Page 3 of The Breaking Pointe
I have got to stop it, though.It drains so much of me to be intimate with a woman that I have no intention of ever seeing again.When my life gets boring and I’m dying to spice it up, sleeping around is becoming the last option lately.It’s a massive improvement from when I was feeling worthless after my breakup—sleeping with any woman who seemed available and willing. Then my guilty conscience would eat me up the next day.It’s a very emotionally consuming cycle, but a cycle I learned some valuable lessons from.
Sometimes I still think about my ex.Thankfully, it’s no longer in a romantic way—considering I spent about three years trying to fall out of love.It’s more of a,am I really that bad of a guy?kind of way. It haunts me to think about the embarrassment she gave me, watching me kneeling on the cold floor—waiting for her to burst into tears and agree to be my wife.At that time,it seemed like my entire willtolivedependedonit.Itsureashellfeltlikeit.Ihadto
move mountains to remove myself from such a dark place, to unlearn everything my body was used to when it came to having her comfort.
I finish plating Bonnie’s food, listening as the next voice- mail holds a familiar voice. My mother.
“Colton, it’s Mom.You never called me yesterday, so I’m reminding you. Dinner is tomorrow at my house, okay? Friday. And don’t wait until the last minute to call me, you give me a heart attack every time I don’t hear from you.You make my nerves bad. Love you, call me,”she says as brassy as possible. I totally waited till the last minute, seeing as I’m just now hearing this. Unintentional, but I still won’t be able to live it down.
I snicker to myself, processing the thought as I make my way over to Bonnie’s food pad, setting the bowl down as the voicemails conclude. I then sit at my kitchen island, pulling my phone out of my pocket.
Once upon a time, I was thriving in my art.And I had every intention to expand on that talent. I even went as far as studying architecture in college.I feel tethered to all of my artwork, and to this day, I spend most of my free time doing anything artistic—if I’m not slumped from training, that is. It’s why I bought the loft in the first place. I merely wanted a space to dedicate to sculptures, and paintings—or anything else out of the ordinary that I make. If it weren’t formyowninsecuritiesinvolvingmypotential—plusall of the harsh arguments between Hannah and me with her constantly judging my pottery and other work—maybe I could truly love my craft. I couldn’t while I was underneath her close-minded thumb. It made me insecure.
Thenagain,Ialsospentallofmychildhoodandteenyears
feelingthatway.
I think the last time I had a woman care for me—and I mean really care about me—was before I graduated.When I first met Hannah. I finally gained some sort of confidence after altering my entire body with aggressive dieting and exercise.I’m your standard, dorky, fat kid.One day, I got tired of it and spent countless hours overcoming binge eating and being scared of the gym.I was a completely different person, just in time for my senior year.Hannah saw me when nobody else did, and even then I was in a vulnerable state in my life. The most genuine affection I get is purely from my mother at this point.
Not to mention, this will be the third time in the past week that I’ve eaten at her house. Not very bachelor of me.
Then there’s my kid brother, Steven, who is painfully petulant and doesn’t know when to shut up.I love the kid, but he makes me question if I was that idiotic at eighteen. Then I questioned how my mom had us almost ten years apart. Somehow, after all these years, I’ve managed to disassociate hard enough that I make it through his shenanigans.We have a disconnect that often makes me wonder if he likes me at all.I know that I’m gone often because of my choice of work and lack of enthusiasm for much else, but I can’t recall being as angsty as he is when I was that age.Nevertheless, I recently have visited more for my mom. With her being sick, I try to spend some extra time with her. Steven, too.
I feel so awful sometimes, thinking about how she must feel without my dad.It happened a long time ago, him passing away, but I know that I remind her so much of him.Stevenisstilltooyoungtogetit.Idon’tthinkhe’s
beenpayingattentiontohowsickshe’sgetting.It’snot his fault, but his brain is consumed with skateboarding and applying for classes at New York University this fall. Which is something good to look forward to, and I’m beyond proud of him. He deserves to have something hopeful to plan for— the same as we all do.
That’s another reason I come around often. With Steven being so hyper-focused on normal things, I like to check in.He’s a kid, I can’t blame him.I would’ve checked out mentally a long time ago if I knew that I potentially wouldn’t have both of my parents by the age of eighteen.He needs to have me around.I have to start setting some sort of an example. One that doesn’t involve crashing out or being a dishonest asshole, like my father.
When I left my mother’s home and moved out, I often found myself thinking hard and long about my childhood. Sometimes I leave there and I want to cry.I’m never able to produce tears, but at this point, crying is all I want.All I need.I just can’t seem to be emotionally available to anybody anymore—not even for myself.Not unless it comes in the form of a full-blown panic attack or anxiety-ridden breakdown.Neither of which I can stomach allowing anyone else to see me go through, let alone a woman. I need to love myself more if I’m going to let anyone into my head.
* * *
Sitting at the table with my mom and brother, I listen as she talks about having lunch with a few of my aunts.She constantly talks about their mob-wife lifestyles and how she could’vehadthat.Shealwaysfollowsitupbysayingthat
she prefers her life with her baby boys. She’s nothing short of a bragger—which makes sense, since we both are doing well.She’s earned bragging rights.Really, she’s the kindof mom who’d wear your face on a t-shirt and tell everyone who you are. Even if they don’t give a shit, she’s going to let you know and make sure you heard her.
“What about you, Colton? How’d that fight go? I watched, but y’know I love to brag to my girlfriends about your work,” she says, smiling proudly.
I shoot a half smile back at her, chewing and swallowing my bite of food.
“It’s fine.You know that I won then,” I say matter-of- factly.
“It doesn’t show by the looks of your face,” Steven says, laughing at his verbal jab.
“Steven…” my mom says, bellyaching at his behavior. “It’sfine,Ma.He’salltalk.Youcan’tspeakonabilities
you don’t possess, little bro,” I say to him, teasing him with a smug smile.
He makes a tense face back at me.
“I’m kidding, Steven,” I say, sitting back as I briefly wipe my mouth with my napkin.“Just a joke,” I add.
“Yeah…” he says, rolling his eyes.
My mom observes us, as if she’s waiting on some sort of heart-to-heart to happen. It isn’t going to, but I never turn down a chance to try to have a connection with Steven. It’s one of the things I have yet to achieve as his older brother, which is not on the top of my list of things to be proud of. Though I can’t say that both of us being closed-off souls hasn’t made it harder than it should be.
My eyebrows furrow for a second as I keep my attention
