I have no ability to stop fucking crying.
I have no Cory.
The right thing was done. I know that, but tell that to my feet. The ones who can’t stop pacing twenty-four-seven.
Or the tender skin around my nails that now bleeds as much as my heart that is shredded beyond repair.
Or Dylan, who can sense his Jamie isn’t right, so he’s not right.
Or Faith, who like me, is so thrown by the sudden change in all our lives she’s more distressed, has retreated back in to herself and cried more each and every night than she did when we lost Dad.
Or my brain, that is obsessively picking apart and analyzing every micro-moment looking for one where is all went wrong, which is stupid and pointless because I know what moment was the very second I hoped for more. The second I said yes to becoming a Bear.
I don’t want to be this person anymore. I don’t want to think … obsess over everything, or feel everything as intensely as I do. I don’t want the supermarket lights to hurt my eyes and the sound of keys jingling, or a mysterious rattle somewhere within my vicinity, to drive me fucking insane.
I don’t want to think abouthimall the fucking time.
Since Dad died, actually no, since Brandon left and the practice screwed me over, I’ve tried to pull myself together. To rise above it all. I have. But the weight if it all keeps sucking me back under.
I’m just done.
I’ve not spoken a word in weeks and begin to fear I my remain silent forever. I just don’t know to find the words. Like my hope, they’ve just … vanished.
For someone like me, grumpy, rigid, controlling, second chances don’t come around easily. Hell, first chances don’t. And that’s why this whole fucked up situation confirms my opinion on the cruelty of existence. A life, a universe that would dangle a perfect, pretty man before my eyes like a crystal spinning on a string. A man who was capable of loving all the parts ofmereflected back tohim, allthe hidden evils even I couldn’t, and then it take him away.
Yeah, that’s not for me.
Six weeks later
“Jamie. You either have to find a new job, make up with, then have mind-blowing phone sex with Cory, gag, or?—”
“Cory and I broke up, remember. That’s exactly what you wanted me to do and I did it. You were right, I was wrong. I was stupid you were smart. He’s gone, I’m here. Now leave me alone, Faith.”
Mumbling under her breath, Faith throws my weighted blanket at my head. She misses ‘cause she sucks. “No. I will not leave you alone. I love you. Dylan loves you and we need you. I’m sorry you’re hurting but, yes, in the long run, I do believe this will be for the best.”
“Okay, sure Doctor Plum. But since I’m kinda sleepy, do me a solid and wake me when that long run’s over.” I roll to my side and bury my face into the tiny gap between my mattress and the wall.
Crinkling beneath my pillow is the reason for my latest self-pitying slump. Doom scrolling as I attempted to sleep two, maybe three nights ago, I came across an article covering Cory’s PR visit to Montreal. For some stupid reason, I printed a photo he looked particularly delicious in and studied every pixelated inch of it for hours.
Wasn’t my wisest decision. Sadly, not my dumbest.
“Jamie, I know our life is not what we had planned, but it is our life. You are a vital part of it, so please, Jamie. Get up, have a shower, then come and have pancakes with Dyl and me. I can’t miss work again today.” Much to my relief, Faith clomps up the stairs, leaving me to wallow in my own filth. Just as I want.
Or maybe not.
Cunning as she is, she leaves the door to my dungeon open, meaning I can hear every clatter and clang she makes, and the squeal Dylan releases when Faith loudly pronounces I’m joining them for breakfast.
“That’s right, Dyl. Jamie’s finally coming. Thank you for pulling out his chair. I’m sure after three days, he’s as excited to see you, as you are to see him.” Dylan’s happy clapping seals the guilt she absolutely intended me to feel. I may be able to ignore her, but Dylan is another matter.
After washing off my stink with the bare minimum effort, I dress in a ratty old tee and sweats, take one last look at Cory’s pic, then tuck it back under my pillow before I kiss it again.
Dylan’s smile is worth the herculean effort. As is the sight of him pulling out my chair. It is not my chair though. It’s Dad’s.
“You want me to sit in Dad’s chair?” Dyl hums and taps the timber three times, as Faith slots between us, depositing a short stack covered in bacon and syrup. “He’s been pointing at it for every meal. I thought it was the usual, where’s Dad thing, but I guess not.”
Teary-eyed, I stare at the seat that has been empty for months. It’s just a chair, I tell myself, but all of us here, crowded around it know that’s not true. Dyl taps it again, then scoots around the table to take his place beside me. “Okay, Dyl. I’ll sit here.”
“Excellent.” Faith claps as she returns to the stove. “Since you’re up, you’ll be able to make it to your doctor’s appointment.”
