Violet Addiction (25 page)

“I have to.” Cain’s first tear slipped unchecked down his flushed cheek as I turned. By the time I reached the car my own silent tears had become a torrent of painful emotion. My father caught up with me at some point, ushering me into the passenger seat. I continued to cry so hard it physically hurt. Once home, I curled up beside my dad on the old tattered couch, where he had attempted to soothe my hurt and tears so many times as a little girl. His hand was a constant presence on my back, as if quietly trying to absorb my suffering. I leaned into his warmth and wept. The tears of a woman who had lived through pain, who had fought back from not only death but the despairing pits of hell, and yet a woman who had never been so completely and utterly broken.

I sat at the kitchen table and pushed my eggs around on my plate in an attempt to make it look like I had eaten. It had been a week since I had walked away from Cain, leaving him with fresh tears on his face and agony in his eyes, as he watched me walk away. I had never once seen Cain cry, and every time I recalled that moment, the knife in my heart twisted a little more. My heart had been through a myriad of emotions this past week; sorrow, betrayal, anger, and finally sorrow again. After all these years I had come to the realization that Cain wasn’t perfect, he wasn’t the hero I had always envisioned, and somehow that made me mad, mostly at myself for not realizing sooner. I was frustrated that I had been placed in the heart wrenching predicament to walk away from Cain. I was tired, I was miserable, but mostly, I missed Cain. Harry had been by almost every day to apologize. He wouldn’t be coming by anymore though; he was leaving for New York today. He had looked almost as bad as I did. I didn’t blame him though; I had asked him to keep an impossible secret. Relationships laced with secrets would never work, the secret would simply fester until someone uncovered it. My mind teetered with the notion that this was all my fault, but then clarity would resettle on my scorched emotions, and I honestly knew I wasn’t to blame. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t point the finger at anyone; this was just how it was. A series of moments and events that had led us to here and now.

My phone had rung hot for the first two days. Cain, Cain’s mom, Cain’s dad, Annabelle…I ignored them all until ignoring them hurt me more than I was already hurting. Then I turned the phone off. My dad lowered the ringer on his home phone and shielded me as much as possible from the calls that began coming from there, too. When the calls went unanswered, Cain had simply turned up on our doorstep. Dad had carefully explained that I just needed a little space right now, I needed time. I couldn’t imagine any amount of time ever healing the gaping hole in my heart. Nothing could take away my pain, not my dad’s steadfast presence, not my music, not even sleep where I was plagued with nightmares. I was already losing weight, and my eyes were ringed with a darkness I hadn’t seen in a long time. It was a little frightening to see my body react to the sadness this way, but inevitably, I didn’t care. I didn’t even consider reaching out for the drugs that might take me away from this hurt. It was the drugs that got me here in the first place. I hated them. I hated the weakness that led me to them. In this moment, I was certain I would never again entertain the illusion that drugs had the answers to all my woes, when they were, in fact, the start, middle, and end to all my problems.

“Will you do something with me today?” I hadn’t even realized dad was sitting beside me, so absorbed in my own misery and loathing. “You don’t have to get dressed up or anything. We’ll be going someplace quiet.” I glanced over at him and noticed the unusual lidded ceramic vase that sat on the table before him. “I couldn’t bring myself to lay her ashes to rest. I thought if I kept them, I was keeping her with me, but I understand now that she will always be with me.” He raised his hand to his chest. “She’ll always be here. I only have to think of her, and I see her in this kitchen as if she had never left. I want to set her ashes free; I’m ready to let go of them now.”

I grabbed his hand and squeezed his fingers, trying to give back the love and support my dad had always freely offered me. “I’ll go get changed,” I murmured.

“Do you remember this place?” Dad asked.

I looked around the beach that stretched out before us. To one side, the sand led into the rocky crevices of a small inlet, to the other, the sand stretched uninterrupted for miles.

“We used to come here when I was little,” I confessed through a gravelly voice. I had done more crying than talking this past week.

Dad nodded as we strolled down to the water’s edge. “Do you remember your mom here?”

It was hard to remember my mom any other way than the hardened, bitter drug addict she had become. She wore misery as if it were a coat and filled our home with a darkness that made a little girl fear the place that should have been a haven. The only happy memories I had of Mom in the home were when she was high. She would crank the stereo and dance around the house like some sort of fairy, singing loudly and spinning me around like a little doll. She would laugh and I would squeal with joy. Memories of this beach were hazy and my memories of my mom here even more so. So vague, I wondered if what I recalled of her was really my mom, or just some image from a book or movie my mind had adopted.

“Her hair was darker, and she carried a little more weight,” I thought out loud.

“We used to come here all the time after you were born,” Dad confessed as we came to a stop before the water. “Your mom always liked to party in excess, but when she found out she was pregnant, she stopped. She took care of her body. She was shocked and nervous about becoming a mom, but she couldn’t wait to meet you. She stopped doing drugs, I cut back on the drinking, and when you were born, for a moment, everything was right with the world.” Dad paused as he took in his surroundings, a smile at his lips as if he was seeing this place as it was, back when I was little. “Babies are like that; they make the world seem cleaner, more innocent, more…everything.” He pulled me to his side with one big grizzly arm and kissed my forehead. “Your mom wanted you. She was proud of you. The look in her eyes when you were little was always one of awe. We used to bring you here all the time, for years. The last real birthday party you ever had was here. You were five. That’s when things started to change. Your mom got restless; she missed the parties, missed the carefree life she had lived before you were born, before she had to grow up and be responsible. After that year, we didn’t come back here again.” Dad unscrewed the lid off the urn. “Seems appropriate that I bring her back to where we were happiest.” He tipped the urn and the wind caught the ashes, whisking them out across the water. “You made the right choice,” Dad whispered after the longest time. Just those few words reminded me of my pain. “It was humble and self-sacrificing and I’m proud of you for it. I’m proud of the woman you are, Violet, always have been. But sometimes, even when we do the right thing, it can feel very wrong.” He turned and walked away from the beach, his own grief sitting heavy on his shoulders.

It was easy to forget my dad had lost his soul mate only eight months ago. Sometimes, time can feel like a slow moving tide, splashing and ebbing over minutes, days, and weeks, tediously slow and unremitting. In other instances, time can be like a tsunami, crashing down on you, thundering by in fragmented moments. The last week had felt like the former, a never ending cycle of pain. I wondered if this was what Dad had been feeling every waking moment since mom’s death. He hid his pain well, gave the illusion that his strong exterior housed an equally strong interior. If his love for Mom was even half as much as what I felt for Cain, I knew his own sorrow must have been tremendous.

Another week, more weight lost, more tears shed. I wondered if I’d ever feel normal or if this heartache would stay with me forever. Dad was back at work. I had forced him to leave the house, promising I would be fine and the place would be easier to clean if I didn’t have to turn around and trip over him all day long. I stood and stared at the picture on the bookshelf. It was one of Mom, Dad, and me in happier times, on the beach where we had released Mom’s ashes. Growing up, this had been the only picture in the house. Now, the entire bookshelf was filled with pictures. Flashes of happiness that gave the illusion that this home had been a different one from the misery I remembered so well. A banging on the door made me jump. I paused, wondering who was out there. I couldn’t think of anyone I wanted to see right now, and Dad wouldn’t have knocked.

“Open this damn door, Violet, before I go into labor right here on your porch!”

Annabelle’s familiar voice got me moving. I was assaulted with worry, wondering if something was wrong. I couldn’t think of any other reason for her to be here. I swung open the door and took her in. If it was possible, she had gotten even bigger since I had last seen her. Her hair was a complete mess, her usual immaculate clothes replaced with a creased t-shirt and stained sweats. She pushed her way through the door uninvited, and I followed her to the kitchen, wondering what the hell was going on. She helped herself to a glass of water and finally turned to face me. “You look worse than Cain,” she huffed.

I winced at the mention of his name. Dad had been very careful not to say it, not even whisper it. “Okay, you need to take a shower, brush your hair, and pack your shit. And you need to hurry, I’m meeting Toby at two.” I didn’t move, just…stared. “Did you hear the part where I said hurry?” Annabelle said, more than a little exasperated.

“What’s going on?” I asked, more than a little confused. “Are you okay?”

Her expression softened marginally. “I’m fine, having a few aches, false labor somethings the doctor called them. We need to get you packed, and then I’ll drop you off at Cain’s place.”

“Is Cain alright?” I asked, a little worried.

“No, he’s not okay,” Annabelle grumbled. “He’s miserable, and he won’t talk to anyone. He sends me text messages to see if I need anything, but otherwise he’s ignoring me.” She gave me a wicked smile. “But I’ve been staying at his parents’ house, and I heard his dad talking about the key to his place. I found it in the top drawer of the desk in his study.”

“You went through his dad’s study?” I asked, a little astonished.

“Did you not hear the part where I said Cain isn’t okay? Maybe we need to get your hearing checked.”

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog that had taken residence up there. “But Cain’s not hurt, he’s not sick?”

“I have no idea!” Annabelle shouted. “He won’t let anyone into the house and apart from vague phone calls and even more vague text messages to check if I’m okay, he won’t speak to anyone. Harry said he checked on him before he left last week, and he was alive but looked like shit. I have no idea if he’s okay now.”

I could hear the panic in her voice. She was worried, which worried me. What if Cain had done something stupid and was lying hurt or even sick in his house with no one to help him?

“I’ll go check on him, but I don’t need to pack to do that,” I finally conceded, my worry for him outweighing my fear of seeing him again.

“No, you need to move your butt back there, pronto. He isn’t right without you, and you clearly aren’t right without him.”

I had turned to walk out of the kitchen but stopped abruptly at Annabelle’s words. “I won’t allow him to lose his son over me; that’s not acceptable.” Annabelle scrunched up her nose and rubbed the lower part of her tummy. “Are you okay?” I asked again.