Page 19 of Beneath Cherry Blossom Memories
“It’s scary how many are up. Yeah, it’s just my ass, but still.”
Ugh. Please don’t remind me. POV shot after POV shot. I’m bored. “No one knows it’s you.” I kiss his cheek and stand up. “Gotta piss.”
I do have to piss, but I need to take another pill as well. My stomach hurts.
I turn on the sink, slurp some water into my mouth, and swallow down the pill. Then, I relieve myself. I flush, put down the toilet seat, and sit on it. I pull up Phoenix’s number, knowing he doesn’t want to hear from me. Clicking the plus sign that’ll open up my gallery, I scroll through my pictures until I find the one I want. I hesitate only for a second before sending it. What will he think when he sees it?
Smiling and blinking up at the roof of the tiny bathroom, I hope he sees it for what it is and not anything else.
Phoenix
Still Here
It’s quiet when you’re here.
That sentence has been on a fucking loop in my head. He’d said something similar one of the times he’d come California to visit me. We were laying in my bed, his cheek on my chest, and he’d said, “So quiet.” I kissed the top of his head, holding him tighter. God, I was so content just to hold him. Yes, I loved the sex and making out. But it was moments like those that filled my heart to the brim.
I’m not doing great. It’s like every night, I’m having nightmares of that day or him with Leon. All of my happy memories are tainted because instead of it being me, it’s Leon. That time we drove up to Big Bear, and I sucked him off twice on the way up. When I brought him home, he chased my nephews around the Christmas tree. When we’d stuff ourselves into my bathtub and feel each other, all of those precious moments he’s doing with another person—it’s destroying me.
And now…now, he sends a picture I’ve never seen before. It’s us, but at a weird angle. I’m on my stomach, face pressed into the pillow, and he’s on top of me, kissing my shoulder blade.
I hate that I love it. I hate that I know we hadn’t fucked there, and it was just him being sweet. I hate how it sends a painful thud through my chest. I do the only thing I can think of because I can’t take it anymore.
I call my mom.
She answers on the third ring. “Hi, baby.”
“Hey, Mom. Are you busy?” I sound like I’m about to cry.
“No. What’s wrong?”
I exhale a shaky breath, standing outside the bus while everyone else is inside the venue, getting ready. Taking a pull off my vape, I blow it out and ask, “Did I do the right thing?”
She’s quiet for a while, and I hear the soft click of a door shutting. “About Elijah?”
“Yeah,” I breathe.
“I can’t tell you that. The better question is, why are you second-guessing yourself?”
Deciding to tell her all that’s happened, I go through everything: how he’s taunted me and seems worse off than when we broke up. When I showed up at his hotel room and found him looking like death and puking blood, I tell her about the picture. She listens quietly while I expel it all.
“Do you remember when we first sent Oli to rehab?”
“Yeah.”
“He was so terrible to us. But then, when he got out and was clear-headed, he explained that it was because he was scared. He thought we were abandoning him—that we didn’t want to love him or fight for him—”
“That we threw him away,” I finish for her because I remember it like yesterday. I sigh, rubbing my face. “He’s an addict, Mom. Just like Oli. I saw him in that bathroom and only saw my baby brother face down in his own puke.”
Mom sniffles, no doubt crying because one of her kids is on this path. “Sometimes I think it’s all my fault…with your brother. Was I present enough? Attentive? Did I miss a sign or a call for help?”
“You were a great mom—area great mom.”
“But it’s my job to make sure you kids thrive. I don’t know if I did enough. And now, with your dad and his surgeries…”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “Oli is an adult. He makes his own decisions.”
“He needs us, Fe. He needs us to fight for him every day because he has lost the will to fight for himself.”
