Thanks to Kelly Clarkson, P!nk, Rascal Flatts, Evanescence for putting out terrific and relatable music. :)
Keep chanting to yourself "HEA" 'cause yeah, it's gonna happen.
Can u come over? –e
Come over . . . he has to be kidding, except that I know he isn't. After weeks of ignoring me—this is going on the fourth week—he wants me to go over there and do what, talk I guess. So, I do; but this time without medicating myself, and I feel bare without it.
I'm standing on Edward's back porch—I've always come in through the back—when he opens the door. I cross my arms as I walk inside and he shuts the door; I lean against the island, wondering what I'm doing here, and waiting for him to talk.
"What's going on?" I finally ask.
He looks at me confused.
"What do you mean?"
I roll my eyes.
"I mean, what am I doing here?"
"Ah," he says nodding.
I wait while he thinks or whatever it is that he's doing.
"I . . . I'm sorry about before," he starts.
I internally scoff and have a hard time not rolling my eyes. Apologies, apologies, apologies; all these apologies all the time, but you know what the best apology of all time would be? Him actually changing for once, keeping his word—but no, I highly doubt that'll happen.
Hypocrite, a little voice inside my head laughs.
"Is that it?" I say in a dull tone.
He raises his eyebrows in surprise, or maybe it's shock, or both.
"Uh . . . I-I'm not sure what to say, really," he says, grimacing.
I nod.
"Then is there really even a reason for me to be here?" I ask, tired.
I'm exhausted.
I just want to go back home and sleep for a thousand years; wake-up when this is all over—I would have to actually be able to sleep in order for that to happen though.
"If there's nothing else, I should get going," I say quietly.
He bites his lip, something that I picked-up from him.
"Oh . . . are you busy?" There's an edge of accusation in his tone.
It's almost as if he thinks I should just wait around for him; moping and filled with wishful thinking, that he's going to reappear one day soon, and forgive me for something that he caused to happen—well, that's exactly what I've been doing, sans the wishful thinking part.
I shrug.
"I certainly wasn't gonna wait 'round just to see when you'd get your head outta your ass," I say, rolling my eyes.
He glares at me, immediately taking on the defensive.
"Huh; well, excuse me for needing some time! You fucked with my head, and then expected me to be OK with it? That's funny B, so hilarious," he says without a trace of humor.
I snort.
"Don't—don't even go there! I fucked with your head? Dude, do you know how many times you've pulled this crap on me? Countless times; so no, don't go turning this onto me! Besides, it's my body; I can do whatever I want to and with it," I tell him angrily.
He looks taken aback by my outburst . . . good.
"Y'know what," I say, shaking my head. "I—I can't do this now."
I start for the door only to have him—his words—pull me right back in.
"You . . . you said you wouldn't leave again!" he says louder than necessary.
It makes me stop and turn back around, incredulous at his words and audacity.
"What," I say. "What the hell are you talking about? You've got NO right to talk to me about leaving!"
He makes his way over to me in three steps and reaches for me.
"Okay—I'm sorry," he says quietly, his hand coming out to touch my cheek.
I huff and push him away, shaking my head.
"Yeah, you're sorry, right?" I laugh in his face. "That's all you ever are, is fucking sorry! Y'know wh-what would b-be great—is if you ever changed! Go ahead, promise me you'll change!" I dare, looking right at him.
He avoids my eyes, and I nod, already knowing his answer.
"But you can't; at least ya don't give out false promises! I suppose I should be grateful for that, huh?" I spit out. "You—you did this," I add quietly.
He finally looks back at me when I add the last part; he frowns, but I can see the guilt seeping into him; like drugs running through his veins, the guilt seeps in too.
"Don't play stupid," I say, rolling my eyes. "You wanna know why I'm like this—why I cut, why I self-medicate all the time (why I did it in high school too)? Just look in the mirror, Edward, and you'll find the answer! I hate, hate, fuckin' hate what you are! You know why?" I pause to catch my breath, and he stays quiet, so I continue after a moment. "Because you forgot about me—it became all about you, you, you; your needs, what was currently happening with your fucked-up mess, your worries! I was left in the dark with that; sure, I came whenever you needed me—and that was probably a big portion of the problem—but when you left to seek help (which, don't get me wrong, I was happy about it), but you decided to stay away for four years, 'cause—shit, I'm still not exactly sure why. Do you have any idea what the hell I went through? I constantly checked the papers to see if a death might have been reported, anything that sounded like it could be you! Maybe to you it was the right thing to do, but to others—people that care—it was horrible!"
His mouth opens and closes, like he doesn't know what to say in rebuttal to my outburst, and maybe he shouldn't say anything at all. Realization dawns on me as I watch him look at me in shock.
He's not changing, my head whispers.
In all the years I have known him, he hasn't changed one bit, and that's the sad part. I wait around, and maybe I think it will be different the next time, or maybe I just fear losing him for good, but I continue to wait for him while he does his fucked-up thing. I hardly understand it, and I doubt he does either, but I can't take it anymore; it's killing me inside, and it's already gotten me to the point of numbing myself just to be able to deal with the pain of what's to come, might arrive, and what's already here. I can't continue to do . . . whatever this is, if I want any type of good future for myself; the problem comes in where all I've thought about is Edward, and my world has revolved around him and his wants, needs, aspirations. I'm not worried about being addicted to medication or cutting; no, I'm addicted to him, to Edward, and I have been for years.
I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots harshly.
"Y-you're ne-never gonna change," I whisper in a broken-cracked voice.
I can feel his eyes on me, but I don't meet them.
"What?" he whispers from in front of me.
I shake my head, fed-up.
"You keep apologizing, but . . . you never change," I say quietly. "All these apologies mean nothing if you jus' keep repeating—doing the same shit."
His apologies stopped meaning something awhile ago.
"Baby—what," he says, confused.
I don't think he's that confused though.
"And you're never gonna change; maybe you're incapable of it," I say, nodding slightly at my own words. "Some people just can't, and I realize that."
His right hand cups my cheek, but I shake my head, and remove his hand.
"You're killing me Edward. . . I'm fucking dying inside, and I don't think you even realize it—maybe sometimes you do, but generally not," I say with tears in my voice, but I refuse to let them fall yet.
"I love you," he whispers close to my ear; I hadn't realized he had gotten so close.
That's another problem: Edward's type tends to love the hardest. It's a beautiful disaster really, because when it's good then it's good, it's so good 'til it goes bad; then you're stuck trying to find the you that you once had. He's as damned as he seems, and more heaven than a heart could hold; if I continue to try to save him, my whole world could cave in—but fuck, it's already doing that. I love him, I always have and probably always will, but it's obviously not enough.
"It's not enough . . . not anymore," I whisper, not trusting my voice at this point.
I feel his breathing halt for a moment, and I know that he's either crying or is close to tears.
"If someone said three years from now that you'd be long gone, I'd stand up and punch them out," he says softly into my shoulder.
He wraps his arms around my waist and hugs me tight; as if that might keep me from leaving.
"I know better 'cause you said forever," he says in a hoarse whisper.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, knowing that he's trying to guilt trip me; that also stopped working long ago.
After about a minute, I'm finally able to gather enough courage to unwrap myself from Edward's too tight embrace, and walk toward the door, him glaring at me through unshed tears.
"So that's it," he says, then swallows hard. "You're leaving."
Being strong isn't always about letting go,
Sometimes it's about holding on when you had every right to let go,
But when that time comes,
To finally let go,
Just know that you put up a damn good fight. . .
.
.
.
"You want s-somebody t-to bl-blame, look in the mirror," I tell him. "I won't take the blame for this . . . not anymore. I love you, but obviously you're never gonna change."
He doesn't say anything as I open the back door.
"Like I said . . . look at yourself if you really wanna blame someone."
He crosses his arms.
He doesn't say anything as I walk outside and shut the door behind me; he doesn't run outside as I start my car up and begin to back out. It takes everything I have in me not to go back there and collapse into his arms again. Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.
It's harder this time around; when I told him goodbye before (when we were younger and he wanted to seek help), I figured I'd see him again one day. This time, it feels final, and it hurts. It's only been three days, but tonight is the worst. It's Friday night, and the pain the worst I've ever felt—and I've felt a lot of emotional shit before; this beats everything else out though. I wind-up taking two Valium and another pain medication that I had left over from an accident that involved breaking my wrist ten months ago. I pop all three pills into my mouth and swallow them with water, and then send Liz an email.
TO: Liz
FROM: B. Swan
Subject: Winner at a losing game
It's over…it's finally over, and it hurts. Liz, why does it hurt so much? It shouldn't right? I mean, not with everything that he's done to me over the years – I should be happy it's finally done; but I'm not, not really. It feels like I can't breathe without him, but I have to.
Love u,
~-~ B