Chapter 38
Wings – Birdy
Enzo
IPLACE MY WHISKEY GLASS ON MY DESK. MY VISION DISTORTED… BLURRED. A fog clouding my mind. The after effects of my fourth drink. I look down at the book on my desk. “Christmas kisses” by Elena Mae Reeves.
Flipping through the book, I pause at the end.
There, on the inside of the cover, sparkling blue eyes smile at me.
The photo she chose for her book is elegant, much like the woman herself.
Everything she did was graceful. The way she wore her hair, the way she looked in my shirt, sexy as hell but elegant.
She’s wearing light makeup, crimson lips… God those lips. Her hair hangs loose in a mass of dark waves. She’s devastatingly beautiful.
I swallow, the lump in my throat making it hard to do so.
My stomach is in absolute knots over everything.
An emptiness that only she can fill. I said vile, hurtful things to her, things I can never take back.
Seeing her today brought it all back in so much detail, she left me yet again… pain and regret… my only companions.
When I left the hospital with Angelo that day, on the drive home, I already knew.
Felt it in my gut. I felt her absence without even reaching home.
I knew she’d left. It doesn’t matter that I had already regretted my behaviour.
It doesn’t matter that I had every intention of rushing home…
to her. To apologize, to pour my heart out to her and beg for her forgiveness.
None of it mattered when I let her leave with a broken heart and a shattered soul.
I did that to her. My mother looked at me with so much disappointment, she still looks at me that way. Closing my eyes, I remember her words in the hospital before she left to go to Angelo’s room.
‘That woman is the best thing that has ever happened to you and to my grandson since Victoria died. Fix this!’
I can’t fault her for leaving me. Her words echo in my head like a constant drum beat, determined to inflict pain until my head feels like it might split in two.
‘I refuse to compete with a fucking ghost.’
I hadn’t even realised that’s what she’d been doing all along. Trying to be better than Vic, trying to be enough for me. All she ever needed from me was to feel… ‘wanted.’
That’s what she said on her birthday. Thinking back on all the pictures in the house I see why she gave up.
Only she didn’t really give up, did she?
Not entirely anyway. I was the one who pushed her away, making her feel inferior.
I still remember what she wore, those damn boots made her legs look miles long and that intoxicating scent she wore.
That’s why I took them; it’s the only way I can feel close to her.
I never thought that I would ever experience a greater loss than I did when Vic died but fuck, I was so wrong. This feels worse, so much worse.
The silence Elena left in her wake is excruciating. A hollowing kind of ache, the kind that doesn’t just hurt, it gnaws at your very being. It chews through sleep, hunger… reason.
I replay it in my head over and over again. The hurt on her face, the way her eyes dimmed before she left, tilting my world on its axis. How do you mourn the loss of someone who is still alive?
I have to win her back, but Evelyn is right.
I need to work on my own shit first. So that’s, what I did.
I started with the photographs, packed them all in a box and had Mrs. Wilkens, (Hazels mother) put them in storage for Angelo.
I packed them all away, save for the one in Angelo’s room.
Her clothes were next to get packed away; they’ll be going to the nearest hospice.
That was the easy part, now on to the hard part.
Winning my girl back.
Whatever it takes.
.
Elena
I’m in the living room of my tiny apartment, glass of wine in hand.
I reach over for the picture frame on the side table.
It’s a picture of Angel and I together. He has a huge smile on his face while I’m carrying him.
Enzo is in the background watching us… smiling.
I remember asking a passerby to take the photo for us.
I clutch the frame close to my chest, closing my eyes in the hope of blocking out the memory of him.
Much as I try to deny it… I love him.
Memories of happier times flood the back of my mind, bringing with it an ache and emptiness that came in the aftermath of the poison he spewed.
‘You’re NOT his mother. Not you. Never you.’
I knew it was inevitable. I was prepared for it to not work, then why the hell does it hurt so bad?
Fresh raw tears stream down my face and I pull my legs up onto the couch, curling them under me.
My body wrecked with tremors as ugly sobs escape my throat.
How unlucky can a person be to have had two failed relationships in such a short time?
The sobs grow louder as the ache grows. This hurts - this hurts - so much more than I could have ever anticipated.
The pain I’d endured at Matt’s hands is nothing compared to what I feel now. His cruel words cut deeper than the scars on my wrists, each one, a memory I never asked for.
I was weak, allowing him into my already scarred heart. But now it’s too late. He’s already been in there; I practically shoved him inside. And now I’m left to patch the wounds he’s reopened.
I promised myself; never again. Yet here I am, broken, defeated, beaten by another man I chose to trust.
I have no one to blame but myself. I ignored all the red flags, the photos, her clothes, her hairbrush all kept as though she were merely gone to church and would be home soon. Fucking idiot.
He said her name after making love to me for God’s sake. What more proof did I need? How could I have been so naive?
I practically begged him to take my heart, just so he could throw it in the fire.
Now all that’s left are the charred remains save for a few embers. Their glow barely noticeable in the darkness that consumes me.