Forty-Two - Rome
M y bedroom is dark, just like my mood, as I lay in bed with all of the blinds closed and the curtains drawn. The TV plays a show on mute, but even the movement of the character’s mouths on screen annoys me to no end. I can't be happy right now. All I know is the pain I feel. All I know is the pain I've caused. All I know is the pain I deserve for being so lost—so turned upside down by my own grief that I would deny happiness to someone who loves me.
Nia loves me. She said it … and I believe her. I wish it wasn't true because it scares me so much. It’s why she called me a coward. She was right. I am a coward, but acknowledging it doesn't make it any easier to separate myself from it, because fear has its arms wrapped around me like a fucking bear hug. I feel it squeezing me every day, crushing my spirit as well as my lungs so that I can't breathe or feel anything. I tried to let go of it so that Nia and I could be happy together, but its grip is too strong. Now I've broken the heart of the woman I'm quite possibly meant to be with.
No one knows what it’s like to be torn like this. To have Nia on one side—gorgeous, perfect, funny, smart, strong-minded, and loving. She is everything I could ever want in a woman, and it makes no sense whatsoever to choose anything over her, but especially fear.
On the other hand, I have the memory of the only woman I've ever allowed myself to love. Natalia was perfect, too. She made me feel things I didn't know I could, and we were happy until the moment she left this life. We were in love the entire time, and that love did not die with her. I will always love her in one way or another, no matter how much time goes by. But holding onto her memory and allowing it to control my life now is … I don't even know what the fuck it is. Lunacy? Ridiculous? Pathetic? Illogical? All of the above? No matter the adjective used to describe the trap that is our happy memories, I can't let go of her. Five years later, I still feel unable to move on.
And then there is love. I loved both of my parents. They were my entire world, and I don't say that out of obligation. I loved them dearly. We were the kind of family that knew how to laugh together, and chose to do it on a daily basis over stressing out about the troubles of life. We genuinely enjoyed each other’s company, so when Mom died it broke my father and I. To say that we mentally struggled after her death would be an understatement, but we still had each other. We leaned on one another even more, still finding ways to laugh when crying felt much more reasonable, and we did everything together. We were inseparable … until death came for him, too.
My mother was taken from us by a car accident. My wife, stolen from me by a random brain aneurysm. My father, cut down by a heart attack that showed no signs that it was coming before bursting his most vital organ like a balloon in his chest. I loved them all more than could be explained by an encyclopedia of words, and they all died premature deaths and left me on this godforsaken planet to fend for myself. All of them—my world’s most important people—snatched away from me. Why would I ever allow myself to feel that pain again, when I'm still broken from all of the times before?
The ringing of my doorbell splits my head open. My soft pillow feels more like a cinder block after the drinks I had last night before bed, and now the tune that plays from the doorbell is a fucking foghorn. I try to wait it out, refusing to even lift my head up, let alone answer, but the foghorn blares again and again.
“Fuck,” I whisper as I slowly drag myself out of the bed and walk at a snail’s pace to the door. From down the hall, I can see that it is Nikola through the glass, and just seeing him makes me want to break down. He is the last family I have left, and I hate and love him for it, but I would never turn him away, even after an argument.
When I unlock the door, I don't bother conversing in the doorway. I turn the deadbolt and pop the door open, then walk away as he enters and closes it behind him.
“Well, you absolutely look like shit, Rome,” he says as he follows me into the living room.
I slowly lower myself onto the couch and lay my head on a pillow, agony filling my entire body like a cup running over.
“Haven't heard from you in a few days,” Nikola goes on, sitting across from me on the ottoman. “Isabella and I tried to reach out to you on the anniversary, remembering how hard the day always hits you, and when we didn't get a response or a call back we started worrying. Considering the way you look, I assume things haven't gone well since you stormed out of our house. Are you okay?”
“What does it look like?” I ask, keeping my eyes closed to avoid the light from the sun through the door and windows.
“Oh, it looks like you died and failed at coming back to life. You're like a zombie that couldn't quite make it. You're a zom . Get it? Halfway there.”
“I get it, idiota ,” I say, but I don't have the energy to make it sound insulting. “Did you come all this way to torture me?”
“I told you, Isabella and I were worried about the anniversary and the lack of communication from you. The wife practically demanded that I come over here and make sure you hadn't done anything stupid. She’ll be glad to know that you haven't ended it all, but from the looks of it, you still may have done something stupid.
“You've always struggled on the anniversary of Natalia’s death, but you’ve managed to piece yourself back together again by the end of the next day. Here you are three days later, still wearing pajamas that you clearly haven't changed in days, smelling like farts and cheap wine, with no lights on in the hall you just shuffled down, which leads me to believe that you're lying in your room in the dark like a fucking vampire. Sound about right?”
I frown, but it only makes my head hurt worse. “Oh, my god. Who are you? La polizia ? I’m suffering enough, officer. I don't need to feel any worse. Then again, maybe I deserve to.”
“You see there?” Nikola says, getting up from the ottoman and sitting next to me. “Why would you say that? Even on the day that is your saddest of every year for the last five years, I've never heard you say that you deserved to suffer. So what happened?”
“Do you even know how annoying you are?”
“I don't want to hear that shit from you. You come to my home for dinner and lose your shit at my wife over her wanting to see you—her friend for years—be happy. You stomp out of the house and leave us crying in your wake, then have the nerve to tell me I’m annoying. I know there has to be mirrors somewhere in this big, new house for you to look in.”
“The sound of your voice is nails on a chalkboard.”
“Good. What happened?”
“She told me she loved me,” I blurt out. “God, you insufferable prick. On the five-year anniversary of Natalia’s death, Nia told me that she loved me. We got into it with some asshole at the bar, and I stepped in to defend her. Knocked the guy out cold before we ran out of there and went back to her place. I guess seeing me protect her put her deep inside of her feelings, and she told me that she was in love with me.”
“So you ended it,” Nikola says as a statement, not a question.
“Yes. I ended it.”
Silence rests over us for a moment before Nikola speaks again, but now there is anger in his voice.
“Rome, as your best friend, I'd like to say something to you,” he begins. “And also as your best friend, you can't try to throw me out or storm back into your sad little lair back there. I simply want you to listen and absorb the words I'm about to say—words you desperately need to hear. Okay?”
I sigh, more focused on sitting still so my head will stop throbbing. “Fine.”
“Cool,” he says calmly, then he snaps. “You're a fucking idiot.”
My eyes fly open. “What?”
“Don't talk. I told you to just listen,” he says, pointing his finger in my face. “You are a fucking idiot, and a little bit of an asshole. I love you, man, but it’s true. You were with that girl for a few months, spending all of your time with her, doing everything couples do. I saw how happy you were. It was written across your face like permanent marker. Isabella saw it, too. You were finally starting to move on and allowing happiness to enter your life. But because the anniversary came up again, you chose to sink. You chose to give up and let your fear win, and the fact that you made that choice instead of choosing love makes you a fucking idiot.”
“Fuck. What the fuck do you want from me, Nikola?”
“For you to stop being a bitch!” he barks. “And for you to start being the man that Natalia fell in love with.”
I sit up and stare at him, anger bristling beneath my skin. “Don't start talking about things you know nothing about.”
“Oh, please. Try that silly shit on somebody who hasn't known you their entire life. But me ? I was there. I know who you were back then. I knew your sense of humor. I saw your humility. I witnessed your strength. I was in awe of your determination and will power, defying your father's wishes for you to become a part of his businesses and staking your own claim. I knew you, which means I knew the Rome that Natalia fell in love with. She married the powerful, motivated, fearless version of you that I remember, and she would run from this terrified, small man that you have become.”
“You better be careful with the next words you say, Nikola,” I warn, but tears sting my eyes as realization dawns on me. I put every ounce of my effort into fighting them back, but I’m too weak. They win easily and begin pouring from my face as Nikola continues to read me like a book I never wanted to open myself.
“When your mother was tragically taken from this world, you were nineteen years old. You wished your mother was alive to see you walk down the aisle with Natalia, but you didn't let it stop you from walking. You were stronger then. You've allowed fear to consume you, man—to weaken you—and you and I both know neither your mother, Natalia, or your father would recognize this timidness in you. None of them would want to see you like this, Rome.
“You used to smile and laugh like it was your favorite thing to do. Now, making you smile is like pulling teeth. At least, it was before you met Nia. She brought your smile back. You knocked out a stranger in a bar for her, so it’s safe to say she brought your fire back, too. She made you happy, bro … and it’s okay to let go of Natalia and accept happiness with Nia. Because you don't have to be willing to say it in order for both me and Isabella to know it. You love her, Rome.”
The sound of the word sends a spike through my heart that makes the tears fall faster.
“You don't know what you're talking about,” I force myself to say, fighting with all of my strength to hold onto the fa?ade.
Nikola doesn't even bother arguing with me. He simply stares at me with his head tilted. “Yes, I do. Lie to yourself all you want, but don't lie to me.”
As I stare at the truest friend I've ever had, the walls I’ve built around my heart begin to crumble. The fear remains, but I allow myself to become more open, and it lets a rush of emotion in.
“But what if something happens?” I ask, unable to even maintain eye contact as I cry like a baby. “What if she dies just like the rest of them?”
“Did the years you spent with Natalia mean nothing to you? Or were they the happiest years of your life and the fondest memories that you have?”
Sniffing, I say, “You know the answer.”
“I do. So are you willing to give up having the happiest years of your life over the fear that it might not end well? You'd rather be miserable than risk it all for a lifetime of bliss? You're an idiot, Rome, but nobody is that big of an idiot.”
While I cry, my emotions waging a war against one another inside my heart, Nikola scoots close and puts his hand on my knee. I see tears in his eyes, too, and I realize how much this means to him. I’m in awe of him because he has everything already. He has a wonderful wife that he gets to spend the rest of his life with, with plans to have children in the near future. He has a great job and money to spend. He has it all, yet he is still concerned for me. He still wants to see me happy, even after all of the craziness I have brought to his doorstep. This is what true friendship looks like. This, too, is love. I've tried to run from it, but it has always been here, keeping me afloat when I felt like giving up and letting myself drown.
“Let me ask you a question,” he says. “If your mother and father were here right now, and they asked you a simple question, would you lie to them?”
“Of course not,” I answer, wiping tears from my wet face. “But what’s the question?”
Nikola sighs, staring me directly in the eyes.
“The question is … do you love Nia?”
My face crumples into an unrecognizable mess as I begin to bawl like a baby. I cry my eyes out, terror ripping through my core as I think about the last time Natalia smiled at me. I remember the way she sounded when she told me she loved me, and the way her arms felt around my body as she held me close. I know she would want to see me happy. Just like Mom. Just like Dad. Just like Isabella. Just like Nikola.
I close my eyes, squeezing more tears out as I nod.
“Yes,” I finally allow myself to admit. “Yes, I love Nia.”
Nikola grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze.
“Good,” he says, nodding as a single tear slides down his cheek. “Now what are you going to do about it?”