Chapter 34
Ryan
Four Years Ago
It has been exactly one year since the last time I saw Scarlett, almost to the minute. I’ve been counting. Scratching the days off with unhinged tally marks on the wall like a prisoner. It’s an exaggeration, but sometimes I feel like I might as well be. Every day feels like torture. Long and arduous, each one more bleak than the last, because with each day, I’m more sure she’s not coming back.
I used to dream of her showing up at my apartment unannounced. I’d take her into my arms and tell her everything was okay, that as long as we were together, everything would be fine.
I was angry, but not at her. Never at her. I just couldn’t understand what made her just disappear, as if she had never been there in the first place.
But she never showed up. Never answered my texts. Never sent a single word to anyone—not me or Trina. I even called Mandy and her other friends, but they hadn’t heard from her and didn’t seem like they wanted to. Mandy sounded a little upset, maybe even guilty, but wouldn’t tell me why. She just said she hoped I found her, and that was that.
I make a habit of walking by her condo every so often. Not in a creepy way. But I want to see her. I need to see her. On the anniversary of her disappearance, I take one such walk, glancing upward toward her windows as casually as I can.
Scarlett isn’t up there. Of course she’s not. But there is a red sign that makes me trip over my feet. My knees hit the concrete sidewalk with a painful smack, but I don’t even feel it.
CONDO FOR SALE, UNIT 406
Unit 406 is Scarlett’s number. She put her condo up for sale.
Is she back? Did she come back and not tell me? Has anyone heard from her? Surely someone has if her condo is for sale.
With shaking hands, I find Trina’s number in my contact list. I must look like I’ve lost it, kneeling on the sidewalk in the middle of the day, trying not to cry, but I don’t even care.
“Ryan?” Trina answers, her cheerful voice coming through the speaker pressed to my ear. “It’s been a while. How are you?”
“Was Scarlett back? Is she back?” I don’t even try to keep the desperation out of my voice. Even if she didn’t call me, if I can just find her…
“Not that I know of,” she says cautiously. “Why?”
My heart drops to the bottom of my chest. “I’m outside her condo. It’s for sale.”
Trina curses quietly. I hear muffled voices behind her, then a scraping noise as she covers the phone and says something, then it’s quiet again. “Oh, Ryan. I’m so sorry. I swear I haven’t heard from her. I would tell you if I had. I know how you felt about her.”
“Feel,” I grind out, trying desperately to hold back angry tears. “How I feel about her.”
There’s silence for a moment before she sighs. “You didn’t ask for my advice, but I’m going to give it to you anyway. It’s been a year, Ryan. I know it’s hard. I’m hurting, too. I lost a friend, and I know that’s not the same, but…it sucks, okay? Still…if I were you, I’d try to move on. If Scarlett wanted to be found, we’d have found her, you know?”
I like to consider myself a rational, adult man. But there is nothing rational for me when it comes to Scarlett. My love for her is so deep and so ferocious that it has only grown in her absence. Giving up on the idea of her coming back to me is unfathomable.
The tears burst free then. I crumple forward, curling into myself as if I can wrap my body around my heart and protect it. The noises escaping me sound inhuman, even to my ears. The desire to punch something rises so violently within me, but there’s nothing around but concrete and steel. I can’t imagine what Trina is hearing over the phone, but she waits it out. I don’t even know how long I kneel there, crying.
“I know,” she croons when my sobs have subsided. “I fucking know. God, this is awful.” She sniffles as if she’s crying, too. “Do you need me to come get you?”
I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and take a trembling breath. “No. I think I’m going to walk. Clear my head.”
“Okay. It was good to hear from you, Ryan. Call me if you need me, okay?”
“Sure,” I say before hanging up.
Getting myself off the sidewalk is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. The last time I felt this way was when my dad died. Grief is heavy. Loss is a familiar weight, but it still wants to drag me down until I’m lying prostrate on the sidewalk, unable to move or breathe or think.
As wonderful as it sounds to become one with the Earth, I need to get up. This is not a good look for me. People walking by are starting to give me a wide berth and clutch their children closer to them. And if I don’t move, I might actually drive my fist into the sidewalk. A different kind of pain might feel good for a second, but the only real result would be a broken hand.
I force myself to my feet and start walking aimlessly. I don’t know how long I walk. Half an hour, maybe? I find myself passing by a tattoo parlor. The three guys inside are all sitting around, chatting. They don’t look very busy.
Tattoos have never really appealed to me, but something tugs at me to go in. Maybe if this internal pain could be external for a little while, I’d feel better. And this is a way to do that without breaking my hand. It could be cathartic. Without giving it too much thought, I pull the door open and enter.
“What can we do for you?” one of the guys asks. He’s a big, burly man, and almost every inch of his skin is covered in intricate designs. On a normal day, I might actually be intimidated by him, but not today. Today I’m too pissed off and sad to feel anything else.
“I’d like a tattoo, if you have an opening.”
The man eyes me up and down, assessing. I’m sure they have a policy about not tattooing people who look like they’re in the wrong state of mind to make permanent decisions, but he must see something in me that makes him give a sharp nod. “Sure. What did you have in mind?”
I don’t have anything in mind. The only thing I have in mind is Scarlett, but it would look far too desperate to tattoo her face on my arm. Besides, I don’t know if I could look at that every day.
Words that are as much a part of her as they are of me rise up from my heart. I close my eyes as they wash over me. I’m sure I look delirious as I recite them in the middle of a tattoo parlor to three of the biggest men I’ve ever met, but I don’t care.
“ This was one of those moments when there was a clear before and after. She was never going to be the same again. Those minutes and hours in the time before seemed to stretch out of reach now. She was never going to get them back. There was only forward. Only what was ahead of her. And she had to face it. ”
Silence falls over the shop. When I open my eyes, they’re all staring at me. But instead of telling me to leave and come back when I’m in my right mind, every one of them nods as if they completely understand.
“That’s nice, man. Where did it come from?” the burly guy asks.
“A book.” I clear my throat. “I’m an editor.”
“You got a design you like?”
I shake my head and huff a laugh. “No. Honestly, I didn’t even know I was doing this until I walked in.”
He narrows his eyes pensively, then motions for me to come back to his chair. “I got you,” he says.
And for the next several hours, he does have me. He takes such care to do the passage justice, and as he inks Scarlett’s words permanently onto my skin, I can’t help but feel this is also one of those moments with a clear before and after. I won’t walk out of here a new man, but giving my internal pain an external outlet is freeing in a way. I can see why people do this.
When I cry, he lets me. He must sense it’s not about the pain from the needle, because he doesn’t stop after the first time he asks me if I’m okay. When he’s done, he wipes away the blood and extra ink and assesses his work.
“She’ll always be with you,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “This is just a reminder.”
“Yeah,” I say, choking back more tears. “Thanks.”
After I pay the guy and leave, I expect to feel different, and I do in some ways. But in others, everything is exactly the same. Scarlett left. She’s not coming back. And now, somehow, I need to find a way to move on.