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I walk over to Tommy a.k.a. Officer Buford who I’ve known most of my life, and he takes the picture. His expression is one of pity. I’m too tired and too stubborn to care that I’m probably making a fool of myself by staying around, but it’s the only way I can stay sane right now. I’m right where I need to be. Tommy promises to make sure that Jonathan gets his picture, and I head back to my chair. I really hate this chair, but if this is as close as I can get to him then this chair will just have to do.
I sit with my Kindle in my hand, but all I can think about is how close I was to him when I gave Tommy the picture. He was just on the other side of the door. I wonder if he heard me talking to Tommy? I’m starting to feel lost without him, but I don’t know how that can be when he has only been back in my life for such a short time. I think Devon may be right. We are each other’s missing pieces. We do need each other to feel complete. I guess when you find the one that’s the way it is, and there isn’t anything you can do about it. Two weeks or twenty years, love is love and the one is the one. What are you gonna do?
It’s about eight o’clock, and Ireland has just gone down for the night when my phone alerts me that I have a text.
Georgia: Tell Ireland that I said thanks for the picture.
Gracie: I will.
Gracie: Can I see you tomorrow?
Georgia: No. Going home tomorrow.
Gracie: That’s great news! Can I bring you anything?
Georgia: No, thanks. Go back to work Emily. I’ll be fine.
Gracie: Well, if you aren’t going to be at the hospital I’ll go back to work, but I can stop by after and bring you lunch.
Georgia: No thanks.
He doesn’t realize he is breaking my heart with every denial he gives me. Or maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t care. I’m trying to remember everything that Devon told me this morning. Mick and Cami have tried to remind me over and over as well that I haven’t done anything wrong. I just have to give him time. I feel like I need to bust down his door and tell him to go screw himself and his request not to see me! I don’t bust down his door though. Instead…I text him back.
Gracie: Let me know if you change your mind or you need anything at all. I’m not going anywhere, Georgia. I’ll be here when you’re ready. You and me, remember?
No reply.
Not that night.
Not the next day.
Not the next week.
Just no reply.
30
Jonathan
It’s Sunday. I’ve been home since Friday, but I still cannot bear to see anybody. I don’t want to see Devon, but I know I have to. He won’t leave me alone and will just break the damn door down if I don’t let him in. I just sit in the same spot on my couch, day in and day out. I only get up to piss and get more alcohol. Thank God I had a case of beer in the garage to get me through after I ran out of the hard stuff.
The thought of seeing anybody—knowing that Truman died on my watch—is not something that I could stomach right now. I don’t want to see the look of disappointment or pity that will surely cloud their faces. I don’t want to hear them tell me it’s not my fault when we all know it is. I was his back up, and yet again I let one of my own down. I am a sorry excuse for a man. I know that, and I’m sure everybody else does too.
My recurring nightmare is to see any of those expressions cross Emily’s face. I fought so hard to get her back only to realize that I don’t deserve her. She deserves somebody who doesn’t let everybody around him down, time and time again. Those girls, Emily and Ireland, they have become my everything, but I just can’t be around them. I am no good for them, and there is no way I can let them see me in my current state. I feel empty without them in my life every day. But if I am any kind of man at all, I will let them go.
The problem is that Emily won’t let go. She is a woman on a mission and won’t give up. She has this determined resolve and is texting me every day like everything is normal. Sharing her day with me, giving me cute messages from Ireland, and checking to see if I need anything. I can’t bring myself to reply, but I sit and read her messages over and over. It’s like my own form of torture.
If I reply it will only give her hope. I can’t do that. It’s not good to be close to me because I tend to lose those that I care about. If anything ever happened to either of my girls, I don’t know what I would do or how I could live without them in the world. The best thing for me to do is just stay away, and as hard as it is, not answer her texts.
I smell like shit!
I mean I am fucking disgusting.
No, a fucking nightmare is what I am.
I’ve been home for a week and can’t remember the last time I took a shower. Even Frances won’t come near me. If it wasn’t for her, and the fact that she needs to be fed, watered and let out I may not have made it through this week. Devon should just come take her. I’m not fit to take care of her and even she is disgusted with me. I can see it in her eyes. She thinks I’m pathetic and she’s right. I am.
Every bottle of alcohol in the house house been consumed and am officially out of my pain pills. I’m even out of the few sleeping pills I had on hand to get me through my crazy hours as a cop. A fucking cop. Who the hell am I kidding? I have no damn business protecting and serving anybody.
