54. Opal
FIFTY-FOUR
Opal
B ed rest sucks. After three days of it, I’ve concluded that much. I’ve always been a bit of a homebody, but being forced to stay home and sit is a lot less fun than choosing to do it by your own free will.
My laptop rests on the empty side of the bed beside me, playing yet another episode of That 70’s Show. I’ve been switching between watching Netflix and re-reading my favorite dystopian novel, but as soon as I got to the part where the main character starts having feelings for her opponent I had to put it down. I’m not in the mood for romance, I want to pretend it doesn’t even exist.
I hate that I was foolish enough to let my guard down and let things go that far with Alex again. After I specifically promised myself I wouldn’t.
Truth is, I’m not ready for a relationship. With him or anyone. Maybe I never will be, maybe I’m just too scarred by the past to give that part of myself up again. The thought scares me, I don’t want to be alone. In fact, I know that I want to be with Alex.
I want to raise our baby together, and laugh together, and listen to every new song he writes before anyone else gets to. But I just don’t know how. I feel like I’m broken.
My phone pings and vibrates on my nightstand, alerting me of a new notification. I ignore the sound, not wanting to acknowledge the world outside of my bedroom, but it continues to vibrate, over and over. Grunting a dissatisfied sigh, I reach over and peek at the screen to see who’s calling me.
There’s no name or number on my screen though, just a long list of instagram notifications. As I’m staring at the screen another one pops up, then another.
What the hell?
I unplug the phone and hold it over my face, tapping on one of the many notifications.
52 new followers
104 new likes
My brows scrunch together in confusion. I haven’t posted anything in a few days, and even if I had, I rarely receive this much engagement at one time on here. Most of my posts only receive somewhere between 50 and 100 likes, despite having a decent amount of followers, damn algorithm.
I scroll through the notification tab, shaking my head until I come across one notification that catches my eye because it’s different from the others.
@alexanderson.music shared your post.
My stomach leaps into my throat. I never blocked him from this account, I never thought he’d find it. Even if he did, it wouldn’t matter because he wouldn’t know it was me. I had completely forgotten showing it to him the other night.
I tap on the notification, and Alex’s story pops up. It’s one of my most popular posts, one I’d posted about a year ago.
I want a love that comes easily.
One that won’t slip through my fingers if I forget to grasp onto it.
A love that speaks for itself even in the quiet moments.
I want a love that I don’t have to beg for.
In black font beneath my post he’s added two words: my muse.
I tap on his icon, a photo of him with his face hidden behind his hair and a red electric guitar on his lap. I haven’t actually looked at his profile in years, despite the temptation, because I was terrified of seeing something that would break my heart all over again.
He has over half a million followers now, it’s no wonder why my post is getting so much attention. I want to be upset about it, but I’m not. Deep down, all I’ve ever wanted was to share my writing with the world. Not even because I want to be famous or make money from it, but just because I hope to write something that will resonate with other people and maybe make their day a little bit better.
My eyes scan over his bio and the link to his Spotify account, and then land on his latest post. My heart nearly stops beating when I realize it’s a photo of me. You can’t see most of my face as it’s hidden behind my hair, but it’s obviously me, and anyone that knows me would probably recognize that it is. He must’ve taken the photo when I wasn’t paying attention.
My mouth is curved into a smile, and my eyes are shut tightly, my messy hair falling down in waves that cover half of my face. In the background you can see the gray-green ocean contrasted against the bright blue sky.
I tap the photo to enlarge it, and a massive wave of anxiety hits when I notice the number of likes it has. All of these people are looking at me. I’ve always been fearful of how others might perceive me, and for that reason I’ve never posted a ton of photos of myself on social media. When I tap on the three dots that allow you to read the entire caption, a huge passage of text fills the screen.
Opal, you are the one thing in my life that has always been constant. Unwavering. Impossibly good no matter how many times I pushed you away or hurt you.
Over the last twelve years we’ve been through a countless amount of ups and downs, and most of the downs were my doing. I don’t deserve you, that much I know to my core. You are everything I’ve always tried to be, but failed; kind, selfless, wise.
For a long time I was lost. My world was dark and cold because of the choices I had made, and because I had pushed you out of it, the only person who was able to shed a tiny bit of light. Being around you has reminded me of who I used to be.
I could try for the rest of my life and never be half the person you are, but I promise you I will try anyway.
You’re the face behind every love song I’ve ever written, and no matter how our story may pan out, you’ll always be my muse.
Tears well in my eyes and a lump forms in my throat.
“Knock knock,” Maisie’s voice is muffled from behind my closed bedroom door.
I quickly wipe my wet eyes and close the app, setting my phone face down on the bed. “Come in,” I say.
“I have a care package for you.” She’s carrying a large wicker basket in her hands, smiling and waving it back and forth. “Here,” she says before plopping it down in my lap.
I can’t help but smile at my friend’s attempt at cheering me up, she has impeccable timing. The basket is filled with some of my favorite things: a couple of books, a brand new journal, some colorful gel pens, and two chicken tacos that appear to be from the food truck on main street.
“You’re too good to me,” I say before unwrapping one of the tacos and taking a bite. I’m not supposed to eat a lot of salty foods, so this will probably be my one little cheat meal for the next few days.
“I know.” She flips her hair and smiles before kicking her shoes off and sitting next to me, kicking her feet up onto my bed. “How are things?”
I shrug, continuing to chew on my food.
She gives me a look like she knows something is up. I haven’t told her anything about my trip with Alex, I didn’t even mention that I was at the beach with him. For some reason I’ve felt the need to keep everything close to my chest, afraid that the other shoe would drop at any minute. And I guess it sort of did.
After finishing my food, I place my ‘care package’ on my side table along with my trash. “I’m fine. It’s pretty boring sitting here all day, but I’ll be alright.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “I’ll be here to keep you company through it all.”
“Thanks. Oh and by the way, fuck you for not telling me how shitty this pregnancy thing is,” I playfully slap her arm.
“Hey, my pregnancy was a breeze, I didn’t know I needed to warn you.”
“Ugh. I’m jealous,” I roll my eyes.
“I know, I love you though.” She drapes one arm around my neck and hugs me tight.
“I love you too.”
“Now tell me how you really are. What’s going on with you and Alex?”
I roll my eyes. “Nothing.”
She quirks one brow. “Nothing? You’re having his kid and you’ve been spending time together, I know it’s not nothing.”
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I let out a sigh. “I don’t think it can be anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just too complicated. There’s too much baggage, you know how much he hurt me.” For once in her life, she’s silent, staring at me with nothing but compassion in her amber eyes. “I’m just…scared. I don’t want to feel that way again. Not ever.”
She nods and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I could tell you were crying when I came in here. I wasn’t gonna say anything, but if I need to go kick his ass I will. What’d he do?”
I shake my head. “That’s the thing, he didn’t really do anything. I feel like I’m just too scared to let him back in, almost like I’m searching for reasons to be angry with him.” I reach for my phone and pull up Instagram. My notifications are still blowing up. “He posted this…that’s why I was crying.” I pass the phone to her. “Which doesn’t even make sense, but don’t judge my emotional pregnant ass.”
She smirks and takes the phone from me. Her eyebrows perk up as her eyes scan the screen. “Wow…” she blinks as she stares at the phone in her hand. “That’s…really sweet.”
My cheeks heat, I didn’t expect such a tame reaction from her. Usually I can count on her to be fiery and sarcastic, even in situations like this. “Sure. But does it mean I can trust him?”
“I mean, only you can decide that, but it seems pretty genuine.” She hands the phone back to me, and I glance down at the screen again. “What are you really afraid of?”
My eyes flick to meet hers. “I told you, I don’t want to get hurt again.”
“Do you really think that will happen?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“I know this is hard for you. It’s uncharted territory, and maybe…you even feel a little bit guilty.”
My brows furrow. “Guilty?”
She nods, pursing her lips. “You deserve to be happy, Opal. I think you’ve always doubted yourself, put other people’s happiness above your own. But you don’t have to do that.” She pauses. “The fact that your dad walked out on your mom probably doesn’t help.”
A sick feeling settles in my stomach, and I feel the need to evade Maisie’s intense stare.
“I’m just saying, maybe you’re expecting the worst because you feel like that’s all you’ve ever had, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Things can change, even people can change. Sometimes you have to go after what makes you happy, even if it scares you a little bit.”
The truth in her words hits me like a tidal wave. Maybe I’m afraid of taking a chance on something that will make me happy because I feel like I don’t deserve it. I’m scared that if I try to reach out and touch happiness for real, it’ll just disappear, so I’m better off not even trying.
I’ve always had trouble letting people get close to me, afraid of the inevitable pain I would feel when they left me behind. Alex is the only person I allowed to break through my walls and see who I really am. Maybe I rebuilt those walls a little too high.
“Maybe you should’ve been a therapist instead of a nurse,” I say, leaning my head on her shoulder.
She chuckles and wraps her arms around me. “Maybe I’ll be a psych nurse, who knows.”