Impulses (71 page)

“I will always love you,” I mouth through my blurring vision, my tears turning the rain that lingers on my face saline.

The side door opens again, and someone steps into the alleyway. Whitney Houston warbles,
‘don’t walk away from me’,
and although her words ring in my ears, it’s Hayden’s iteration of them that the selfish part of me craves and prays to hear. Still, the negative implications of my staying, of striving to uphold months of effort, amendment and painfully beautiful emotions that I came to cherish, only to be corroded by the vindictive words of another, aides me in finding the inner-strength in that moment, to turn and walk away from my future, because of the faults I made in my past.

I stumble through the streets of Fillmore. My relentless, weeping clouding my vision as I travel through the worst night of my life on autopilot.

Rain continues to fall and rapidly pools up at the sides of the road. Cars carelessly pass through at speed, causing patrons to be sprayed by evidence of the drivers’ inconsiderateness. I step off the sidewalk, my judgment clouded by a fog of absentmindedness as I sink into a deepened puddle. Crossing the road in a daze, I hear a faint, distant rumble of thunder through the darkness, followed by a loud, piercing lengthy beep. I turn to the source of the sound, and watch immobilized as speedily progressing, blinding white headlights approach me.

Everything slows down, time lapses.

They say that your life flashes before your eyes…I thank a higher power that mine fails to. The last things I want to see in my final seconds are my inexcusable faults, irresponsibility, and a lifetime of regret that no Father could absolve the sins of.

Why should I bother anymore? What have I got left? I’m aware of myself rapidly giving up; my sense of purpose fleeting. I could end it all. 
What about the baby?
My subconscious hisses at me and it is a blinding light in the obscurest of caverns.

A mother’s instinct takes over, and I press my hand protectively over my abdomen. And it’s a reminder, a restoration of purpose for why I should continue. Shaking myself out of my despair, I take two lengthy strides, step onto the safety of the opposite sidewalk and push open the door of my apartment building, allowing the florescent lights which are reflected against the pristine white tile, to guide my way through my ill-defined vision.

I twist the doorknob of my apartment but it doesn’t budge. Jessie and Matt must have gone out tonight. For a brief moment, I appreciate being the only one in the apartment. It fills me with a sense of relief and guiltlessness knowing I am not marring anyone with my melancholic presence. I don’t want to talk to anyone, and I don’t want to put on a façade in front of Matt. And I least of all, don’t want to be the cause of their night ending in debris.

I fish out my apartment keys from my purse. Unlocking the door, I step into, what I hope will be, my saving grace.

I kick the apartment door shut behind me, freeing an infinitesimal degree of frustration which boils in my gut. Stagnant, I rest against the secured door and tip my head back. It takes a few moments for my sight to adjust to the muted light of the moon’s beam, which infiltrates the apartment through the bay window at the end of the room, casting shadows along the walls. With the silvery glow bursting through the hours of darkness, and giving life to the ghosts of memories upon each section of my abode, I begin my silent perusal of the surroundings.

It is inconceivable how much bigger the apartment appears to be. I stare at the couch along the right wall at the far end of the room, where Hayden and I would snuggle up together and watch late-night movies. I scan the breakfast bar and recollect the last time he sat at it––he pulled me into the vacant space between his legs, called me beautiful as he always would, and kissed me tenderly. The dining-table in front of me, where we gathered for Thanksgiving, the smiles and love that surrounded us is now a happy memory of long ago.

Brushing the tears away in haste, I hang my head. I’m too scared to move, too scared to even breathe, in fear that I will erase Hayden’s presence here with me. But the logical side of me, the side that makes me realize and advises me to surrender to my pain, tells me that he isn’t coming back, that I am holding onto the flicker of a memory, holding onto something so incredibly beautiful, that I wish with every fibre of my being that I never had to let go.

Or never experienced in the first place.

Stumbling through the dark, I retire to my bedroom. Closing the door securely behind me, I flick the light switch. My room now awakened by the lilac glow from the overhead chandelier, offering me a clear view of the bed beneath my orchid canvases, where we made love so many times. Where he brought immense pleasure to me and not solely limited to just sexual pleasure. I told him my story, of how I became me, how my approach to men and my sex-life was established. I thought I lost him that night, but he chose to stay. He pleasured me by staying, accepting me and fighting to uphold our strained relationship as it blossomed into something…more, something tangible.

Numbed by blissful memories, I let my purse drop to the floor while stepping out of my suede heeled pump and loosen the side tie upon my left hip of my wrap dress before slipping out of it. Unhooking my bra, I toss it to the floor with my dress. In just my panties, I guide my shaking body to the chaise lounge under my window, on the left-side of the bed––on Hayden’s side of the bed.

One of his white shirts lay on it, creased and disheveled. I was supposed to put it in the laundry, but it slipped my mind. I stand rooted as I remember him wearing it yesterday morning. I told him the black one worked better with his red and black tie…and he listened to me. A wistful smile passes fleetingly across my face as I seize the lone shirt, and bring it up to my face. Inhaling deeply, I shroud my senses with verification that he was real––the times we spent both good and bad, were real. The emotions which burn in me because of him were real. Hayden Wentworth wasn’t an imaginary knight out of some fairytale, he was the true knight in my life…he was my other, my soul-mate.

He was mine.

I close my eyes, and visualize the times I would unbutton his shirts, trail my hands over his strapping torso, feeling his muscles jarring beneath my touch as I skate my hands over his smooth, lightly-bronzed body, swirling around his navel. Feel his heart beating in his chest, as I pushed the material from his broadened, defined shoulders, and peel it down his arms. His words when we were in New York haunt my mind:
It only beats for you, beautiful. It knows when you’re close, it knows your love, your kindness…it knows your soul.

Dark, inciting eyes bore into me as my deliberations deliver me to the countless times I watched him as he watched me, my hands and wavering eyes flittering as I inspected every valley, every dell between his muscles, the shy, secretive grin that kissed his lips and silently conveyed that his entirety was mine and mine alone. Countless times he bestowed me that gaze, countless times he fell under my appraisal, yet it wasn’t merely enough. The words I uttered the night we made love overshadows my deliberations:
I could undress you every day for the rest of my life, and I would never tire of seeing what lays waiting for me beneath your clothing; for my eyes, and my hands only.
If I only knew that the last time I felt Hayden’s body, would have been the last time…

I slip the shirt on, wrapping it against me, hugging the last reminiscence of Hayden around my despairing, broken-hearted body.

Flipping off the light switch, my room is once again governed by darkness, and crawl into Hayden’s side…I mean, the left side of the bed––where the pillow still holds the welcoming, seductive reminder of his cologne, and I relinquish myself to the pain, the loss, the grief and heartache that I am drowning in.

Yielding to the uncontrollable, heartrending sobs, I wail myself to sleep.

I feel an arm brush over my waist as I lay on my side. He presses his front to my back, moulding himself to the shape of my body as I lie in fetal position. His hand glides and caresses my growing belly. I feel and hear him inhale deeply, burying his nose in my hair.

In an act of pure instinct, I clutch his hand as he lingers over Rose and pull it up to my chest, resting it in my cleavage.

“I thought I lost you. That’s why I walked away,” I murmur sleepily. Even though my eyes are closed, they still sting with the formation of unshed tears.

“Hush, it’s, okay, beautiful. Nothing can keep me from you.” His voice is a whisper which holds so much sentiment, so much promise. “I told you that I will always be here to hold you.”

I open my eyes, and roll onto my back. I’m shielded by the length of his body, his hand stationed at either side of my head. His muscles and sinews strain and flex, his veins thickening in his forearms as he bears his weight. The sun chars through my bedroom window, defining the rich chocolate and caramel tones of his hair. That one single lock at the front of his hairline flops onto his brow in the way I love. It ends just above his eyebrow, and my focus is automatically drawn to his deep, dark, hypnotic eyes. They look like they are made up from premium velvet, their hues changing subtly as the light reflects into them at differing angles. They’re intense, and hold so many distinctive tiers of the man I know and love; confident yet paranoid, hopeful yet fearful, benevolent, altruistic, amorous.

With profound tenderness, I position my right hand on the side of his face, holding him still as I search his eyes, my focus flitting momentarily to his full, sculpted lips. He rolls his tongue over them, and slowly retracts it, but his lips remain parted.

“Am I dreaming?” I whisper, afraid and nervous of the untold answer which hangs between us. He lowers his head, seeking my lips and kisses me fervently, offering me more of what I had walked away from. My body crumples and my synapses spark and rejoice at the intensity of his ardor.

He’s here, he came back.

Lingering lips softly press against my own. He pushes his hand through my hair as he gradually pulls away from my mouth then traces the seam of my lower lip with his thumb.

“I will never give up on you, beautiful. I will never give up on us.”

The weight above me, pushing me into the mattress becomes all but a haze. I feel unrestricted by his form. My eyelids flutter open, and I am temporarily disorientated as I feel the indication of a great absence. The sun burns through my window, casting shadows on my wall, and I lay curled up on Hayden’s side of the bed.

It was all a dream.

Within three seconds of opening my eyes, I am reacquainted with the shattered and distraught feelings which carried me through the longest night of my life, the feelings which were responsible for the myriad of tears I gave myself over to.

I hoped that he couldn’t stay away. I hoped that he would come back.

You are the one that made the decision and walked away,
my subconscious chides.

Gathering a handful of Hayden’s shirt which covers my chest, I nestle my nose into the material and inhale deeply. I last all of thirty-more seconds, before I familiarize myself with the sorrow and longing once again.

I burrow myself back under the comforter and cry until I have no more tears left to release.

There’s a faint tapping at my door, but I lack the emotional strength to answer.

Jessie pops her head around the door. “Sammy, you’re late for work.”

Freeing large, heartrending sobs, Jessie is instantly beside me, perched on the edge of my bed. She sets a cup of decaf on my bedside.

She lowers the comforter from my face. “What the Hell has happened, sweetie?” she asks, pushing my hair back, effectively freeing the tresses from being plastered against my tearstained face.

I shake my head and clutch at my heart. I just want the ache in my heart to stop; I can literally feel it breaking. I can’t breathe.

“What has happened?” she probes again, her voice a little more stern.

Half-heartedly, I sit myself up and reiterate the events of last night to her. She sits patiently, with my hand in her grasp, and rubs the back of my knuckles in upmost empathy.

“And you just walked away?” she questions incredulous.

“I was left with no choice, Jess. You didn’t see the look in his eyes. I barely coped with his attitude and snarky, disgusted looks when he was just having nightmares. This is reality, and his expression last night…it killed me. I couldn’t be the person to make him suffer like that.” As my sobs begin to cease, my best friend leans in and embraces me. Soothingly swaying my lifeless body from side-to-side, she endeavors to console me as only a best friend knows how.

“I’ll ring work for you and tell them you’re not feeling well.” I nod feebly while she pushes herself up from the bed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, sweetie,” she breathes. As she walks out of the door, she leaves it ajar just enough for me to hear her curse the father of my baby.

I wake to sizzling sounds and the smell of bacon. The earlier golden rays of the sun piercing through my window, now replaced with the dazzling, white corona of the moon. The light from the outer room seeps through the gap of my bedroom door, which had been left ajar.

Fighting through the soreness of my dried eyes, and the pressure headache forming just behind them, I glance at my clock on the bedside, 7:30 p.m. I have slept the day through; however, I’m left exhausted. When I believe for an ephemeral moment that I have no more tears to shed, I shock myself and start again.

The framed photograph of Hayden and I sat on the steps beside Vernal Falls captures my interest. I reach over the bedside unit. The frame is cold and weighted between my fingers as I hold it steadily, and allow myself to get lost in the retentions I hold dear. Hayden’s arms dangle from my shoulders as he sat on the step above, his thighs resting against my hips. Hayden pointing at two ravens, as they hopped back and forth just before the photo was taken.

Aren’t they a bad omen?

They can be…but they also mate for life,
his words haunt me. As childish as it seems, I actually believed that we could be those ravens…a lifetime together…it seemed so perfect.