Twenty minutes after I finally hang up on Sophie, I’m sitting on my bed staring at the cell. Numb and
raw at the same time. My heads reeling. Somehow my body and mind are detached.
Someone has beaten my mother to within an inch of her life, left her for dead in her own apartment. My
old home.
Again!
Sophie found her; a young teen from the homeless shelter that she’s taken under her wing and let stay
with her. The poor thing had been the one to find her, get her help. Just like I had so many years ago.
She never changes.
I get up and walk to Sarah’s room, desperate to share my internal agony and find some calm in the
chaos but discover it’s empty. They’re not even home; just the radio playing on low and I snap it off in
irritation. I sigh and walk back to my room with spreading pain. My brain running through a memory of
my mother this way once before, and I choke it back down. Refusing to feel it.
When is she going to stop doing this crap to me? Is it not enough to go through all of this once? No.
She has to keep going back, over and over, to the same kind of abusive relationships. Like a moth to a
goddamn flame.
Her choice of men my whole life is just one long bad memory of violence and abuse. She has a type
and she attracts them, repeatedly. She never, ever, stood in the way of them, never stopped what they
did. She chose her men over me so many times, letting them in, letting them hurt us both, and never
once did she put my needs first. Not even her own needs, and here she is doing it all over again.
She is caring for a fourteen-year-old girl and has just subjected her to the same sight I had seen at ten
years of age; a sight which led to my being in a children’s home for almost a year. Child services
invading our life and taking me from an abusive environment and sending me to one that in my eyes
was far worse — in a children’s home. Only to return me when she promised that her life was different.
That particular lover long gone, but we both knew a new one was around the corner any day. I learned
to lie after that, to help cover up who she really was. That year in a home taught me that there are far
worse people in the world than my mother when it comes to parenting.
I stare at my suitcase and can’t stop the crushing weight consuming me.
I’ll have to go back there. I’ll have to go home to Chicago after being away for almost six years.
I want to cry; I want to lay down open my mind and let it all pour away. I’m desolate and scared. An
internal agony, threatening to consume me, vibrating inside my stomach. I never thought I would be in
this place ever again. I’m scared and fear is not something I ever wanted back in my head.
I pick up my cell and call Jake’s number. It’s impulse, something I do without a thought. He always
knows how to make me smile, how to make me feel better. Just his voice on the other end will make
me calmer. I need to tell him I’ll be gone for a few days and maybe he’ll let me use the jet, instead of
commercial airlines to save me the misery of facing people for this two-hour flight. I just need to speak
to him so badly I can almost taste it.
“Hey,” He answers, after only two rings; he sounds cheerful and it tugs my heart into chaos even more
so, picturing his smiling face and beautiful, clear emerald eyes.
“Jake … I need to go home … Back to Chicago.” My voice is shell shocked and small. I can’t pretend
right now, I’m too raw to try. I try to control the waiver, but I fail, unable to contain my heartbreak at the
sound of his deep comforting tone.
“Emma? What’s wrong, Miele? Are you crying?” his soft, soothing voice causes a solitary tear to slide
from my eye and I wipe it away. Defenseless with him in my ear.
Maybe I shouldn’t have called him. He sounds surprised to hear me tearful.
“No.” I lie. “My mom’s in the hospital … an accident.” I can’t tell him that she’s let another abusive man
destroy her life and left her half-dead, open that can of worms and confessions.
“Shit … Do you want me to come with you? I’ll call the airfield and get the jet ready.” He’s concerned,
my sweet Jake. I want to run into his arms and let him hug me, like he did in the hotel the morning we
fought. What I would give to have him here right now.
“No … I have to do this alone.” I want him to come with me, so badly, but knowing what he would see,
the questions he would ask, is unbearable. I don’t want him to know that part of my past. Ever!
“If you’re sure, Miele? I’ll call the airfield. I’ll send Jefferson to pick you up and take you to the airport.
Just pack, okay?” He’s reserved about it and doesn’t push.
“Thank you.” I know I sound strange, even to myself. I wonder how I appear to him. I hope it’s more in
control than I feel but I don’t want him to get off the cell and leave me with myself.
“You know, I’ll come if you want me to?” his husky statement makes me even more overly emotional
and vulnerable. And it hits me in my chest like a thud.
“I know. I just can’t, Jake … there are things …” I stop myself. I was about to say too much; things he
should never know about from my past life. He would never see me the same way again.
“One day, Emma … you’ll want to tell me … I’ll be here when you do.” He sighs with a heaviness and
I’m scared he’ll go. I can’t let him go just yet; my hands have started trembling and the tears building up
in my throat, choking me with the ache.
“Jake?” I panic, not sure how else to stop him from going.
“What, Bambino?” his voice is breathy and he’s being gentle with me. It’s too much and the rip slowly
tearing across my chest intensifies. A small sharp pain slicing through. I can’t hold it in, and I break
down completely, unable to hide my sobs down the line.
“That’s it, Emma! I’m coming over right now,” he states firmly with no hint of backing down in that
commandeering tone.
I can’t respond, all I can do is try and refuse through tears, but only hysteria comes out.
I hate that she’s brought me back to this place, brought down the walls and broken me open wide to
the world, to Jake. All it took was the repeat of a buried memory. He says something else I don’t hear
over my own tears and the line goes dead. I can’t even argue anymore. I curl up on the bed and cry my
heart out in despair. Once again broken. I don’t have the strength to deal with any of this, it’s all too
much, all falling apart after years of holding it all in, and I’m so very tired tonight.
I don’t know how long I lay on the bed bubbling into my pillow, but I finally calm and realize I should call
him back. Stop him from coming over, but I’m too late. I jump at the knock on the door and my heart
lurches. I want him to leave, never to see me like this, but at the same time I need to see him.
I rush to the door yanking it open without hesitation, all self-composure gone and replaced with only the
need to have him with me. Faced with the only person in the world I want to see right now. He says
nothing, just stands there as my strong safe haven then steps in and wraps his arms around me tightly
in the doorway. I fall to pieces with a tidal wave of pent-up tears breaking free and don’t hold back. He
holds me, patiently waiting, staying silent, just being my rock, holding me up, arms cradling me and
fingers in my hair keeping me held steady.
Finally, he guides me inside and pulls me to the sofa to sit me down, his face close and arms
enveloped around me. I cling onto him as though my life depends on it and let all the tears and
heartbreak out with fresh vigor. A million thoughts running through my head, swirling crazily.
Emma who doesn’t cry—forgotten. Emma who never lets anyone see her vulnerable—vacant. Strong
Emma—dissipated.
“Jefferson is downstairs,” he croons. “The jet will be ready by the time we get there.” He pulls my chin
up to his face and wipes away some of the wetness with his thumb. He knows I don’t want to talk, so
he’s just being here. I want to tell him that he can’t come, but I don’t have the strength.
I allow him to pull me to my feet, toward my bedroom and he leaves me at my door; pulls my empty
suitcase from the floor where I left it, hauls open my wardrobe and starts throwing in random clothes
haphazardly. This makes me laugh through my tears, breaking the pain. Jake looks hopeless as a
domestic and I shake my head at him, pushing him aside gently.
“If you want me dressed in sweats and blouses for the next few days, then you’re going about it the
right way,” I sniff through a runny nose and hazy vision and start pulling out the clothes and packing my
things properly, getting items out I’ll actually need. The focus brings my emotions into check and
soothes me fully. Tasks always do that. He moves back and stands watching me, looming close by,
hovering as though I may keel over at any moment.
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