penance. a love story (The Böhme Series) (10 page)

“How are you today?” h
e asked with a sad look.

Oh shit. Shit. Shit. What did I say last night?
“Okay… what happened?” I asked as I pulled my lips in tight. 

“Well, without getting into details. I learned last night that you don’t want to talk, though you told me your story. You and I are good friends as well, because you said it last night. A lot
.” He gave me a smile. “I couldn’t agree with you more though. I care about you Hannah and I understand guilt. But remember,” he said as he pushed the hair behind my ear and leaning in, kissed my forehead, “I am here for you.”

Those five words kept echoing in my mind and tears began to form again.
I am here for you
. He can’t be here for me. I must do this on my own. He can’t understand why I am doing what I am doing. I looked into his eyes and realized he did understand. I had to get away.

“I have to get ready for work
,” I said and tried to hold tight to my emotions. I climbed from bed and started to gather my clothes for the day.

“Yeah, I have to get going too, so no worries
,” he said as he stood from the bed and gave me a hug before leaving the room. He found Maggie in the kitchen and their voices drifted down the hall as I walked into the bathroom.

I looked in the bathroom mirror and saw my broken expression. Eyes that were once bright now dulled with haunted shadows. “You disgust me
,” I said aloud to my reflection.

An hour and an icy shower later, I exited the bathroom. I avoided the mirror as I shivered. The apartment was empty except for the sound of Maggie in the kitchen. I was thankful I at least had enough brain power last night to speak to Gabe and not Blake.

I walked into the kitchen for coffee and Maggie was sitting at the table. I didn’t look at her at first as I pulled a coffee mug from the cabinet. When I turned and met her eyes, she gave me a knowing look. She sighed and pulled her lips in as she stepped toward me.

She knew how much I hated pity. Seeing my face, she wrapped her arms around me and without a word held tight. Her hugs always grounded me and they reminded me of the ones my mom used to give me years ago, when she still cared. Maggie ran her hand up my back and pulled me in tighter for our hug.

The tears screamed to escape and even though my eyes still hurt from crying last night, they welcomed more of them. The new tears spilled from me as Maggie pulled me to the floor.

I rested my head on her lap, as she ran her fingers through my hair and let me cry. She knew there were no easy words to help. I didn’t want words from people that they thought they
should
say. I needed silence or I needed truth and sometimes they were the same.

When Lily died, words were pointless.
God needed another angel… it was her time… she is in a better place… it gets easier with time.
As if I were going to wake up one day and the emptiness she left in her wake could fill with their hollow words. Someone even compared the loss of their dog to the pain my sister’s death brought.
Bullshit
. Why can't people understand that words are not necessary?

My sister—the one person in this world who knew me because of our shared history, took her own life and the fault lay at my feet. I did not slide the knife across her arms, but I might as well have given it to her with a smile. She took her own life. She... took… her… own… life. Those words repeated in my mind. They were a constant white noise that never faded. I was incapable of understanding why she did it. But I knew my family and I played our parts.

I thought of my father’s reaction. He didn’t shed a tear, and only said,
“I hope in her last moments she asked God for forgiveness for taking her own life,”
he said without caring as to what brought his daughter to that point or the possibility he may have played a part in it.

I looked at my tattoo and I started to calm. That word on my wrist kept me going. It reminded me of what I needed to do to right wrongs. I had been a selfish bitch. My punishment was to exist and to no longer live. I had momentary snapshots of time that placed together resembled a life lived. This was now my reality. I existed, passing each day with moments portraying joy to those around me.

We sat for several minutes until my tears slowed. Maggie knew when I fell back into this place of darkness and memories. The anniversary of Lily’s death was approaching and even my false normalcy was becoming difficult. My plan had been working, but the alcohol last night fucked it up royally. I had a few weeks until the anniversary and I needed to make sure every moment showed her that I was sorry.

“I know it's the last thing you want to hear, but your
dad called when you were in the shower. I didn’t answer it; I let your phone go to voicemail,” Maggie said as she ran her hand through my hair. I listened to her breathing and heard the sounds of hunger coming from her as I kept my ear pressed against her abdomen. I didn’t want to leave the kitchen floor. I wanted to stay there forever and not face my trials. But I knew I needed to for Lily.

I took a deep breath and sitting up, I rubbed my eyes. I gave Maggie a sideways smile and I knew I looked a mess, but she had seen me in far worse states than this. I was so thankful that she was my best friend as well as my cousin.

“Thanks,” I said as I pulled a loose string off my yoga pants. “I have to confess something to you, Maggie.” She tilted her head in question at me, “I am madly and desperately in friend love with you,” I said with a sarcastic smile as I took her face in my hands and kissed her nose.

The smile that formed on her face lightened my mood for a moment. “You are such a dork
,” She said as she pulled my hands from her face. The interaction brought forth memories of earlier, better times. She, Lily, and I played a game where we shared our “somedays” as we called them.
“Someday I want to have a family with lots of little ones running around my ankles,”
Lily said.
“Someday, I want to be the head of my own company,”
Maggie declared.
“Someday, I want to travel the world and rendezvous with men in France,”
I said in response. We were three very different people, but the same in our capacity to dream.

I sat on my knees and put my hands together as if I were praying, “I am serious Maggie Agatha Presley. You are the epitome of friend love in this world and I cherish you for it.”

We both knew I was using humor to hide from the pain. The pain lived in my chest. It existed as numbness at times and other times it burned me. It was as a hot iron rolling through my insides. As it never went away, I wore a mask pretending I was fine in hopes that someday I might be. That was my new someday, to just get through each day.

“Are you going to call him back?”
she asked, giving me a sympathetic look. She knew my father and what havoc he could create with his words. Part of me wanted to blame him for what happened, but I knew the fault was my own. But I could blame him for what he said to her the night she took her life.
“You little slut, how do you think this looks for me?”

Those were the last words she heard from our father. He didn’t worry for her. He worried for how he appeared to his friends. I picked up my cell phone and pressed to listen to the voicemail. After entering my code, his voice started to
echo through my phone and it made me ill. He always brought out the scared little girl in me. I never let him know that though. I never let him see the affect he had on me. I never showed him my fear, but he saw my anger. Anger was something I was not afraid to share with him.

“Hannah, it’s your father. Your mother was wondering if you made it to your apartment and if you needed help. If you do, you can give her a call. She thought me calling you will make you want to answer or something. It looks as though she was wrong. But you know your mother. Her being right is about as right as a three dollar bill. So yeah, give her a call if you need something.”

I deleted the message. I wasn’t going to call my mother and I wasn’t going to call him either. Both turned away when she needed their unconditional love most. I didn’t want their help and it pissed me off that I was now on the receiving end of guilt laced support from them.

Maggie lifted her eyebrow at me in question. “Same old bullshit?”

I nodded as I put the phone back on the counter. “You want eggs?”

She nodded in response and we didn’t speak any further of bullshit.

I woke the next morning and powered up my phone. I found a text from Blake.

I’m hanging out with that chick.

My first reaction was annoyance in his need to send me the text and a stronger, more potent emotion was jealousy. What did they talk about? Better yet what will the answer to that question cause? More annoyance? More jealousy? I decided to push my thoughts behind my wall and focus on my plan for today.

After finishing a painting, I took my coffee out to my loft’s balcony. The morning silence of the city made me feel at peace. I could sit out here, looking over the skyline and wonder about the lighted windows of apartments and houses in the distance. I was the ghost sitting on the edge of life. They went about their lives, not seeing or hearing me and that was how I liked it. I could just observe.

I thought of the girl from yesterday and why she did what she did. What happened in the alley? Why couldn’t my thoughts stop drifting to her? When I saw her, an odd protective zeal filled me. The thoughts occupied most of my night and left me with three hours of sleep. I couldn’t get the contrasting images of her in the bookstore and the alley out of my mind. She wasn’t consistent in who she was. Instead of my usual dismissal, a need formed to understand and figure out that inconsistency filled me. The more I tried to block her from my thoughts, the more I failed.

In that alley, though she wasn’t being forced, she was absent from the situation. I saw it in her eyes. It was as if her heart and mind didn’t exist in her empty shell. But when our eyes met she changed. She looked at me and a link formed. There was an understanding of a past desperate to forget, but unable to move forward.

I sighed, running my hands through my hair. When did I become the lame ass who couldn't shut his mind to thoughts of a girl? It was ridiculous. I couldn’t stop the analyzing because I needed to know the
why
of her.

I leaned onto my knees and flipped through the dog-eared pages of
Fahrenheit 451
, and sighed at my vain attempt to rid myself of these thoughts. I was scheduled for an appointment with Stinson today and wondered if the thoughts might slow after I met with him. I checked my watch. There were still a few hours until the appointment. We met twice a week and today he wanted to hear how my first day of classes went.

Since it was the weekend, it was just Stinson in the office. He let me right in and I sat in my usual chair and gave him my usual expression. I am habitual by nature and I feel uneasy if I don’t give my expression of annoyance. If I don’t make the face, I fear the building will cave in around us. It’s irrational to think that the strength of a structure depends upon whether I scowl, but I do it anyway.

“Don’t pull that shit again
,” Stinson said as he looked up over his glasses for a moment before getting back to writing. I assumed I didn’t need to keep a journal because he was keeping one for me. I wondered what he put on paper about me today.
Wynn skipped previous appointment. He is in usual argumentative mood.

“What shit?” I asked with a smirk.

“You didn’t show up on Wednesday. I had half a mind not to be here today. But I knew you'd come,” he said as he leaned back in his chair and turned off his radio, quieting John Lennon and giving me his full attention. “Did you at least go to the school yesterday?” I nodded. “Did you stay for each class?” I nodded again. “Good. How was it?” he asked as he folded his hands and waited for my response.

“It was difficult
,” I said, flipping my hands over, showing him my palms and the crescent moons from finger nails dug in by clenched fists. “But I held back from kicking a guy’s ass, so that was good. I participated in class. I found a girl interesting and a new place to photograph.”

“The old science building?” h
e asked with a smile and I nodded. “I figured you would find that. So… what are you going to tell me about first—the girl or the guy?”

“Well, they tie in together, so I will start with the girl. She was interesting. I couldn’t help but be drawn to her. She wasn’t just interesting, she was magnificent. I looked into her eyes and I wasn't ashamed or worried of what she might find. It was the first time I looked in someone’s eyes and wanted them to see me
.” I ran my hands across the top of my jeans as if I could stop the sweat and fear with each pass. “I’m getting tired of passing people on the street and forgetting them.” I clenched my hands, gripping my legs. “God damn it that sounds fucking lame. I’m not saying I want to get to know every person, it’s only her I want to understand.”

Stinson narrowed his eyes, not in anger or questioning, but in evaluation. He watched me as I spoke and I learned years ago this was as he was. I hated it at first, but now it was as common as his house plants throughout his office. “Okay. Don’t wait for me to re
spond—I want you to continue,” he said with his usual raised eyebrow grin.