Page 58 of Broken Melody
“No,” she whispers. “I’ve never been in love. I’ve never let anyone get that close to even attempt to feel that way.”
I nod, not having words for how sad that makes me in some ways and how I envy her in others. “There are times, that I wish I hadn’t fallen in love with Miranda. And that’s an ugly truth if there ever was one, Sailor. And I hate myself for it. But you see, as the band became more popular, and she went onto college, our desires and priorities changed and we drifted apart. We tried to do the long distance relationship thing, and it worked for a little while. It was exciting at times to let the longing between us build to finally come together and see each other again. But at the same time each successive occasion we came together, we realized how much we had changed and were drifting apart.”
“That would be hard,” Sailor says sympathetically and I realize that she’s reached out and is holding my hand. I squeeze it in my own, thankful for it.
“It was. So is it any wonder that eventually it came to a dramatic final act?” I laugh bitterly. “I surprised her one weekend,” I look at her and raise an eyebrow, “I’m sure you can guess where this is going. I showed up at her place unannounced, excited to see her but if I’m honest with you, also tired and wishing I could have just stayed home. The feeling of being expected to fly back and forth and to be there any time I could, then feeling guilty when I couldn’t was becoming difficult. I wish I could have just been honest with her, told her how I was feeling, ended it on the phone – even though that isn’t ideal – instead of pushing myself and her.”
“You know what they say about hindsight,” Sailor says.
“True. When she answered the door, I said ‘Surprise!’ and pushed my way into her apartment. I saw the guy sitting there on the couch, her look of shock, her misbuttoned blouse, and I didn’t realize what I was looking at for a moment. When it finally dawned on me, when I looked in her face and saw her smeared lipstick and discomfort, I knew right then that my feelings for her had long since simmered to loving her, but not being in love with her anymore. Why? Because I barely reacted, I didn’t say or do anything to him. I barely spoke to her other than to tell her where to meet me in twenty minutes as I left.” I look at Sailor now, grip her hand to my chest. “Why couldn’t I have just left? Why did I have to ask her to meet me somewhere? Why did I need to prolong the breakup?”
“What happened?” she asks, and by the look on her face I know if I chose to stop there and not continue, it would be okay with her. She would understand. We would move on. But, after coming this far, after the fact this is the first time I’ve voiced some of these feelings, I can’t stop now.
“She showed at the coffee house and I calmly told her that I wasn’t mad, that I knew we had been drifting away from each other for a while. I told her that I wished her a wonderful life. Told her goodbye. I didn’t let her talk. She tried to say something, maybe explain, maybe disagree, I don’t know. I held my hand up and told her I didn’t want to hear it. And then I left. I walked out of that damn coffee shop and I never looked back. I was angry, yes, but Sailor…part of me… part of me…”I choke and feel a tear of my own fall down my cheek. “Part of me was relieved. Happy that the weight of a dead relationship was no longer on my shoulders.”
“That’s understandable,” Sailor says and when she wipes a tear from my face, I watch her in awe when she brings it to her lips, and kisses it, mimicking when I did that to her once. I realize right then that I love her. I want more than anything to kiss her. To tell her that she’s mine, to make her feel the same way if she doesn’t return my feelings. But, I keep it to myself. I try to relax and wish my racing heartbeat to slow down, to slow my quickening breaths in which react to my surprise realization. I don’t want to scare her, push her away, make her nervous or uncomfortable. So, I say nothing. I do nothing. I just keep talking.
“It wasn’t until two days later I found out that after I left the coffee shop, she left as well. Instead of grabbing a taxi back to her place, she chose to walk the few blocks home. And she was…she was…attacked.” Sailor gasps and grips my hand tighter. “Viciously. That’s the only way I can describe it, the only word that seems descriptive enough. She was beat and robbed, her purse stolen. She was beat so horribly, that she’s in a coma. That was a few months ago, and they don’t know if she will ever wake up.”
“Oh, Maddox. I’m so sorry. So, so, sorry.”
“No. Don’t apologize to me. I’m the villain in all of this. Don’t you see?” I ask her and I push the covers off of us and sit up no longer feeling like I have the right to stay hidden. The words I said and my feelings behind them too monumental to keep hidden under a blanket.
“What I see, Maddox, is a man that broke up with his girlfriend. Your asking her to meet you in order to do so privately was not something selfish or an act that is not easily understood. It’s not something you did wrong. And your leaving without letting her talk, your not being able to hear what she had to say for herself right then, is okay too. You have a right to your feelings, no matter what they may be. And you are not responsible for her choice to walk home nor for the act of violence committed against her. What happened to her is not your fault.”
“It is!” I yell at her standing up now. “Maybe if I hadn’t given up on us, had tried harder, if I hadn’t fallen out of love with her, then it wouldn’t have happened. I was enjoying some of our early fame and the ease in which I could have my choice of many women. I didn’t choose to try to turn things around, stop the chasm from spreading wider. And I was too proud that day. I could have walked away without another word, but no, I wanted the final word.”
“Maybe. And maybe despite all of those efforts that you could have made, you both may have fallen out of love anyway. And who’s to say that she wouldn’t have wanted to meet for closure and that something different, but equally violent, wouldn’t have occurred? And suppose she had ended up being here and living with you, perhaps some other tragedy would have befallen her – a car accident, a robbery, or something else. You don’t know! The only person to blame for this is the person that beat and robbed her. Not you,” she gets out of bed and walks to me. Her hair is in tangles, her pajamas a little twisted from her moving around in bed, the tip of her nose is red from crying and my god she’s never been more beautiful than she is like this. She’s raw, open, honest, and as she takes my face in her hands, the look in her eyes almost brings me to my knees. It’s as if she holds my salvation inside. I see kindness in her eyes, caring, concern, but mostly it’s what I don’t see. There’s no blame, no disgust or pity. “It is not your fault,” she tells me holding my gaze the whole time. And I do fall, I fall to my knees and I wrap my arms around her waist, and I let myself cry for the first time since all of this happened. I weep for the loss of Miranda. For years she was my best friend, a woman that I did love for a long time, my first love. And I miss her. I haven’t let myself feel that, have used whatever I could to mask it because I didn’t think I was deserving of letting myself emote. And Sailor, she just coos to me, runs her hands through my hair, puts her own pain on the backburner from whatever she’s dealing with today, and takes on mine. If I hadn’t realized before that I love her, I would have now.
I pull away from her, look up into her face, and when she smiles down at me, I find that I’m returning it. “A bit better?” she asks.
I nod, “I haven’t let myself…mourn for her. Since it happened. I’ve just been…”
“Acting out?” She asks and I know that she’s put it all together. Why I’ve been such an ass these past few months.
“Yeah,” I nod. Without another word, I lead her back to bed. She gets in, and I climb beside her and this time, we don’t put the covers over us. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make this about me and my pain,” I tell her and push her hair behind her ear. “Especially when I know you are clearly going through something of your own.”
“Don’t ever apologize for talking to me, Maddox. Okay?” I nod. We stare at each other for a moment and I hesitate for a second and then, I slowly move my head to her. I want to kiss her. More than anything.
“Maddox?” she whispers.
“Yes?” I ask, still staring at her lips.
“I need to tell you something. And…and it isn’t the whole story, but I promise that I will tell you everything some time. Just…just not today.”
I move back and look her in the eyes once more, “You don’t have to tell me anything,” I tell her.
“I know I don’t. But,” she hesitates, sighs and stammers again. “Do… I mean…are you…” she gestures between the two of us and I almost smile, but instead I raise my brows encouraging her to continue. “At the risk of making a fool of myself and screwing everything up…do you also feel…whatever this is between us?” she asks and looks into my eyes, then away, then back again nervously.
I smile widely, “Songbird, do you think I would be here, in your bed, ready to kiss you, and telling you the deepest secrets of my heart if I didn’t?”
She smiles and nods, but then her smile fades and pain flashes in her eyes. It’s intense and sharp enough that I swear I feel it cut through me too. “I’ve been so caught up in everything going on, signing with the band, recording, tour practice, still working at the bar-“
“You’re still working at the bar?” I ask her in surprise.
“It was my last day yesterday. I couldn’t keep doing it all.”
“Good,” I tell her. “I can’t believe you were doing that. It had to make for long days.”
