Page 55 of Icy Heart, Empty Chest
“I’m not complaining. Are you?”
“No,” with a vigorous head shake.
I settled back into him, pressing my ear against his chest, listening to the steady beat.
“I’m glad I can hear that.”
“I’m glad I can feel glad.”
“What was it like?” I reach up to touch the area around his scar.
His voice went blank. “A void. Anything that used to make me happy felt like nothing at all. A cute dog, nothing. Baby smiling? Teammate promoted? Nothing. My cure was more punishment than I could ever know. I lost pain but there was no joy at all. Nothing to look forward to.”
I pushed back to look at his face. “You said you would tell me why, after all this.”
He sighed. “I did. Do you remember the day of your father’s funeral?”
I frowned, startled. “Of course.”
“It was sort of a perfect storm. My father had been in a rage all week. I had moved out by then but I kept seeing him at work. The most infamous case of his career, now up in smoke. I don’t know how they found those last two people to authenticate that painting but they did. Your father had been sentenced and served most of his time, let go because of new evidence. You knew all that. It was the months after when it all started to go downhill. Anyway, Dad was pissed and when he was pissed he took it out on me. On the job, text messages, telling me I was a disgrace, shamed the family with my love of the nymph whore and her criminal father. He hated that your father was free. Didn’t matter then that your dad didn’t look well. No one looks great coming out of prison but your father was clearly sick.The museum had requested the painting back from evidence, a double insult to him.
“Even though I was in my own apartment, he still kept tabs on me. Told me I’d regret it if I contacted you. I saw you around town. You looked so thin, so pale. People were still talking about the case, talking about you. Nothing I’ll repeat because it was just sickening. It was all a game to them. You weren’t a person to them. You and your family were just a spectacle.
“I was starting to lose it. I kept picking up the phone but I was so afraid. Afraid you’d tell me to piss off, afraid if my father found out. He’d lightened up on his physical beatings after I gained about twenty pounds in muscle but just kept ripping into me as much as he could. I missed you so much it hurt.” His voiced cracked and a tear rolled down.
I reached up to wipe it away.
“I heard your emergency call on the Magical Forces emergency line. Not the exact call, not your voice, but I heard the ambulance and some officers get dispatched to your house for a male hanging. I could feel myself turning white, the anxiety creeping up. It wasn’t my unit that went but I was counting the minutes till they came back. Said it was a sad thing. The daughter went to get some food, came back and he was over the balcony ledge. Couldn’t have been gone more than an hour, came back to her father, dead. They said she was inconsolable. No neighbors could bring her any comfort. She was all alone in the big house. Just a college kid, supporting her sick dad.
“I remember my father standing over me immediately after. He was behind me, digging his nails into my shoulder. He didn’t even have to say anything. I knew what he’d say. To anyone else, it may have looked like a father comforting a son. But he’d won. He’d always win.
“The hypocrisy of it struck me later. He was released and there were whispers and rumors. He died and suddenly it’s, poorthing, poor guy, just a poor kid. Where was that sympathy when you needed it? I realized I couldn’t provide it myself and I hated myself more for it. The day of the funeral, I put on a suit and tie. I didn’t want any of the officer gear near me. I was going to find you, pull you aside, tell you how sorry I was and how much I cared. I got to the cemetery late, to see the coffin being lowered in. You looked destroyed. But he was there. He tried to grab hold of me but I was always faster. I slipped away to be right behind you. I blocked myself in as best as I could. If he tried to move me or disturb me, he’d have to make a scene at a funeral. For all his scheming, he was all about appearance.
“When the pastor stopped talking, I grabbed your hand. You pulled away. Looked disgusted at me. I remember pleading to talk to you. You said you didn’t want to talk to me, that your father was dead and couldn’t you have a little peace? I hated how tired you looked, how red your face was from crying. I tried again, saying I didn’t know what happened between us but I miss you and I was so sorry. And then my dad showed up behind me. You pushed away more, told me that you hated me and you always would, to leave you alone. You stalked away. I was frozen right there. My father left without saying a word. He heard what you said, knew what we had was broken.
“Broken beyond repair perhaps. And so I sat there, one tree away, till the rest of the mourners left. Till the workers came in to fill in the grave with dirt.
“You lost a father and I lost a father figure. Someone loving and encouraging, who told me I could be anything I wanted, make a difference. Someone who had loved you unconditionally. Someone who lost out to his demons. I had lost you, one of the few people I loved more than anything. You were my friend, my world. Until my father and circumstances tore you away. I didn’t want to die but I sure didn’t want to live with the pain. I went to Filla soon after. You know the rest,” he finished hoarsely.
I was stiff and frozen against his chest. “Damien, I didn’t know, I’m so sorry.”
He hugged me tightly to his chest, still sounding morose. “You couldn’t have known. I didn’t know how to escape him. Or make him stop.”
“I still hate that you went to Filla.”
“I think I got my comeuppance from that,” he sighed, running his hands into my hair. “For a while I felt OK after. No heavy burden of guilt, of death…but nothing really great either. I knew I had fucked up when I went to The Magical Beans and saw you, and felt nothing. Should have been something. That was about a year after I did it.”
“You did this because of me,” I breathed, horrified.
“I tried to blame you at first but I couldn’t. I can’t. It was me. I want to say that you telling me you hated me was the final nail in the coffin but it wasn’t.” His tone was frank, but his words were soft.
He looked down at the horror on my face. “Cor, don’t blame yourself. There were other ways to deal. I went to the extreme.”
I wanted to scream out all the frustration I’d had built up for all those years.
“I need you to understand that I don’t blame you, OK?”
Near hyperventilating now, I was shaking in his arms. “That may take a while to sink in.”
