Chapter 20! Well, looks like this one is gonna be longer than Halo.
Trigger warning: mental illnesses and suicide talk.
There's definitely not much you can do when you're the offspring of one tragic mistake. But when you start finding out how that mistake has been shaped, carved, and molded, you know for sure that you cannot change a thing because you're the constant result of this mistake, and worse...the perpetrators do not think it is a mistake.
They think by giving me detailed letters I will understand their views, but all I can see is chaos within each line written by both of them. All I can see is torture, pain, violence, tears, and destruction. Yet, they think they are best together. My fucking mother (or, apparently, aunt) is stupid. She is actually stupid. She knows she is stupid. Everybody knows she is stupid.
"Sally." Jeremy sighs. He looks at his cheeseburger, scrupling to say what's on his mind or to respond to all my questions. "They're not making this harder for you; they're basically giving you their story together so you can look and judge by yourself."
"I can't just…live with them, Jeremy. I can't do that. I've seen enough, I've heard enough, and I've read enough. I am a mistake. My mother and aunt are lovers and I am the fucking devil child." I start crying. The thought itself is haunting and torturous. The words I've read and the actions they've done are repulsive. I am this seed of iniquity that they have produced with their disgusting love.
"Don't cry," Jeremy says. I look at his mouth chewing and then at his guilty blue eyes and his white hair. Everyone looks guilty, yet I do not see one true sense of empathy. Perhaps only with Stacy, but even Stacy is over it right now. At least she's not the result of this shit experiment; at least she has a new, better life right now, while here I am, stuck forever inside an incestuous fuckfest.
"You can always come live with Seth and I till you find a decent job and can afford living alone," Jeremy offers after he's done chewing. "Maya and Andrew will be so happy."
I wipe some of my tears when I notice a couple of strangers staring at me. I take a bite of my sandwich and hum. "As much as I love this offer and love your little happy family, I'll have to decline." I stuff French fries in my mouth and wipe the mayonnaise with the back of my hand. "I don't want to involve you guys with my incest drama."
"Wow, you're just like your mum," Jeremy says, chuckling. I glare at him. "Literally just like her." He laughs. "But, you know, I was the donor. So basically you're kinda my daughter."
"Thanks, dad, but no," I say. "I'm okay with living with Grandma Sonia, and Grandma Jessica is offering, too. But, you know, my college's here, so…"
"I understand," he says. "Plus, I'd like you around. At least I know you're safe."
"It's so weird when you act like my dad. Just…don't. I already have like many mothers."
Jeremy laughs. "I guess that's true."
"But," I say, "I don't consider Tegan as my mum even if she gave birth to me. My mum is Sara, she's the one who has suffered a lot and she's the one who's been in so much pain. She's the one that needs to be taken care of, but what she's doing is just stupid. She's the one who took care of me and loved me. Yes, Tegan was a great aunt, whatever, but she was never good to my mother. She hurt her and now my sick, stupid mother is back in her arms…her sister's arms." I take a deep breath. I don't want to cry again. Whenever these words enter my brain, I cry. Mothers…sisters…God, it's fucked up.
"Sally," Jeremy says. I know this tone; I know he wants to shut me up. He can't handle it when I insult my aunt.
"No, Jeremy," I say. "Listen to this letter." I look for the folded sheet in my jacket's left pocket, but I don't find it there so I search in the right one. "I'm gonna read to you what she has written."
He nods, gesturing with his eyes for me to start.
Dear, Sally...
Good news is doctors here are brilliant! Sara's beginning to walk again. It's a miracle, we all think so. I cried so hard first time I saw her taking slow steps in the doctor's office. She cried, too. There's hope, and we can see it with our eyes. It's not the same dead hope everybody promised us when we were in Vancouver. I truly believe this land is where we belong. It's the start we were looking for. She's Sara Smith, I am Tegan Quin, and we are partners. We are not the disgusting sisters who were lusty for each other as everybody perceived us in Canada. There's nothing better than starting new. I wish you'd share this joy, we really want you to. We miss you, Sally. Sara wants you to see her trying to walk. I know you miss seeing her healthy and strong as she's always been. God, Sally, if you only know how much it hurts me to see her struggling. Yes, she has forgiven me, but I never will forgive me. That's the thing, baby: I don't ever want you to forgive someone who has abused you, even if your own mother has done so. I don't deserve chances and she has given me many, many of them. Don't ever say yes to abuse and don't ever accept it. Your mother is strong, she's amazing and beautiful. She is your mother, the one who life has punched in the face since she met me, and the one who has lost so much just to raise you and prove the world that mistrusted her wrong. Don't ever believe it when she puts the blame on herself and say she has suffered less than I did. Nobody suffered as much as she has, trust me. I can confirm that because I am the reason behind this suffering. Do not let her underestimate her pain. It's so like her to hyperbolize what she thinks is her failure and belittle the pain I have caused her. I want you to love her and forgive her. I'd be the happiest person if you knocked on our door on Christmas Eve, but I understand if you don't want to look at me. But please, please think it over. She's your mother!
"How can I even go there after this? My aunt herself is admitting she's a psycho bitch."
"Did you even finish reading all the letters?" Jeremy asks with a furrowed brow.
"No," I say defensively. "I think I have read enough."
"Actually, you stopped because you're afraid you'd find out that Tegan wasn't in control of her actions if you continued reading."
"That's not true," I say.
"God." He shakes his head. "You're just like her, like Tegan. You both run away from reality by repressing it the longer you can."
"I am not like her," I say a bit too loudly for the quiet diner. "I am not sick," I whisper.
"Since you know she's 'sick', why are you arguing? Being mentally ill is not fun and games, Sally. Keep reading and actually get what had happened before you attack." Even though he's whispering, he is still sending chills down my spine, giving me the sense of fear for the first time, making me experience the feeling of having an angry father for the first time. I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. He seems serious, angry, and upset with what I have said. "Your mothers are not bad people. None of them is worse than the other." I close my eyes, nodding with tears once again falling from them.
…
Tegan
June 1st, 2008
She sits there, looking at the bright morning sky. The sun kisses her pale skin as she narrows her eyes, glancing at it as if she's asking to go there. Sadly, I know that she's asking to go there. Her brown hair looks much lighter under the rays of the sun. The light breeze is making her grown bangs sway and slap her delicate skin. The swing is slowly moving underneath her feeble body. She has a hand gripping the wooden bar of the swing, she's holding it too tightly as if she's afraid the wind would rashly kick the swing and send her brittle body flying into another land. She's holding onto that bar for dear life that I can make out her blue veins ready to burst out of her clenched fist from feet apart. Her gripe is wailing and shrieking for life to lock her inside its imaginary metal bars despite her crying calls for death each morning.
I look back at my mother. She is also squinting because the sun is in her eyes. I look down at the table, at the tea, at the cookies, at the flowers, at the wood…at nothing and everything. For the past six months, there were times I wanted to dig a hole in the ground and bury my shameful soul inside, and this is one of these times.
"She told you all of this?" I ask with a timid voice, not wanting to know any more truth, not wanting to hear anymore words. I look back at her again, still sitting there, indifferent to anything but the thoughts that stab her happiness.
"Mhm," my mother responds.
"How?" I say mostly to myself. "She refused to talk to anyone. Not to Emy, Amber, me, nor even to her parents."
"She just spilled it all out to me. She cried. I guess…maybe because I am a therapist. But…" My mother trails off, looking back at Sara sitting alone. "She's not…she's not well."
"I don't know what to do anymore," I whisper.
I never thought depression could be this monster mongering death each morning and promising loss each night. I never thought this word would be my nightmare. I never thought sadness could touch someone and ail them badly that they cannot perform their humanly functions like the rest of us. Depression became a painting that we hung beside Sara's dusty college degree. No pills worked, no doctors benefited us. Sara was slowly shriveling and retiring from life on her own. I never thought I could be the reason to someone's misery while they remain the reason to my survival.
Nothing was the same after I put a hand on her. I tried, I swear I tried to win her trust and love back, but the more I tried the farther we've detached. And it's not because she hates me and doesn't want me; it's because she hates herself and doesn't want to know that life is progressing outside of our room.
It was not that bad when she returned with me to Vancouver. She was able to speak, she was able to think, and she wanted to breathe. The hints were there and I've sensed them when I spoke to her in the hospital, but my ignorance did not allow me to see them clearly. We did not sleep on the same bed, as she requested. When I went to work, I left her asleep alone and when I came back she was still in bed.
Weeks after, I asked her to walk a little bit around the apartment, but she refused.
"That's none of your business," she said to me. "I do what I want."
"But the doctor said…"
"That's none of your damn business," she cut me off.
"Did you eat?" I changed the subject.
"No," she said. "I want to sleep. Get out."
Her behavior started to get aggressive slowly. I assumed it's her way of fighting back and I didn't blame her; I was still so ashamed of my doing. I let her yell at me and cuss me out of my room. After all, in a way, I forced her to come back with me.
But I was not the only one who witnessed the peculiar changes that had embodied my girlfriend all of a sudden. She was fine with Emy and Amber. She talked to them and I even heard her laughing once. However, weeks after our return, Emy came into the kitchen with a face so pale as if she'd seen a ghost. She sat beside Amber and me at the table and looked at us with wide eyes.
"Sara's not okay," Emy said.
"What do you mean?" I asked. There seemed to be lots of options to Sara not being okay. Was it her back? Her asthma? A flue? I didn't even think of her depression.
"Did you notice anything strange lately?"
"She treats me like shit, but I probably deserve it." I shrugged.
"She's been a bit moody while talking to us, too," Amber said.
"She just said she wants to die."
I furrowed my brows and my eyes narrowed as I stared at my friend's careworn features.
"And you left her alone?" Amber yelled.
"Shh," Emy said. "She fell asleep. I made sure she's asleep."
Words weren't doing their best to escape me. I was struck with a sense of guilt blended with hate towards myself and boxed with sudden grief and sorrow. I didn't notice I was crying till a screaming sob choked me.
Those were terrible times for everyone. I was working on my recovery for Sara, while her mental health was slowly deteriorating. Life faded out of her face. The things she loved to do most were ignored. All she did was stay in bed and stare into a blank space of nothingness but crippling thoughts that tore up her happiness. Eventually, Emy convinced her to go to the therapist. They went alone, because I was not needed in her personal space, and I understood that. She was diagnosed with clinical depression, and that's when I had to step in and inform her parents, which was not a great idea. That night we fought, but I tried to hold back all anger as she yelled her heart out.
"I didn't want you to go tell them. I don't want you to do anything…anything. Just don't do anything. I don't want anything from you. I want you to leave me alone. I want to die," she screamed. "I want to die," she repeated as she wept.
She was standing on her knees on our bed, and I stood near the door. I dialed up Emy's number immediately, asking her to come over in case something terrible happened. After these days, we knew Sara wasn't supposed to be left alone. That was in February. I couldn't leave work or college, so Emy babysat Sara one day and Amber did the other. They would take shifts staying in the store.
In March, after Amber's mother had died, I had to quit my job at the café to work at the art store with them, which allowed me to babysit Sara some days when Emy and Amber stayed in the store.
"Remove all sharp objects, all the razors, all the scissors, and all the medicines. Hide them in a place you only know," my mum told me when I informed her about Sara's situation. "That's not an easy thing to deal with."
"I know," I said. "The medication is doing nothing. She repeats she wants to die each day. She doesn't eat much. She has so much medication to take for her back and she needs to eat but she doesn't. She doesn't sleep but stays in bed and does nothing."
"Be careful," mum said. "She needs therapy."
"Her parents offered to pay but she refused. She doesn't want me to get involved or say anything."
"How come?"
"I...I don't know…things are not that good between us."
"What happened all of a sudden? She was fine!"
"I know." I sighed. "There were some hints. She told me to get her a cat and…" I couldn't tell my mother. I couldn't tell her at all, she'll be ashamed of me. "She felt lonely." I lied to my mother by telling hee Sara had fallen so she had to undergo a back surgery. "Since the surgery she hasn't been…normal."
"Tegan," my mum murmured, "please be careful. And tell me what happens with her each day."
Nothing much happened with Sara, though. I started studying in the room while she lay in bed. Since I read out loud, I heard tsking each minute (she hated when I read loudly). I tried not to bother her as much as I could. I let out my frustration in the punching bag I had gotten. I took cold showers and cried for hours in the bathroom. I could only take my showers when she slept because it wasn't safe to leave her alone. She only took her showers when Emy was in the place, so sometimes she stayed with greasy hair and smelly clothes for over four days because Emy couldn't get the chance to pass by.
One time I came into the room and I found her passed out without any clothes. Her body almost allured me into touching her skin if it wasn't for the strange voices I heard from her laptop. She had been watching a recorded tape of us in bed. When I watched more, I realized it's the tape that Emy was working on. She had finished it, apparently, and given it to Sara. I was surprised to see her in this state, but I admit it did spark up some hope in me. At that time, I had stopped believing that she loved me, but seeing our bodies moving and hearing our pleasured voices, my mind crawled back to those good days when Sara was so sweet, so fun, and so careless. That day I realized I had lost my Sara, but I also realized that she still felt for me and longed for the past to return. I promised myself that night I'd do the best I could to get her back on track.
"Why don't we go out?" I asked her the next morning. It was Saturday. "The weather's getting better. We could go grab dinner…or go to the movies."
"I…I…h…haven't gotten out of the ap...apa...apartment since…" She looked down at her clothed lap. I nodded. She hadn't left this place at all. She only went to the therapist. That day I knew I was to blame for everything she had been through. I didn't even ask her to go out nor did I take her anywhere. I didn't even bring her coffee when I had the chance. I didn't even bring any film. I was so focused on her health declining that I forgot to focus on how to get it back. I was doing every little work in the place we lived in. Since that day I told her the place was not hers and hit her, she had stopped touching anything or commenting on anything. She used to get the groceries, clean, and cook before the big fight, but after that she did nothing but sit in bed, crying for death to embrace her as if it was some loyal friend. I never felt so hateful towards myself more than that day. I realized I was, in a way, holding her captive against her will. I felt as if I was one of those men we both hated; one of those sexist repulsive men she once compared me to. I felt as if I was taking and not giving.
"Financial instability can cause that," my mother told me when I called her to pour out my feelings. "Most women used to have mental breakdowns because they did not have much will. They felt suffocated…as if they were ornaments in their husband's places." Mum paused for a second and then continued, "Why did you make her feel this way, Tegan?"
"I didn't mean to." I still did not tell her about me hitting Sara. I couldn't do it.
"She feels that she's useless and unworthy. She feels like there's no point in her staying with you but to please you. Tegan, you're…"
"Selfish," I finished for her. I should have not made us go back so I can get a freaking job handed to me by father while she sits there doing nothing but losing vigor.
"It's your job to help her now," mum said. "But it's not your job to pick and choose for her. You're not her guardian; you're not the boss of her. You're not the boss of anyone but yourself."
Sara accepted going out that night. She even asked me what to wear. I almost cried when she did make me choose between two shirts. Because of her lack of words for the previous months, she had developed a habit of incessant stuttering before pronouncing her words. Her lisp had greatly thickened that she stopped pronouncing the letter S, not even when she said her name. Her tone had gotten softer and even less confident. She tried not to make too much eye contact with anybody, especially with me.
"Which one do you feel like wearing?" I asked her. I didn't want to choose for her. I didn't want to give her that impression that I was taking over her whole life.
"I…I…don't kn...know."
"They're both nice. How about you choose?" I tried again. I was taking off my shirt in front of her, which I had not done at all since before the great fight. I saw her cheeks suddenly turn red as she looked down at my naked chest. She lifted her head up and looked at my eyes. I saw so many emotions there that I couldn't read, but I felt so much hope that I couldn't help but smile. I got rewarded with a very weak smile from her. That night was one of the best nights in months. Since the day I hit her, we had not smiled at each other. She lifted up her stripped shirt, covering her bashful face and indicating she was choosing it.
"Yes, good choice." I laughed and watched her walk out of the room to get to the bathroom.
We went to a small restaurant, and we faced each other. I noticed that she couldn't make eye contact with anybody, and she barely looked at me. Her grown mullet had become too shaggy and her cheeks had gotten fuller. The good thing was she was back on her feet again, able to walk without limping or too much pain. She was not supposed to carry heavy objects and was not supposed to walk for long distances, however.
"What do you wanna eat?" I asked as I inspected my menu.
"I..I…I…" She sighed frustratingly, unable to let the words out.
"It's okay, Sasa." She looked up at me as soon as I said her name that way. "Try." I did not want to push her, and I felt like I was pushing her just by telling her to try again. I had no idea what had happened to her ability of speech. Even Emy and Amber were shocked. It was getting worse with time.
"Don't…kn..know." She sighed again. "What…d..d..do you…w..want?"
"I wanna get what you wanna get," I said.
"Wh…why?"
"Because…" I honestly did not have any answer. I just wanted to make her feel that I was not that monster she had witnessed. I was changing. "Because I love your choices." I admit, that was a dumb sentence, and I know she did not buy that but she nodded and pointed at the mushroom burger with avocado sandwich and fries. "I haven't had burgers since….wow, since ever." I chuckled.
"M…m…me, too." I grinned at her, but this time she looked down without giving me anything in return.
I tried to make a small talk, but she was getting frustrated with her inability to utter words that she almost cried, so I stopped saying anything more. I didn't want to hurt her.
We ate in silence like two strangers sitting next to each other on a plane.
"I don't know," she said quickly right after she swallowed her last bite then paused. "Wh…what happened to…" She pointed at her tongue. "All of…a s...s…sudden."
"Does it feel different? Your tongue?" She shook her head. "Do you want to visit the Hearing and Speech Center?" She shook her head once again. "Why?" She shrugged. "Are you sure?" She nodded.
"How…how are you?" I noticed that if she spoke quickly, the sentence was normally pronounced; if she wanted to speak in a relaxed manner, she stuttered.
"Me?" I asked. She gave a nod. "I'm good. I…I miss you," I said.
"Yo..your health?"
"Good. Taking anger management classes and still on the meds." I took a sip of my coke. I got nervous when she spoke to me. Actually, I got butterflies and I felt stupid because it made me feel as if I was this geeky loser in high school waiting for this hot chick to speak to her. "But these meds are messing up my period big time," I started blabbering.
She laughed, and it made me want to blabber more, happy that we were interacting.
"M..me, too." She sighed. "I…" She took a long breath and spoke, "I either get…get it twice a month or…not get it for two months…since the su...su...surgery."
"Me, too," I said a bit too excitedly. I was biting my straw and smiling like a goofy child. "I feel so bloated all the time. Emy said I should do constipation ads."
"That's mean," she said without any stutter. It reminded me of the old Sara.
Maybe something in me hoped for more that night that I was disappointed when she got in the room and closed the door without inviting me in. I even thought, maybe, she would want me to follow, so I went there making up an excuse of wanting to grab some clothes.
"My nightwear is all dirty," I said as I walked inside. She was sitting on our mattress, staring at her feet. "Are you okay?" It was a bit ironic to ask that question, in so many ways. But she nodded anyway. "Do you want anything?" I was trying.
"No," she said without stuttering. "Th…thank you."
"I…" I looked down at the ground. I exhaled deeply then said, "I love you, Sara. I still do." She looked up at me. I saw things in her eyes but they were not tears, unlike mine which were watering. "I'll leave you now. Good night."
I was hoping for her to call my name, but she didn't.
At the end of April my dad wanted me to go down to New York for a week to show me how things should be done at work. It was a hard decision to make whether I should go or not. I told Sara, but she didn't care much. I asked her to come with me and she refused. Emy and Amber said I should go. My dad insisted that I should go. I also had to talk to all my professors. My finals were approaching and my marks were not as good as the previous semesters.
"We'll take care of her. We'll stay here," Emy said.
"Yes. Don't worry about anything," Amber said.
"I just wanna…stop hating myself."
"Stop doing that to yourself, Tegan." Emy sighed. "You made a mistake and you learned from it and you won't do it again. We all know you couldn't control what you've done and now you're getting treated."
"You are strong for getting treated," Amber encouraged. "It is so hard living with someone who refuses to go to therapy. I had to deal with my mother for years. Don't be too hard on yourself."
"I agree," Emy added. "Remember the hard times I went through? I was just like…her." She lowered her voice when she said the last word, since Sara was in the room alone.
"Yes," I said. "But you didn't push us away."
"Tegan, it's much harder for her because…because…" she stammered then sighed, giving up on her sentence.
"Because I'm the reason," I mumbled, finishing for her.
"You're part of it," Emy whispered.
"Why don't I leave you guys to talk while I go check up on her?" Amber suggested. She picked up a tray full of food that she had just cooked to take to Sara, who never desired to join us in the kitchen when we spoke.
"Tegan, look at me." I did as she said. "Sara's psychological issue is more complicated than we can perceive. The whole disability of proper speech is scary. I mean, it's Sara; she spat words like it was her job to do so and now she can't say anything without stuttering."
"I know," I said. "But, Emy, that's why she should see a therapist and that's why she needs so much help, which she is not allowing us to give."
"She's not allowing you," Emy said. "She loves you, but she's afraid."
"I won't hit her again," I complained.
"She knows that, actually."
"Then what is she afraid of?"
"Everything. Feeling like she's not good enough, feeling like she's a burden, feeling as if she's one big mistake that the world has birthed and threw for dogs to feed on. Those are her words." Emy shrugged. "I noticed that...she is trying. She asks about you, she makes sure you've been eating and sleeping."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Why doesn't she tell me that?"
"Talk to her. We kept talking to her. Her feelings are too complex and she doesn't let everything out, but we're trying and she's trying. She really loves you, Tegan."
The thing is…talk is cheap. I tried to talk to Sara before traveling; I explained my situation once again. I couldn't get any emotion out of her. She told me to take care, though, and that was the only tune I recited throughout my trip.
My father showed me the apartment he had bought for Sara and I as a gift for my hard work at college and something to cheer both of us up as I informed him about both of our medical conditions. He showed me different places in New York, which overwhelmed me and drove me into a nasty panic attack in the middle of the night. We were both staying at a hotel because my place was not ready yet—it was a very elegant apartment, a bit too large for only Sara and I, but it was nice and I know she was going to love it—I had to call dad that night and make him come over to my room. That night I told him everything that had happened between Sara and I and he promised not to tell mum.
I talked to Sara on the telephone each day but there was not much to talk about, so I asked Emy about her each day, just to make sure Sara was actually alright.
"She doesn't want to shower," Emy told me two days before leaving New York. "She hasn't showered since a day before you left. She kinda…stinks."
"Wow," I mumbled. Ironically, I was just out of the shower, and I was still in my towel. It was almost nine in NYC, so it was soon to be six in Vancouver. "That's clean freak Sara. Have you talked to her?"
"It's…" Emy paused. I sat on my bed and waited. I was too tired. "She hasn't even changed her underwear."
"Oh, wow." I chuckled. "I should be worried, shouldn't I?" I sighed as I fell onto my pillow, rubbing my aching head.
"Well," Emy said, "I think that…she really misses you."
"Really?"
"Yes." Emy hummed. "She's in your t-shirt. She's been wearing it since you left and…yes. She asks a lot about you."
I sat up, letting my towel fall. "Wait, wait. Really?" I was too hopeful and happy.
"Tegan, come on, she loves you."
"Oh my God." I think I squealed. I probably did.
"Yup, so," Emy said, "umm…we want to Skype. I mean, I asked her if she wanted to Skype and she nodded. She blushed, too. And I said I'll call and make sure you're not busy, so…"
"Oh my God," I screamed again. "Yes, yes, yes. Let me log in." I was too happy to care I was naked. I opened my computer and logged in on my account. Sara was on and I didn't hesitate to video call her. I lifted my towel up and covered my exposed chest quickly. Disheveled Sara greeted me.
I was shocked by how unkempt she looked: her attire so scruffy and her hair tousled. She stared at me with awe. Her eyes roamed over my wet, rosy skin, and I swear I saw her cheeks finally get some color in them.
She was still stuttering, but she was, surprisingly, better at making full sentences than before, maybe because Emy's with her.
"See?" Emy said. "People shower. You're gonna get a skin fungus or something." Sara did not respond. She stared at me and her hands reached for the screen.
"How…are you?" she whispered.
"I'm fine. I miss you," I told her, not hesitating. I touched the screen where her hands were resting.
Sara smiled. "H..h..how's New York?"
"It's good." I shook my head at myself with awkward laughter. "I mean, it's big. Lots of people. Lots of places. Lots of buildings. So much colors. It's overwhelming. We have a good place, though. Good area. Yeah…I told you about that. I can't wait for you to see it."
"Yeah," she murmured. "When are you coming…uh…b...back?"
"In two days," I said. "I told you." She nodded.
"Should I leave you guys alone?" Emy asked.
"N…no. It's fine," Sara answered before I could. Emy sighed, giving me that hopeless look.
"Do you…umm, miss me?" I pushed my luck, waiting for what seemed like an impossible miracle. I just wanted hope. I wanted something to save this relationship.
"I do." And she gave it to me so gently that I bit my lip so hard and fought the tears that wrestled to leave my eyes.
I wanted to hold her body so much that night, dirty and disgusting or not. It did not matter. I wanted to bury my face in her chest like old times and cry, and I wanted her to touch my hair and stroke it and make me feel better. My demons were raging inside me. I wanted to hit something or break something, and crying wasn't helping. I missed her so much and wanted her badly, yet she couldn't feel it. Her actions were out of control the way mine were. That night I realized we were both one big mistake that got together and formed a bigger mistake. That night I cried in my bed and touched myself till I woke up the next morning sick and tired.
"We all make mistakes, Tegan," my dad said to me the next morning over coffee in the hotel's restaurant. "If you keep beating yourself up, you'll never fix the situation."
"Dad, it's not easy." I sighed. I put some sugar in my coffee because I hate the bitter taste that Sara loves. Everything reminded me of her that even coffee almost made me sob. "Look what happened to her because of me."
"It's not because of you. It was already there and it was probably bound to happen because you weren't paying attention. You just pushed it to get out faster." I felt like I was talking to my mother, which annoyed me.
"Thanks. Now you're saying that I'm the reason anyway because I'm a shit girlfriend and I was ignoring my girlfriend who gets horny over the idea of death." I closed my eyes and shook my head at what had come out of my mouth. My tears started falling. I was a terrible girlfriend and he could not deny it.
"You're still young and she's your first girlfriend. Lessons will be learned, Tegan."
"And I want her to be the last one." I cried like a desperate being, but I was a desperate woman. "I can't live without her. If only you get it."
"Oh, I do. Trust me, I do." He nodded to himself, taking a sip of his coffee.
"How? Have you ever made such a terrible mistake with, like…my mum or someone you really loved that it hurt you so much?"
He chuckled and nodded again. "I have. I have done so many terrible mistakes, ones I can't even tell you about because I promised Sonia some topics would stay between her and me. I fixed most of my…let's say, grave mistakes, but there are the small ones that made us get a divorce, you know."
I did not know anything. I never felt lost more than those two days I spent in NYC crying my heart out. The plane back home was horrible, as well. I threw up two times and cried more. I looked like death when Amber received me at the airport; I almost fainted between her arms.
Seeing Sara in flesh and blood was an entirely new feeling. It's like I've been gone for centuries, not a week. I realized then that we hadn't departed since 2004 (except these two weeks she flew to Toronto a few months ago) when she judged my personal hygiene. Four years later, Sara smelled so bad that I loved it so much because the smell just reminded me of how far we've gotten together and how much I was willing to lose to be back the way I was before for her and for myself. That hope sparked out of my eyes that I reached a hand for her, asking her to touch it and she pulled me to her, hugging me in front of Amber and Emy. I cried in her chest the way I was waiting to do and she cried as well. She sobbed so hard. It was the miracle I was waiting for. It was the happiest moment since a long while.
Though I wanted to kiss her, I didn't. I was too careful and I let her do most of the touching. She touched my face and looked into my eyes. She mouthed her need for me and her need for help. Her voice was too quiet to be heard but I heard each word louder than the drumming of my chest. Amber and Emy decided to leave us alone.
"I missed you," she said without a single stutter. "I…I didn't know how much I'd miss you. It's like…we haven't left each other at all. And like, uh…like, you know, when…when I left you a few months ago…af…after the…uh, the, you know…I mean…I was mad at you and sad but now…I miss you so much and I need so much help because…" She buried her face in her hands and wept.
I was shocked. More than shocked, actually. I was stupefied.
"Sara," I said, "I'm here. I'm always here because I need you as much as you need me and maybe even more. I'm doing all of this for us but I don't want you to feel like I feel that I am more than you because I feel so much less. I feel so small."
"I always…I always want to die. I just want to die."
"Don't say that, please." I cried more. I despise this sentence so much.
"I can't help it. I think of it…I think that life is all meaningless for me and that it's...it's okay to die, but…I don't want to. I don't want to. I want to stop wanting to die. D…do…do you get me?"
"I won't let you think of it," I told her. "I'm here with you. Emy and Amber are here with you. It will be fine. Everything will be fine, eventually. I just need you to trust me again, to talk to me again. I want to save us, Sara." I put my hands on her shoulders and gently rubbed. She closed her eyes and nodded.
"Are you…al…alright?" My eyes squinted, so she said again, "You look…uh…p…p…pale and tired. Are you…tired?"
"Yes," I mumbled, still staring at her golden eyes. "It was a horrible flight. I puked twice. Haven't gotten much sleep. I just really missed you, honestly." Sara giggled. It made me smile. "I think I need a shower, though."
"Yes…me, too." She looked down at her messy state. I saw her nose twitch and her cheeks redden. "I am repulsive."
"I love you, anyway." I was cheesy.
"Can I…shower…with…with you?" Everything halted in that moment. I looked at her, waiting to wake up from a dream. She looked at me with a blank face. I could not believe what I had heard. I wanted to shout and scream and call everybody I know to tell them what Sara had told me.
When we were taking our clothes off in the bathroom, I still did not believe what was happening. More than six months without any contact, without any affection, without any love… and suddenly, one night, Sara decided to end that brutal deaf and dumb relationship. I ogled her body like I had never seen it before. The hair covered most of her skin and grew thicker and much darker on her mound and under her arms.
"There's uh…" She blushed as she got in the shower after I had made sure the water was warm. "There's so much hair and I'm…emb…embarrassed. It's too much…everywhere."
I pointed down at my pubic hair as well, to show her she was not the only one. "Hair doesn't disgust me, Sara. I like seeing that…seeing you, in this natural state."
"I'm fat," she said randomly. "Cortisone is making me fat and I don't eat because…I…I don't have an appe…appetite, but I'm fat."
"Stop criticizing your body and self, please," I whispered. "Please," I said again. Yes, I could see she had gained some pounds, and I knew it was because she had been taking this stupid medicine that made her gain weight because of the hormones in it, but she was still not classified as fat. Even if she was fat, it's not like I was going to stop loving her or her body. I just wanted her to understand that, but I couldn't change things, I couldn't tell her what to understand and not to understand because I was not her, and I always forgot to remember that we were different people; just because I'm confident, it doesn't mean she has to be.
"I wanted to shave but you…you hid all the razors." She frowned. "I don't…want to look bad for you…and I am a turn off, aren't I?" I looked up at her, watching her wet hair cover her face. I looked down at her heavy breasts and hard nipples. I wanted to let her touch the river between my thighs, but I knew I shouldn't get too far even if she was giving me hints about that.
"Hair doesn't turn me off," I told her as I poured the liquid coconut body soap onto her loofah. "In fact, nothing turns me off right now. I'd get turned on just by looking at you. I am right now, actually…in case…you…you wanna check."
Sara sat down and laughed. I sat opposite to her and touched her hands. "You…you haven't had sex? At all…with any…wo...woman?" I knew by then she had said what she had said in order to know if I slept with anybody or not. I let go of her hands and looked at her.
I lifted up my right hand and said, "Only with this. Not really…good in bed." I made her laugh. "Sometimes with this." I showed her my left hand. "Better than her sister but same shit…nothing too exciting." I inhaled deeply then said, "No, Sara. I hadn't had sex with anyone. I barely masturbated.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking down at her body. I handed her the loofah, and she took it right away to clean herself. I wish I could do it for her, but I knew better. I cleaned myself on my own, too.
"I couldn't…" She said after she was done lathering the soap all over her skin. "I tried to…touch myself…I…I…couldn't. I opened this…umm…video…Emy made for us…yeah…and I…fell asleep." She laughed, and I did, too.
"Wow," I mumbled.
"I don't know what happened to me."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"You really…sh…should be."
The thing with depression is that you cannot control it; it feels like those times when you were a child in your father's car, thinking that the moon is the one following you wherever you go. It's everywhere. It's shiny and it's lurking right behind you and it's waiting for you to close an eye so it can brighten up more for you. You sleep and depression does not sleep until it devours all that is you. You can't stop thinking of death, because that's not something you can do. You can't say stop being depressed. You can't say sadness is a blessing because it is not. You can only try to make that person step away from that demon when they are with you, so you try to be with them as much as you can. That's what I did with Sara and the results were so slow and tiring but I tried and she was trying because she was tired. But there was always this reluctance that came out of her and it made me furious at times.
That night I slept in our bed, and after that night I was back again in our room. We showered together for the most part, but never touched each other. We did talk, but never joked.
"Tegan," my mum says, pulling me out of my thoughts, "stop crying. It's been an hour." I have been crying for the past hour, thinking of everything that has happened in the past six months.
"I feel so ashamed," I told her. She suggested we spend the three weeks before moving out of the country at her place in Calgary. I thought it was a terrible idea because I knew Sara wouldn't want that, but surprisingly, Sara was more open to it than me. So I graduated and we flew to Calgary.
"You're helping yourself, you're good," mum says. "But, Sara…" She paused. She took another look at Sara and looked back at me. "I'm not sure if this is a healthy relationship. She needs so much help. And…she can't even speak well again. She needs therapy. She can't be left alone from nine to five, five days a week. What if she…"
"Mum, no." I rejected the idea. I couldn't even put it in my brain. "She never tried. I asked her, I made sure. She said she thought about it but couldn't do it. Plus, you know, I hid even the forks and knives and everything sharp or dangerous. I'll do the same in NYC. And um…" I paused to take a breath then continued, "Emy and Sara's parents arranged this schedule. So she wakes up and Skypes with her mum then with Amber and Emy, and then I call her and then she talks to Rob and lastly to Joy. And, also, I made her parents ship her keyboard to the apartment and I shipped the guitar, too. I want her to focus on music until I find her a job. And, you know, you and dad got us the cat, so…I guess…I hope that will be good. I hope. I'll try to take her out and talk to her and be more available."
"Alright," mum says. "That's not bad. I'll talk to her, too. She opened up to me. I can feel that…there are some stuff she's hiding regarding her family…I mean that's what I understood, but I didn't push her to say anything she's not comfortable with. But she opened up about how she feels and that's really good."
I'm not sure if Sara has told mum about her being adopted, but from what mum said, I think Sara left that part out. She only told Emy last month, but Emy was not surprised; she said she has already suspected it. I know mum probably can see it, or suspects something like that.
"What's up with her family?" I ask.
"I'm not sure. There is this part she's leaving that may or may not be a factor…" mum cuts herself off, looking at Sara. She smiles, so I turn around, seeing Sara looking at us. I smile, too. "Hey, why don't you go sit with her? She's been looking at us for the past half an hour. I'll go prepare the table."
I don't hesitate to do what mum said; I get up quickly and walk up to Sara. She shifts her body, making a room for me to sit next to her. She smiles at me, which is a good sign. When she smiles, I always think it's a good sign to talk to her. She looks up at the sun, squinting. She sighs in content, which takes me aback.
"I…I like it h…here. I…like this place," she tells me. "I feel…I feel great!"
"Really?" I ask a bit too excitingly.
"Yes," Sara says. "You know…I…it's…" She exhales deeply. "Some days I felt so ugly, so stupid, so worthless…s…some days I felt horrible. I hated looking at m…m…myself in the mirror. I hated my hair, my clothes, my features, my body…I just…I just hated myself. I just wanted someone to tell me that I'm pretty or smart or worth it…to feel like I do matter. And if n…nobody did that, I'd break down and cry…and sleep…and just…I'd feel bad, you know." I nodded, listening to her finally speaking more than one sentence. "But some days, I felt so good about everything and I felt confident. That was…normal…for me. I envied the way…you were…so…so confident and so sure. I just wanted…to be like you, and I admired it…I was jealous but I was happy that…I, you know, I have a girlfriend who is so…smart and funny and nice and pretty and hardworking…and sexy, too." A quiet laugh left her lips.
"Turned out it's just my Narcissistic Personality Disorder doing the job." I laughed in a high pitch. She looked at me with pursed lips.
"Don't say this," she whispered. "I…I didn't know…I felt it…I didn't know."
"I know," I tell her. "You helped a lot…you came in my life in the right time…and guess what, I blew it." I chuckle.
"You're fixing it," Sara says. "I…I feel so good today. I don't know…what's hap…happening? I can even…talk better. You can see it, right?"
"Yes, I do."
"It's…your mum, she's so…good. I l…love talking to her. She's smart and she listens…she makes me feel good."
I smile and move myself closer to Sara. I touch her hand gently, waiting for a nod and she gives it, so I squeeze her hand. "I love you," I whisper.
"We need each other. It's n...not good. Need is so...dangerous, you know? It's like when you...need so...someone, you can't live without them. Like, it's...like, you're addicted to them. And I need you, you know. But...there is always...this...this impediment that stops us. It was...my relationship with Emy, and then...then your fear of love. Then the whole...Emy being our...bed partner, which was, I guess...bad. And now...this...this thing...m...my feelings and your feelings, my illness and yours."
"Girls," mum shouts from inside the kitchen, "come and eat before dinner is too cold." She saves me from saying something stupid, because I honestly don't know how to respond to what Sara has just said.
"L…let's go. I'm hungry," Sara says.
I don't think I have felt that good for awhile (and it's ironic because I was feeling so terrible just an hour ago). There was that day we went to the restaurant and that day I came back from New York, but this day simply wins. Maybe things do need time and patience like my dad has said. Maybe Sara and I will be back the way we were before. I'm not sure if some broken things can be glued together again, but I'm going to try my best to make this relationship come back to life.
"I think…some man is…umm…in your mum's room. I saw…a car park and a man…go inside while you were in the bathroom," Sara says after I switch the lights off and get in bed.
"Oh, God. You're serious?"
"I'm…I'm not sure. Maybe he's, like…out now."
"I don't wanna see, I don't wanna know." Sara giggles. "Come here…if you want."
"Yes," she says. I feel the heat of her body getting closer until I feel her body right next to mine. I grin in the darkness at the progress we have made. It's been seven months and now…we can finally cuddle when we sleep.
…
I feel shifting and movement beside me. I open my eyes to see Sara getting out of bed. "Hey," I mutter, hearing the raspiness of my voice. "What time is it?"
"Five, forty-two," Sara says. "I need to…g…go to the bathroom. Sleep."
"Oh." I yawn. "Alright."
I doze off for awhile and when I wake up, Sara's not beside me. I rub my eyes and get up. I look at the time in my phone: 6:11. I feel the panic creeping in, making me rush out of my room and into the bathroom. I find Sara lying on the floor with her head buried in her hands. I freak out, my mind is already preparing for the worst. I bend down in front of her.
"Sara, what's wrong?" My voice is shaky and my heart is at the level of my feet.
Sara removes her hands away and shakes her head. "S…sorry," she whispers. "I have the worst…cramps and…" A sob cuts off her sentence.
"Oh, baby." I touch her shoulder, wanting to hug her. "I'm so sorry."
"And you hid all the Advil." She cries more. I try my best not to laugh at how cute she looks, but a giggle forces itself out of my lips. I have hid all the drugs away except hers.
"I'm so sorry," I say again. I haven't laughed for something so silly coming out of Sara for a long time. I missed this. God, I missed it so much I'm about to fly like a stupid little bubble. "Let's go back to the room. It's in there. I'll make your tummy feel better."
We leave the bathroom together, but I stop as soon as I hear a masculine voice coming from my mum's room. Sara stops, too.
"Go, go," I hear my mum whisper and see her door slowly being pushed. "They're asleep now, don't worry."
I tense up, feeling my entire body jolt. I feel a warm hand touching my own. I look up at Sara, who is trying to comfort me with the looks of her eyes. She rubs the back of my hand with her thumb. Her golden irises focus on mine. I look back at the door to meet the man my mum is hiding in her room.
"Tegan can't know…" My dad stops in his place as soon as my glare meets his eyes from down the hall. My eyes widen and his eyes do, too.
"What's wrong?" I hear my mum. She leaves the room in the skimpiest night gown I have ever seen. "Oh, God," she shrieks and goes back inside.
Sara's face is flushed, my dad's face is on fire, and I am here confused and shocked of what my eyes has just witnessed. "H…hi, Tegan," dad says awkwardly.
"I don't even wanna know." I pull Sara's hand and walk to my room. I slam the door and burst in loud laughter. Sara sits on my bed. I cry and laugh at the same time. "They're fucking. My parents are fucking," I say. "I thought mum is with a stupid ass man and I was gonna lose it but it's my dad and I like seeing that but I'm disgusted and happy at the same time."
Sara smiles. She doesn't say anything.
"That's, like, so disturbing, but it's not…like…wow."
"Tegan," Sara whispers, "I n…need an…Advil."
"Oh, yes. Sorry." I can't let my mind calculate what I have just witnessed. I can't even feel bad or sad. I feel good about it because I love the idea of mum and dad being together. I mean, I know, I know they're just sleeping together. But if mum is with dad again, I'll feel happy for her. It would not benefit me since I'm out of this house, but it will be good for her. Dad is a good man. He is loving and nice and he doesn't hit, or cuss or take advantage of her.
"Here you go." I hand Sara the capsule. "Is it okay if you'd drink from my bottle? Yours is empty." I hold up my water bottle for her and she takes it. "Aww." I sit next to her. "Is it that bad?" She nods, sighing after chugging down all the water. "Do you want a tummy rub?"
"Yes…uh…please." She moves her body back until she lies down on the mattress.
"One of us always manages to period at the other's house, huh? It always happens." I laugh. I sit next to Sara and place my hand on her lower abdomen. I see the goosebumps fill her skin as soon as my hand starts rubbing.
"I'm embarrassed," she says. "I…scared you and…made us see your parents."
"Oh, shush. I'm glad I saw them." I snicker. "Mum won't look at us for the rest of the day. She looked like a whore in that weird thing she was wearing. She's crying from embarrassment right now, I bet."
"Oh, I feel bad," Sara says.
"Don't," I say. "I haven't had a good laugh since ever." I sigh and lie down next to Sara, my hand never stopping its movement. "Is this okay?"
"Y…yes. It feels good."
I look at Sara's face. Her eyes are looking at my features; they're roaming up and down, inspecting each detail.
"Close your eyes," Sara mumbles. In spite of my confusion, I do as she says.
I jump as soon as I feel her lips on mine. The beating of my heart quickens and the knots invade my stomach. I allow the kiss to grow by giving up to Sara's sudden dominance. I moan as soon as she pulls away. I feel her breath hitting mine. It feels like the first time we have kissed. It reminds me of the first time we have kissed. She closes her eyes and kisses me again. I do feel it: her passion, so intense and ferocious. It's vital and vigorous; it's alive. I hear her soft moan and feel her hand tracing my jaw line. It's hard to believe I haven't kissed these lips for more than seven months. How did I survive?
"Oh, God," I say as soon as we depart. "Oh, God…Oh, God." Sara giggles, brushing my hair. She gives me the sweetest smile, making me forget about how much I have hurt her.
"I missed this," she says. "I missed you." She reaches for the hand that's still rubbing her tummy and kisses the back of it. "Thank y…you. Thank you for trying and wo…working hard on yourself. Th…thank you for staying here. You…you make me happy." I start crying, hearing the words I never thought would leave her lips. "You make me…f…feel better."
"Oh my god." I gasp. I wipe my tears and smile. "Don't say that. You're the one who does all of this for me. You're the one who makes me feel happy and safe and everything."
"B…be patient with me," Sara says. "Some days are hard."
"I know. I'm here. You never left me. I can never leave you. I'm the one who should be thanking you. In fact, thank you. Thank you so much. I'm better now because of you, you know."
"I love you," Sara says. She does not stutter. She does not hesitate.
I never felt this good being cheesy. It feels great, it feels wonderful. Simplicity in love is better than any wild complication that is claimed to make the love fierce and more exciting. There is nothing more exciting and refreshing than the kiss of a lover, the touch of a lover, and the words of love and affection coming out of the lover.