1. Alana #3
But before I can, I hear the stomping of feet.
There’s pressure against my back, a kid’s skull, I assume.
Followed by a searing pain in my stomach, and my vision blurs at the edges.
A pair of tiny arms wraps around my waist. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it registers that this isn’t an intentional attack: it’s a hug.
But it does nothing to curb the pain as three more bodies squeeze the same recent wound.
Sweat forms at my hairline, and I gasp for air. Don’t scream. Don’t cry out.
The kids yell, “We love you Aunt Alana!”
I am safe, and this is a hug. It’s just pain, it will not kill me. I won’t die again. My brain fights my nervous system, but all this pent-up energy has to escape somehow. Someone speaks, Lance maybe?
“Come on kids, go get your stuff.”
And the pressure around my stomach finally loosens.
The haze around my vision lingers though as my body tries to restore some order.
Then Lance’s face fills my narrow field of vision.
He asks, “Are you ok?” I nod and swallow.
I don’t trust my voice not to crack. His hands rest on my shoulders, and he whispers, “Thank you.”
I fight back the tears, because it’s no longer about the physical pain, but everything else.
For the last twelve years, he’s been by my side.
Loyal, kind and my rock. He’s come a long way since his days being my security during those underground poker games I ran in college.
People breeze through my life every few months, but there hasn’t been a time when Lance wasn’t there.
But tomorrow, he’ll wake up in Florida with his new family, and I’ll still be here.
“Love you.” The words tear through my vocal cords. He presses his lips to my forehead.
“I love you too.”
Breathe in. You are not dying. Breathe out. You have a responsibility to uphold. Breathe in. Most of your staff is here. Breathe out. You can never show weakness. Breathe in. You are not a member of the Four Families. Breathe out. You are not alone.
Light seeps into the darkness around the edges of my vision. My heartbeat doesn’t pound in my ears anymore. I blink, and the world comes back into focus.
Lance is gone. I’m standing in the center of the dance floor. The Four Families are clearing out, getting their luggage and starting their family vacation. Without me. The DJ kicks the music back on and the party resumes. Then a hand gently grips my arm.
“Come on Boss, let’s get you out of here.” Oh Markus, my dear Specs. See, I’m not alone.
“Sorry I’m not sending you out with the rest of them.” I do feel guilty he’s not going.
“Like you, I’m not in the Four Families.” He gives me a little squeeze. “Really regretting not taking that second shot, aren’t you?”
A few months ago, the Four Families were under attack. We won. But along the way, I ran into an old enemy who rudely stabbed me in the center gooey parts. So, I did what one does in that situation: I shoved her into the trunk of a car and sent it back home on autopilot.
I had the lifesaving shot, but the shot has a sister.
One will heal you with blinding pain, and the other will help you forget.
But they must be taken within seconds of each other, or your brain will be locked in a memory loop, and your body will constantly feel the trauma.
Guess who didn’t get the second shot? I’ve got it mostly under control except when I think about it, or when small humans try to hug me.
“I’ll drive you.” Markus leads me off the dance floor and grabs my purse. If anyone else tried to take me home, they’d be dead in a ditch by the end of the week. I’ll allow Markus this one.
“I’m fine.”
“You can lie to everyone else and even to yourself, but not me.”
It’s not a lie. It’s a mask to keep everyone from danger.
I want to bite back with some scathing insult, but since Markus is the only other person to get the shot, he does understand what I’m going through.
Although I made damn sure he got the second one.
He can live pain free while I hold all the burden.
“Morning meeting tomorrow,” I call out to the rest of my Mastodon staff.
Darren throws his right hand in the air, his other hand has his phone to his ear. “But we’re all drunk!”
“He’s right,” Markus whispers.
“Morning meeting at noon.”
“Best boss ever!” He shouts, and the rest of my boys cheer.
Markus says nothing as he walks me to his car.
I took a limo here with the rest of the bridal party, but my armored car is still in its parking spot.
When I strap in, the stupid lifesaving seatbelt presses on the old wound and the pain returns, but not for long this time.
Once we’re out of the parking lot and on the main road, I can get a bit more comfortable.
One of Amanda Chase’s older songs plays through the speakers. It lacks the richness her later music has, but I was there when she wrote it. That whole album makes my heart hurt. We were all different people twelve years ago.
And I’d like to think that's a good thing.