Page 1 of Come Back to Me

Icried today, for a million reasons and for no reason. I feel an overwhelming sadness and anger that won’t go away. It never really goes away, perpetually trapped underneath a veil of humor and a bubbly facade.

I just want to sleep, for hours, days, weeks. I need for everything in my head to stop spinning so I can start living my life again, or pretend to in a more convincing way.

I always feel disconnected, alone, like I’m not truly present or actually part of the situations unfolding around me. I know it’s happening around me, to me, but it’s like I am an unaffected bystander viewing the carnage of my existence and occasionally feel sorry for the heroine.

Is that what I am? A heroine? I know I want to live, so that’s one silver lining in this mess, but I can’t help sensing something else, something more… this can’t be it. Where I am now cannot be where I truly belong. It is simply where I keep finding myself since everything fell apart last year, the place where I am waiting for my whole life to start.

My head is filled with a thousand thoughts. I need some fresh air. I need to walk, no, run. I change into my running clothes and throw on my sneakers. I pull my hair back into a familiar ponytail. I’ve never been all that creative when it comes to my looks; my hair is long and chocolate, with a natural wave to it that gives it a sexy bed-head look—or at least that’s what my roommate and best friend always tells me. In fact, she’s usually the one telling me how lucky I am to look the way I do, but frankly I’ve always considered myself plain. Cute enough, but ordinary, not anything special.

I’ve been seeing a guy from my psych class, and this morning I saw him leaving the apartment downstairs! Of all the nerve, cheating on me in my own building. The rub is that I don’t even really care about him. I agreed to date him only to attempt a feeling of normalcy. Now I’m offended that he’s gone and shit all over our fake relationship, so I’ll have to find a new, warm body to pretend with. I stop for a minute, letting the ‘crazy’ of that thought sink in… sooner or later I will need to have a session about this, but right now, I just need to run.

The minute I hit the streets, I feel better. The faster I run, the faster I shed the frustration from earlier, and the stronger my resolve grows to never entertain another dick again. Being outside in the city makes me feel alive, like I can feel the urban vibrations, energized by its hum. I thrive on it, feed on it, I love this feeling. I manage to work up a good sweat but when I glance at my watch, I see I’m going to be late for dinner with my girls if I don’t hustle back to get showered.

I usually stick to the open areas. I like zigzagging around people, it adds excitement to the run, but today I cut down a side street that opens to my block.

I feel it before I see it. The stinging sensation takes over my body and my vision blurs. It’s like everything is moving in slow motion and I can feel myself lose control of my body as it falls to the hard, cold, ground. I hear muffled voices around me and feel tugging at my arms. It takes what feels like forever to regain any shred of consciousness, and when I open my eyes, my head instantly throbs.Have I been hit with a shovel?My eyes are still blurry, and sweat runs down my face. As I wipe it away, I see blood, a lot of it.Is that my blood?

Shit! I HAVE been hit in the head.

I reach for the running bag I wear around my waist and realize it’s gone, along with my watch, and jewelry. As if to add insult to injury, so are my shoes…Assholes!I manage to rise to my feet, only to swoon and sit back down again. As I sit there holding my head, here come two headlights, shining right on me. The car screeches to a halt, or maybe that’s me, screaming. I can’t be sure. The driver comes out of nowhere and starts asking me questions while trying to push something onto my head. Then someone else gets out of the car and yells to the driver, who answers hurriedly while keeping pressure on my head.

I seeing that passenger’s face when he steps out of the rear car door.There’s something about his face.

“Three days! Three days! Why hasn’t she woken up? You seemed to be paid a lot of money to not know anything at all!” It takes no effort to recognize the hysteria in my mother’s voice. She is usually hysterical about something or another, but when it comes to me, who can blame her… it’s only been a year since I tried to swallow a bottle of pills. I wanted the memories to go away, the feeling of his breath on my neck and his vile threats to leave my mind. I’ve caused her so much anguish already, so much pain, and I am filled with regret for that. Now here I am, in trouble again. My mother loves me. I am determined to get myself right, because she does.

“Calm yourself, Grace. It won’t do Mia any good if you are admitted to the hospital too.”

Richard holds my mother tight and tries to comfort her. He is an ideal third husband—attentive, caring, and very, very wealthy. My mother met Richard while married to her second husband, the cheater, which was a much better option than her first husband, the beater. Richard was the attorney who handled her divorce; not the most romantic meet-cute, but a perfect match for her, someone who knows all her demons and had his eyes wide open. I guess that’s the best definition of true love,if it actually exists?

I open my eyes to take in the scene unfolding in front of me—my mother’s hands waving frantically about, Richard trying to calm her, and what appears to be doctor looking fairly exasperated. “Mom,” I say, feeling the rasp in my throat from not speaking for who knows how long.

“Mom, I’m awake, stop yelling at the doctor.”

“Oh my God, she’s awake, you’re awake! My precious girl! Oh, Mia!” she sobs these words while rushing to my bed.

“Ugh, mom… sore!”

“Oh baby, I’m sorry.” She quickly releases her grip and gently takes my hand. Her tears and my confusion are interrupted by the man in the pristine white coat.

“Miss West, you’ve experienced an acute head trauma. There was some swelling, but we were able to stop the bleeding and repair the damage. Internally, everything checks out okay and your scans show all the swelling in your brain has gone down. You are very lucky to be sitting here with just a few stitches.

As he says this, I instinctively run my hand over the bandage positioned directly above my left eyebrow, and wince in pain.

“How do you feel, dearest?” Richard asks.

“Groggy and confused. What happened? The last thing I remember is deciding to take a shortcut back home.”

“The police believe you were mugged. You were hit in the head with a lead pipe, of all things. I swear, Mia, I do not understand why you don’t move into a nicer neighborhood instead of living among animals!”

Here we go…“Mom, can we discuss the ways in which I disappoint you later? Right now I would like to focus on my head wound and figure out how I got here!” My tone is a bit more clipped than I wanted, but I get tired of the same conversation over and over. I know I’ve put her through hell this last year and she just wants to protect me, but completely taking over every aspect of my life isn’t acceptable. I need to maintain some form of independence from my family’s money. Despite the benefit of affluence behind me, I have always been independent, even from a young age.

My father died when I was ten, but even before that I never really had a relationship with him.

My parents enjoyed a privileged lifestyle, developed for and indulged by the ultra-wealthy. Despite creature comforts and the means to purchase distractions, they lived separate lives and only came together when the occasion called for them to step out as a couple, at galas and other social events. Before he left, I remember him being a bastard, the kind of man who drank in private and liked to take the disappointments of his day out on his wife. Mom kept her polish, even through all the turmoil. She was always proud that nobody ever saw her bruises. I never understood that. What good is hiding them if you can still feel them?

“Mia, I’m sorry, love. I just want to keep you safe. You are my baby, after all.” Her look reminds me that she means well and I soften to her.

“I know, mom, I know. I’m just freaked out that I don’t remember being brought to the hospital.” I force a lame smile, even though it hurts like hell to move my face.

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