Page 132 of The Breaking Pointe
I cling tighter, releasing myself of the torture, and letting her listen to how much pain I’m letting rot within me. I can feel her soft lips hit my chest, over and over again.
“I’msorry,”Ikeen,“I’msosorryI’mlikethis…”
“Stop it. Stop apologizing.” She traces her fingers against my skin.
I don’t know what else to do. She has to endure so much just because of my issues.How can I go on and not be sorry for any of the things she’s had to see?She’s already traumatized enough.
“Nothing is wrong with you,” she pushes, pulling her arms away and cupping my cheeks to make me look at her.
I wanna turn away, but I can’t. I feel at peace. “What am I missing?” I question, sniffling.
“Nothing. Maybe your momma,” she whispers, removing tears with her thumbs.
I do miss her. So much. “Ido…”Isay,hoarsely.
“Help me, help you.”She kisses my nose, wiping my cheeks again. “I’m scared.I want you to be safe.I’m worried that the happy guy that I met, almost a year ago, is lost and can’t find his way back. I can’t lose you…”
“I am…so lost.” I drop my head into her chest, raging in my tears again.She wraps her arms around me as far as she
can, and rocks us. Rocks me like a baby.
It isn’t until later in the evening that I finally pick myself up out of the bed and join Noelle in picking up after myself. She doesn’t have to, but she hasn’t left my side. No amount oftraumacanmakeherstayaway,Isuppose.Shemakes it so hard to push the love I don’t believe I deserve away, refusing to let up from being so observant and patient.
Picking up different cut outs of ceramic bowls, I toss each one into a heavy duty garbage bag. Each piece feels like I’m losing a year of my life. I have spent so much time pouring my soul into so many of these projects.I never thought I would be cleaning their residue because I finally lost my shit. It feels like my very own smack to my face.It’s also eye- opening.I feel relieved, but at the cost of losing all of my prized possessions. I can’t remake a single thing, even if I try. I could never remember every detail.
“I’m a fucking idiot,” I say out loud, throwing more debris into the bag.
Noelle looks at me, stepping over some broken wood and picking it up.“No, you aren’t,” she says, putting it in the bag she’s holding.
I stand up, pushing my glasses up on my face, releasing the deepest sigh I can.
She drops her bag and walks over to me.“How about a break?” she asks, taking my free hand, still holding onto a rolled up piece of artwork.
I comply, resting my back against the wall and sliding down until I hit the floor. She sits beside me, her face turned to look at me.
“What’sthat?”Igesturetotherolleduppicture.
“Oh, uh. I don’t know. I saw it—when I came over for the first time. It isn’t ruined, but I don’t know if you wanna keep it,” she tells me, holding it out.
I take it, and straight away unroll it until I can see the entire thing.
It’s a scribbled out man, with bits flying from his head. The culprit is his hand that’s an abstract shape of a gun. It’s what I’ve been envisioning for years, and a long while ago, decided to put on paper.
It’s my father.
“Yikes,” I say, crumbling it up.
“Why?What is it?”She stops me, taking it back and examining it.
I bite my lip, watching her as she looks at me again.
“I’ve been wondering what this is for so long,” she pre- sumes.
I look down, crossing my legs then at her again. “It’s my father. It’s…it’s an abstract of what he did.”
Shecarefullyscootscloser,settingthepicturedown.
“Do you…wanna talk about what happened to your father?” She looks at my hands, reaching for them.
