"Tara?" Elliot asks for me to follow him outside of the arcade.
"What's up?" I ask, shoving my hands into my pockets. It's cold out for a summer night. Maybe it's the wind from the ocean, but I want to get back indoors.
"You dated douchebags," he says.
I shrug and hope smoking a cigarette will warm me up. "I never really dated them, I fucked around," I defend myself. "Until you."
He shakes his head, shrugs off what I'm saying. "You need to go."
"Go where?" I huff. "I'm here so Tyrell doesn't fucking kill you."
"I don't need you. I don't want you, so go," he sneers.
My breath catches in my throat and my heart stops beating. "You don't want me here or you don't want me?" I manage to choke out.
"You complicate things," he explains to me. "Go home to Jersey, go back to your Dad. You don't belong here."
"No, Elliot!" I reach out to grab his arm and keep him from going back into that damn arcade.
He pulls out of my grasp and disappears.
I sink down to my knees, no idea what to do. Everything is crashing down. I gasp and tears start pouring. I can't see. There's nothing around me. There's nothing else. I hadn't realized it, but I had rebuilt my world around Elliot. I'm an idiot. I hug my knees to my chest and continue to cry. The cold is gone, but there's a pain in my chest that isn't going away.
I don't know how much time passes, but finally I run out of tears. I pick myself up and begin walking down the boardwalk. Each step feels like I have fallen from a then story building and landed flat on my feet. Each breath feels like knives inside my lungs. My eyes can't focus for more than a few seconds and not on anything further than a few feet in front of me.
But my feet carry me away anyway. I pass a few bums on the street, sleeping, but still holding their signs, begging for money, probably for drugs. Is that all I am? A junkie bum to be tossed aside when I'm no longer amusing?
At some point my phone ends up in my hand. I must have tried to call someone, but obviously every normal person was sleeping. Obviously not everyone in New York sleeps, but the two people I know other than Elliot did.
1010011010
I open my eyes and I don't know where I am. I don't know how I got to this place that I don't know. I'm sitting with my back against a pillar, my hands are in my jacket pockets with my hood pulled up. The first thing I notice is my ass is freezing. I notice several others siting the way I am and notice they had the sense to sit on a sheet of cardboard. I stand up and see all the people rushing around, ignoring the homeless. I'm at the Port Authority; about ten blocks north of where I need to be if I'm going to Jersey. I figure I don't want to deal with the crowded subway and decide that I can hoof it from 45th to 34th.
1010011010
I put my credit card into the ticket machine in Penn Station, but it won't work. I try several times, but it tells me the card isn't valid. I growl and kick the base of the machine. I pull what cash I have out of my pocket. I have thirty dollars that's enough for a one way trip and breakfast, but that would be the end of my money until I can get to get to a real bank. I go to the Dunkin Donuts on the main mezzanine, order a small coffee and a strawberry frosted donut. My stomach growls as I stand in line and I realize I'm not sure when I last ate. I inhale the donut and want another, but realize I don't know the exact price of a one way ticket bought on the train. I have only ever paid for round trips and always in advance at a ticket machine near the platform.
As I sip the coffee I look up at the enormous sign announcing the departing trains so I can catch the first one out of this damned city.
1010011010
I fell asleep on the train and walked from the station in a daze. The first time I'm truly aware of my actions, that the fog has lifted, doesn't last long. It comes when I'm banging on the door to the family home. "Daddy!" I'm crying. "Daddy!"
The door opens and I fall on top of him. "What happened, sweetie?" he embraces me and half-carries me inside.
I don't answer. The sadness has overwhelmed me again. I just want to curl into a ball and cry. One night of feeling sorry for myself wasn't enough. I trudge over to the couch and sit down. I pull my feet up and hug my knees. I try to keep the tears in and find words instead, but I can't. I become a blubbering fountain. Dad brings over a blanket and puts it around my shoulders and then sits in his chair. I know he's waiting for me to speak, but I don't know what to say to him. The only person I've ever been in love with basically just told me I'm not worth it? That is not a conversation I am ready to have.
Even before Tyler's death I didn't do emotions well. I successfully navigated life avoiding making important phone calls, large groups of people, talking one-on-one with people I didn't know, and going to new restaurants or public places without the support of my siblings. So when I had a mental breakdown, everyone thought I was being extreme. People die. Yes it's sad. Move on. But it wasn't that simple for me. I didn't know what I was feeling, just as I don't know what I'm feeling now. I can pinpoint despair, but there is so much more going on in my heart and my head, including the physical pain from last night that has not yet subsided.
Finally, I am able to catch my breath between sobs. "How's Angela doing?"
My dad sighs. I suppose he wanted me to talk about myself. "She's alright. She's dropping the lawsuit and took a job at E Corp. PR."
I feel bad for my sister. E Corp is going down and they won't be able to afford to keep newbie PR girls for much longer. "Can I stay here for a bit?"
He nods. "Of course, but you didn't bring anything with you."
I look at the ground and around the living room. Shit, why didn't I ever think things through? "I'll borrow something of Ange's," I say and the tears again begin to flow.
1010011010
Sunday I don't even get out of bed. Dad brings me some food, but I don't eat it.
1010011010
I wake up again on Monday, disoriented. I plod downstairs and Dad looks excited to see me. "Good morning, hun. Are you gonna do something today?"
"This is bullshit," I tell him. "I deserve a reason! I deserve closure! I'm not gonna sit around and feel sorry for myself; I'm going to get answers. I'm going to figure this shit out!"
He has no idea what I'm talking about, but he nods enthusiastically anyway. "That's great. I'm proud of you. How about some eggs first though?"
That's when I notice that he as cooked a full meal for breakfast complete with toast and bacon. It smells delicious and he is able to convince me to eat a properly before I return to the city. "I hate to ask this, but do you have any cash? My cards weren't working on Friday."
"No one's are. While you were in bed the whole world's gone to shit," he chuckles and hands me fifty bucks.
Shit. They actually did it. I take out a twenty and hand the rest of the money back to my dad. "I just need the train ticket, thank you." I kiss his cheek goodbye.
1010011010
As I wait for the NJ Transit, the platform fills up with men in suits on Bluetooth headsets. The kind of men Elliot would always run away from. My stomach sinks. I have a job. I fish around in my pockets until I find my cell phone, but the battery is dead. I should ask someone if I can borrow there's to call out sick, but that's not an option. Just the thought of it makes my forehead sweat. But the thought of being a no call no show makes me nervous too. I run off the platform, find an isolated trash can and vomit. While I'm puking up my breakfast, the train comes and goes.
"Fuck!" I yell when I make it back to the platform and it's pulling away. "Fuckfuckfuckfuck!"
It's another forty minutes until the next train and I'll still have to change in Newark.
1010011010
The apartment is a mess. Elliot obviously hasn't been there and Flipper has shat everywhere. I sigh and take her out and then clean up the apartment and finally drowning it in Febreeze. Then I feed Flipper, plug my phone into the wall and sit on the couch. I dial Elliot's number and I can hear it ringing on the desk. I chuck my own phone across the room, accidentally scaring Flipper.
"Oh, baby, I'm sorry, come here," I call and pat my knees.
The dog merrily bounces over and hops up on my lap, smothering me in kisses.
Why don't people work like this? I don't let Flipper off my lap unless I'm taking her out so she doesn't make a mess of the apartment again. I chain smoke all the cigarettes I have along with any leftover joints that I strategically placed out of sight. These keep my clam enough to avoid hysterics, until the sun sets. Elliot still hasn't returned and I'm beginning to lose my nerve. I sniffle and the tears begin to leak out, but I quickly dry my eyes with my sleeves. It's about as effective as bailing out a sinking boat with one bucket.
1010011010
The door opens and Elliot slips in the door, looking exhausted. My heat begins pounding and I stand up to face him. "I-I know you probably don't want me here, but I needed to talk to you."
He walks over to me and smashes his lips against mine. He kisses my cheeks, my forehead, my whole face before returning to my lips. I forget everything I rehearsed saying as soon as his hands touch my hips.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs.
I find the strength to pull away. I can't think straight when I'm that close to him. "It's not okay, Elliot! You can't tell me to just fuck off like that."
He sits down on the couch and pulls my arm to that I sit down next to him. "I don't remember that," he says quietly. "The last thing I remember before today is bringing you and Tyrell to the arcade. Then this morning, I woke up in Tyrell's SUV.
He blacked out, completely. That's terrifying. That's a lot more dangerous than just seeing and talking to your dead dad. What am I supposed to do with this information? I'm not qualified to help. "So you don't remember telling me that you don't need me, that you don't want me here?" I ask.
"No and I don't know what happened to Tyrell either," he tries to explain. "So you don't know what happened either?"
I shake my head. "I left like you told me to and haven't spoken to either of you since. Do you black out a lot?"
"Never like this," he tells me. "It's more a question of what's real and what's not."
"Why haven't you told me?" I feel like when you live with someone you should talk about your problems, especially involving mental health. He never needed to go through this alone.
"I'm crazy; this isn't normal! I thought you would leave me and I couldn't handle that," he confesses.
I reach out and grab his hand, squeezing to let him know I'm still here. I want to tell him exactly what he means to me, but I don't know how. Before I can come up with the words to explain myself, someone bangs on the door and Elliot goes to answer it.