Page 61 of Losing a Piece of Me

I wake several times through the night and check my cell phone, hoping for a missed call or text notification. Nothing. Every time I attempt to call him, I am sent straight to his voicemail. The things I need to tell him have to be said in person, not over the phone. I set my phone down and force myself to go back to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Jeff wakes me by jumping on my bed. “Today’s the big day! Are you ready to be on my arm all night?” He flashes me a grin and winks.

“Go away. I’m tired.” I roll over and pull the blanket over my head.

He reaches under the blanket and grabs my ankles, pulling me from under the blankets. I land on my ass at the foot of the bed.

“Don’t tell me you stayed up crying all night over his ass.” He has his arms crossed over his chest, staring me down.

“You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me.” He shrugs and sits on the bed next to me.

“I can’t. I need to tell Striker.”

“Well, he’s not here and if I know you at all, you’ve made several attempts to contact him by now. Looks like I’m all you got.”

“It doesn’t work that way. I can’t tell anyone. This is between me and him.”

“Can’t say I didn’t try.” He stands and crosses the room, pausing for a moment at the door before turning back to me. “You need to pull yourself together, get a shower, and plaster on that fake smile you’re so good at pulling off. This is your sister’s wedding day. Now, get up and fake it.” He walks out the door and closes it gently behind him.

He’s right. I can’t fall apart right now. I will tell Striker when I see him. That’s all I can do.

I force myself off the floor and get into the shower.

* * *

The day is spent in a daze running around and doing errands for my sister, but I still nervously check my phone every few minutes. Still nothing from Striker.

A painful lump has grown overnight in my chest, born from my worsening anxiety about the whole situation. I know now, his dad must have told him the whole story. No way could he still be pissed off that I didn’t tell him about his mother’s pregnancy.

He’s pissed about mine. My pregnancy that ended much too soon.

Smoke from my fifth cigarette in an hour rises wispily in front of the church doors to be shredded by the wind. My eyes are glued to the screen of my phone.

Just call, text, do something, Striker. Fuck!

I just need everything off my chest.

Finally, the secret that has grown to be a part of me has outgrown its home. It’s stretched me from the inside out. It has fed on pieces of me for years, slowly stealing everything. Relationships, love, family, everything stolen by a single secret. I want rid of it.

I built walls within myself to hold it down, to keep it locked up tight so nobody would see, but that ugly little secret took root and grew until it loomed high over the walls I built. It busted effortlessly through my brick walls and didn’t stop there.

“Alex,” Jeff says, getting my attention.

I turn and look at him, dressed in a nice black suit with a white dress shirt and blue tie.

“It’s time, come on.” He holds out his hand for me.

I flick my cigarette into the road and take his hand.

We take our seats in the pews and I lean into his side for support. This secret is heavy, so heavy that it’s weight has transcended into reality and now physically weighs me down.

The congregation stands, signaled by notes spewing from the organ at the front of the church. My sister enters through the ornate double doors with my father on her arm. The music plays softly in the background and even though I know all eyes are on her, it feels like they are all on me. As if everyone can finally see the liar I am.

* * *

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