Chapter 11 #2
I hate that he got to me. I cried for 30 minutes after he left. Okay, so I wasn’t interesting enough for you, and you found someone who is - why are you coming around to insult me even more?
Why have I procreated with this man? Now I have to see him for the next 18 years.
Hope this email didn’t drag you down. Maybe I should start keeping a journal, but I feel like I can tell you things. Probably because you feel so removed from my daily life, I don’t know.
Sorry
M
From: Randy Hawkins
To: Marissa Johnson
Date: 07:00 PM, January 20, 2011
Subject: RE: Hobbies
Dear Marissa,
You’re probably putting DJ to bed as I type this email. I wonder whether you’re feeling better.
BTW, Squid told me that DJ was a very cute baby, and he has two kids, you know, so he’s an expert on these things.
The part of me that wants to fix the world is struggling while reading your emails, but at the same time, I’m honoured that you feel like you can share this part of yourself with me.
And I don’t think it’s because I’m removed from your daily life. Quite the opposite.
I feel like fate has bonded us through something very traumatic, so we’ve been able to cut through all the superficial bullshit right away, and all that's left is radical honesty.
I've met you as the woman who pushed through pain and discomfort when we were in that room, so I know you can do it, but I want to let you know you don’t have to do it alone.
The club (our club, that you and I are both part of, I feel like you haven’t internalized this yet) can give you whatever job you want AND a place to live, just say the word.
I’m trying very hard to respect your timeline and not to push. You have no idea. But think about it.
As for advice on ways to spend the time… Reading your emails and thinking about my replies sure helps. Arts and crafts, puzzles. A good crime mystery novel.
I like movies in which there’s a huge conflict between good and evil, and the good side wins, and it’s all so perfect and clear-cut, you know.
Not that any of it helps too much.
They’re gonna let me work from home a bit starting next week, since there are many things that I can coordinate over the phone and via email.
Take care of yourself, Marissa, please.
H.
From: Marissa Johnson
To: Randy Hawkins
Date: 10:45 PM, January 29, 2011
Subject: Stop sending us stuff
I know it was you. >:/
When I confronted your friends about the bags on the porch, Mushroom played dumb, but her brother had that idiotic smirk on his face.
We’re fine. I can take care of us! I didn’t tell you about my problems so you could swoop in and exercise your savior complex.
I was talking to a friend, not looking for charity!
From: Randy Hawkins
To: Marissa Johnson
Date: 11:00 PM, January 29, 2011
Subject: RE: Stop sending us stuff
Mushroom and Shiner report to me daily, and they let me know every time you get dressed and stand on the porch for twenty minutes before giving up and going back inside.
I know I have a savior complex.
I also know you need fresh produce for DJ.
Both things can be true at the same time.
Please accept this from me. I need this more than you do.
Please.
From: Marissa Johnson
To: Randy Hawkins
Date: 11:15 PM, January 29, 2011
Subject: RE:RE: Stop sending us stuff
I’m sorry, Hawk. I shouldn’t have said the thing about you wanting to save everyone. That was a low blow. I tried unsending that email but it didn’t work. :(
And thanks for the groceries.
It’s been a hard day.
Ever since I stopped breastfeeding Junior, I’ve been very irritable and sad. Not using that as an excuse, I swear! Just explaining.
Rachel does some shopping for me when she visits, and Dylan picks up a few things if I ask him to, but today (as you already know, STALKER!) I tried going outside again, but my neck got all itchy and I started sweating like crazy. I feel like such a failure.
What if Junior had been with me that night? I am continuously assaulted by horrific visions of the men snatching me, Junior falling out of my arms, his tiny skull cracking open on the pavement. I have nightmares most nights. :(
How can I get over this? (Please don’t get any ideas about sending a shrink to my door)
I can’t go on like this. Something has to change. Every night when I go to bed, I tell myself that I need to snap out of this, for DJ at least, if not for myself. But when the morning comes, I do the same day all over again.
Rachel keeps telling me I need to move out of this house first, and I know she’s right. She also says I need to get formal custody in place and file for child support, but I don’t want anything from Dylan.
Ugh. :/
BTW, there’s all kinds of fancy cured meats and cheeses in these bags, I’m in heaven. Thanks again.
From: Randy Hawkins
To: Marissa Johnson
Date: 11:30 PM, January 29, 2011
Subject: RE: RE: RE: Stop sending us stuff
You're more than welcome.
My two cents: I’d definitely advise you to put a formal custody agreement in place, not only to protect yourself and your sanity, but also to ensure fair parenting time and responsibilities for both of you.
As for child support… it’s not about you needing things from him.
It’s about DJ being ENTITLED to that money; it’s his right, so don’t deny him that.
P.S. We should really start talking on the phone. It would be much more efficient than emailing back and forth, don’t you think?
From: Marissa Johnson
To: Randy Hawkins
Date: 02:17 PM, February 28, 2011
Subject: Long time no email
Hey…
I know you’re in PT so I can’t call you to vent, and I need to get this off my chest, like, right now.
I told you that Dylan was coming over today to get the last of his stuff. I heard a car outside and I looked through the window to check whether it was him.
He was in the car with Rebel. It was the first time I’d seen her since the night I was taken. My hands started to shake real bad. They were talking and she said something to which he responded by gently putting her hair behind her ear and I just…
I don’t even know.
It’s not that I was jealous or that I want him. It’s the tenderness and protectiveness towards her that kills me.
It’s like, here I am, the mother of his child (if nothing else!), and I’ve had this very traumatic thing happen to me, and it was (in a way) her fault, and yet she’s the one getting the gentle support and has everyone looking out for her!?
It’s so fucking unfair.
And then he stepped out of the car, took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders (?!?!?!) before heading towards the door, like he was preparing himself to face something unpleasant.
And that’s when it hit me: it’s me.
I’m the unpleasant thing.
I’m the belligerent baby mom who lives in his house rent-free.
It’s like someone finally opened my eyes.
And now for the kicker - that man stood in my kitchen (well, his kitchen) and INFORMED ME that he and Rebel had gone to Vegas for her birthday (don’t even get me started on my birthdays while I was with him) and that they GOT HITCHED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Rebel
is
now
my
son’s
stepmother.
Barf.
His tone was apologetic, like he was waiting for me to fall apart at the news, but also expectant in a way, like he wanted me to congratulate him?
Luckily, the good Lord gave me the strength to look him in the eye without grimacing and say, “Good for you.” :D
And then I told him I’ll be moving out.
Can you believe it?! :D
It just came to me, the clarity. He is moving on, as is his right, and I am stuck here and... I don’t want to be anymore.
Thanks to you, I’m already doing better with being outside, and giving myself this deadline means I guess I’ll finally take you up on that offer of getting me a job with the club, then.
Sorry for the word vomit. Call me when you get this.
M.