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“Excuse me?” What does he mean end it?
“You heard me, Lana. You either make it a good fight, or I will leave with our son. You aren’t right, right now, Lana, and I’m tired of this. So tired. And our son deserves a stable environment.” Those words have the impact of a thousand men, an entire village of savages, tearing me limb from limb.
“I’m not a bad mother!” I leave my hunched over position and thrust my chest out to defend myself. He will not take our son from me, and I will not let him sit here and threaten me with it either.
“I never said you were, Lana.” His voice is ice-cold, as if I’m the crazy one here. I can’t believe he has the nerve to make me sound like a delusional psychopath, incapable of taking care of our son.
“You will not take him from me. I’m a great mother and I love him,” I seethe, stepping away, ready to leave. I can’t even look him in the eye anymore. We have surpassed strangers and in this moment I will admit he feels like my enemy.
“You need help.” He grabs my arm, pulling me back, and I yank it from his grasp.
“Don’t you ever touch me like that, Kingston! Ever!” I scream, pushing his chest, his big frame barely shifting.
“Lana, listen
to me—”
“No! You threatened to take our son. I honestly can’t even look you in the eye right now. I resent you,” I admit out loud finally, the words falling like rain from a heavy dark cloud.
“And you don’t think I’m starting to resent you?” he counters. I shake my head, my heart physically constricting, feeling like the squeeze will eventually dissolve what’s left of my heart.
“Then fucking leave! You don’t have to stay for charity!” The room is closing in and spinning like a Tilt-a-Whirl. My stomach is churning, and the overwhelming need to vomit starts to rise.
“Fine. Is that what you want? You don’t even want to try therapy? You don’t want to do anything to forget your fucking past? Joel is gone, Lana. He isn’t coming back!”
“You don’t know that! You have no idea what he is capable of!” We scream back and forth, like gladiators in a ring.
“That’s a worn-out excuse. You have PTSD and postpartum. Me and Dr. Moore are sure of it.”
Like a whip, my head turns and my eyes scorn him, the air passing hotly between us. “Dr. Moore? As in Trey’s therapist? You’ve been talking about me to a therapist?” My voice lowers, no more rage, only—deceit. He betrayed me.
“Yes, I have been seeing a therapist, because honestly, I’m drowning here too, Lana. It’s not just you anymore, and it’s starting to wear on me.” His hands run through his hair, and I watch every single strand reappear from under his hand as he goes.
PTSD—postpartum. I put those on spin cycle in my head. Combine his secrets and the shitty way he is treating me, and it makes me dizzy. What is happening? This isn’t real. What are those, the PTSD and postpartum? I don’t have those, do I?
I can’t stand straight. The ground is slipping from under me and I feel like I’m about to collide with gravity head-on.
“Lana! Lana!” Kingston shouts, reaching for me before I hit the floor. He catches me in his arms and I begin to sob, completely shattered. I’m no longer cracked pieces; I’m officially a pile of ash. No longer myself, no longer a person, but more like a body with just a name.
I don’t speak, because here on the kitchen floor, in the arms of the man I love, Joel has won; he defeated me. I have nothing left to offer anyone, not even myself. Not only does Kingston hate me, I hate myself. Pity isn’t what I want, so I just stay quiet and cry, feeling pity all on my own.
“Lana, are you okay?” He worries, but his face is a blur. I can hardly see through the fog of tears storming in my eyes. I register him picking me up to carry me up the stairs with little effort. My eyes flutter closed and I whimper like a wounded animal. I bury my face in his rigid chest, the warmth helping to subside my cold shivers just a bit.
“Lana, hey, talk to me.” Laying me down, he sits beside my head, where it rests on the fluffy grey pillow. Only problem is, I have nothing to say. Just moments ago, he was screaming at me and threatening to take my life—my son. Then he tells me that he has been seeing a therapist and I’m supposedly suffering from some sort of sicknesses? But even before that, we were about to make love. The emotions are all over the place, the wiring inside me completely crossed and sparking.
With maximum effort, by all the power in me, I reply, “There is nothing to say.” Turning from him, I let the heaviness in my eyes and the calamity of my day pull me under.
I watch her sleep, paying attention to the smooth rising and falling of her chest. Still whimpering, even in her sleep, it tells me the wounds and reminisces of our fight are still there. The hurt has wrapped her up and consumed her. As much as it hurts to see her destroyed, my words had to be said. My choice to tell her what I felt needed to be done.
She’s haunted, and tonight, I know her silence meant her confession—that she knew it. She knows this is rock-bottom, that we already left the station of no return. While I watch her sleep, I begin to feel like the world’s biggest dick. I was harsh tonight, not safeguarding anything I said, defiantly not lacing it in sugar. But Prince comes first, and Lana isn’t herself anymore, and she is in no place to be stable enough to deal with a child.
Lana is a great mother—that isn’t the issue—but she doesn’t have a grip on who she is in order to fully understand the power she has over wrecking herself. We can’t have our son watch her die slowly. What would that do to him, to her...to me? I’m supposed to hold my family together and I can’t. I’ve tried using all my resources, all my strength, my patience, my love, and nothing has worked. Lana has to do this on her own now. I have no more power here.
I hear Princeton crying, pulling me away from Lana. I look her over one more time, covering her up in a blanket and leaving for his room. Walking in, I see his little arms and legs thrashing in the air alongside his sobs.
“Hey, little man, don’t cry. Daddy’s here. Shhh.” I approach him, pick his onesie-clad body up, and cradle him to my chest. His green eyes peek at me, his little face turning red from his wailing.
“Mama made you a bottle. Let’s go get you one, buddy.” I bounce him gently in my arms, taking the stairs slowly, trying to quiet him so he doesn’t wake Lana.
