Teddy
JULY
"Theo?"
Luke's voice is sleepy, and guilt flashes through me for dragging him awake after the string of night shifts he's been pulling this week. It's there and gone in the same second, swallowed whole by desperate panic.
I go above the speed limit, weaving in and out of lanes to get to my condo. Indie has a couple of hours' head start on me. I don't even know how she slipped out of my arms last night.
Usually, when she moves or gets up in the middle of the night, I'm awake and can't fall asleep until she's back in bed, in my arms.
But maybe the moment she stopped being mine severed that. Maybe the universe was keeping me deep under to allow her to go. Maybe this is my punishment.
The exhaustion still lingers, and I rub my eyes to clear it. I almost hate how much lighter I feel—and all because it was so infuriatingly simple.
Walking away from that house, from my family and their bullshit expectations—easy. It was one of the easiest, most freeing things I have ever done in my life.
But it took the worst for it to happen—it took Indie leaving me.
And I hate myself for it.
Which is why I'm driving like a maniac back to the condo, praying I'm not too late, praying Luke will tell me she's there—furious, but still there. That she hasn't left me for good. That I can still fix this.
I'm not very optimistic, and at the same time, some dark, self-loathing part of me is hoping she isn't there.
Because I don't fucking deserve her.
But God—fuck—I can't let her go.
I'm selfish, that's an understatement.
I'm a fucking asshole, that much is clear.
I'm also stupid in love with this woman. I've never loved anyone like this. I never will. She carved herself a home in my heart that no other shape will ever fill.
Please.
Please, let me get to her.
Let me explain till my throat is raw.
Let me beg on my knees, crawling to her to plead for her forgiveness.
I don't care what I have to do, I can't lose her.
I can't.
I won't.
How do you come back from this devastation? How do you claw your way to forgiveness when every word was unforgivable? How do you exist after cutting open healed wounds just to watch her bleed?
"Is Indie there?" I bark into my phone, my voice so sharp I barely even recognize it.
Anxiety churns in my gut, adrenaline making my hands shake.
"Uh..." Luke's voice is more awake now, but only barely. I hear sheets rustling, the creak of the mattress. "I don't know."
"Check," I bark, my voice breaking on the next word. "Please."
"Yeah, hold on," Luke says, and I hear the familiar creak of our hardwood floors as he walks across the condo. He knocks, "Indie? Are you in there?"
I stop breathing.
"It's quiet, I don't think she's in there," Luke yawns. "Is everything okay?"
"Can you check?" I beg. "Please—go in the room."
Luke's voice is alarmed, but hesitant. "...are you sure—"
"Luke, please," I choke. "Just check, please."
"Alright, Theo," Luke says soothingly, and I hear the door open. A couple more seconds before, "She's not in there, man... but there's an envelope and a folder on your bed. It's her handwriting."
The words hit like a punch to the throat.
"I'll be there in a couple of minutes."
"Is everything okay, Theo?"
"No," I croak, tears stinging my eyes. "I'll explain later."
It feels like I'm walking to my own execution after I park my car and take the steps up toward our condo. Luke's in the kitchen, and the smell of bacon and eggs makes my stomach turn as I walk toward my bedroom.
It's like my heart knows what's on the other side of the door. She's not there. She's long gone. I know that.
But I hope…
Turning the doorknob, I push my bedroom door open.
And again, it's like I get sucker punched.
Her pretty blue suitcases that had been lined under the window—gone. Her Northwestern hoodie that was always draped over the chair in the corner—gone. Her lip balm and claw clips that scattered across my dresser—gone.
My eyes catch onto the picture frames that lined my dresser, my bedside table, the pictures that used to be on my mirror—gone. No, actually—worse. I peek in the wastebasket in the corner of my room and find them.
She took the time to take them from the frames and throw them out. Just the photos. Us. Indie is never cruel, but she is pragmatic. She discarded what didn't matter—what I showed her didn't matter.
A hitching sob rips from my throat.
Her side of the bed is neat, like she smoothed it before she left. I can see into my ensuite bathroom from here. The absence of her toothbrush next to mine on the counter, her perfume, her skincare, her lotions, all gone, nearly brings me to my knees.
Then my eyes find the envelope sitting in the middle of the bed, a blue folder underneath it.
With shaky hands, I pick up the envelope and tear it open. Out drops a key—the key to the condo I had given Indie. Luke and Heath had done a whole dumb ceremony while out to dinner one night, making it a whole thing.
"Do you, Indie, solemnly swear to guard this key to HTL Condo with your life?"
"With my life," she'd said with a solemn nod, and then she turned to me with that bright smile that always made me feel like the luckiest bastard alive and sealed the whole joke with a kiss while my idiot friends whooped like idiots.
Inside the envelope is also a folded piece of paper.
I tear the edge a bit in my haste to open it, but there's only one word written, in Indie's swift handwriting.
Goodbye.
That's it. That's all she has to say to me.
And you know what—I don't have the fucking right to feel hurt. But I still do. Not from her hand, but from my own.
I did this.
With my cruel words, my cowardice, my fucking inability to see my mother for who she is. The excuse-making and endless later.
My eyes go to the folder, and I hope it's something else, something more from her, even if it's her telling me what a fuck-up I am. But when I see what it is, the sound that comes from me is all animal. A half-roar, half-whine that scrapes my throat raw.
It's Indie.
It's all Indie. All the drawings I've ever given her. My fingers gently go through each one, and each one twists the knife more.
The little anime Indie in her scrubs with stars in her eyes, the one I drew after she encouraged me to try manga-style tutorials and then acted like it was a masterpiece even though I thought it was mediocre.
She gasped so sweetly and kissed me, showering me with praise. I felt so motivated to keep trying after that.
The portrait of Indie, while I was trying stippling, was a disaster. She still smiled when I showed her and kept it next to her bedside table, proudly displaying it.
The sketch of Indie sitting in front of the lake outside.
I've drawn that lake a hundred times, but that version was always the one I loved most, because she was in it.
Head tilted up to the sky, watching it change from gold to pink to blue.
Beautiful, so fucking beautiful, it made my chest feel tight.
It's all here. Given back to me. Not wanted any longer.
The one that really hurts is the realistic drawing of Indie sleeping. That's the most recent one.
I'd woken from another nightmare, sweaty and twisted up and unable to settle back into sleep. I turned on the lamp, pulled my sketchbook into my lap for the first time in what felt like months, and just... drew her.
I really took my time with it, getting her dark lashes right and the gentle bump on her nose that I adore. Her pointed chin and her sweet lips curled into a small, sleepy smile.
I left it on my pillow when I went to make breakfast. A few minutes later, she came up behind me, wrapped her arms around my waist, kissed the middle of my back, and squeezed.
"I love it, Teddy bear."
"I love you, honey," I rasped, covering her hands with mine.
Lost, I fall to my knees and bury my face in my hands. Tears flow and keep falling, sobs ripping from my chest, my breath sawing in and out until my lungs burn.
From my lips is the name of the woman I failed, over and over.
"Indie... Indie... Indie..."
It flashes before my eyes, all the moments she bit her tongue, all the moments she was sidelined for my family, all the moments I chose them before her.
I thought my family was everything. I was taught to put my family first before anyone, that they were all we had.
Mom, Dad, Danielle, Stephanie, Pop, and Nana. My aunts. My uncles. My cousins.
"Blood is thicker than water, Theodore James. Remember that."
But Indie was my family—Indie filled me with a joy my own blood never could. Indie made me feel alive. Indie poured strength into my veins, made me believe in my own worth. Indie encouraged my art and guarded my trust with a devotion that never faded.
And I lost her.
I threw her away.
She's gone.
"Indie... she left me."
My voice is wrecked and broken, even to my ears.
Luke and Heath share a look that I can't quite decipher, but it's not entirely sympathetic. Heath dragged himself home from his girlfriend's house after Luke called him.
My friends found me crumpled on my bedroom floor, sobbing so hard I couldn't catch a proper breath. Luke checked my vitals because, for a second, he thought I might actually be having some kind of cardiac event.
It's what it felt like. My chest ripping itself open and my heart wringing itself out.
Between the key, the goodbye note, the folder of drawings, and the state I was in, it didn't take him long to piece together what happened.
Now I'm on the couch because Heath basically carried me here. He leans against the doorway with a cup of coffee in his hand, and Luke is sitting in the armchair opposite me.
"Well," Luke says, running a hand through his blonde hair. "Yeah, dude. What did you really expect?"
I blink at him, then at Heath.
"What?"
They share another look, silently communicating before Luke sighs.
"We've been wanting to say something for a while."
"I'm calling Stephanie," Heath says, placing the phone to his ear.
I frown. "You have my sister's number?"
"We play World of Warcraft together… hey, Steph," he says, before placing the phone on speaker.