Chapter 4
Elena
London, England
Is it weird that my mind occasionally still goes to the guy at the bar? Gabriel.
I am not the type of person who gets attached easily when it comes to quickies. Not that I have ever had one but I guess you can count the incident at the bar as one.
I hate attachments because for me attachments stay for a really long time because I have a hard time saying goodbye to people, I think that is also one of the many reasons I can’t let go of Ben because I have known him so long and saying goodbye is like losing a part of my life since he has been there since high school. Almost a decade.
“Will you finally tell me what the hell happened at the club?” Reneé pesters me and also tries bribing me to tell her what happened with Gabriel at the club and truth to be told I wanted to tell her but I am not ready for some reason.
Since last night I have been fighting myself into opening my god damn mouth and spit it out but for some reason no words come out when I want to.
This is the first time I am ever saying no to someone and it hurts. I don’t know why. Could be because it is Reneè, my best friend for years, the second person I tell every news to after my Mama.
But I am standing my ground with this and will not tell her. Maybe not until my mum knows. I think after that I will cave and also tell her.
“No way.” I pack my bag in the compartment above my seat and close it shut, sitting down on my window seat and Reneè next to me. It’s time for our flight back home, every passing second makes me even more anxious because that means a passing minute closer to the new job and I am scared.
I did not have the best experience at my last workplace. Mostly men working there who believed they are an alpha so they kept ordering me around and made me their coffee bringer and made me do anything but the real work I signed up for. I quit after a few months of working there and went on the hunt for a new one and thankfully found this assistant offer and was invited to an interview and now the job. Still praying that this new place means I can leave the old one behind and never be on coffee duty again.
“Why not? You should have seen yourself, red as a tomato and your lipstick smeared all over your lips like you just had the best make out session of your life.”
“Maybe I did.” I mumble under my breath.
“Oh my god, what?”
“What?”
“You made out with a guy?”
“I never said that.”
“You just did, k?z?m.” girlie
“Okay maybe but that is all the information you are getting. And since when do you know Turkish?”
“Firstly, you always call me that and I am a fast learner and Turkish drama show. And second, not fair, I told you every detail when I was with Charles, why can’t you?”
“I never forced you to.”
“Yeah but-”
“Nooo,” I sing the syllable.
“Fine, be like that.” She crosses her arms over her chest, trying and rather failing to ignore me and goes back to herself and talks to me a minute later and we discuss what happened over the course of the weeks we were in Monaco.
Even if I hate to admit that it hurts, I hate when anyone ignores me when I say something stupid.
It all brings me back to when I was in preschool and my friends would not let me play with them at recess because I said something I don’t even remember saying.
I always say water under the bridge to myself every time someone ignores me after I say something stupid. Truthfully, at this point I am not sure who I am trying to convince that it is all water under the bridge because I can never leave it under the bridge.
In my worst moments, my mind likes to rewind all the bad memories and these happen to be one of my weakest ones because even though it happens so often, it feels like my heart is being ripped out every time and every time the pain is worse and expands more in my chest than I want to admit.
I never told Reneè that I feel hurt when she does that because I have been a burden to her enough and I hate having to put more on her because I get hurt too easily.
I should just suck it up.
That’s how life is.
***
“Filha,” my mum greets me in Portuguese at the front door as soon as I step in.
After I stopped by my apartment and made sure that everything was packed away and cleaned, I made my way straight to my parent’s apartment that is fifteen minutes away from me. It may sound like I am a little girl but I can’t believe I survived two weeks without them. I always visit right after work. I love the bond my parents and I have and they might be my biggest supporters through life.
And my heroes.
I always saw my parents as heroes growing up because they used to always sacrifice everything for me to have a perfect education, perfect life and even when we were short on money, they always made sure I got the toy that I wanted.
Now I am doing everything to make sure they have everything even if they don’t accept my money, I force it on them. Especially in a time like this, I want to help as much as possible.
My mum needs assistance during the time my dad isn’t home because he is busy running his grocery store a little outside the city. My mum has had CF since she was diagnosed when she was four months old. She was a high risk and it is true that most cystic fibrosis patients don’t survive until their fifties. It‘s the least to say that I am scared. My dad works overtime at his shop to make sure he can pay all the bills.
During the time when my dad is at the shop and I am at work, a caretaker looks after my mother and assists her during the day. My mum was all against hiring someone to take care of her because she hates feeling hopeless but since I am the one who hired and pays the caretaker, she cannot say much.
Even if they don't accept my money, I pay as much as I can monthly to help them.
“You are back already?” She asks me in Portuguese. My mum can’t speak English. She understands the basics and all but she mostly communicates with us in Portuguese or Turkish since both of them are her mother tongues.
“I couldn’t stay away from you much longer, Mama.” I hug her as I make my way to her and help her get back on her bed. Doctors advise her not to move too much, so I always try to keep her from moving too much every time I am here. I cook her food, massage her feet because they seem to be hurting her the most.
“Are you excited for your new job?”
“Honestly, no.” I chuckle at my own joke and guide the spoon to her mouth with the fresh chicken soup that I made her. I mostly make her soup because she loves it and also because it’s the only edible thing I can cook without anything going wrong like burning something. I admit I am not a good cook.
My phone rings in the back pocket of my jeans and I flash my mum a short smile, place the bowl on the table and take my phone out as I walk away.
Only to see a random number calling me.
Ben must think I am stupid to not recognize his number, does he? Or maybe I am the stupid one for actually remembering his number.
I decline his call and throw my phone on the sofa that is five metres from me and sit back down on the stool next to my mother. I don’t have time for his bullshit nor the patience or the strength because this all still hurts like the first month.
I hate relationships for this specific reason.
But it was time that I leave him and now I just have to move on.
“Who was that?”
“Ben.”
“Block his ugly ass.” she says and I choke on my own saliva. We both laugh at her fast response to his name.
“Mama, you can’t say stuff like that.”
“I can and I am. Now continue telling me about this new job after you blocked him.”
I roll my eyes at her in a playful way . When I switch topics again in my head, it makes a crippling anxiety rise on my skin thinking of the new job. Change is also one of the things I can't tolerate. I like being known in a place and I hate being a stranger to a place. “I’m scared. Scared that it will be just like the old one.”
“Lena,” she calls out my name and it is such a bittersweet feeling because I will never know when it will be the last time she will say it to me. Just the mere thought makes my eyes water and it feels like a stab to the heart. I set the bowl back on the table and try to gather myself.
Why am I thinking like this? She is here and that is all that matters at the moment.
My mum notices the change in my mood immediately and tries to cheer me up with words. “You are such a bright soul, filha, knock them off their seats like you always do. They will love you and if not I will personally come there and knock them off their seats.”
I laugh at her as she is trying to cheer me up with her jokes but at the same time they aren’t jokes because she would do that. “And if they send you on coffee duty, even just once. Call me and I will bring them my special coffee.”
“Ones that you loaded with chilli? Just like on my last day at the old job?”
“You know it, minha filha.” my daughter
“I will make sure to keep it in mind.” I laugh with her as she keeps telling me all her ideas on what she will do if they treat me poorly.
I stay with my mum until my dad comes back at eight pm and I complain to him that he is working too much and he needs to take a break, but given my dad’s trust issues, he doesn’t trust anyone with the store. I am an only child so I always had the pressure from myself to do as best as I can in life. My parents never put pressure on me, I am the one myself who puts pressure on me. My mum always told me to marry rich and never worry about working because she thinks I am too pretty to work. And while I appreciate such a comment, I love working , knowing the money that I get is from hard work and not a husband.
Growing up I was never really scared of anything; I had my dad who was and still is my hero in shining armours. But with the years passing by and days passing by faster, I get more and more scared of the thought that one day, my mum will say my name for the last time.
She will get better.
I know it. She is a fighter.
I always tell myself that to make me feel better, yet nothing is ever good or okay. Feelings vary like life does, but I hate that I feel sad all the time.
Every time when I feel like life is okay again, then my walls cave in again and all thoughts gather. Not good ones. Especially the ones that remind me that one day my mum will leave me and I get to see that it is the cycle of life but not… not due to CF. She deserves a peaceful life, not one in pain.
I want to see my Ma grow old like she always told me she will and I hope that I will see her like the grandma she always talks about.
My apartment has become my safe space when it comes to dealing with my anxiety and my moments. Most of the time I just have small attacks and get over them like I should in a few minutes. The worst ones are the ones that are quiet because I feel like if anyone saw me, they would tell me to suck it up because it is not that bad.
The moments where my anxiety is acting up, are the moments where I feel the loneliest and most isolated because in those short-term moments, I feel like my walls that I built up to camouflage the panic, are crashing down.
What they don’t understand is that I feel like I want to throw up and I lose all control of my body. It’s like fighting your enemy but with anxiety, you are your own worst enemy.
I shake uncontrollably as I shut my apartment door and I lean against the wood door, trying to keep gathering my thoughts and myself to walk to my room but I feel too weak to do that.
I slide down against the door, tears threaten to break out and I take a few deep breaths as I sit on the cold floor, clutching my chest as the pain expands in my chest, hot tears scald, sliding down my cheeks in fiery lines as I couldn’t keep them back anymore.
My heart hurts so bad.
I have this heavy feeling in my heart all the time and no matter how much I cry it out, it intensifies each day.
Like it could explode any time. Like a bomb is plastered there and the second go by faster than ever and I am in a panic to wire it correctly so it will stop fucking ticking.
It never does.
It never stops ticking.