Cleo #2
I wanted to be blind with passion. I wanted to feel free, to soar high in the sky like a bluebird spreading its wings. I wanted to know that if I fell, someone would be there to help me back up again .
Honestly, I wanted a lot of things I knew weren’t in the cards for me anymore.
I’d been close to having it all. Twice, actually—though I never spoke about it.
Thomas and I met my senior year of college.
After four years of keeping my nose in textbooks instead of putting myself out there, I let Rachel convince me to go on a blind date.
We were both seniors at the University of Texas and would graduate soon.
I almost stood him up, but my curiosity had won out.
After all, maybe she was right. I needed to do something that was just for me.
He’d been cute. Stupidly, so. I was charmed by his boyish good looks and green eyes that promised mischief.
The rest of our story? Well, it was much more complicated than I ever let anyone know.
When things were good between us, they were good .
Great, even. The first six years were some of the happiest of my life.
When things started going south, I told myself it was just a part of life we needed to get through.
A storm to weather. I was more than willing to step up and be whoever he needed me to be if it took some of his stress away.
But Thomas saw that as my being a doormat. It didn’t take him long to wipe his dirty boots against my dignity, to dig in his heels and tear me apart at the seams so that he was free of whatever debris he had clinging to him.
It would’ve been easy to blame my parents for why I stayed in my marriage for so long.
Or I could’ve looked at the men who continued to haunt me, laying the blame at their feet instead of my own.
After all, I’d been whole once upon a time before they came into my life like wrecking balls, caused havoc, and left me standing in the wake of their destruction.
But pointing fingers at others never did any good.
Especially considering I was the common denominator tying everyone together.
There were parts of me missing. Parts I still didn’t know how to get back, even after intensive and continual therapy. Some mornings, I didn’t recognize who I was. It was like I was staring at the empty shell of someone I once knew.
I normally kept that to myself. The only person I’d ever admitted it to was Rachel, but that’d been after many tears and just as many vodka tonics. To this day, she was the only person who knew every part of my story, even those secrets I’d kept close to my chest.
My therapist needed to know those things, right?
It turned out complete honesty can backfire, though.
Rachel had been hooked on that one single thought for months now.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake her off it.
Thankfully, she didn’t bring it up every session.
She had me figured out pretty well, knowing when to ask, and when to leave it be, but it was still her job to help me process whatever the hell was going on in my twisted brain.
There were days I dreaded my sessions. I swore I had a sixth sense when it came to this stuff. It was like my body was preparing for the inevitable crash that came after the screen went dark. The train of thought cast a dark cloud over my mood and no matter what, I couldn’t shake it.
I knew today was going to be a heavy appointment.
Rachel had been begging me to tell my family about the divorce since I’d got home, but I kept pushing it off.
Last night, I’d finally snapped under the weight of my parents’ curious questions.
Spilling the beans before my dad’s birthday bash—his words, not mine—hadn’t been the best move.
Earlier in the year, my dad’s health had given us a major scare.
Apparently, not even the world’s best dad was immune to a sick heart.
Seeing him in a hospital bed was an image I’d never forget.
It’d been a wake-up call—one we severely needed because we had never talked about what would happen after he was gone.
When Mom had told me the news, I’d slid down the wall and cried. I hated myself for the fleeting sense of relief I felt at my dad’s expense. It was the out I’d been searching for, my reason for leaving Montana and never looking back.
“Do I need to take off my therapist hat and put my friend one on instead?” Rachel asked, crossing her arms. “I can feel you shutting down.”
“No, I’m good,” I said, straightening my shoulders and forcing a smile. Her pursed lips told me she wasn’t buying it. “I’m just thinking about all the things I need to do today. You know how it is.”
“And now you’re deflecting,” she said, sitting back in her chair. “Look, I want to make it clear how proud of you I am. Telling your family what happened with Thomas couldn’t have been easy. I know we practiced the speech together, but I want to stress the importance of this achievement.”
“Thank you?—”
“But by rehashing the details of your relationship, I’m worried you might be slipping back into your self-imposed guilt.”
“Well, no one can make me feel worse about myself than I can,” I said, trying and failing to inject a dash of darker humor into our conversation. Sometimes, it worked, and Rachel would change topics, but today was not the day.
“Cleo—”
“It’s fine. I’m fine,” I said, holding up my hands. Then I grabbed my ball and gave it one long squeeze. “See? Just like the doctor ordered.”
“I regret giving you that fucking ball,” she muttered, shaking her head.
“That’s not very therapist-y of you.”
“Yeah, well, our official session was over fifteen minutes ago, so now I can be a little freer with what I say,” Rachel snapped back. “Cleo, I’m seriously worried about you. Are you sleeping? Like at all? The bags beneath your eyes are like dark pits of despair. ”
Okay, ouch.
“I’m so glad I decided to go with my best friend instead of a random stranger as my therapist. It’s so much fun.”
Rachel snorted. “Yeah, well, anyone else would beat around the bush, and that’s not my style. I know you. Sometimes you need a little tough love. Even if it hurts.”
“It’s okay to keep some thoughts inside, though.
Just for future reference. Yes, I’m sleeping.
” No, I wasn’t. “Yes, I’m eating.” Not nearly enough .
“So, thank you for your concern. As for the ‘pits of despair,’ nothing seems to work. Makeup won’t cover it, and I’m convinced those stupid under-eye patches you love so much don’t actually do a damn thing.
” I said, staring at the gold remnants of the pair I’d used this morning.
She waved her hand. “That’s because you don’t believe in the power of self-care. Seriously, when’s the last time you went to the spa or had a massage?” When I said nothing, her eyebrows shot up. “A manicure? A pedicure?”
“None of the above,” I said. “You know I don’t like people touching my feet, and getting my nails done while living on a ranch is useless. They always chip within a few days, so it’s a waste of money.
“And the spa?”
“Never been. Unless you count the one we went to for your bachelorette party over a decade ago.”
Rachel scrunched up her nose. “Oh god. Please don’t remind me of that disaster. I still can’t be in the vicinity of anything green apple flavored without wanting to puke.”
“You were the one who thought taking shots before sitting in a sauna was a good idea,” I said with a laugh. “What the bride wants, the bride gets.”
I still couldn’t think of that day without a stabbing pain in my chest. While I’d also been a victim of the Smirnoff Disaster of ‘13 , my pain was for an entirely different reason.
“Have you seen him again?” Rachel asked, knowing exactly where my mind was drifting to. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. It was night and day from the tone she’d used earlier.
“Who?” My lips curled into a small smile but fell flat when I noticed her cutting glare.
“You know who.”
I did, but I wasn’t ready to talk about him, so I shook my head. “No. Not since the run-in at the bar four months ago. Probably for the best. I mean, he’s probably on tour.”
With his beautiful wife , was the thought I kept to myself. I tried not to keep track of the first boy who broke my heart, but it became increasingly difficult when he shot to the top of country music charts and became somewhat of a local idol.
Rachel drew her brows together. “No, haven’t you heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Cleo!” My name came from the hallway, and the sound of a banging fist against my door sounded a moment later. “I know you’re awake,” Lennox sang.
“I gotta go, Rach,” I said, cutting off whatever she was about to say. “Duty calls.”
My friend narrowed her eyes. “I’m going to send you texts every hour. If you don’t respond, then I’ll call in the cavalry.”
“Oh, I’m so scared,” I said, placing my hand over my chest in faux shock.
“You should be.”
I screamed as I heard Lennox’s voice behind me. “You little shit,” I said, turning around. “How’d you get in?”
“The master?” Lennox asked, holding up a small silver key in her hand. She peered over my shoulder and waved at my friend. “Hi Rachel!”
“You have a master?” I asked, trying to rein Lennox in.
She shrugged. “Yeah, I had it made years ago so I could break into Josie’s room. Did you know she used to hide liquor at the back of her closet? Completely unrelated, of course.” She plopped down on my bed. “Anyway, I’m the cavalry, and we both know what a pain in the ass I can be.”
I turned back to my friend. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I would. Every. Hour.” She punctuated the last two words with a clap before pushing to her feet. “And I’m not kidding, either.”
“Yes ma’am,” I drawled, giving her a little salute before the screen went dark. “Whatever you say.”
Lennox was quiet for a second before asking, “I already know the answer, but I feel it’s my sisterly duty to ask if you want to talk about it.”
Despite her loud and extroverted personality, there was no one who loved as fiercely as Lennox. She’d fight a fence post if she thought it’d wronged you somehow.
I pushed from my chair, going over and laying my hand on top of hers. I wasn’t big on physical contact, but she was. “No, I’m good. Thank you, though.”
She nodded. “You know I’m always here, though, right?”
“I do.” It was the first genuine smile I’d given in what felt like weeks. “And you know the same goes for me, right? If there’s anything, or anyone”—I nudged her leg—“that you want to talk about…”
“Nope,” she said, hopping down. “Not until there’s something, or someone, for you to talk about.” She gave me a pointed look, and I raised my hands. “Alright, then. But don’t think I won’t call Rachel if I need to!”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said, pushing her toward my door and down the hall.
All I had to do was make it through a day without thinking of the first boy that broke my heart, which was easier said than done these days.