Page 94 of Dark Knight

Once the pile is taken care of, I plop the last potato in the pot of water sitting on the counter. “Do you want me to cut them up?” I ask Sheryl, who just returned from the pantry carrying canned pumpkin purée. A pumpkin pie. I was thinking about making a pumpkin pie for our dinner, wasn’t I? How was that less than two weeks ago? I might as well have been a totally different person. I didn’t know I was as close to being happy in that stupid little house as I’d ever been. It didn’t matter that the situation was screwed from the beginning and I was there to protect myself.

“I can do them if you want to move on to the dressing,” Bianca offers, so I step aside and pull out a cutting board. Looking at all this food and knowing how much prep work still needs to be done, I feel bad for all the years I didn’t care about what went into the meal.

I mean, sure, on some level I knew it was hard work, but the number of people she feeds – everybody in the house, including the guards on duty — is enough to make my head spin. Ten pounds of potatoes for mashing, and now a whole package of celery and a small bag of onions need to be chopped for the dressing.

But it’s okay. It’s better than sitting in my room, drowning in tears.

If there’s one thing I wish could be different, it would be the way Bianca keeps trying to pull me into a conversation. I’m too distracted and heartbroken to pretend to be as happy as she is. I’m a shitty friend, in other words. Here she is, walking around all glowing, content, pregnant, and acting like it’s already Christmas, all because I came home. She is that happy to have me back.

And here I am, forcing myself to hang out with her when all I really want is to be alone. And since I can’t be alone without sinking into a deep and crushing misery, I have to grit my teeth and bear it. I have to bear my best friend’s company. I’m ashamed of myself. I already was. This is just one more reason to be.

By the time we finish, there’s a knot in my back from bending over the counter and both my hands are cramping. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you girls.” Sheryl pats my cheeks, smiling gently. “Thank you. Now go on. Relax.”

“That’s all I did when I was away.” But no, that’s not true, is it? I did a lot more than relax. I did things I never should’ve done. All it did was leave me with a heart torn to pieces. A heart that keeps beating even when I wish it wouldn’t. In my darkest moments, I have sincerely wished I could just die and get it over with. I have everything in the world to be happy about, but right now, I can’t seem to come up with a reason to live.

I drag my feet down the hall, ready to escape to my room for a little while. Maybe I’ll soak in the tub to try and loosen up my back. I don’t know how Sheryl does it. She’s maybe thirty-five years older than me and spends most of her time doing exactly the kind of work I just did. I guess it helps when you’re used to it.

“Hey. Do you have a second?”

Bad friend. Bad, bad friend. My stomach drops when I hear Bianca’s voice behind me. As I turn around, I have to force a smile that’s probably a lot more like a grimace. “What, do I have a super busy life all of a sudden? Of course, I have time for you.”

She doesn’t think my joke is very funny – probably being that it wasn’t. The worry lines between her eyebrows hint at what I’m in for before she opens her mouth. “Can we go to your room?”

“Are you okay?” Because, duh, not everything is about me. My best friend is almost six months pregnant with my baby brother, and all I can do is jump to conclusions.

“Oh, I’m fine. Hungry again, but I’m used to that.” She surprises me when she takes me by the hand, like she wants to ensure I don’t run away. “I know I’m probably annoying the hell out of you, though I have to say it again... I’m so glad you’re back. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too.”

“And obviously, you know how happy your dad is.” But she winces. “Sorry. Is that weird? You’ll have to tell me if that’s weird. I don’t want to be the weirdo who married her best friend’s dad, and now she has to act like a mother or something.”

“Don’t worry. I will definitely tell you if that ever happens.” Because it would probably make me puke.

“Good.” We step through the door leading to my wing, and some of the tension depletes. I still have to pretend for her, but somehow, it’s not as stressful as pretending for Dad. Forcing a smile, having to remember to check the tone of my voice so he doesn’t hear the sadness.

It’s not him I’m trying to protect. Even though he practically ripped out my beating heart and held it up for me to see, I don’t want Romero to take the fall for what went on. It was just as much my fault as his. Maybe even more, since I should’ve known better. I should’ve protected myself.

“You… haven’t finished unpacking yet?” Bianca looks around the room, wearing a tiny frown. “Do you want some help?”

“Do me a favor and sit down. You’ve already been on your feet for hours.” I grab the open suitcase from the top of the armchair near the window and toss it on the bed. “Here. Sit.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She even salutes me, smirking as she lowers herself into the chair. “I honestly can’t imagine getting bigger than this, but I know I will.”

“You are adorable, and you know it.”

“I don’t feel so adorable.” Still, she runs her hand over her belly and smiles.

And damn it all to hell, I have to grab some things and take them to the closet. It hurts too much to look at her. She’s so fucking happy. I never wanted what she has – I mean, someday, but not right now. I didn’t even imagine it happening for another ten years, once I was settled in my career and I’d traveled and done all the things I wanted to do. Then, I would think about a family.

Who am I kidding? I’ll never have that. Because something about me is wrong. I’m broken. Things that have come so easily to others don’t come to me in the slightest. I couldn’t even get Romero to see me as more than a fuck toy.

I couldn’t even tell him how I felt. And now I’m so glad I couldn’t, because all the tears, sleepless nights, and hating myself would only be worse if I’d made that mistake. I don’t know if I could ever forgive myself.

“Do you feel like being honest with me?”

“What do you mean?” I ask while hanging clothes in the closet.

“You know what I mean.” The chipper note has drained out from her voice, and I’m not sorry for it. It was starting to get on my nerves. “Tell me the truth.”

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