The Long Way Home (15 page)

The bed was the worst I'd slept on in a while. My back was aching.
I opened one eye to see bright light and a lady moving in white. She smiled,
"You're awake."

I winced, lifting a hand to my face, "Where am I?"

"Presbyterian Hospital."

I shook my head, "What happened?"
Was I hit by a cab
? I was dying for sure.

She laughed, "Partied a bit hard, I'm afraid. Your
friend there brought you in last night. You were dehydrated beyond what I have
seen in a while."

I glanced over at Mike, passed out on a chair. He looked
small there on the chair, curled into
himself
. I smiled,
"He brought me in?"

What the fuck had happened? I had nothing. He had a banner or
sash in his hands. It was bright pink. Was I in Ms. New York contest?

"What's that he's holding?"

The nurse smiled harder, "Your bachelorette party sash.
Guess you had fun." She left the room.

It didn’t feel like I had fun. It felt like I was dying.

"France."

He stirred.

I drank the water in the paper cup she had set next to me and
then tossed it at him, "France!"

He opened his eyes slowly, "Piss off, Jack. I'm
sleeping. Damn."

I laughed, "What happened, France? Why am I here?
Where's my sister?"

He nodded, "She came by earlier and went home to sleep.
People need sleep."

"Jacqueline, oh you're alright!" I looked over as
my mother came rushing into the room.

God, who had called her?

She grabbed my hand, "Honey, are you feeling
better?"

I snatched my hand from her.

She smiled, "Your sister called and said you had not
been feeling well."

I watched her face turn cold as her eyes landed on Mike. Her
jaw became set and her eyes narrowed, "What are you doing here? You don’t
think you've done enough? Did you do this to her? They said you brought her in.
You and your trailer-trash, drug-addict ways.
You get
out of here. You've done enough." Mike sat up, rubbing his eyes. I could
see the fury starting on his face.

I swatted her arm, "Don’t talk to him like that."

She snapped her head back around at me and I saw a look I had
never seen on my mother’s face. She pointed, "Your father has worked very
hard to get you into the engagement you are in. You spoiled little bitch. You
will not ruin that for him. Your father and Phil will be here in a few minutes.
I expect that gone when they get here." She turned on her heel and stormed
from the room.

Mike laughed, "Good to see the Prozac is working on
her."

I didn’t laugh. I reached for him, "You don’t have to
leave. I made sure he
can't
touch you. None of them
can."

He got up, taking my hand, "What are you talking about?
What did you do?"

I shook my head, "There isn’t any time. You shouldn’t
have called my sister."

I looked over to see two guards come in, "Hey man, we
gotta
ask you to leave. Her family is making a stink."
They looked somber.

Mike nodded, "Yeah, I probably shouldn’t cause another
scene. Bad for press." He bent and kissed my cheek, "Call me
tomorrow." I pressed my face into his. He stood up, taking my sash with
him and walked out.

"Can I get an autograph though, when we get
downstairs?"

Mike laughed, "Yeah, sure."

I felt trapped. The IV in my arm was cold like a handcuff,
pinning me to the bed.

I looked out the window; the light was filtering in softly.
It looked like a beautiful day to run away from home. Even at twenty-eight, I
had no power over how things were going to play out. I hated that.

His voice interrupted my pity party for one.
"Jacqueline, I am so disappointed in you."

I nodded, not meeting my father's eyes, "Fuck you."

He chuckled, "You always were the difficult one. This
little stunt of yours has actually proved to be fruitful though. I have to
thank you for that one. I never imagined you would make it easier for me to
force your hand."

I looked at him; the hateful look on his face was a sinister
smirk. Dr. Michaels walked in after my father, holding a folder. His look
matched my father's. "We take suicide attempts very seriously now,
Jacqueline."

I scowled, "What? I went partying. I never tried to kill
myself. You two are really reaching for that one."

My father folded his arms
smugly,
"Your blood work has a deadly cocktail of narcotics in it."

I laughed, "Whatever. That is terrible. You would
actually lie for him, Dr. Michaels? I'm an adult."

He nodded, "I am worried for your mental health. Worst
comes to worst, you could require a 28-day dry out at rehab. This is
serious."

I swallowed hard, "You gave me the drugs."

He shook his head, "The only prescription you have from
me is a one-time prescription for Xanax. The other bottle wasn’t prescribed by
me." He nodded once, "I'll leave you two to discuss the therapy I am
recommending, and possible two-week stay for observation in the mental
ward."

The room spun.

My father walked close, grabbing my hand like a viper. He
squeezed, "You dare to threaten me with Muriel? You don’t have to worry
about that Mike France. I won't be going near him—I don’t need to. You
fuck up enough that I don’t need to threaten his career." He licked his
lips, "So Jacqueline, which is it? The nut house, rehab, or Phil?"

And there it was.

The truth of the matter.
I was never going to get away. I was now a
danger to myself. I shook my head, "Whatever you have on Dr. Michaels must
be impressive."

He smiled, "You would never believe it."

He was right, I probably wouldn’t. My father had a flair for
finding peoples’ weaknesses.

Tears didn’t come.

My heart didn’t flutter or break.

I went completely numb.

I smiled at him with the fake, frozen smile my mother always
gave him, "Phil it is, then." I understood then, she hated him as
much as I did.

He squeezed my hand again and kissed the top of it,
"There's my good girl." He winked and let my hand drop.

He left the room with a smug saunter. Phil came in after him.
He looked exhausted and worn out.

"What happened?"

I shook my head, "Drank too much."

He looked worried, "The blood work showed ecstasy,
speed, and pharmaceuticals. It looks like you tried to kill yourself."

I laughed, "Phil, when have I ever seemed like I could
be strong enough to do that?"

He sat on the bed, "This is because of Ashley, isn’t it?
I just feel sick. J.D. I wish I could take it all back. I have pushed you to
this. I hate myself."

I realized then, he was still drunk from his bachelor party.

I nodded, "I need to get some sleep."

He climbed up onto the bed with me and wrapped himself around
me. I
laid
there, frozen and dead inside as he
whispered, "I love you. I will make this up to you. I am so sorry."
He slipped a new ring on my thin finger. It was ridiculous in
size,
"I will make you happy again."

The dress was loose. I had basically stopped eating when
Phil's mother insisted on spending every waking moment with me, trying to make
up for what her son had driven me to.

My father had relished in the glory of the thing he now held
over the Bernard family. Their son's infidelity with a child had driven me to
suicide instead of a bachelorette party. Like I was so feeble and fragile.

I had spent the week desperately searching for a moment to
escape.

Of course that moment never came.

Brandi spritzed me with perfume
,
her eyes were haunted
.
The room was silent until my mother and Mrs. Bernard finally left. It was more
like a funeral than like a wedding.

"Oh God, J.D., I am so sorry."

I looked at Diane, "We took a little ecstasy,
we
used to do that all the time. Stop."

Helena wiped her
eyes,
"Brandi
told us your dad is blackmailing you to marry him, with mental ward and
rehab."

Angela crossed her arms, "Take rehab, I went when we
were nineteen. It wasn’t so bad."

I snorted, "No. I'll be cut off completely, no money. My
father has full control over every dime I have. He threatened me with hiding
drugs in Mike's house and getting him fired. He threatened me with rehab and
the mental ward. He has Dr. Michaels on his side. I don’t stand a chance."
I looked at myself in my lace wedding dress, "Phil is the best option. At
least he thinks he drove me to try to take my life. His whole family is
disturbingly grateful I am alive. I'll have them all under my thumb the rest of
my life." I saw the cold look in my eyes in the mirror. For a second, I
was my father's daughter. Eventually, I would be high 24/7 and become my mother.
I wondered if somewhere out there in the world, my mother had a Mike. Someone
she loved more than anything but married my father out of duty.

Brandi started to cry again. She had been a mess all week.

We all drank a fourth mimosa and straightened our gowns.

The wedding planners came bustling in, "Everyone
ready?"

I nodded as the lace was placed over my face. Under the veil,
I would swear I could see things clearer. I slipped a blue pill into my mouth
and nodded at the image in my mind; I would become my father. I would rule the
Bernard family with guilt and misery because I hated my life and the choice I
was forced to take.

We walked out into the foyer where the groomsmen and my
father waited for us. The dead look in his eyes was enough to force the
decision I was about to make. One day I would be dead inside like him.
Eventually, the numb would take over everything.

The music started. I hadn’t noticed the church or the
decorations or the people there. I didn’t give two shits about a single thing,
beyond the crack in my heart.

The girls all walked down the aisle before us. As we arrived
at the doors, the music changed and the room stood. The faces of the crowd were
unsure. They didn’t know what to expect or how to act. The ones who knew the
truth were devastated, and the ones who assumed I was driven to a suicide
attempt were scared. Some judged
,
I could see that on
their faces. The veil hid the fact I was scrutinizing them.

My father passed me over to Phil. No one spoke or kissed or
cried, except Brandi.

Everyone else was still, like a calm before a storm.

My heart took that moment to panic. Like it was beating in
one last desperate attempt to wake me from the coma I was stuck in.

The brave girl who had driven to South Carolina was dying
inside of me. She was screaming and clawing and trying to get out, but the
cloud of heavy shit smothered her. That, and the blue pills that blocked her
out.

Phil took me in his arms and led me to the priest.

We stood there, listening to the man
speak
,
but I heard nothing.
Nothing, apart from my beating heart.

Then I heard something unbelievable.

"Jack! Goddamn, Jack, you can't marry him. You love me
and I love you."

I turned to see a very drunk Mike France staggering up the
aisle. He was in a tee shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He looked like he had been
living in them.

I gasped, "France." I blinked my eyes several times
and shook my head. He was my kryptonite. I couldn’t see him without tears
forming. He made me alive again. The haze of the blue pill was starting though.

He pointed, "Baby, I have something I want to show you.
Well, I have a few things, but the main one is your dream come true. Come
on."

My father stood, "Leave now. She didn’t choose you. She
won't."

Brandi heaved a loud sob and Phil gripped me tighter, holding
me there. My father walked to France. He said things in hushed tones but Mike
ignored him, "Jack, come on."

I almost took a step towards him but Phil moved before I
could. He walked up, throwing a punch.

Mike took the hit and then jumped Phil. Several guys jumped
in, making a pile of people in suits thrashing in the middle of the aisle. The
rich friends and family sat, frozen still.

My mother never budged. My sister sobbed. My friends whispered
traitorous acts like "RUN!"

But I remained frozen, as Mike beat them all. He roared as he
shot from the sea of tuxes and preppy assholes. None stood a chance with him.
He stood, leaving them on the ground and pointed at me. His voice cracked,
"Let's go."