He was just gone. His clothes were mostly still there. His truck was gone. There was a note on the counter stating simply 'I'm Sorry' with a wad of cash on top of it. That was the only reason I didn't go looking for him. He left a note saying 2 words and those words say all that needs to be said. I'm sorry means a lot... but mostly... it means I'm not sorry. I couldn't think of a single explanation for him leaving. If he was sorry, He would... it would be different.
'I'm Sorry' He said. It meant I don't love you. He'd be here if he loved me. The cash confused me. His leaving meant he wasn't who I thought he was. The cash meant he was exactly who I thought he was. I'm leaving, but I don't want you to worry. I'm leaving, but I will still take care of you. There was enough cash to pay rent for a year. Maybe more. I played with the rubberband and continued guessing the amount without opening the wad. I threw it at the wall and went to find breakable items to smash.
That was 2 hours after he vanished.
Sean could almost sense that something was wrong. I was sure of it. I picked up his call and tried to breath. "He's gone" I breathed.
"Patricks on his way." He said angrily. "I'm stuck here in Dublin with Tracy. Shes sick, but if you need me, I can leave." Tracy was Sean's very annoying girlfriend.
"I'm fine, Sean." I offered.
"I hear in your voice you're not. Patrick will be there soon, Sis. Hang in there."
I hung up and watched the clock tick slowly. It was eating me up. What happened? Why? Where is he? Why? When is he coming back? Why? Is he coming back, ever? WHY?
I went to take a shower and ended up sitting on the cold tile, letting the warm water beat against my back. It soothed me for nearly an hour, and then it grew cold and made me more angry. I turned off the water and went to the bedroom. I dried off and put my clothes in the hamper while slipping into one of Michael's shirts he had left behind. Maybe on purpose. Maybe not.
From the looks of it, he left in a hurry. His 'I'm Sorry' was sloppy and rushed. His normally neat clothes were in disarray. He had taken some clothes and left some. What confused me was the clothes that he did leave... they were 3 shirts and a sweatsuit. All articles of his clothing that I loved wearing. That meant that either he still cared about me, or he didn't want them because they smelled like me now. He didn't want them because they smelled like me? No. That didn't make sense either because he took my throw blanket off the couch. It was the blanket he held when he wanted to be comforted. He said it smelled like me and he confirmed that by sleeping with it over his head on several occasions. He took the blanket... because it smelled like me and made him feel safe. None of it made sense. None of it didn't confuse me. I looked at the table, uneven on its legs after he had to fix the legs last night. After our escepades from the kitchen continued to the dining room. He had held my skull hard and kissed me while begging me... "Please don't take my sunshine away."
And it was gone. My sunshine was gone and his sunshine was here with me. It didn't add up.
Patrick didn't knock. He simply let himself in and immediately pulled me into his arms. "God, Fiona, I'm so sorry"
I shook my head. "So is he, evidently."
"He said sorry?"
"He left a note."
He shook his head. "What did it say?"
"I'm Sorry."
He waited. "And?"
"Thats all. It said 'I'm Sorry' and there was a bunch of cash on top of it."
"How much cash?"
"More than I knew he had."
Patrick shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Fiona."
I shrugged. "I'll live." I whispered. "Thats the crazy part is that it doesn't seem like I'll live... but I will."
"You will." He nodded and held me tighter.
"I'll live."
That was 6 hours after he vanished.
Life goes on... which seems important because I didn't. I didn't 'go on'. I stopped trying to live a life at all. I started assuming that I would always feel this way. I would continue to feel the loss until I eventually died. I didn't do anything. I just breathed. Sean came to Belfast at Patrick's insistence. Pat was worried and it was clear in the way he spoke to me. They both regarded me like I was a mental patient. Maybe I should've been. I thought about that as Sean placed a plate of food in front of me.
"Please eat, Fiona." He begged.
I didn't respond. I just continued to stare at the wall across the room. The same wall he had banged his head up against out of anger weeks before. "What do you want from me, Fiona?" He had demanded. I had cried and I began crying again, recalling the fight. It was after I had gone to a meet to sell a couple sniper rifles. The deal had gone downhill fast, when several trucks of American Navy SEALS pulled into the parking lot and held guns to our heads, demanding answers.
Michael had acted instinctively and looked around at the group of us criminals and stated. "Nobody say a Goddamn word!"
I became confused when the leader of the group went straight to Jon. It was clear they were after the guy who was buying the weapons. I thought for a moment that we would get out of this, and then I remembered that we were illegally selling weapons that we owned illegally and I gave up hope.
Michael put me between him and the group of SEALs coming our way. "She has nothing to do with this." He stated.
"Michael." I said, not about to allow him to take the fall for all of this.
"Shut up." He said. "Nobody touch her until I talk to whoever is in charge of this fiasco."
"That would be me." The leader stepped in front of the others after arresting Jon. "Uhhh... Michael We-"
"SAM!" Michael yelled. "My American friend. Good to see you again."
Sam nodded, picking up on some secret code Michael was speaking in. "Yeah... you too, Mikey. What's going on here?"
"You know, just some good ole weapons dealing." Michael looked wide eyed at Sam. "Yeah... why don't we talk about this... over there..." Sam pointed toward one of the trucks.
"Sure." Michael said, stepping away with Sam. "Fiona, I'll be right back. Gentlemen, Harm a hair on her head and I'll destroy you."
I watched Sam and Michael talk for a few moments and then they returned in a hurry. I was so beyond confused about Michael knowing the man and the Man knowing Michael. I'd always assumed Michael had a pretty sketchy relationship with the authorities. He seemed to be friends with this man, though.
"Boys, roll out." Sam waved the guys off.
Michael grabbed my arm and dragged me to the car. "We have to go, now."
"What happened? Who is he?" I asked when we got to the car.
"An old associate."
"Thats not true. An associate wouldn't just let us off like that."
"He didn't let us off, Fi." Michael waved an arm in frustration. "He took the guns."
I looked out the windshield.
"He is an old friend... I guess... sort of friendly... but anyway, he said they were there for Jon and they wouldn't take us in if we released the weapons and left peacefully. I said yes. He said get lost before the authorities show up or Jon makes a scene about us getting special treatment. So we left. Any questions?" He sounded irritated.
I nodded, ready for a fight. "Where did you meet him?"
He sighed. "Russia."
"And?"
"And... what?"
"What is his allegiance to you?"
"He has no allegiance to me, Fi. Jesus, woman! You find out I have an associate who's with the American government and you're losing your mind."
"I'm not losing my mind, Michael. I just want to know how you guys met?"
"Does it even matter?" He pulled into the house and I followed him in, slamming the door so hard, it shook a vase on a shelf. "You seem like you've already decided that I have no business being friends woth him, so why does it matter. You're just gonna control every fucking aspect of my life anyway."
"Michael, that man just cost us a lot of fucking money and you're referring to him as a friend still."
"He got us out of going to jail, though, so..." He shrugged. "A fucking thank you would've worked fine."
"Fucking thank you?!" I asked, incredulous.
"Fucking you're welcome!" He spat.
Sean touched my shoulder and I flinched hard. My memories clouded over as I was dragged to the present. Thats all Michael was. Memories.
I never got the answers I wanted. He had insisted Sam and him were just associates. I wanted to go find this Sam and give him a piece of my mind for costing me nearly 20 grand. Michael acted like he was doing us a favor and also figured I shoud be grateful he didn't throw me under the bus. I was shocked he would even suggest such a thing. There were plenty of memories I could torture myself with if I wanted.. Every inch of his apartment spoke of who he was. It was all memories. It hurt. I wanted him to either come back or take his memories with him. I didn't want or need them. I felt Patrick pacing behind me. "Fiona, we're worried."
I felt like a mental patient again.
"I just want you to try to move on." Sean looked frustrated rather than sympathetic for the first time. "Fiona, he's gone. You gotta get up. You aren't one to let a man keep you down. What kind of message are you sending right now? You're letting the bastard win. Do you think for one second he's actually sorry?! That he actually cared?! That he actually loved you?! He didn't, Fiona. He didn't love you and he doesn't want you back. That man hasn't spared you a thought since he walked out the door." He spat.
Patrick looked at him in surprise. "Sean!"
I didn't react. Maybe Sean was right.
"Fiona, I'm sorry." Pat apologized for Sean. "What he meant to say is that you are a strong young woman. You'd never let this behavior affect you in the past and you shouldn't now. Please don't let him make you feel some... negative way. Michael never deserved you."
I still didn't react. Maybe Patrick was right.
"Ok." Sean clapped his hands together and sighed. "I say we call a Dr. Pat. What do you think? The girl's gone mental."
Patrick made eye contact with me for a long moment. "Is that what you want, Fiona?"
I didn't react.
"Maybe." Pat breathed after a few more moments of silence.
Sean stood up and grabbed his keys. "I'm going for a drive. You keep trying."
He left without waiting for a response from Patrick.
Pat pet my hair softly. "Fiona?"
I didn't respond. I just breathed.
He stood up and went to the dresser across the room. "Is this yours or his?" He inquired.
I didn't react, just stared, a little confused.
He opened each drawer carefully, looking through the limited amount of Michaels stuff that was left behind. He took a gun out of the bottom drawer and checked to see that it was loaded. He slammed the magazine back in the gun and shook his head in wonder. "I'm sure you can handle a weapon, but I don't appreciate him leaving loaded weapons around you, Fiona."
I didn't react again. I was finding that I might not be able to react. I had lost my voice probably. I had lost the will to live. Maybe I should tell them I want to get a Psych eval. Maybe I shoud tell them I really just want to die.
That was 2 days after he vanished.
"Should we maybe just bring her to the hospital?" Sean asked Pat.
By day 5, they had started talking like I wasn't even there.
Patrick sighed. "You know whats crazy?"
"Whats that?"
"I thought he'd come back."
"Me too" Sean admitted. "I was lying... you know. He did care about her and he did love her."
"I know. I saw it."
"He probably is thinking about her and I hope he regrets his decisions."
Pat nodded. "Me too. I think a hospital is a bit of an overkill. She'll recover."
Sean nodded and turned the TV on some show where two men were fighting. The man who dealt the most damage ran away from the fight with a broken nose.
My mind flashed back to my broken nose. Michael's leather jacket smelled like his musk as he hovered in my personal space. But really I didn't have any space that was mine and not his. He held a cloth to my nose and smiled his crooked smile as I asked him about his mother. I had shaken with laughter as he tickled my sides. The tears in my eyes were from my bloody nose, not crying, but he had assumed I was crying and started tickling me to lighten the mood. He wasn't gonna tell me about his mother. I could tell. It didn't matter, I realized.
"I love you." He lied.
"I love you, too." I told the truth.
I shook myself out of the memories with only a few tears shed. Maybe I was healing. Maybe I was dying. It felt like I was dying.
McBride was killing me. What a bastard. He had complained to me once, that I would be the death of him. I would be the death of HIM. I struggled to find humor in that as I laid on the couch, wasting away. Dying. Maybe Dying. Maybe I was just homesick, then again. That's what it felt like. Homesickness. Maybe Michael was my home. Maybe when he left, he took my home with him. He took my home and left his shirts like they were supposed to somehow make up for it.
Maybe I hated the clothes, in fact. I thought they were comforting me, but they were actually connecting me to a man that wanted no part or lot with me. Maybe they werent cocooning me in a memory of my life with Michael. Maybe they were wrapping me up like a boa constrictor and suffocating me. Maybe I'm pathetic for wearing the shirts. Maybe I'm pathetic for still wanting Michael after all he'd put me through. I used to be a strong woman, as Sean and Patrick had reminded me. The old Fiona wouldn't let a breakup ruin her. The old Fiona would tell him to get bent and find a rebound to distract her.
The old Fiona would insist she'd been sleeping with his friends the whole time. I considered Sam. If I had a way to contact him, I probably would invite him over for a romp. Regardless of the fact that he was with the Americans, he was friends with Michael and he wasn't bad looking at all. I could do worse. The old Fiona would find him and get under him to get over Michael.
The old Fiona was gone, though. I was changed when I met Michael. Everything about me was affected by who he was. Who we were. What he did. What we did. The mess we made. A couple of kids making trouble for themselves, but having way too much fun to stop. I was no longer Miss Independant. I was now Miss Evasive, as McBride had put it. I thought I was Miss McBride. Fiona McBride. It sounded dumb. Pathetic, even, after all I'd been through. I had never really been the marrying type... but... I thought maybe I was becoming the marrying type.
McBride probably knew what he was doing all along. That hurt. The idea that all I had left was the memories and now they were tainted by my overthinking. I played them over in my head a thousand times. Every time McBride had glanced away. Everytime he sighed heavily... were those warning signs? They were all I got as a warning and I certainly didn't heed them. I had thought he was happy. I thought we were happy.
That was 5 days after he left.