Without Scars (26 page)

Fallon: Nope. Parents read in the newspaper about the overprescribing of medication to my generation.

Fallon: Like, who the fuck even reads the paper anymore?

Fallon: Anyway, they had my main Dr. Etch-A-Script pull me off the meds for a time and they dumped what I had left over. Son of a bitch.

“Go to the fucking hospital,” Ghost said.

I held a smirk on his reflection as I swung my bag up to my shoulder. “Come on, dude. You do way worse shit than I do.” Ghost returned a grimace of frustration then strode to my side.

Did you really need them?
I asked Fallon.

Fallon: Not really. I needed the other Chloe bag they were going to eventually pay for.

Me: You want your pot back then? Is our deal off?

Fallon: Nah. I’ll get more meds soon enough. I’m working on a way to grow my business. I’m recruiting as we speak. Cooler than your story, probably.

Fallon: Try Elliott. I’m testing him out right now anyway.

Fuck. That kid was weird. He didn’t have Fallon’s finesse. I
had
to go get my bottle at some point. But why had I taken it out of my bag, anyway?

I stumbled backward into the wall from Ghost’s hard push. “Your dad, you fucking dumb as fuck
fuck
. Your fucking dad!”

“What? Did something happen to him?” I scrolled through my missed call log, but there was nothing from my mom or my sisters, and I aimed a confused look at him.

“Not Vikram, you
fucking
idiot. Bio.
Bio.
” It clicked in a beat. My biological father died of cardiac arrest in his early forties. “Stop taking those pills and go to the fucking hospital.”

I wasn’t going to the hospital, but I wish I had done anything other than what I did next.

****

I went to Nikki’s after two A.M. a few days later, because I knew from Facebook she was still at SoBe rehearsal. Instantly, sadness hit me. This place was choked with ghosts of us.

Honestly, everywhere was.

She’d folded my clothes and assembled my personal belongings and left them on her desk. After I put them in the duffel bag I’d brought, I tried to figure out where my bottle of pills was. No luck. But that was hundreds of fucking dollars missing, so I’d have to come back.

The front door opened and shut right as I started walking out of the room, and I froze. Everything inside me twisted when I saw her. She was tossing her shit all over the place, looking tired as she wrung one of her wrists. Then she snapped her bra open, pulled it out from under her shirt, and threw it to the couch.

“Hey…” I said.

She scrambled backward and slammed herself against the fridge. “Jesus
fuck
, Charlie…you scared me.”

“Sorry.” I looked at the clock. “How much longer are these late nights going to last?”

She shrugged, inspecting me with a hard look. “Rehearsal ran long tonight, and then a few of the girls and I decided to stay and work on a difficult piece we have coming up for SoBe’s anniversary. I choreographed a section of it, and everyone doesn’t have it down yet.”

“You’re choreographing? That’s so awesome, Nik.”

“Thanks. It’s a trial thing. See how the other girls like what I’m doing.” She shrugged. “There was also a fitting for the new costumes. So that took a while, too.”

I flashed to an image of her naked body. Damn. I knew every inch of her. “I bet they looked
really
good on you.”

“Mine are hot. Yeah,” she said. I shoved my hands into my pockets, too tempted to touch her, and willed my legs to take me to the door. She cleared her throat and I turned around. “I have leftover chicken in the fridge.” Her stoic look didn’t break. Nikki knew my eating habits had been off lately.

“No, get some sleep. I was just getting my stuff.”

“Got everything?”

“More or less.”

“
Less
,” she mumbled as she reached into the fridge and pulled out Tupperware.

“What? What’d you say?”

“You didn’t find what you
really
came here for, did you?” she said with a pointed look.

The pills. Of course, she knew. “You took ‘em?”

“That’s why you’re
really
here, right? Looking for those goddamn pills? I’ve been waiting to see how long it would take you.” Picking up her purse, she pulled out my bottle and gave it a violent shake. The sound echoed around the room. 

Fuck.

She set it on the dining room table and it landed like a hammer. I took careful steps toward her, my eyes shifting between her and the bottle. “Nikki—”

“You smoke pot and you drink recreationally. I can deal with that. Everyone parties. But this? This isn’t partying. This isn’t recreation. So tell me what’s happening. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“I’m not doing anything to myself. We’re almost done with
How to Fuck up a Friendship.
I just need to make it right. There’s so much to make right. Samira’s counting on me. Everyone’s fucking counting on me.”

“Samira? Samira wouldn’t want you doing this! I should tell her, you know. I should tell her what you’re doing. I should tell all your friends.” She picked up the bottle again, brandishing it in the air. “What the fuck are you medicating?”

“Does it matter?” God, I’d fucked this up. It was over. I could see it in her eyes. She was disgusted with me. I was fucking disgusted with me, but…I had to do what I needed to do.

She walked to the sink. “Yes, it does matter.
God,
you know, part of me—the really, really stupid part of me—wants to keep shutting my mouth. Because I just want to love you and be with you and not be worrying about this. I almost want to tell you that we should forget this, and you can kill yourself slowly if you want. You can destroy yourself slowly as long as you’re still here. As long as you hold me. And talk to me. And fuck me. That’s what you asked me to do, isn’t it? Not make a fuss? To just have you?” With a flip of her finger on a switch, the garbage disposal thundered. “You know what’s worse than if you had told me my demons had no place here? You telling me they do and then not really believing it for yourself. You don’t trust me. Have I just been some pet project for you? Something to fix? A cute character you can make look broken in a script and have the hero save her from herself? Because if we’re in this together—”

“Nikki, don’t fucking do it. Please.”

I saw the desperation in her eyes, probably the same look she was facing from me. “Do you understand what our relationship has meant to me? Do you know what having someone who loves me the way you have has meant? I thought we were both open. I thought we were both fully here. But only
my
heart was ever
really, fully
here. I trusted you with everything. And you can’t even—”

“Maybe part of me is fucking ashamed that I need them, okay?” But I needed them. And I wanted them. My muscles burned and my blood was fucking pounding in my ears. My heart rate was still elevated, too. I thought about what Ghost said. Fuck. An arrhythmia—ventricular fibrillation, my mom explained many, many years ago—led to the cardiac arrest that killed my biological dad. Who knows, maybe that bomb was in my chest, too. I had to stay calm.

“Charlie, I am the yardstick of measuring fucked-up things. I almost killed my dad.
My dad.
I left a girl with brain trauma. You were standing right there when my brother told me what Rebecca said. I live with wondering if you think she’s telling the truth because I’m a drunk and maybe I just don’t remember. I
know
shame. I know being ashamed in front of someone I only want to see the best in me.” She switched the garbage disposal off and set the bottle down. “It’s
me. Me.
We’re best friends.” She slapped her chest once and tears made her eyes shine. “And I love you.”

“I love you, too. You can’t be doubting that. This was no project. No plan to fix you.”

“We said good days and bad days. And I was angry a few days ago. I said what I said and my feelings about it are the same, but whatever it is in your head that you are trying to block out, it doesn’t change that I’m yours and you’re mine.
You’re mine, too.
You said we could be inevitable. Well, you’re my goddamn
always
then
. You’re my always, Charlie. You’re mine, too.
I get to protect you and make it safe for you, too. I get to tell you
you’re okay
and you have
me
. You have
me
.
Me.
”

My fears about writing weren’t a car crash or falling out with family, or being with shitty foster parents like Deacon and Ghost or…everything else traumatic other people went through. What was wrong with me just didn’t measure up on that yardstick of fucked-up things. How could she be so sure she’d be supportive,
really
? Maybe she’d get tired of it like Deacon had. “I think you were right about the break for now.”

“Oh, wow.” She exhaled hard. She looked like she might fall, but she caught herself on the counter. “You can shut me out so easily?”

“It was your idea in the first place, Nik. I’m not shutting you out.”

“The fuck you aren’t!” she fired back.

“Just give them to me, Nik.”

“You realize what you’re asking me to do, right? You’re asking me to be okay with this.”

“I’m asking you to let me do my job.”

Nikki picked up the bottle, unscrewed the cap, spilled the pills in the sink, and turned on the water. “Nik. No!” I rushed over. “What the fuck? Why would you do this? Why would you—”

“God. Charlie, look at you! Look at yourself right now!” She tried to push me away from the sink.

“Me? You’re the one who did this…you…” I eagerly scooped the pills up—only one or two had slipped into the drain—cradling them as I ripped a sheet of paper towel from the roll. I dried them off quickly and returned them to the bottle. I backed toward the apartment door. Nikki was on the other side of the room, staring at me like she hated me. “You’re scared of me now?”

“Dump the pills, Charlie. Throw them away
right now
!”

“No fucking way.”

“Okay…then don’t call me. Don’t talk to me. Stay away from me. I’m erasing you from my life. I was surviving before you. It won’t stop now.”

She wanted it to hurt. Because she was hurting.  And my heart was shredded right now, my breaths sputtering out of me. I couldn’t even pretend to mean words like that. Couldn’t think them. “Okay…” I whispered, hand on the doorknob.

“Okay?” She scoffed. “Okay is really all you have to say? That’s all you have to fucking say?” Her entire body was shaking. “After everything, we’re at
Okay?
Wow. Yeah. You should get the fuck out.”

“If you need anything…” I said once I had the door open.

“Fuck you, Charlie!” she yelled as I pulled it shut. “Fuck! You!”

Chapter Thirteen

Nikki

I was masturbating purely for the endorphins. Every day. Like clockwork. When I was alone and my sheets still smelled like Charlie, it was either cry or touch myself. You know how I am about my orgasms, so the choice was obvious. And the world wasn’t
all
that bad when you were coming.

The days weren’t blending at all, though; I was keenly aware of the passage of time. Sunrise. Sunset. Each hour in between. Each moment. I was sleeping too much. Then not at all. Eating too much. Then not at all. Losing him on top of being estranged from my family was a heavy emotional load (Better to have loved and lost, Lord Tennyson? Crock of shit). So, Body Wand some nights. Fingers other nights. Retractable showerhead this evening. Anything to make the pain bearable. To keep my broken insides from spilling out of me in a cry so heavy and wild, I’d be virtually useless to myself.

I was just getting out of the tub—orgasmically happy—when I heard my cell ringing. I ran for it. Maybe it was Charlie. Or I could call him, if it wasn’t. Tell him we didn’t need the break. There were women who loved men who were bad for them every day.

Mariella Dara’s name flashed on my cell’s screen. It hurt that it wasn’t him, that stabbing pain of an expectation falling through. “Hi, Ella.” My tone was flat. I really didn’t want it to be. I liked her.

“Hi, sweetie. I just saw that my burlesque class was cancelled because of a problem in the lounge that hasn’t been fixed yet. I’m assuming you have the night off?”

“Yes, I do.” A light fixture had crashed to the floor during a dance number two nights ago, and then all the electricity went out. We were closed for the next few days, and I could not have been more grateful. It was worth losing out on the money to not have to be dealing with this breakup while pretending to be in a good mood at SoBe.

“How’d you like to have dinner? I’ve been promising for weeks. I know it’s kind of last minute. It’s just that I’m cooking, and this Spotify thing is playing ‘Cell Block Tango’ and I thought of you.” The Sinners had used the song from the musical
Chicago
to teach the burlesque class she attended a dance. “Come over. Please…I would love to have you. Please,” she prodded cheerfully.

I furrowed my brow. “Uh…” Then I realized Charlie probably hadn’t said anything to her about the breakup. I hadn’t told anyone, either. It still felt like we’d only had an argument, and he’d be here in a few minutes. It’d felt like this every day so far.

“I’d love to,” I said to Ella. One pair of jeans and a tank top later, I was in a cab. The Daras owned a condo in Pembroke Pines that they’d gotten for a low price after it was foreclosed on. They mostly rented it out to Florida vacationers, but it was also Ella’s home away from home when she was loaded down with work and really needed the quiet. I could see into the place just a crack when I reached the hallway; the door had been left ajar for me. She was playing Sade, and dressed in jeans and a ‘Leeward Mom’ t-shirt. Mariella Dara was a beautiful woman. Dark eyes and light brown skin. Her eyelashes were fans, her lips a pale pink. She was the kind of woman who lived in her prime: still so tiny in the waist and aging witchcraft slow. I always tried to picture Charlie’s biological dad in my head because there was only a shadow of resemblance between him and his mom.

“Hi, there!” She hugged me like she hadn’t seen me recently and then ushered me farther inside. “I made chili. I was in the mood for something hot. You’re not a vegetarian or vegan, are you? I put a lot of meat in it.” Ella strode to a cupboard and took out the bowls.

“It’s fine. I love chili.” She hummed a tune I didn’t know, as she cleared a large box of files off the small wooden dining table and set the bowls and utensils down. She was eyeing me curiously. I wanted to be here—I could use the company—but I was tense. My heart was skipping louder than the husky sadness of Sade’s voice. What would I say if she brought up Charlie? Or asked about us? Did Charlie even want me to still talk to her? If I had to tell her we broke up, everything would change. Right now I needed the ground to be still. I wanted to hold on to something and have it hold me back. And just squeeze and squeeze. The thing with breakups was that they were made worse by the loss of all the people the other person brought to the relationship: their kind mother, their fun friends.

Thankfully, Ella mostly wanted to talk about me tonight. Through dinner she asked about the musical and SoBe Sexy. She told me about new shows she’d discovered on Hulu. We talked about Ahsha and Pree pretending they wanted to go to separate colleges. The impulse to tell her I was worried about Charlie’s drug use struck me like an itch. But in my own very selfish interest I kept it quiet, so we could keep laughing.

Her phone beeped and she leaned to look at it on the edge of the counter. Instead of answering, she topped off her wine. “These smartphones haven’t made anything easier for anyone, except bosses, who think you’re always on the clock. Lucky for him I love my job.”

“So where are you headed next?” I asked.

“Dallas. Then Austin. I thought I’d have time to come home for a few days before I left
again
to finalize a transaction next week, but the California office is handling a major merger that’s dealing with a lot of the same issues, and they need my assistance apparently.”

“How often do you have to travel?”

“I’m probably gone fifteen or so days out of the month. Now that the girls are older, it’s easier to take on more work that keeps me away often. I like it. Except for when I get that two A.M. FaceTime request from my crying daughter because she doesn’t understand yet that falling in love at her age isn’t always forever, or she doesn’t think she studied enough for her environmental science quiz. Then I just want to be home with them.” I was glad when she got up and walked over to her iPad. I was actually jealous of the warmth for her family radiating off her. I was afraid it would show. “Any music preferences?”

“Jazz is my guilty pleasure,” I admitted.

“What’s wrong with that?” She turned and smiled at me. A new song played, opening with vibrant horns. “It’s very nice to play my music loud without someone shouting that I’m too old for it to be up so high. I grew up an only child. Lots of cousins, but it was just me in my house. Sometimes I need the solitude. Ahsha and Pree are daddy’s girls, anyway, so I don’t even think they notice I’m not there until
catastrophe
happens. I once read that Dr. Maya Angelou kept a hotel room just so she could write, so I’ve been sold on the idea of creating your own special haven for work ever since.” She laughed and my heart splintered. It felt like I was betraying her by not speaking up about Charlie. I swallowed hard. Heat was sitting on top of my skin. I excused myself to the bathroom to splash water on my face.

I never quite made it because I saw into the bedroom when I walked by. There were pictures of Ahsha and Priyanka and Charlie and Vikram in there. Family photos. Candid photos. Snapshots of the life she was away from. This woman carried it with her. Even when she wanted to be alone. She
still
wanted
them. 

Mom. Dad. Tyler. I wanted them to want
me.
Even if I had done a terrible thing.
Especially
because I had done a terrible thing.

But no one wanted me.

Sitting on the bed, I cried. I bawled, really. I couldn’t stop myself. Then Ella’s arms were suddenly around me. She held me tight. She squeezed. I hugged her, too. The tears kept coming—they had started out as sadness but were strangely turning to gratitude that I had someone with me.

“Oh, honey…what’s wrong? Please tell me. What happened?” she said in a desperate whisper. “Tell me what happened.”

“I miss my family. I miss what you have.” Because I still had hope. Stupid fucking hope. And it was
asphyxiating
me. “We aren’t on good terms right now. We haven’t been for a long time. I hurt them. They hurt me. None of us is getting better. There’s just pain. That’s all there ever is.”

Ella held my face in her hands. “And it feels insurmountable.”

I nodded. “Yes. All the time. And I don’t know what to do about it. I hold on to it and it wears me down. It’s…it’s killing me.” When I shuddered, she wiped the tears with her palms. It was such a mom thing to do. I cried harder.

“Well, you’re okay right now. Right here, right now. You just have to breathe.” I did as she demonstrated until I finally had control. My ex-boyfriend’s mother was covered in my tears and snot and baggage, and she was still clinging to me. Eventually I wouldn’t have this anymore. And then my heart would never stop breaking. “Okay, honey, you just tell me what you need. If you want to stay like this right now and just cry, we can do that. If you want to talk, we can do that, too…but I’m here, okay?”

“All of it hurts. I don’t know how to make it better with my family.”

Ella took my hands as a wistful smile pulled her lips. “Has Charlie ever told you about his father? Not Vikram. Oliver. Oliver Madden.”

“Only that he passed away while you were pregnant and he never knew him. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. It’s okay
now
. But the loss…my God…” Her expression turned solemn. “Oliver was just this
light
of a person. Older and
worldly
, too
.
Exceptionally intelligent. And kind. So kind. He was the representative from a company that came to a career fair at Pomona when I was a junior there. I really planned to only ask about internships when I took his business card. Then a phone call led to coffee, and then a real date, and then a relationship I never expected. We married a year after I graduated from college. We were
so
in love and living in Tampa, our first place after I graduated from Yale Law. And for four years everything was great. We had so much to look forward to. We had
Charlie
to look forward to. Then one day my entire world went to hell in the blink of an eye. He was on the bathroom floor. Cardiac arrest at forty-two. He died so suddenly he was still gripping his toothbrush. No time to even drop it.

“I was twenty-nine and pregnant with a baby boy who would never know his father. The love of my life was dead. He would never walk in and say, “Hello, my girl” again. He would never get to see the person our love made. I would go into Charlie’s nursery and stare at the words Oliver said when he took my hand and asked me to marry him:
‘I leave my heart here and feel even more alive.
’ We’d put it on the wall above the crib. Bright blue letters.” Charlie’s tattoo. My pulse clapped under my skin. In my ears. In the air.

“Every day from that moment was a battle for my happiness and I definitely fought. Because of Charlie at first. Then it became for myself. I worked so hard to be better for the both of us. And I got to a good place. Then, just when I thought things couldn’t get better, a sweet pediatrician asked out a widowed mother, they fell in love, they got married, he adopted her three-year-old child without hesitation, and has raised three children that are not biologically his but loves them as if they are. I have a very beautiful life. It’s not perfect, but it’s so beautiful. I couldn’t even imagine any of it back when Oliver died. Now I have a great family and job, I’m healthy, and I’m happy. But it was a fight. Sometimes with medication and a therapist, and sometimes just forcing myself to face the day. I can’t tell you it got easier with time, because I’d be lying. Here’s a secret, Nikki. And as simple as it sounds, it took me years to realize: Pain is
strong.
Be stronger. The world will
not
adjust for you. You have to adapt. Fight with
everything,
like you have no choice. Because you really don’t. Want what’s on the other side more than anything else. Figure out how to get it. That’s how you survive pain.”

****

Charlie

I’m so in love with you, Charlie Dara.

Pathetically. Irrevocably. Ridiculously. Infinitely.

“His nose is fine in case you’re wondering,” Ghost said, yanking me from my thoughts as we pulled up in front of Julian’s. I was surprised he decided to come with me, and I actually felt like shit that he was in the middle of Deacon and me. But the truth was, if Ghost was with me, to Deacon that was the same as making a choice.

“I’m not.” I shrugged. “Haven’t wondered at all.” I eyed my cellphone as we got out of the car, and spotted a missed call and some texts from Elliott.

First one:
So what’s the deal with Fallon? She’s single right?

I made a face. What the fuck did I look like to this kid? Tinder?

Second one:
Hey you said you wanted a thirty-day supply, right?

Third one:
My mom was saying something to me and I forgot.

For fuck’s sake.

Me: Wrong person

Me: Don’t fucking text me anymore.

I was going to call him later, because he was right about the conversation, but this fucking kid was the worst.

“You shouldn’t have punched him,” Ghost said.

“I shouldn’t have waited that long to punch him.” I knocked on the front door. It was always strange to hear silence on the other side, even in the middle of the afternoon. Food smelled great, though. Too bad my appetite was nonexistent. “Sorry but it’s the truth. He fucking hates me.”