Page 49 of I See Red

“No, just the insane blonde ones. I like the way their tits bounce as they struggle.”

“God, you need therapy”

“Yous got no idea, baby girl,” trails off his tongue.

“You know it’s comforting having someone in my life who accepts their dance with the devil.” I admit.

“We’re all born from the kingdom of Heaven. We’re not all meant to return home. Heaven and Hell were created for the same as good and evil—balance. Without comfort, fear cannot exist, and without evil, good can never prevail. You learn to accept that; the crown feels a little less heavy being the devil’s favorite.”

“I hate you.”

“I hate yous too, baby girl. Now grab that glass. The solar eclipse is about to start, and I plan to make the heavens blush with yous under it.”

Two Minus One=One

“ Sometimes, I wish he never put that little red dress on me…”

—Me

Ispent the last couple of months in seclusion since I murdered my best friend in my dreams. I haven’t spoken to Tayden since the night at the studio. Liam has noticed that I’m not okay lately. He sees the cracks in me that I can’t fill quick enough before more begin to erupt. To the world, I’m unphased, but to those closest to me, I am that of a tethered windshield. My cracks spread far and deep, without insurance, simply coasting on a prayer. Any minute, the smallest gust of wind surely will take me out and shred me completely, leaving me as a forgotten piece of trash on the side of the highway passed by the world. My grave, nothing more than some grass and window trash—exactly what my father always said would become of me. I had hoped the seclusion would help, but it hasn’t, and something must give before we do. I always thought we had control; we were in sync for so fucking long. Lately, we’ve become a black hole of chaos, apure spiral. What we had managed to maintain all these years has been peeling away little by little. Since Tayden’s return, pain and memories began seeping across their designated space, and the veil that has always separated us started shorting out, allowing us to leak into one another. At times, it feels beautiful—her a part of me, and I a part of her—working together and embracing parts of one another we never allowed the other to see. Allowing the strengths of one to be utilized by the other while the pain of the other is carried by its counterpart when I can’t. In other moments, colliding feels dangerous as fuck wrapped in delusion and complete chaos. I haven’t decided if that’s because it’s uncharted waters or simply because it could, in fact, cause my demise.I’ve spent most of my life constantly going back and forth, trying to understand us better and figure out which is my truest form. It’s not as though I wasn’t aware of her and her I all these years. I’m not crazy like many would have liked to believe. Like many paid by my father tried to convince me to be true. I don’t have multiple personalities. It’s genius, really, making my inner voice my best friend and a pocket in which my brain can store things I am not ready to handle for me until I am. Someforeverbecause the thought of ever opening that door is fucking petrifying. The universe created a new tear in the divide the night T showed up. A new spiral beginning, forgotten memories bubbling to the forefront of my consciousness. I am simply not two but one. I just possess a veil separating tragedy and survival. I spent my entire adult life thinking the question I needed the answer to move on was: which is my truest form? Is holding onto the version of who I wished I could be, the version I believe I would have been if my entire life wasn’t a fucked-up trauma ball, the problem? Or is the version the world carved me into forcing my hand to become what I am to survive the problem? Keeping ourselves separate all these years since I first met Red has allowed us great successin a lot of areas in my life; nonetheless, it has created a lot of irregularity as well. For all we do the same, there is more we do differently. The way Red conquers everything she touches is just fucking magnificent. Her ability to remain completely unfazed by others’ opinions towards her is unmatched. She is calculated and firm yet desirable and honest. She’s unstoppable and un–fucking breakable; the devil himself can’t touch her—only me. On the other hand, the way Ivy has been able to love people regardless of their ill will toward her is of a saint. She sees the good in every human that crosses her path. You could find the absolute worst human in the world, and she could find something good about them. She dreams of her fairytale and, in all these years, has never lost sight or desire of wanting to accomplish the one thing never given to her freely—love.True love, unselfish, and unequivocally pure love. The more the world told her she wasn’t worth loving, the harder she held onto who they made her in hopes of one day proving them all wrong. She never stopped her search no matter how many failures in her expedition to find love towards her like she has given freely to many, undeservingly so. She couldn’t ever see the beauty in her wreckage and nourish it like I did, but damn she’s a fighter. Ivy, the yin, and Red, the yang, fitting seamlessly together because we need each other. One of the biggest wars any human will ever face is combining who they wish to be and seeing in the mirror who they have become. Trauma has a way of separating the two, leaving you aimlessly walking your whole life unsure of who you really are. In my story, figuring that out has been my number one killer. Red is who I wish to be. Ivy is who I’m trapped in.

It’s been months since I have seen Tayden. Since the night my body feasted on O’Connor. Funny how Tayden helped keep Red alive all these years without knowing it, yet he would be the tip of the iceberg, tearing us apart all this time later by simply walking into that Gala, causing our simple and fulfilled worlds,mine, Liam’s, Anastasia’s and even his own to be torn apart. Reminding us of lost memories, forcingRed and I’s visions to collide. I’m not sure how to be whole, but I know it’s not a destination. It’s a tortuous, gut wrenching journey not many attempt. One many never make it out of. I have been fighting to accomplish it, regardless of how harrowing and lonely it has been. I am the truest side effect of a child raised in complete emotional destitute. A child forced to survive and become a chameleon to avoid further damage. I grew into an adult, unsure of who I am, for I always had to be what I needed to be, what I was told to be.What secured me survival at the end of another day.A self-identity crisis between soul and tragedy, aspiration, and reality. The lesson:You can’t hold onto who you would have been because she was never born, you were never allowed to explore her potential; she was stolen from you before you ever knew her name.She is a mere dream in your imagination. Red is who I am. Ivy is who I never had the opportunity to meet, love, and mourn—the hope I hold onto. The person I wish I could have met, but ghosts don’t live in reality. I fucking wish I could have met you, seen who you would have been without them—without the trauma. It would have been so beautiful to watch you grow and watch the world love you as much as I would have. To see you in the mirror reflecting back at me, saying, ‘We did it, kid’—I’m so fucking sorry. On days when I feel the battle of emotions that burn within me, unsure which path my day will end on. I remind myself I can’t be the only woman who often wonders if those events hadn’t taken place, those traumas, who I would be today, how I would see myself now, and what life would have looked like. In a twisted way, it brings me peace. Ivy is simply the person she wishes others would have been for her. Red is that part of me that accepts people for face value. She possesses no filter when reciprocating the energy shown to her by others. Something I have struggled to achieve. I imagine mybattles through trauma to coincide with motherhood. I made the decision long ago to never bring life into this world. How can I simply raise a child to know who they are when I don’t know myself? Would I be jealous of the childhood I never got to have? Would I deepen my identity crisis further by giving all of my time and energy to a small human, furthering my inability to find myself and accomplish what I want from life? I’m not a mom, but I imagine the identity between mother and self would be such a hard life, regardless of how big the ending reward is. I’ve dipped my toe in the thought of traveling that road, and it’s beautiful. In other visions, it’s tragic and brings me great anxiety. How could I trust a world that was so cruel to me with my child? I crave it sparingly, mostly out of love for Tayden and his desire for it. However, I know myself, and partially, it’s the selfish ideology a child would fix me—heal me. The thought of it is inviting; the ability to be the parent I never got myself seems dreamy. To experience love that is unwavering from that of a child you carry and raise is beautiful in theory. However, my intense self-awareness can’t deny that it would be self-serving. Society says I must be a mom, but Red reminds me it’s okay to break society’s rules and choose myself over that title. My war of self-identity is a constant barrier. My trauma is not the demon that keeps me up at night, merely the consequences left by it. My lack of identity, my fear of human interaction, and my distaste to be a part of the world owns that corner of the darkness inside me. I have spent a lifetime repainting my personality. The shade of red never perfect. No matter how many layers I apply, the texture of my scars reappear with every coat I brush upon myself. My canvas is not what I wished it to be, merely what it is. At some point, I will have to merge the two together. I’ve always known this. I’m just not ready to let go of her—my inner child trapped in a broken woman.

Tayden, who was once my savior, is now feeling more like my demise.

Fall

“ He is good for me, like a leaf I must change.”

—Ivy

Fall has always been my favorite season. The thought of the world winding down after a busy summer. The feel of the crisp yet clear air captivating my lungs like taking my first breath—slowbut rewarding. The noise of a crisp apple as you bite into it, breaking the skin in the middle of the orchard, the scent of comfort all around you. The vibrant orange and red leaves fall around me, and for a moment, my world is so quiet I can hear my heartbeat in the wind, dancing to the crash of the leaves from the tall, meticulously vibrant maple trees that bless New England every year. I am still convinced little elves hand-paint each leaf while the world sleeps. One minute, the world is green, and then you wake up and find it blossomed into beauty beyond. Letting out a deep breath, I watch as it blends into one with the air of the world, gazing in the distance, taking it all in. I’m always amazed watching a breath leave my body in exhale. You canvisibly see it happening, but if you continue watching, you see the beauty of it becoming one with the world. For our breaths, it is beautiful beyond; for humans, it is not. We are all part of this world, and if we aren’t careful, we become like the air escaping our lungs into the frigid cold. Individuals for a moment; after time, the world blends you into it, sinking its claws into you, stripping you of all individuality. Each year becoming less of who you are and more of what you should be. What the world wishes to see. Until one day, you look in the mirror, and the reflection is someone you don’t even recognize. I sit here, taking in all the views the seclusion the New England countryside has to offer. The mountains meticulously lined with tall pines and maples, like that of a Bob Ross painting. The sound of the river raging as we just had a good downpour. Luckily, it wasn’t enough to affect the leaves too much—Fuck, I hate when that happens. Through the downpour, the boulders that run across the river and on its banks are still exposed, reminding me that although our surroundings may try to affect us or lead us astray, we are capable of standing firm in our beliefs, unmoved and unchanged if we fight hard enough.Well, normal people, not me.The word change keeps repeating in my head as I take a seat on the bench swing, suspended by beautiful chains with twine flowing through, anchored by knots underneath. It is my favorite place in this home besides my studio. It hangs above a perfectly crafted white wrap-around porch that reaches completely around the home. Nestling into a wool blanket covered in harvest leaves, sipping on a freshly brewed cup of iced coffee, I look out, swaying with the wind as if I am a leaf dancing with the breeze. Starbucks is over an hour’s drive, so I have mastered how to re-create my favorite drink at home—a venti brown sugar shaken espresso with a splash of vanilla sweet cream, vanilla cold foam with a maple syrup drizzle, and a shake of cinnamon to top it off. It’s fifty-two degrees this morning; brisk would bean understatement for someone like Tayden, who’s spent years down south. But to native New Englanders like me who have never left, it feels perfect. Meanwhile, I’m bundled up like a Nor’easter just occurred: gloves, hat, slippers, and my robe, yet here I am drinking an iced coffee. All these months later, I’m left still fighting the cold and the effects it has on me always attempting to suck me back into it—into him.Fuck I miss him so much.

I think the reason I love fall so much is because it is the season of change, even though growing up, it felt like I never got to truly enjoy it, always being stuck in a compound of torture. It is still somehow my favorite. Sure, they let us out every once in a while, as did my father, but I wanted more. I spent many days pretending I was piling up leaves with friends my dad would let me have over, running and diving into them like ticks were a thing of the past, shooting miniature pumpkins from a massive slingshot, sipping hot cocoa and freshly made donuts at movie night outside on a projector being scared with my friends. I imagine I would have played hockey and learned to ice fish. Sadly, these were only memories of my dreams and never my reality. Over the years, every spring, I craved fall, and every summer,I began praying for our first snowfall, patiently waiting, hoping to finally have a year to bring my desires to reality. I enjoy New England winters more than most. I have always welcomed them. For those few minutes they allowed me outside, the moment I’d leave the door, it was like his arms embraced me, and I could feel him. The wind, his whisper that he was with me, the temperature, his blanket around me. I can admit, though, that sometimes they do drag out too long. This year, I am dreading winter’s arrival since his departure. What can I say? I have loved the cold since I was a little girl. Now, as a woman who has experienced all it had to offer this year with Tayden, I recognize its dangers more than ever. It ignites mein completely different ways and for very different reasons. The feel of ice coursing on my flesh is one of the most electrifying things in my world. Every snowflake on open skin feels like a kiss from above, but it is mostly a reminder of my past, one my future has no place for.

But fall is magical; emotionally, it’s a reset for nature that you can physically see and feel, a shedding of the old to welcome the new. I’ve worked my whole life reaching for perfection, but I am far from it. It would be a reach to say I’m even perfectly flawed—just flawed in more ways than humans I’ve ever encountered. I work at them every single day, but fall is a reminder that change is possible but that it also comes and goes. So, it is fitting that every fall, I feel the need to shift and dig into my healing journey even more. I chalk it up to my Pisces side always feeling the need to morph out of reality into a magical, majestic world. Fall is enchanting. However, this year, I didn’t realize what was coming, nor how different it would make me feel this year. A leaf rushes through the air as I watch it twist in the wind, suddenly dropping on top of my lap. I pick it up, examining the veins that perfectly stretch out to the tips of each point with oranges and reds placed so randomly but merged together so beautifully, thinking to myself,This is exactly as it was designed to be.I can’t help but wonder as I twirl the stem through my fingers the same thing I’ve asked myself since I can remember.

Who was I designed to be sitting here right now? What would today have looked like if my younger self would have had less “fall” in her life and more stability?

Bear’s howl pulls me from my thoughts, each one getting louder as he closes the distance between us. The creek of the screen door opening can only mean one thing…he must be awake.I look over to my left and see him in all his glory stepping out onto the porch in gray sweats, no T-shirt, rubbing his hands together as the brisk of the morning encases his body, walkingtowards the porches banister, glancing to me, as Bear leaps off the porch into freedom.

“Good morning, beautiful. Did you get any sleep last night?”

God, how did I get this lucky?

Seriously though, a girl like me, burned and drugged through the trenches of torture and abuse, personality-altering pain, and agony, gets him? Someone compassionate and understanding, who not only accepts my flaws but the demons that still exist in my world each and every day? He finds a way every day to love them and works every moment to heal inside of me what others have broken. I know I should feel lucky, but I can’t help but feel unworthy, like a fraud. People like me don’t get men like him, yet here I sit, lucky beyond measure, as a huge part of me feels so empty, a little more broken since the karate studio.

Why can’t I truly feel lucky all the time? Why can’t I ever feel okay? Maybe I will by next fall.

“I mean, sleep is overrated, so no, but I did, however, get enough,” I reply, patting my hand on the empty spot of the bench next to me, hoping he will join me for a morning chat. Pushing himself off the porch he heads toward me shouting for Bear as he veered off into the thick fall tree line. I am sure he is chasing a deer or wild animal. That is Bear, after all—the wild animal control of his seventy-six acres.

“How was your sleep? You looked so peaceful when I awoke this morning. I tried not to bother you. I know you needed as much as you could get.” Andyou looked extremely alluring. I refrain from disclosing how I laid there for a bit, just watching him sleep in peace and sexual grandeur because watching someone sleep isn’t exactly normal.

Last night, we had a long talk about everything that has transpired. It was one of the most honest conversations we have had to date. I finally told him about my indiscretions with T over the last year. I didn’t tell him everything, not about thehouse, nor about Red, but not all secrets need to be spilled at once. Although he handled it well, I could tell it killed him a little inside with what each word revealed, but it’s progress in my hopes to open up more. He didn’t have much to say as I expected, but I truly heard what he did express for the first time in a long time. He opened up more than he ever had to me, more than I ever thought he could, which, thinking back, wasn’t much. The conclusion; understanding and a request for it to not continue. It was a look in the mirror, if you will, tragic but something about it felt so admirable. The tone in his voice rang through every bone in my body, and the look on his face is forever imprinted in my mind. I feel guilty for all that has transpired through the years, but a part of me doesn’t, and I fucking hate that. I have never had any control over my love for Tayden, not since the day I laid eyes on him all those years ago. It is truly a connection of two souls, not of the heart—forever intertwined in all that is inhuman and unconscious.

It hurts knowing how much I hurt Liam, but loving him was never the issue. It was not loving him first, not knowing him when my version of true love was formed—when I would have needed him the most. Not that I don’t need him now, but I was a child, impressionable, especially to any type of emotion I had never received. I was so distraught searching for normalcy, and instead of finding that, I found T, who showed me everything life could be, what it should be, and for my young mind, turned adult mind, it was like cocaine feeding and filling a void over and over again that everyone else stripped away. Tayden gave me all I ever yearned for—unconditional love, but most of all, understanding and acceptance. He saved me and gave me purpose. He was my glimmer of light in my world of darkness. He fought the shadows that swarmed me day and night. He was something to look forward to, look back on, and something to hope for. Above all, he kept me alive, saving me time and time again. Without him,there would be no story to tell, no Ivy to love, no family to create, and no Red to fill the villain role in my story. He gave me years beyond what I ever thought I would have. He gave me—me—and he gave Liam me.

“I mean, I slept. Not the best sleep I’ve ever had by any means, but I feel like I slept well, even better waking up, knowing you didn’t run back to the city. I wasn’t sure what my morning would bring,” he retorts, staring at me like he is seeing straight through me, unsure if I am a vision he will manage to contain for days, hours, weeks, or even years to come. I feel my anxiety racing through my body. A lump forms in my throat, knowing all of his concerns and questions are my fault, all his heartache is my doing. All of his doubts I put there by my own actions. I would love to lace up my running shoes and just flee tomy homeTayden built me, but this is my punishment. This is my burden to bear. I ache that he is the one carrying it.God, why can’t I carry it for him?

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