Page 33 of Constantine: Britain's Story: Part 2
I walk straight to my closet and open the top drawer. It only takes a second to fish out the phone and power it back on. OnceI do, my stomach plummets to the floor as I receive notification after notification. After weeks with not a single one, here they finally are, in the palm of my hand. My fingers tremble as I look to see 10 new voicemails, each one from Liam. I don’t hit play, though, I just move on to the text messages.18 newtext messages and they’re mostly from yesterday, before I saw him today…
Liam
Bambi, pick up the phone.
Please.
I just need to explain.
Baby, I’m sorry. Please call me back as soon as you can.
I’m headed your way, not that I know where that is, but please call me.
Britain?
I didn’t see any of your text messages until today. I’ll explain it all when I see you.
If I see you.
Please respond, Britain.
And from sometime after midnight this morning:
I understand you’re shutting me out, I get it. And I know you might not ever see these, but here’s my responses to your messages.
I wish I would have come back that afternoon and talked to you. I wish I would have put my stupid pride aside and told you how much I fucking love you and that without you, I’m nothing. It’s only ever been you for me, too.
I don’t know what happened and why you’re at the hospital, but I wish I was there with you. I could have told you in person how happy I am that you’re pregnant. I thought my chest was going to explode when I found out, it was one of the happiest moments of my life, followed by my lowest when I realized I’d fucked it all up.
You didn’t do anything wrong and there will never be anyone else. You were it for me. Asking you to marry me was the best decision I’ve ever made. My biggest mistake was leaving that same day. I’m sorry. You’re more than enough, Britain, and I’d gladly spend the rest of my life trying to prove that to you. I’m the fool, not you. Me.
I promise you, the only thing I want is you and our child. I promise. I’m so sorry that I ever made you feel differently. I’m sorry, baby.
This is starting to sound pathetic, isn’t it?
When I reread your weekly updates, I feel like dying knowing I’ve missed out on appointments and taking care of you. You deserve better, Britain. It sounds like maybe you are better off without me.
And from this afternoon:
I just want you to be happy, Britain. I’m sorry it couldn’t have happened with me and I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to make it that way. Hopefully, though, someday you’ll let me be a part of our child’s life, and if you feel like letting me, I’ll be here. Waiting however long it takes. Again.
I love you, and our little Bambi, too. Always.
Little Bambi.My chest gets tight and painful, and the tears fall silently. I have been waiting for this moment since the day he left, and now here it is, and I’m paralyzed. I don’t know what to do.
TWELVE
Britain
When Damian and the girls head out to pick up tacos, I pull Jess into my room and bring out the phone. I plop Eden down on my bed and play with her while Jess reads the text messages, silently.
“So, what do you want to do about it?” She asks me once she’s finished.
“I don’t know, Jess,” I say solemnly.
“I think after today and all this,” she motions down to the phone, “it’s pretty clear that he loves you. And it’s pretty clear to me that you still love him, too.”
“I don’t disagree,” I reply.
