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Wiping away my tears and closing my eyes, I try to bring down the mask. For years I had it perfected; cool and detached and pain free. It had been such a perfect disguise, so well worn, that people recognised it as my face and yet I can’t find it now. Now, when I need to, I can’t make myself hide the panic.
I take a deep breath, preparing to face my date, as pain circles like a vulture; waiting to pick the skin from my bones.
Three Years Ago
“Mik, please open the door.” Desperation clings to Jamie’s voice as I sit with my back against the wood, my chest heaving and shattered glass all around. “Please.”
I shouldn’t have called him. There are two years of apologies to make. Two years of silence to account for. And now, sitting here in the mess I’ve made, I can’t say a word.
I won’t let him see me like this.
My hand covers my mouth, pushing back my sobs, as I close my eyes and wait for him to leave. I need him to leave. I can’t face him, not now, not with the faded yellow that lines my upper lip because I burned the dinner last week. Not with the soft purples blossoming around my eye from a text message I received about a job two hours ago. Not with blood staining the white of my blouse from the cut on my shoulder.
I can feel my chest caving in as I listen to my brother plead with me and I know there’s no way out.
“I can hear you, Mik.” I hear him place his hand against the wood and picture the way he is pressing his forehead against the door. His voice trembles and I feel it. I feel all of it. “Please just let me in. I can help.”
I shake my head as I pull my knees to my chest and close my eyes. If I could close my mind as easily, then I wouldn’t have to feel this.
“I love you, Mik. I love you so much, okay? And I’m here.” Jamie whispers and I shatter. “I love you.”
Fresh pain consumes me.
“I am here,” he repeats, resignation hiding behind his words and I whimper. “And I will be here when you are ready to come home.”
Home.
I want to go home.
“I’m so sorry.” His apology clings to my skin, like mist over the sea, as Matthew’s voice swims beneath the surface.
“I’m so sorry, baby.”
Bile rises in my throat and I crawl over splinters of glass and shards of broken promises. All the pain and anger and fear threatens to spill from my lips with each tremor that pulls through me.
“I didn’t mean to. Please, baby. I didn’t mean to.”
He never means to.
Present
“You alright?” Josh cocks his head to the side as the waiter pulls my chair back for me and I fidget with Mom’s silver ring on my middle finger, the smooth surface soothing me as I breathe in.
“Of course.”
Something about my smile seems to feed his curiosity. He raises a brow and waits. Expectant.
“Honestly, I’m fine.”
Those observant eyes run over my face slowly as I try to keep the half smile from fading and reach for the bottle of water on the table, moving to fill the empty glass in front of me.
I can feel the pool beneath my eyes, no doubt leaving a slight shimmer in the glow of the soft lights, tears waiting to be shed, and my lips feel tight over my teeth.
I feel vulnerable.
I feelalone.
Without another word, Josh holds his fingers up and signals for the closest waiter. I glance up at the man who appears almost instantly and guilt fogs my mind.
