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I haven’t been myself this week. I’ve been so concerned with Lori that I haven’t bothered to get my new contacts or even dress in my suits. I feel like the younger version of myself again, like the man who tried to navigate life after he lost his father. Except now, I’m just trying to navigate the life that I’ve created.
“How is she today?” My mother asks, not bothering to look up from her book.
She stopped going to visit Lori because she said the sight of her depressed her too much. So many times this week my mother has blamed me for the woman that’s rotting away upstairs, chipping at this wall that I’ve built inside of me more and more. Instead of making me colder, I just feel more unhinged. I feel crazy and restless, to the point where I’ve had to let Diego take control over the business these last couple of days.
“I haven’t gone to see her,” I admit. “I don’t know what else to do. It’s not like she’ll even eat the food if I bring it to her anyway,” I mumble and she looks up, frowning at me.
“You should still bring it to her anyway, Marco. She’s having a hard time.”
“She’s not having a hard time, she’s a shell,” I say and she closes her book with a quick snap.
“And who’s at fault for that?” She quips, taking one more dig at me as I sit there rubbing at my beard which has grown in length.
I’ve always taken care of my appearance, always. My father always told me as a kid that a man should always look professional, so I've been wearing designer clothes ever since. My face has been trimmed and kept nice, and I almost always wear contacts to avoid appearing childish. Until Lori. Until this past week.
“Look, I’m not trying to make you feel like an asshole. I believe you’ve already done that for yourself. But I will say that something had to have gone on with that girl and although neither of you will tell me what, I know it was enough to make her crawl inside of herself. I know how she was before this past week. She was willing to play the game. Now she’s not willing to even see the light of day,” she says, reminding me once more of my failure.
“So what is it that you suggest I do?” I question, needing any advice I can get at this point.
I won’t let this girl die on me. I’ve been a fool and have known from the first glance at her that I couldn’t let her die on me. I’ve only threatened her life to get a rise out of her, to make her fight back.
“Maybe try being honest with her. Talk to her. Tell her about yourself, be soft with her. Be what she wanted to you be from the beginning,” she says sternly.
I sigh and fold my hands on my lap, leaning back on the chair as I tilt my head towards the sun. I haven’t sat in this garden with my mother in ages, since I was a boy in fact. Now, I sit next to her with her hand resting on my lap reassuringly. I hate that no matter how big of a monster I can be, somehow, she still loves me. Somehow, she still sees the good in me even though I believed that there was none left. And for some reason, I think that Lori may be the same in that regard. That she saw something good to me and tried to bring it to life rather than manipulate me into letting her escape. All she was trying to do was hold up a mirror.
But of course, I’ve ripped that from her too. I’ve ripped away her fight, her desire. I’ve stomped on every bit of hope, every bit of good that she tried to see in me. I grabbed it all with an iron fist and smashed it into the ground until it all become dust. Until it all became nothing, just as she’s trying to become now.
“How do you really feel about her, Marco? I know you don’t hate her. In fact, I’ve known that from the start, I know that a part of you is intrigued by her, just as a part of me is. And I know that because she’s a good person. She’s an innocent soul. My question to you is, do you see that in her as well? Do you see it now that she’s decided to show you nothing?” My mother asks, making my emotions and confusion blend together like a tornado raging inside of my brain, a violent storm that has ceased to end since Lori has entered my life.
“I know that I go mad when I’m not near her. I know that I’m constantly pulled towards her direction,” I admit quietly, staring at my mother’s hand that pats my thigh in comfort.
“I know that I don’t want her to die,” I say finally, my head towards the clouds.
“Then go to her, Marco. Be soft with her. Hold her and care for her, even if it confuses you. It’s not about you anymore, son. Maybe if you become a little selfless, show her a softer side, she might feel safe enough to speak to you,” she says, her eyes fixed on me.
As frustrating as her words are, she’s right. It has always been about Lori. Since I spotted her through the windows of her apartment. My mind has been focused on nothing but her and denying that has only hurt the both of us. Now, though, I feel it is too late. Now I think I may have pushed her over the very ledge I was once threatening to throw her over.
“You’ll figure it out. I just hope that you do it soon,” she says as she gets up from the bench, bending down to kiss my head before she wanders back into the house, leaving me alone in the rose garden with only the birds to keep me company.
As I look around, I realize that Lori would love this garden. She would love the smells and the sounds, the endless amount of color that my mother has strategically planted throughout the massive backyard. Perhaps a walk outside would bring her a little life. Maybe even some tea and a little change of scenery.
Jesus, listen to me. I sound like a writer for Hallmark. This can’t actually be happening to me right now.
I sigh and get up. I wander into the kitchen and ask the chef to put a fresh pot of water on and get a few mugs of tea ready for me as well as some breakfast before I walk out of the kitchen and back upstairs towards Lori’s room. I stop outside of the door, my head bowed as I try to fill myself with as much determination as I can muster. I try to think of what a gentleman would do in this situation, but then again, a gentleman would never find himself in such a predicament so, in the end, that’s a lost cause.
I open the door and walk inside quietly, her body in the same fetal position on the bed with her back turned away from her. Her shirt has ridden up her back some, exposing her bony spine that causes my nostrils to flare in anger and self-hatred for what I’ve caused. I walk to the side of the bed and gently touch her shoulder, bending down to whisper into her ear.
“Wake up, princess,” I say, her eyelids fluttering in response to my words but not opening.
“I have some tea being made downstairs along with some breakfast,” I say, trying to add a gentler tone to my voice, hoping that it would make her open her eyes, but of course, it didn’t.
I sit on the bed, my hand pulling her shoulder to gently force her to face me. I can’t remember the last time I ever gently handled a person. Quite frankly, I don’t think I ever have. This is all uncharted territory for me and I’m navigating it lightly.
When I turn her over on her back, her eyes remain closed, her body immobile. I lean over and gaze at her beautiful face, counting the freckles that lightly dust the sight of her pert nose. For a full-blooded Italian woman, she really looks like an anomaly. From her light, reddish brown hair to the freckles on her face, all the way to her bright hazel eyes that she refuses to show me. All of it is an enigma, much like she herself.
“Lori, please,” I say, my lips a breath away from her as I whisper to her.
I reach up and brush a strand of hair away from her face, my fingertips resting on her sharp cheekbones as I will for her to open her eyes and look at me. When she finally does, I am breathless.
