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Everyone worries about me like usual—and all I have done is cause them pain.
My stomach roils with nausea, and the burn is welcomed.
I need to feel.
I deserve it.
I look to my left and wonder where Quinn is, as the bed beside me hasn’t been slept in.
My problem with being drunk is that I remember almost everything—no luxury of blackouts or memory loss. I remember every damn embarrassing moment, wishing I didn’t.I’m beyond mortified I threw myself at him, calling him mine when he clearly isn’t interested in me. If I were him, I would be running the hell away from me too.
Groaning and throwing my arm over my eyes, I wish I could singe the repulsed look in Quinn’s eyes from my mind. But sadly, I can’t.
I kick off the covers, then head to the bathroom for a hot shower. After standing under the hot water until I shrivel into a prune, I get out and brush my wet hair, then use the complimentary toiletries.
Twenty minutes later, I look human. Well, half human. The other half is a robot, functioning on autopilot.
Quinn is still nowhere in sight, and I have to face the fact that he may never return. He may be on his way back to South Boston right now about to turn me in. I know he would never do that, though I wouldn’t blame him if he did.
I slip on my boots, grab my sweater, which smells of Quinn, and softly shut the door behind me.
Sean said I was about an hour from my hotel. Well, that gives me a lot of time to plan what the fuck to do now.
I slip the cab driver an extra twenty since he remained quiet the whole cab ride back to our hotel, obviously picking up on my need for silence. I don’t have the energy for idle chitchat.
I walk the streets of New Orleans with no real direction in mind. I walk and walk, unable to stay in one spot for too long as my thoughts catch up to me, and I can’t deal with them.I spend hours wandering the French Quarter, going into shops I’ve never seen before and probably will never come across ever again.
As I pass a strip of stores, the food smells delicious, so I decide to grab a spicy Cajun dish. But after two mouthfuls, I have to throw most of it out when my stomach gurgles in protest.
It’s dark and cold, and I’m shivering, but I keep walking because I know when I stop, I’ll have to face what I’ve been trying to avoid all day.
Hank is gone.
He’s really gone.
He’s buried in a plot someplace with a little grave marker, the only article telling the world who he was. What he was. And that grave marker, I know, cannot contain all the words to do Hank justice because there aren’t any words. There will never be enough words to do him justice.
My eyes take in the bright lights around me, but I’m only drawn to one thing. Something I’veneverbeen drawn to before. Something I never gave much thought to until I met Hank.
I ascend the bluestone steps, gazing up at a place that has never appealed to me in the past, but now, it’s screaming out my name, drawing me in. Pushing open the heavy doors, them creaking in protest, I try to muffle the sounds of my boots on the polished wooden floors as it’s so quiet and calm.
Taking a seat in the back and looking from side to side, I really don’t know what to do next.A middle-aged woman sits two rows across from me, so I watch her.I watch her lips move silently, and as she closes her eyes, a look of serenity and peace colors her cheeks.
Is that what’s supposed to happen? At the end of it all, are we supposed to experience peace?
Taking a deep breath, I slowly drop to my knees and interlace my hands, and…I pray.
“Hi, God. It’s Mia. Long time no speak. I’ll keep it short because I don’t deserve more than a minute of your time. I accept my life for what it is. But I can’t accept the fact that Hank is dead. I don’t understand, and I’m trying really hard to. But I’m angry, and I’m pissed off. Why wasn’t it me? Why did you takehiminstead of me?” I pause, my lip trembling. “It was his funeral today. And I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
Tears fall from my weary eyes, but I silently continue.
“Hank believed in you. But I didn’t. I still don’t. But then I question myself. You must exist to have created someone as beautiful and as kind as Hank. So I’d like to think that wherever he is, he’s happy and with Betty.”
My tears run into my lips and down my chin, but I don’t wipe them away. “If heaven really does exist, then I know he would be there. So please tell him I miss him, and that I…love him.”
A sob escapes me, and I whisper, “Goodbye, Grandpa.”
I don’t know how long I sit, staring at the stained glass window in front of me, but it must be a while. Leaving the church, I feel I’ve made peace with…something. But it’s still not enough. Only when I’m standing over my father’s and Phil’s dead bodies will it be enough.
