Chapter 30 Madison
Madison
Did I sleep last night? Nope. Not a wink.
I tossed and turned for hours before just getting up to clean, because that’s what I do when I get all up in my feelings.
I clean. Was my apartment already immaculate?
Yes, it was, but I scrubbed it again. I even scoured the oven.
Not only was I out of control, but I probably need therapy.
While I clean, I wallow in my shame spiral. Every mean, derogatory thing I said about Liam rolling around in my head, over and over like a film reel. Every thoughtless word, my disparaging tone of voice, and the absolute derision I displayed. It was awful. I was awful.
“If you had, then maybe this team wouldn’t act like a bunch of frat boys.”
I cringe as I roll my words through my head again. They’re on a loop in my brain like a catchy song you can’t stop singing.
“So why didn’t you listen?”
“He’s a man-child and no woman wants that.”
Jesus, I’m the absolute worst. Why do I say things like that?
Things I don’t mean. What’s the matter with me that I can’t just shut the hell up?
I mean, I’m aware I do this. When I’m embarrassed or sad and I can’t deal, I go straight to anger.
It takes over, and God forbid someone comes back at me.
Because then it’s on and I am merciless in destroying them before they can destroy me.
My logic is all kinds of messed up. I know, and I’ve been trying to work on it.
Believe me, I’m intimately acquainted with my issues.
Do you really? Because you obviously keep doing this, so you haven’t really been working on them. Have you?
This whole anger issue is something that Kenji and I have discussed before.
He thinks that I’m furious about my parents dying and leaving me with all the responsibility.
He also thinks I resent Walker for being the golden child.
He says because I’m ignoring my unresolved rage, it comes out sideways.
He’s right, and I’m fully cognizant that it’s an issue, but I can’t seem to fix it.
If I’m honest with myself, which I’m clearly avoiding, not only did I not handle it well, but I’ve let it fester.
It’s five a.m. and I’m scrubbing my toilet, which at this point is probably pristine.
The apartment smells like cleaning products, and the hair in my nostrils is burning from the bleach.
My eyes are red and puffy from crying, but I’m sure the bleach isn’t helping.
I’ve been sitting on the cold tile of the bathroom floor for the last ten minutes, basically swearing at myself when Ace whines loudly.
He’s lying just outside the bathroom door on the floor, eyes soft, head cocked as if he’s trying to figure out what’s going on with me.
He gets up and stretches before coming up to me to nuzzle my hand with his soft, wet nose.
I’m so busy haranguing myself that I haven’t paid him any attention tonight.
Pulling his big, hairy butt onto my lap, I bury my face in his long, soft fur.
He puts his head on my shoulder when I hug him, and it’s just the sweetest thing.
We humans do not deserve the love that we get from our pets, but Ace gives it to me anyway.
Even though I don’t deserve it. Even though I’ve hurt the people I love with my inability to deal with my shit. Even though I’m the asshole.
I give him one last squeeze and then I pull myself up off the floor with every ounce of willpower I possess. Enough of this. I have work later today, and as a business owner, I don’t get to take a sick day. I can’t think about this anymore, so I drag my exhausted ass to bed.
Ace settles next to me, and I throw an arm over him, needing his warmth to get me through. He stands, circling until he’s got the position he wants, right up against me. I fall asleep with a mouthful of dog hair, and I don’t even care.
What is that relentless noise? Why won’t it stop? My head is foggy, and it takes longer than it should for me to realize that the noise is my alarm clock. It’s been going off for a while, and it’s already close to nine.
Shit! I’m going to be late. My first class is at nine-thirty. It’s only downstairs, but I still need to open up and set everything up for class. I drag myself out of bed and over to the coffeepot.
After starting it, I rush through my shower, sprinting around my apartment until Ace and I are finally walking out the door at nine twenty-five. Shit, I’m cutting this so close.
I jog Ace over to the first piece of grass I can find.
“Gotta be quick, bud. Mom is super late.”
He does his business quickly. I swear he can read my mind. We make it to the studio door with about two minutes to spare.
There’s a line of people waiting to get in. I rush to unlock the door, almost tripping over my own feet in my haste. I hate being late. It sets such a terrible tone for the rest of the day.
Usually, I open the door about half an hour early because some people prefer to get settled or socialize before class. I apologize to everyone as they walk through the door.
The last woman in line, a sweet older lady named Mary, lays a hand on my arm.
“Don’t worry, dear. We’ve all had day’s like this. These things happen. I’ve learned at my age that world doesn’t end just because your day starts off a bit of mess. You’ve got this!”
I swear to God I almost cry. It’s everything I needed this morning and my motherless self soaks it up.
“Thank you, Mary. I needed to hear that today.” I tell her, eyes glassy from unshed tears.
“I get it, dear. Now you be nice to yourself today. We women are so hard on ourselves.” She pats my back as she wanders into class.
I push back the tears, willpower warring with this deep sadness that bubbles up inside me.
If the cork comes out now, it will explode all over everything.
Jesus, I can’t do this. Not now. I have a class to teach and a business to run.
I ruthlessly shove everything deep down before I wipe my eyes, paste on a smile and head in to teach my class.
The day feels never-ending, but somehow, I manage to get through it. Barely. But it takes all the energy and self-control I have. I’m emotionally and physically drained by the time I climb the stairs to my apartment.
I make it inside, only to do a boneless flop onto my bed.
My place still smells like bleach and cleaning products, but I couldn’t care less.
I am absolutely out of fucks for the day.
Ace crawls up next to me, before lying down and snuffing my hair.
I don’t move. He whines and nudges my arm with his cold, wet nose.
Crap! My boy needs his dinner. I drag myself into the kitchen because no matter how tired I am, I’d never let Ace go without dinner. I’m adding the topper to his kibble when there’s a loud knock on my door.
Fuck my life.
Would it be terrible to pretend I’m not here? I give it some serious thought.
“Maddie bear, open up. I know you’re in there.”
Why is Walker here? He’s the last person I want to see today, well, except maybe Liam.
Keep telling yourself that.
“I’m not home.” I shout back.
“Really, Mads? That’s what you’re going with? We need to talk.”
Ugh. It’s the last thing I want to do, but then again, I’ve been doing things I don’t want to do for years, so I answer the door on autopilot. Blond hair askew and slightly damp, Walker’s smile is tentative. He looks me up and down, then frowns.
“Wow, you look like shit.” That’s my brother, the diplomat.
“Thanks for that.” I inform him as he walks right in. Yeah, come on in, bro. It’s fine.
“Wow this place is immaculate. I can still smell the bleach so you must have been pissed.” Seriously?
“Wow, way to improve my mood. Why are you here?” I glare at him as I slam the door shut. Not sure if I’m more pissed off that he walked in without an invitation or if it’s simply the fact that he’s here. Both probably.
“What do you need, Walks? It’s been a long day, and I’m exhausted. Can this wait until tomorrow?” I flop down heavily on the couch.
“I can see that, and no, it can’t.” He says as he sits down beside me. I simply stare at him, annoyance oozing from every pore.
He grimaces at my expression.
“Uh, I thought we should maybe talk about a few things.” Fantastic. Now he wants a heart to heart.
“Fine. Talk.” He looks uncomfortable, restlessly shifting around in his seat before glancing away and reaching down to pet the dog instead of talking. We sit in awkward silence for a few minutes before he says.
“I swear I’m not trying to be a dick, but I can tell you’re mad at me and you have been for a while. A long while.”
My head pops up to meet his gaze. Not what I was expecting.
“I’m fine.” I say.
“But you’re not, Mads. You’re really not. You’re mad. All the time and I think it’s my fault.”
“What?” I’m stunned by that statement.
“I remember... before. When mom and dad dragged you to my games, I know you hated it. And I know that hockey meant you never got to do stuff you wanted to do. I saw the way they never paid attention to you and I’m sure that really sucked for you.”
I don’t say anything because I can’t. We’ve never talked about this.
The “before” time when they were alive. Because it sucked, and who wants to say shit like that after they died?
People die and then suddenly they’re saints.
No matter what really happened. Even us.
We just pretended that “before” everything was fine. Great even.
I remember everything everyone said at the funeral. All of it.
“They were such wonderful parents”
“So supportive of their children.”
Every single thing people said to me at the funeral was a lie, and it proved to me beyond a shadow of a doubt that no one would speak the truth and they wouldn’t want to hear mine. Eventually, I let the tears flow so people would stop talking to me. Pro tip. No one wants to talk to the criers.