in last night, against the windowpane staring out to the backyard. The plate of food I left beside her remains untouched.
The house is eerily quiet, my mother has taken Andy for a few days to give Adriana some time to sleep, but she doesn’t.
The same nightmare plays over and over in my head, the screams that echoed down the hospital hall as the monitor beeps increased in pitch, and the doctors rushed in, the sign he was finally gone.
When his casket was lowered into the ground, I held onto my sister who stood perfectly still. I knew I was losing her too, the grief insurmountable, and not once did she speak nor did she shed a tear. She was catatonic. It frightened me that the once-bright future ahead was now unknown. I prayed every night she would pull out of this coma. I couldn’t lose my sister. She’s my blood, my family, and I wanted to shield her from the pain. I wanted the old, annoying Adriana back, faults and all. I wanted her to tell me ridiculous jokes only to laugh before she reaches the punchline, the kind only she finds funny.
Most importantly, I want her to be a mother to this little miracle who defied all odds to make it into this world. If I were honest, that’s what hurt me the most—watching her son grow more and more each day. To witness him not being embraced by his own mother. It wasn’t her fault—she had to deal with this in her own way. She lost the love of her life, and I couldn’t conceptualize her pain, not in a million years. Nor do I wish it upon me, and with this decided, I do the unthinkable, I find myself pulling away from Charlotte.
At the funeral, Charlotte placed her hand on my forearm, and I felt my body instantly recoil. She pulled away, the hurt in her eyes cutting me deep.
It’s my way of dealing with the grief, I’m crippled inside, and love becomes a foreign concept.
Why do we love when in the end, it’s taken from us, and we are left to die a slow death?
I spend every moment I can in the office, desperate for a distraction. If I wasn’t there, I was at Adriana’s house, trying to bring her back to life. I spend the mornings with Amelia, the guilt eating away at me of not being home sharing the responsibility of our daughter, but distance makes the pain hurt less. Charlotte tries to bring it up a few times, but I simply walk away from the conversation. She knows not to touch me, and therefore, our conversations become limited to Amelia and the talk of the weather.
After a while, Adriana slowly starts to come around, but all around her the memories are a painful reminder of what she’s lost. While we see improvement, the breakdowns quickly accompany it. It’s almost like she refuses to move on with her life. My mother is at her wit’s end, afraid of her daughter doing something drastic, and my father finally suggests she get some professional help. I know Charlotte visits Adriana almost daily, and those are the times I rush home to get changed and make sure I’m gone before she returns.
The sounds of the traffic echo in the background as I sit in my office alone. It’s well into the night, what time, I have no idea. The dim light of the lamp is the only thing illuminating the room. My bourbon sits on my desk, enticing me with its ability to erase the nightmare I’m living.
Last night got the better of me, and for that reason alone, I know I can’t see her tonight. When I see Charlotte dressed in those skinny, ass-cupping jeans and that slinky top—that top—my weakness engulfs me and my inability to fight off the side of me that wants her, the side so desperately needing to be buried in her, means I have to make her loathe me.
I’m surprised to find Amelia isn’t home as I want nothing more than to be smothered by her. In turn, my anger redirects to Charlotte. I know she wants to talk, our marriage right now is a complete train wreck. I know full well it’s my fault, but I do what I have to do to protect myself.
The words I say have the intent of hurting her because I feel myself caving. She’s beyond furious, and when she leaves the kitchen, I thought