Page 82 of Every Broken Piece
“Well, it sure as hell feels like it’s me.”
I’m pushing him away. That’s good. That’s what I wanted.
Then why does it feel like my heart’s breaking, and worse, I’m breaking his heart too? Why does all of this feel so wrong?
“I want to bring you home,” he says.
“I am home.”
“Myhome, Tess. I want to bring you tomyhome.”
“I can’t go to your home!” I yell, my sudden anger making me reckless.
“Why? Tell me, Tess. Just say it. Say it and get it over with.”
His taunting unravels me. I’m going to say things I’ll regret but right now I don’t care. He’s pushed and pushed until he finallybroke me down and now he’ll get answers he probably doesn’t want.
“You want the truth?” I surge off the couch and spread my feet like I’m ready to fight but it’s not him I want to fight. It’s everything and everyone who let me down. It’s broken dreams and dashed hope, and broken pieces of my childhood that I was left to pick up on my own.
“For once, yeah, I’d like the truth.” He crosses his arms and mirrors my stance as if he’s ready to take a body blow, so I give him one in the form of words that once start, won’t stop.
“I’m not the type of girl a guy brings home. I’m not what you or your family needs. I grew up with an addict for a mother and a sister who followed in dear mother’s shoes. I don’t know who my father is. Hell, my mother doesn’t even know who my father is. I have baggage you don’t even want to know about. So, yeah, bringing me home to your brother and your son is the biggest mistake you could make. Go home, Gabe. Go to your meeting on Monday and forget about the pathetic VA you never wanted in the first place.” The words rush out and damn but it feels good to let loose, to finally spew the whole, terrible truth of my existence. Maybe this will be what finally pushes him away.
His jaw flexes. He doesn’t seem shocked or disgusted by my truth, which makes me think that he knew a little bit about it. I shouldn’t be surprised that he would have already dug into my past.
“You doing drugs right now, Tess?”
“What? No. Of course not.”
“You ever do drugs before?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t even take those prescription pain meds.”
“Then you’re not her.”
I see what he’s trying to do. “This isn’t about me being her.”
“This is about the baggage she saddled you with. You want to talk about baggage? Because I have baggage for days. I have so much baggage that my baggage has baggage. I have a wife who died tragically, but you know what? I don’t think she died accidentally.”
My eyes widen, but now he's on a roll and the words keep coming.
“I have a wife who decided to leave her two-year-old son because she couldn’t handle life, and I’m fucking pissed that she was so damn selfish. She didn’t fight for us. She didn’t fight for her own son. So, yeah, we all have baggage, Tess. Every damn one of us on this earth is lugging around a shit-ton of stuff that weighs them down.”
I can barely breathe through my breaking heart. I have no idea what to say. There are no words to ease the pain he’s been living with for almost two decades.
“Gabe—”
He slices his hand through the air. “I don’t want your pity. I want you to understand that we all have shit we’re dealing with. Your mother’s addiction is just as tragic as my wife’s death.”
Is it? I don’t think so. Gabe lost someone he loved dearly. I never loved my mother like that. Losing her would be a blessing.
He sinks back down on the couch, the anger draining out of him as his shoulders bow.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“I said I didn’t want your pity.”
“It’s not pity to be sorry that your wife wasn’t strong enough to be the person she needed to be to her family.”
