Page 43 of Hard To Love

I dragged in a shaky breath “You told me before that you wanted me to see myself the way that you see me.” My throat thickened when I took a hard swallow. “I’m not sure that I’ll ever be able to do that.”

How could I explain to him that from the time I was little, I never felt pretty enough or skinny enough. That every time I looked into the mirror, I still scrutinized myself. Even after all these years, my mother’s words still lived in my head.

He grabbed me as I started to pull away. “Look at me.” He said, turning my face to his. “What are you talking about?” He paused then drew his eyes together “Does this have something do with your ex? I thought Brad was the ‘golden boy,”’ the perfect boyfriend. I swear to god, Emily…”

This was not going as planned. I had to tread carefully here. I didn’t want him to think there were any lingering feelings holding me back.

“No,” I shook my head, “it’s not what you think.” I looked away, trying to keep my stinging tears at bay. It was so hard trying to explain something you barely understood yourself.

He seized my chin forcing me to look at him, as I fought for a way to explain this. “This isn’t about Brad; heis the last person that would ever hurt me.”

His face tightened at my words. He tried to hide it, but it was too late. I was doing a shit job at explaining this.

“Before Brad,” I stressed. “I dated a guy in college, who brought every flaw and insecurity I ever had, to the surface.”

Chase said nothing, but I could tell by the worry lines stretching across his face what he was thinking. Nudging his shoulder playfully I teased. “Every girl dates at least one asshole in her life.” My attempt to lighten the mood failed miserably as he continued to study me.

‘So, this college boyfriend?” he asked. His tone was flat but tense. “He’s the one that hurt you?”

“In a way, yes, but not in the way you think. He was just another person in my life that made me feel insignificant.” My stomach clenched as memories started to roll through my head.

Sighing heavily, I continued, “I already told you that I never had the ideal childhood. My biological father was married when he met my mom. She was his secretary. Apparently, she felt that the only way she had a fighting chance with him was to break up his marriage by getting pregnant. He ended up telling his wife right before they picked up and moved to another state. The only thing my mother and I ever got from him was a monthly support check.”

I didn’t know why this was so hard for me to explain. It was almost as if talking about that period in my life made me feel like I was back there again.

He pulled me against him, simply rubbing my back as I comfortably nestled against his chest. “My mom didn’t handle that well. She blamed me constantly for ruining her life, like it was somehow my fault.”

He was probably wondering where I was going with all this. I knew the only way for him to understand was if I started from the beginning.

“My mom was beautiful. I’m talking supermodel beautiful. But her lifestyle took a heavy toll on both of us.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Her lifestyle?”

“She was an alcoholic.”

Long fingers reached out to grab my smaller ones, wrapping around them gently before giving them a squeeze.

“Living with her and her mood swings was tough. She always resented me. Told me I was a mistake. When she drank, it was bad.” I turned on my side to face him. Big blue eyes stared back at me. “I was a little on the heavy side. That,” I said with a sarcastic laugh, “Only made her resent me more.”

Digging up all those old memories was the last thing I wanted to do. As far as I was concerned they needed to be dead and buried. Talking about it was hard, but it also made me feel stronger in the end.

“How did it make her resent you more?” He asked, his warm breath caressing my skin.

I debated on whether I should tell him the rest, seeing that I had come this far; I might as well go all the way. Go big or go home, right?

“As I got older, her drinking got worse. I’ll spare you all the details, but I ended up in the hospital with a broken arm from ‘falling down the stairs’.” I replied with a shake of my head.

His hand tensed over mine. “That night she came home, I knew she had more to drink than normal.” The tears started to escape my eyes. No matter how much I tried, they just kept pouring out. “We argued, she told me she wished she had had an abortion, that had I ruined her life. No child should ever have to hear those words from a parent. After that fight I walked into my room and packed a bag. I had no idea where I was going, but I knew I had to get away. My mother stopped me at the door and after one thing led to another; she pushed me down a flight of stairs.”

Chase took a moment to let my words sink in. I could feel every muscle in his body tighten. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He said kissing the top of my head. He was struggling, I could tell. Chase was a protector, a fixer, always in control, and in that moment, he wasn’t sure what to do.

He wrapped his arms around me as I continued. “Fortunately, my grandmother stepped in and took over. She forced my mother into rehab and told her not to contact us until she, quote ‘got her shit together’, unquote.” I laughed. “My grandmother was the strongest woman I had ever known. Moving in with her was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Chase cleared his throat. “What happened to your mom?”

“She went to rehab and did the best she could to put her life back together. She tried to make amends, but by then, too much damage had been done. She was my mom, so in spite of everything I still loved her, but I couldn’t forget everything she had put me through.”

My mom and I still talk a couple times a year, but I would barely call it a relationship. I’ve spent years in therapy trying to untangle the mess and find a way to forgive her, and heal. I guess in my own way I have forgiven her, but our relationship is strained, to say the least.

---