did it for him. I did it because we don’t belong together. Because a dying wife and a one bedroom apartment just don’t compare. Multimillion dollar shipping company. New York. A past I know nothing about. A part of him I don’t understand … I don’t understand!
“You’re killing him, Lizzie.”
… What? …
“I lived for you. But you won’t live for him.
You let life go without me. And he’ll do the same without you.”
… But I don’t want that.
“Then live for him, because you love him. Like I lived for you. Because I love you.”
I can’t. I can’t because I don’t know how. I can’t because it’s too late … it’s too late for me … it’s too late for us …
“Lizzie … it’s never too late.”
--------------
… Beep … beep … beep …
“Mrs. Evans. It’s Doctor Davis. How are you feeling?”
He’s gone.
His voice leaves me.
Tears stream down my cheeks.
“Let’s get you some more pain medication, okay?”
Max? “Max?”
My mouth is dry.
It’s never too late …
He needs me.
I need him.
He loves me.
I love him.
“Mr. Evans isn’t here, I don’t think. Your mother was here this morning, but she left around noon-”
“I need Max.”
I need to live,
so he can live.
I need him to help me.
I need him to love me.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Evans, but I don’t know what-”
“I need Max!”
My heart hurts and I hate it.
I’m broken but I want to be whole.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
“I’ll have the nurse give him a call. Just calm down.”
No! No! I can’t … I can’t … he left me … but it’s not too late … he promised …
“Nurse, keep a close eye on her for the next hour or so. Keep the medication readily available. And get her husband on the phone.”
My vision blurs …
My head hurts …
My heart aches …
Numbness inside …
“Max … … …
… Max … …
… … Max …”
“I’m here, Liz. I’m here.”
-------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------
Last edited by Evelynn on Sat Feb 10, 2007 9:08 pm, edited 1 time in total.