Maybe I can leave a note for Eli and Leo asking them to finish it. I know they’ll do me proud, and maybe they can use it as something to bond over and help ease any grief they feel together, like a closure project.
How isshegoing to feel when she looks at it after I’m gone?
She’ll get past it, I tell myself firmly. She’ll move on, and just see it as a piece of artwork done by someone she used to know.
It’s for the best. I know it, and I’d bet that she does, too, deep down. If nothing else, the practicalities of being with me would have worn her out eventually, killed off the love she had and replaced it with weariness and resentment, while I helplessly loved her, watching her love for me die day by day until she didn’t even like me anymore.
One thing is for certain: I’m not using a gun to do it. That’s not going to be what takes me out. I won’t give Whitmire the satisfaction. The pill stash will get the job done, especially if I pick up some over the counter extras to make sure.
The guys know to just leave me alone at the moment. They’ve tried, lord knows they’ve tried to reach me, to get me to open up, to convince me that I’m making a huge mistake by ending things with Liaden, but I’m confident I’m not. I feel better about the path before me for the first time in too long, painful though it is, and I can’t be convinced otherwise. So I’ve just gone non-responsive. Eli is beside himself, calling my last therapist, even physically shaking me and shouting in my face to try to get a reaction, but it’s easier knowing that I’m not going to be his problem for much longer. I wish I could tell him how I’m giving him the rest of his life back soon, but he wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t see what a good thing that truly is for him and Em.
So I coast through the days, barely responding to anyone so they’ll drift away. One foot in front of the other. One appointment, the next, the next. Getting through the next few weeks like a robot.
It’s a cruel twist that I’m still barely able to sleep, save for a few snatches here and there, all broken up into small chunks that never equal a full hour.
But Liaden’s safe. And my sorry sack of shit life is nearly done.
This client is a new one. I didn’t bother to catch his name. He’s in his fifties, getting a tattoo of his kids’ names and birth dates on his arm. Easy enough, but it’s his first one, and he’s been a little nervous. I think my inability to talk has unnerved him a bit, because he keeps filling the silences. Maybe to keep himself calm as well, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter to me. I’m getting full accounts of the last three films he saw at the cinema. Two out of three were Marvel’s latest. I’ve mostly tuned him out, concentrating fully on the ink and just nodding occasionally so as not to be obviously rude.
“Paul Rudd is awesome,” he continues. “Like, his comic timing is just…” His face screws up slightly as he watches me create a 9 on his skin. “Doyouthink he’s awesome?” he asks me, desperate for distracting conversation. Again, I nod. I’m not in the mood to be sociable, but I don’t want him to have a bad experience. “Yeah, he’s always good in everything he’s in. Wasn’t he in one of the Halloween movies? I swear I saw him in - ”
His phone rings, and I take the needle away. “Oh - right, it’s the Missus. I’d better…” He looks apologetic, but I wave my hand that it’s OK. What do I care, any delay means a longer appointment, which means less time with just my own thoughts. “Carol? I’m… Babe, what… Calm down, calm down…” His facebecomes deathly serious, draining of color. “It - what?! OK, OK, I’ll try to reach her… Yep… I’ll let you know.” He hangs up. “I’m sorry, I need to make a call.”
I nod, and make a questioning thumbs up, the universal sign for ‘is everything OK?’ He seems anything but.
“There’s a protest at the damn university. My daughter’s there. My wife says someone there fired a gun, and she can’t get hold of Lauren. Oh, god, I feel like I could throw up…”
Liaden
I don’t callin sick. I’m always healthy as a horse, so there’s never been any need. But, sat here in my office, dog tired and struggling to summon up any energy of any kind, I wonder if maybe I should have stayed home, after all.
Today has been a shit show from start to finish. It began with crying in the shower until the hot water ran out, and being late for my meeting because of the student protests about the fees, which I fully support them doing, but can’t quite summon up any feeling for, aside from irritation that it took me twenty minutes to park because of the queues. I lost my train of thought twice during lectures, and now I’m struggling with one on one student meetings to supervise their dissertations. To cap it all, I have a meeting with Mitchell to look forward to at the end of the day. Fortunately notjustMitchell, but he’s leading it, and I know he’ll comment on how tired and sluggish I am. He never misses a single chance to pounce on the slightest sign on weakness, and I’m his pet whipping boy.
I’m tempted to fake a migraine to get out of it, I really am.
I know I’m short changing my current student, saying ‘leave it with me’ and ‘I’ll send you my notes in an email’ rather than engaging with him properly. I just want to be on my own for half an hour or so. He takes the hint, and I’m pretty sure the smile he gives me is sympathetic rather than annoyed. Maybe he’s had a broken heart, too, and knows the signs.
Rubbing my hand over my face, I stare listlessly at my inbox. Just a bunch of words on a screen. I can’t make any sense of them.
I can’t make sense of anything today.
I’m desperate to see Dean again, and at the same time, I don’t think I could bear it if I did. It took everything I had not to bury my face in his chest and beg him not to leave me. But something tells me that would have made him even more determined to let me go. He’s convinced it’s for my own good, so there were no words in any language that could have helped. The core magic of words has died for me, and now I’m just a shell of nothing with a half finished tattoo. How symbolic of my first experience of real love.
This is ridiculous. I’m leaving for the day. Maybe later the girls will call, and I can pour it all out to them again. They’ve been amazing, available for me any time I need to talk or cry, and I’m so relieved they haven’t ditched me now that I’m no longer Dean’s girlfriend.
That gorgeous lemony fresh smell of him still lingers on my pillow. I’m going to force myself to launder them tonight.
I start to gather my things, when a red flagged email catches my eye.
It’s an all staff and students message.
Please be aware that the shot fired was from a starting pistol brought by a protester, who has been arrested. However, as a routine precaution, the university has been locked down pending confirmation…
Damn it.
I sigh. I don’t suppose it’ll take too long. And at least I’m alone, in the quiet of my office.
My last student didn’t shut the door behind him. Slowly, I wander around to close it, and nearly jump out of my skin when the door crashes wide open.
