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“It was the only right one.”
“But since she came from Belmont Hills, it meant she was better, right?”
“You don’t leave treatment better… you leave more equipped. I know these things are difficult to navigate, and maybe I bit off more than I could chew. My own father was an addict, a drunk, but he never tried to get better. I never knew what it was like being around someone in recovery…but I did know what it was like being around a woman who was abused.”
“It’s not a trauma you can fix… it’s something you survive.” I muttered—mainly to myself—resonating on the silence that followed. It was the very statement I believed since living with Claire. I wondered if he could hear the hesitancy in my voice as I guarded it.
He tried not to pout.
“Survival wears many faces, and often it’s not the one you expect. What we show people, and how we feel, can be two different worlds, and Natalie’s was no different… she was just better at hiding it.”
“Better than you?”
“In every way,” he nodded. “She made it all so simple; so natural to get along, to appear so open, and in many ways she was. Without ever needing to, she shared so much about her story—about Michael—about the things I could never forget,thingsshe still had nightmares over. Telling me this only strengthened my belief that taking her in was the right thing to do, and honestly, I trusted her alone…I trusted her with everything. It didn’t matter that I was gone most of the time, or that I worked weird hours… because I believed things were ok. But that was Natalie. Instead of ever asking for help, she showed me some performance of strength. I can’t believe how naive I was, to ever think that what we had was good.”
“Was it ever?”
“Selfishly maybe?”
“I’m sure you were just trying to help.” I said, seeing the blame take over his face. He never looked so uncomfortable, my assurance almost impenetrable to his dropped eyebrows.
“It was good, because I believed it was good, because I believed that just keeping her away from Michael was enough. And why would I ever think otherwise? The first couple months were great—easy even. She was eating better, sleeping well, lecturing me on the importance of waking up early, trying in her own way to make me into the morning person that she was.”
“You? A morning person?” I gently joked, attempting to see a grin on his face. He twisted his lips, showing some shyness that I wasn’t accustomed to.
“It wasn’t so bad,” he answered. “And even though I teased her about it, I secretly appreciated what she did; how open she became, how she confided in me. Most days she’d talked endlessly, more than I ever knew someone could. I’m a listener though, so it didn’t bother me.”
“I’ve always appreciated that about you.”
“If only it were as useful as it sounds.”
“It is… it’s important. It’s what everyone wants.”
“But it’s not what everyone needs. I’m good at listening to others, but I’m even better at reading the signs when something’s wrong…at least I thought so. Who even knows anymore? I couldn’t even tell what was happening under my own roof. I never could have guessed it…”
“Guessed what?” I asked, Alejandro’s voice laced in disgust. His knuckles cracked.
“It’s just… the morning she left me, everything was different. No smile, no endless talking, no fucking spark-in-the-air that she always brought into the room; the same spark I grew so hopelessly addicted to… She wouldn’t even eat breakfast, let alone look me in the eye.” He looked at me for some validation, “You know how perceptive I can be, not that she wasn’t obvious enough…”
I nodded. “Perception is what you do best.”
He didn’t seem to like my response.
“What I do best is ruin a good thing; ignoring—against my better judgment—what I should’ve done. I shouldn’t have pried, I shouldn’t have left her alone while filming some senseless movie, but most of all, I shouldn’t have overreacted when—that very morning—she got sick and threw up… because it was my job to show her how safe living with me could be… not scary, not scolding, not all the things I did when she came out of the bathroom…pregnancytest in hand, tears in her eyes.” Remorse washed over his face, a look that was difficult to watch. I placed my palm over his, soothing the small tremble he tried to hide. “Goddamn it… she was seeing Michael again, and I found out about it.” He squeezed his eyes shut.
I knew he wanted to stop talking, to wish this away. He looked so guilty, mentally bearing more than what he could physically hold onto.
“Sometimes we go back to the things that hurt us… not because of desire, but because of fear,” I grew quiet.
“And sometimes, it doesn’t need to make sense in order for it to happen, because trauma is a monster that doesn't just die…and I instigated that… I could have made it better, but instead made it worse, because the unfortunate truth was, Natalie and I shared something in common. We were both runners; scared of disappointing others, of being the brunt end of someone’s anger. But I’m too impulsive, and even though I knew she’d run, I still said everything I felt. I freaked out knowing it was a bad idea, because all I saw was my own fear; my mother on the floor, pregnant and weeping, getting beaten by Miguel…”
As we silently sat shoulder to shoulder, I wondered what—if anything—I could do for him. Just sitting and listening always made me feel so powerless, as if talking out loud could help reverse the hands of time and fix the problems that already happened. I saw that he was in pain, but more importantly, I saw the honesty in his intentions. Whether he wanted to accept it or not, there was good in him.
“You weren’t just helping her, Alejandro, you were trying to keep her safe,” I defended.
“Well, I wasn’t, and that’s what kills me. I lost her, Gemma. Me. It was my job to look after her, and instead, I scared her away.” Alejandro sunk into his seat, his fingers stretched across his knees. He looked as if he was going to crawl out of his skin, shuddering. “You’d think a lifetime of pretending to be someone else would have prepared me for that, considering I was supposed to pretend like I wasn’t crumbling every second she was gone.”
“That feels so impossible.”
