Before I Break (9 page)

“Your
parents told you everything?” she asks hesitantly. She must really think I’m an idiot for all this time to have passed and I never figured anything out, but I guess it’s better for her to think I’m an idiot than a lying jerk.

“They
told me that they’d been lying to me all of this time. That when I didn’t remember things, another person—that they felt they should keep from me—was living my life for me. Everyone I know and trust has been lying to me. My parents, my so-called doctor
…
I should have known something was wrong.” It’s not until the words are out of my mouth that I realize how biter I sound, but it feels good to get it out.

“The
people I trusted most lied to me,” I say quietly to myself, hearing it out loud is almost cathartic. She’s quiet but I notice her eyes surveying me again. I wonder what it’s like to look at someone you know and they not recognize you at all.

“You
can’t blame yourself… It’s human nature to want to believe things are always good. When I talked to your parents, they thought they were doing what was best for you. Your interest was the only one they were looking out for.”

I look down at her. She’
s wringing her hands together, and I can only imagine how hard this is for her. Still, after everything she’s gone through, she says something like that.

“I
didn’t expect for you to defend them. Especially after… they lied to you too.”

“I’m
not defending them. What they did was wrong. It hurt a lot people. But I don’t think they did it to be malicious or cruel. They thought they were protecting you. As a parent you’d do anything to protect your child from what you believe could hurt them. If I was in their situation, and I believed that I could keep you safe by lying to you, I would have.”

I remember the main reason I’
m here and reach into my pocket to pull out the picture of our daughter. Wow, that’s going to take some getting used to. I walk towards her, and her eyes widen. I hear her breathing and notice her hand is squeezing her wrist like some type of de-stress technique. I need to get one of those ASAP.

S
he takes a step back from me, and I realize it’s probably best if I just show her the picture. After all, I’m some strange guy she doesn’t know in her hotel room...sort of.

“My mom said…” I try to think of what would be the least awkward way to say this.
I’m her father, she’s my daughter, our kid?

“C
aylen,” she interject softly and touches the face on the picture.

“You
named her after him… after Cal?” I’m hesitant to say his name to her like it’ll set off some type of alarm and send her into some kind of frenzy like she was in the other day. Her vibe now is totally different. Calm considering the circumstance, she’s not in no holds barred screaming mode. She nods as I take a seat on the sofa.

“How
old is she?” I ask, with a sigh that I didn’t intend.

“She
just had her first birthday three days ago,” she says, sitting on the edge of the sofa. I never stopped to think she’s been doing this alone. Other than the one I had two days ago, I haven’t had a blackout in almost two years, which means he hasn’t been around. He missed everything too.

I turn towards her
.
“You’ve been raising her alone?” I ask, and she rubs her palm against her thighs.

“No. My aunt and friends have been there since the beginning to help me with her. She doesn’t lack anything,” she explains.

“But a father,” I say quietly. If we share the same genes, God, she could have to deal with something like this
.
“She doesn’t do anything strange?” I ask, and she looks confused.

“Like
what?” she asks, a hint of sharpness in her voice.

“In
general?” I say hesitantly; she’s not getting what I’m hinting at.

“Caylen
isn’t strange!” her voice is definitely sharp now.

“No, I didn’t mean that.
I just wanted to make sure she was okay.” I’m backtracking from insinuating her daughter...our daughter is crazy like good ol’ dad.

“She’s
been okay an entire year of her life without you making sure she was okay. I’ve made sure she’s okay!” This is going bad. I didn’t mean to insult how she’s raised her. Well, I don’t know how she’s raising her, actually.

“I
didn’t mean anything by it. I—I don’t know what I meant.” I stand up and offer her the picture; her angry demeanor changes.

“I’m
sorry. I overreacted. I’m—I’m just not used to this. All of this…it’s all—” She stutters nervously.

“N
o, it was my fault. I was out of line. I shouldn’t have asked such a stupid question.” I stop her and she gives me a small smile
,
her one dimple makes another appearance. I look back at the picture of Caylen. She looks like me, but she has her mom’s dimples and nose. It’s amazing how a little human being can look like a combination of two people. I don’t remember my biological mother or father so I’m not sure who I look like. I sit back down on the sofa, and a moment later, she’s beside me, the obligatory few inches between us.

“She
has your eyes. They turn like yours do.” Her voice is soft but now steady. Her eyes find mine, and for a moment, she’s smiling, a barely-there smile but still a smile.

Stay with me.

It’s like a whisper in my ear.

The image of her from my dream
the other night invades my thoughts. I shake it from my mind. I haven’t thought about it since, but it’s decided to announce itself right here, while she’s on the verge of crying, and I’m whining like a little boy.
Get a grip, Chris
.

“I—
I mean I…” She stutters, and her skin flushes a slight shade of pink. It causes me to smile. She really is beautiful… I turn my attention back to the picture in my hand. She’s still looking at me, and it’s scary because it makes me nervous, worried, and excited all at the same time. I don’t know her, but something about her evokes these emotions that I can’t deal with right now. They probably aren’t mine to deal with. The only thing that makes it feel like I’m not going to cave in is to talk, so I do.

“How
are we supposed to deal with this?” I ask quietly. Thankfully my voice doesn’t give away the energy flowing around inside me like a tornado.

“I—I
don’t know how to deal with this…” I say, wringing my hands together. I let out a sigh and stand.

“You
don’t know anything about me. I don’t know anything about you. And this Cal guy…” I cover my face. I need to run or hit something…these words are coming up and spilling out of me involuntarily, but the more I speak the more the energy is released so I continue.

“I mean…I have a daughter I don’t even remember…”
I laugh angrily, but I continue
.
“Years of
my
life! All of these things happened, and I don’t remember any of it. No one bothered to tell me. What am I supposed to do with this?” I’m pacing the room now, and I want to stop and sit down and ask her how she’s dealing with this. I sound like a little brat but talking is the only thing that makes me not want to explode.  I’m just trying to express my frustration but instead, I come off sounding like a selfish jerk. “I’m trying. I really am… I thought if I could make the first step in talking to you that I could do it, but…” She must think I’m a lunatic.  But, when my eyes find hers, her expression is soft and compassionate. It’s as if she feels sorry for me. All that she’s been through, and she’s sorry for me?

“I
know this is hard for you. I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through right now,” she says, her tone soft and comforting, and for a minute, I want to hug her. As if hugging her will make everything okay. But I can’t, so I don’t. That would be selfish and would send her the wrong message because when she looks at me...

“I
don’t know
anything
about you!” After the words leave my mouth, I realize how harsh they sound but whatever I can’t stop myself from saying exactly what comes to my mind. Her eyes are on mine, and instead of looking away from them, I look into them. It’s not hard to do; they’re magnetic and alluring. But more than that, they’re like open windows, I can see straight through to her soul. Even though she has a small smile on her face, I can see her pain, her hurt, and her hope.  That’s the scariest of all because her hope is my demise. She doesn’t know me or love me, so her hope isn’t with me—it’s with Cal.

“But
when you look at me, it’s as if you know everything about me,” I say. She lets out a light breath. The nervous energy in me seems to be gone. I look away from her and at my hands. Hands that have done things... I have enough trouble with one life. How am I supposed to deal with one I don’t know anything about? One that…that isn’t really mine?

“When your parents told me about you…” H
er voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced—the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to listen to.”  Her hazel eyes glaze over, water covering them.

“I was hurt and confused.
I didn’t even believe them… I didn’t
want
to believe them. I’m
still
hurt. I’m
still
confused. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say to…” she trails off, her voice breaking. She looks down at her feet and continues, “To
you
.” She pauses, and I feel like my heart is on the verge of stopping.

“I
can’t compromise with someone I don’t know either.” She shrugs and smiles even though tears are falling from her eyes. Then she looks up at me, and the smile leaves her face.

“When
you look at me… it’s as if I’m a burden…a problem, and you have no idea how much that hurts, “she says, her voice shaky, and I feel like the biggest ass in the world. I’ve never wanted more in my life to be able to say something to make all of this better but I know whatever I say will probably make things worse.

“I
don’t blame you for it,” she adds quickly.
She should.

“I can’t…b
ut you have to understand that you have Cal’s…” she drifts off and chuckles through her tears. “You… You have his smile, his voice, his eyes…when I look at you… I can’t help but see him. And it hurts knowing that you weren’t the one who stole my heart when you first smiled at me, who took me bungee jumping on our first date. That you weren’t the one who told me I’m the only woman you have ever loved. But you’re…you’re not him, and you’re in love with someone else.” It’s the first time I’ve heard someone speak about this guy without using jerk, asshole, or problem in the same sentence. For the first time it hits me that she really experienced things with him; they had a
life
together...

“So, I’m sort of having a hard time with this,”
she continues, chuckling as she wipes away the tears on her cheek.

“Even knowing all of it, I don’t
, how I’m supposed to get past it,” she explains.

“I don’
t know how I’m supposed to deal with this… if I even can, but I’m willing to try because of that little girl in that picture. I’d do anything for her, including giving up the only person I’ve ever been in love with…”

That’s when I realize
: she’s somehow come to terms with this, and I feel like a load of bricks have been removed from my brain.

B
ut then she starts to cry. I can tell she’s trying to be strong but it’s like whoever just took the bricks of my brain just fastened them to her heart
.
“I—I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.”

She walks tow
ards me and takes a deep breath. She looks at me almost as if she’s trying to see me for a new person. Tears are still pouring from her eyes. I search my pockets and find a napkin, offering it to her. She takes it and wipes her eyes.

“I know that this isn’t your fault. And I know that you want to believe none of this is your problem, but it is, and it’s mine too…But it’s not Caylen’s. I’m willing to accept that you’re not
Cal, that you aren’t my husband. I can learn to do that. But I can’t relieve you of being Caylen’s father. You’re part of her.” Her voice is shaky but stern, and the look in her eyes lets me know she means business. “That’s all I’m really sure about. That’s all that I can think of to say to you,” she says with a sigh and takes a seat on the sofa.

Wow, what is
with this girl? She seems fragile yet so undeniably strong. How the hell did a guy like him make a girl like this fall in love with him? I walk over to the sofa and sit down in the same spot I was in before, the prerequisite inches between. I look over at her and remember Cal’s message.

“My parents
say that he’s…they describe him like…” I’m trying to think of a way to describe him without offending her, but I’m coming up blank

“
Oh I know, your father didn’t hesitate to tell me what he thought of Cal,” she replies.

Good old dad
.
“Is he…? Was he…?” I ask hesitantly. I’ve never hated anyone before but I can imagine this is what I feel towards him for what he’s done to my life, my relationships. His disregard of the beliefs and values my family taught me to hold dear makes my skin crawl. That monster—he’s inside of me.