CHAPTER 11
Harvey
“This is great, Dad. All we’re missing is the strippers,” Henrik says, taking a sip of his beer.
My dad rolls his eyes, ignoring him as he trails to the master bedroom to put away his luggage and possibly get five minutes away from Hen. The guy wouldn’t shut up during the drive to the bungalow that my dad rented for a boys’ weekend.
“Henrik, get off your phone for once in your life,” I tell him.
He snickers. “And miss out on all these nudes?”
I shake my head, then wheel myself to the coffee table and grab a beer from the cooler bag. The first sip tastes amazing. It’s nice to be able to drink freely without Gemma lecturing me about it.
“How’s Gem’s trip going?” Hen asks me.
I shrug. “I didn’t get the chance to ask. I’ll text her tonight.”
Henrik clicks his tongue, looking disappointed, and I stare at him, wondering what his problem is. I mean, I woke up late, and we’ve been busy all day packing and fetching food and drinks.
My dad joins us with an investment book in hand. I listen to him and my brother discuss the current market while I gaze into the fireplace. I’m close to the fire, and the heat it projects relaxes me a little.
It feels great being away from my room and spending time with my family.
Soon, my dad’s firing up the barbecue outside, in the middle of winter, to grill our steaks, potatoes, and asparagus for dinner.
Henrik is cutting up mushrooms and onions for a gravy in the kitchen while I sit near him, enjoying my beer, watching him cook, and hearing him go on about the state of global affairs.
“Yeah, it really sucks,” I agree with him, unsure what else to say. I haven’t cared about the world in a long while. It’s hard to when I can barely care for myself.
My brother stares at me a tad too long, and I see him sigh as he continues to whisk the gravy in the pan.
I feel for them—my family and Gemma—because I know I’m not the same guy I used to be. I don’t laugh the same way, smile the same way, interact the same way.
It wasn’t intentional, yet they still lost the Harvey I used to be.
Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’m trying so hard to get the old me back instead of acknowledging and accepting who I’ve become now.
“Harv…you should really text Gem.”
I look away. “I will, don’t worry. What’s it to you anyway?”
“Nothing, I just… She’s hurting too in all of this, you know. Go easy on her.”
This meaning my paralysis.
I snort.
It bothers me to no end that he constantly has her back, though I get that they’re friends and she’s not to blame for my new life.
Although I wouldn’t say she’s fully innocent. Getting a ride home from your boss after a work party and going to LA alone with him on a work trip doesn’t scream innocent to me.
We end up playing poker that night. I drink more beer, and we eat chips and nuts, music on in the background.
I keep checking my phone every now and then, noticing that Gemma hasn’t texted me again. I know I didn’t answer hers, yet I can’t help this growing frustration I feel regarding her work trip.
It’s selfish really.
She gets to live her life, and I’m terrified and expecting to be left behind. The fear of abandonment increases day by day.
I had to abandon many people and parts of myself, mentally and physically, in the past few years, and I don’t want to have to do it again.
I don’t have the will nor the energy to.
“Lookee here, got a royal flush,” Hen brags, putting his cards down, dragging me away from my own thoughts. I laugh because all I have is one pair, and I used to always win the poker games.
I seem to be doing a lot of that lately—losing, and feeling lost.
It’s a crappy feeling, and I’m not entirely sure how to stop it.
It’s late by the time I shower and get in bed. That’s when I finally decide to text Gemma, asking about her trip. I smile when she answers me quickly, but it fades when I find out she had a conference all day and then a business dinner.
A dinner with her boss, clearly.
Another thought penetrates my mind with a vengeance, wondering if she just returned to her hotel room… It’s almost midnight in LA!
This time she didn’t land late, this time she purposely chose to go back to her hotel room at an unprofessional hour.
Anger I know all too well forms in my stomach and rises until it reaches my chest, making me feel as though I can’t breathe.
Why do I even care?
I can’t let her new job mess with my head.
It’s already messy and chaotic in there.
The fury keeps surging inside of me. I can’t stop my fingers as I text her back a snarky comment regarding what a dinner that must’ve been.
Imagine if I did that…went to a late dinner with Claire.
Although, I already have. More than once.
But that’s beside the point—she’s my nurse and helps me with therapy.
While Gemma’s boss is a rich fucker. As if I can even compete with that. As if I can compete with a non-disabled man.
The thought sears through my internal scars. They barely have time to close up and heal properly before my mind tears at them again and again.
Over and over.
I’m so sick of this shit.
I’m so sick of my shit.
I don’t know what to do, where to go from here.
I don’t know how to be a man worthy of Gemma’s love. The new me barely knows how to be worthy of myself .
I’m sweating from the anxiety, my mind in total anguish, feeding off the darkness.
It’s the only thing that always keeps me company, that never leaves me.
I pick up my phone when it vibrates, swallowing, my heart accelerating when I see her reply text.
Gemma: What is that supposed to mean?
I want to roar.
She knows what it means.
My breathing is growing erratic. I hope I’m being completely irrational right now and that nothing is going on between her and her boss.
I wish I could go for a run right now.
Literally run. A mile, perhaps two.
I hold my hands in tight fists by my legs, my nails digging deep into the palms of my hands—anything to feel any other type of pain.
I can’t deal with the emotional mess that my relationship has become.
And so I try to push all thoughts of Gemma away.
Instead, I fall asleep a long while later with Claire’s comforting voice and laugh in my head.
Her powerful words.
Her smile.
That’s all I can handle tonight.