Page 2 of Possessing Her

“You can and you should. She’s done nothing for you. You’ve tried. We’ve both tried. How many times do I need to see my wife brought to tears by a woman who isn’t ready to accept help?”Johnny is getting fired up. We’ve had these conversations so many times in the past he could recite them verbatim.

“I can’t. I just can’t. What if that were me in this situation and you were giving up on me?” I ask, trying to put it in a different perspective.

“Tired of this same old song and dance. We have this argument every single time she calls, texts, or corners you at your work looking for money, pretending she’s ready, only for you to help her find a place to stay, and then she ups and runs. Fuckin’ hate the wedge your sister has put between us.” He breathes out a sigh; sadly, it isn’t one of relief.

“I know, and I’m sorry.” I close my eyes as pain overwhelms my senses.

“Not doing this. You leave, don’t bother coming back. It’s always Felony fucking Melanie asking for help, giving you broken promises, then it’s me and my buds helping pick up the pieces. She doesn’t want help. She wants another fucking crutch, and that crutch is you.” Johnny gets out of bed and heads to the closet, where he’s in and out of in a rush, completely clothed, and leaving me speechless. He doesn’t look at me, he doesn’t speak to me, and he doesn’t say I love you as he walks out of our home.

“Johnny,” I say with tears obstructing my vision. He’s asking me to choose between the only family I’ve ever had and him. Why can’t I have both? Is it too much to answer a phone? I’d never not ask him to leave and go rescue my sister or for me to go somewhere without him being none the wiser. And yeah, I’ve probably leaned on him one time too many. Still, I can’t abandon my flesh and blood. I wrap the sheet around me, move to the nightstand, snatch my phone off the charger, and see the numerous texts and phone calls left by my sister.

Mel: I need help.

Mel: I’m ready for a change.

Mel: I promise I’m ready to go to rehab this time.

I do the only thing I can do: I respond to my sister and royally fuck up my life and my future.

Me: Send me your location. I’ll be right there.

After shooting back the text, I move into the bathroom, needing to clean up, possibly take a quick shower, and pack a bag. If Melanie is finally ready for help, there’s no telling how long this could take, and I have no idea what will happen when I return. Johnny Gonzales has locked me out. I’ve seen him do it before but never to his own wife. Once he gets to this point, there’s no changing his mind, there’s no him cooling off and coming home for us to talk. I may as well be on another planet.

1

WINNIE

Present Day

“There’s only one last place he can be,” I murmur to the interior of my car. The podcast I have playing is talking about how to find peace once a loved one is gone after being a caregiver to said person, specifically when they were addicted to drugs or alcohol.

“This episode is calledLearning to Live Again,” I hear the on-air voice say.

“Easier said than done.” My nerves are shot, my palms are sweaty, and I’m under the gun in the form of time here. I could have had these hand delivered, except that would be another whack to my dwindling bank account, and who knows what Johnny would do with them? You see, I fucked up. No, I fuckedusup. I did it big, and no amount of apologizing or getting down on my knees to beg for forgiveness will repair what I did to us.

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” she goes on to say, and I’m done. I’ve tried. Really, I have to work on myself from the inside out, but when you’re the reason you lost the biggest piece of yourself, it’s hard.

I can’t even look at myself in the mirror most days. I’m a shell of a person. I’ve lost weight, my hair is thinner, the dark circles beneath my eyes are permanent, and creditors are knocking on my door. When I left, I walked away with nothing. Johnny had given me more than money could ever buy, and I couldn’t fathom taking anything besides my clothes and a few valuables. Mainly my wedding rings, which I still wear till this day. The few dates I’ve been on, not one single man asked if I was married, widowed, or divorced. It also made me realize that I wasn’t ready to get back out there. None of them made me feel like I was the only woman in the room. None of them made my stomach swirl with butterflies. None of them were my husband.

So, I quit looking and did my best to work through my jumbled-up head. Of course, scrolling social media like the idiot I am didn’t help and further pushed me to come back to the place I once called home. There’s nothing like keeping an active profile, mindlessly scrolling and seeing the friends and family who were once yours move on without you. I’ve been standing still, stuck with my decision to help my sister, and meanwhile losing what I’ve always wanted: A safe haven, a place to call home, and a man to call mine.

“God, you are so stupid. But if you didn’t go with Melanie when she needed you, who would have known what would have happened?” I swallow back the clogging of emotions bubbling up inside of me. While I have a lot to atone for, I have started laying the footwork in trying to find my elusive future ex-husband. I started with the penthouse apartment. I parked on the street, walked the handful of steps to the door with papers in my hand, and asked if Mr. Gonzales was available. I was expecting to be escorted off the property, except the concierge asked my name, his eyebrows shot to his hairline, and he told me I was free to go up, but Mr. Gonzales was out for the day. I declined his offer of going upstairs. Our home isn’t mine anymore; it’s Johnny’s.

I left in utter shock, went back to my car, made a few loops trying to compose myself, and kept whisperingwhat the fuckover and over again. Muscle memory or my conscience had me driving by Undercover Lovers, but the parking lot was empty. I figured it would be with it being a late morning on a Sunday. Apparently, crossing my fingers didn’t work in my favor because he wasn’t there, either. Which meant I only had one other option: Johnny’s mom, Isla’s, house. I really didn’t want to put her in the middle of this almost-over relationship; we’ve kept up here or there. Weeks after what I like to aptly call doomsday, I got a new phone since I couldn’t bear the thought of Johnny paying for anything of mine, plus it was less temptation for me to call and beg for his help. I made my proverbial bed, and it was time I slept in it.

Isla Gonzales felt differently. She messaged me on every social media outlet plus e-mail, relentless in her effort to check on me and make sure I was okay. I didn’t know it then, but I know it now. She herself went through something similar with her cousin, except her family member didn’t suffer the same fate my sister did. Therefore, we chatted here and there, she gave me updates about what was happening here, asked if I needed anything, and when I dumped on her with the latest antics my sister created, Isla listened.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t trying to persuade me to come home, and when everything was said and done, I still couldn’t. You see, there’s a reason I’ve been stuck in Georgia, and the sooner the divorce is handled, the sooner I can get back on the road to pick up what I left behind.

“Mija.” My door is yanked open. I’m unaware that I’ve driven the fifteen minutes or so to Isla and Santiago Gonzales’ home.

“Isla.” The tears I’ve been keeping at bay are rolling down my cheeks. She wraps her arms around me, holding me tighter than I’ve felt in the past four years. Hugs, physical touch, affection,and even talking to an adult have been few and far between. Except for when I’m at work; still, it’s only talking shop, nothing below the surface. There’ve been no meaningful conversations except through text, and it’s with the woman who’s currently holding me together.

“Jesús Cristo,” I hear Santiago taking the lord’s name in vain. Any other day, Isla would be smacking her husband and telling him to watch or hush his mouth. Not today, though. “Winnie, turn the ignition off.” The sliding of the gear shift tells me he put the car inPark.

“I would, only your wife kind of has me in a choke hold,” I try to play it off with a laugh, except I’m still crying my eyes out.

“Mi amor,” Santiago says with that tone, a hint of pure alpha male so similar to his son’s, and damn if that doesn’t hit me right in the chest.

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