What's Left of Me (Finally Unbroken Book 2) Page 2

  “Sometimes I see him, in the people I pass in the street, wondering what he’d look like. How tall he’d be. I also wonder if Larissa would still be with us. She was deteriorating, so there’s no saying. But Rocco was only eight… eight years old…” I still and breathe deeply, controlling, calming, “…so when I say I lost my sister and my nephew, there’s more to it than what probably meets the eye. We all have our own loss, no one person is worse than the next. It took three years for me to tell anyone my story. Another six months to be able to bring the story into these groups. In the last eighteen months, I’ve held a group like this nine times. A new one every two months. I can safely say, on my experience so far, it never gets any easier.”

  I look at my hands which are now shaking. “Each time I feel like my heart is being ripped out. But, I’m going to tell you something else. At the same time the pain is there, I can feel the healing that’s taking place too. Who knows, maybe in another eighteen months it’ll feel easier telling my story. What I do know is that I have to keep trying, and maybe I’ll always be trying. I won’t ever stop, though. Because I knew a little boy, one that would’ve loved to live his life, but had it taken away too soon. What am I showing him if I waste my existence? I’m saying it doesn’t matter. The he didn’t matter. After all, if I don’t care about my own survival, then why would I care about any of it? I might as well be telling him that it doesn’t matter that he died because life isn’t worth living. Personally, I want to know, that if he’s looking down at me he’d be proud. Not ashamed.”

  I finish the introduction to my bereavement class and take a few moments, for myself and for everyone else, to hopefully allow my words to sink in. Then, slowly, I raise my head and look at each of them, one by one. Some are crying, some remain impassive. The one thing they have in common is the pain in all their eyes. Then, the last person makes me jolt.

  Ruben Asher.

  It’s a face I haven’t seen for eighteen months. He’s the reason I changed these meetings. He’s the one I couldn’t reach. And he’s staring at me like he finally wants me to save him.

  Chapter Two

  I watch her walking back and forth. Can’t take my damn eyes off her. When I last saw Laurie all those months ago, she was a different person. Confident, but completely closed off. I never saw her suffering, she kept it hidden well. Now she’s raw. I’m not surprised I didn’t see it before. Although I didn’t care to look back then, only coming to the bereavement group because Anabel strong-armed me into it, saying some shit about it being what Amanda would want. I didn’t want to know about Laurie’s pain. Fuck, I didn’t care about my own pain. Using alcohol to keep me numb for the most part, but still wanting to feel the torment. No. Needing to feel it. Figuring, if Amanda can be dead then I should, at least, be able to hold onto the agony of her loss. I didn’t want to forget. The pain helped me to always remember.

  Now, watching Laurie, it’s the first time I’ve ever really seen her. Before, in the other group I attended, she kept it hidden well by wearing a mask. I wasn’t looking too hard, consumed in my own grief, but even so I could still see that she was hiding behind it. Now she’s ripped wide open, it’s like the loss is fresh. And I just can’t seem to look away.

  It’s been five years since I lost Amanda. I have good days and bad days. I’m still fighting every damn day, just to live a little. I spiraled, and was completely out of control, nearly killing myself in the process. Danny and Anabel stepped in, making me go to rehab. It was the best thing they could have ever done for me, but I hated them for it. Since coming out of rehab, I’ve been to a few meetings. I started with the alcoholics group. Getting clean from the alcohol was something that I desperately needed. But I can’t lie and say there aren’t days I just want to reach for the bottle. Still, I’m working on it. Having come out on this side, I’m only just now starting to see clearly. I wish Amanda were still alive. It constantly hurts, but I don’t feel like I’m going to drown all of the time. Sometimes, though… sometimes I could use a fucking motorboat to pull me out from the all-consuming waves that engulf me.

  “So, I’m going to go around the group. If you could give your names, I’d appreciate it. If you want to add a bit about yourself, or your loss, then please do,” Laurie tells us all. She moves, sitting in the empty chair, completing the circle and she looks to her left. The girl who sits there can’t be more than twenty-two.

  “H-Hi, I’m Shana. I’m twenty-three. Three months ago I lost my mom.” She smiles sadly at Laurie but doesn’t say any more.

  “Hi Shana, welcome to the group,” Laurie returns, then looks to the next person. This time, it’s an older man, about fifty. He grabs hold of Shana’s hand and smiles the same sad smile as her.

  “I’m Chris, Shana’s pop. Three months ago I lost my wife, Veronica.” His voice breaks at the end and Shana shoves her face into her pop’s chest.

  “Hey Chris, thanks for joining us,” Laurie tells him, her voice is raspy and warm. She shows the emotion she feels, letting them know that she understands their sorrow.

  Next, we move onto the woman who sits to my left. She’s around thirty, well dressed and obviously has money if her designer clothes are anything to go by.

  “I’m Estelle. Last week my husband died. I’m here because I’m devastated,” she says, matter-of-factly. I can see it takes the whole group aback slightly. Laurie welcomes her, and I wonder what her story is. At that thought, she glances up to me, obviously not having seen me before. She smiles, it’s a flirty smile, and she makes me feel uncomfortable.

  Laurie interrupts with a cough.

  I look back and realize it’s my turn. “Oh hey, I’m Ruben. Thirty-Seven.” I add my age as an afterthought. Not really wanting to say anything else. Laurie holds my eyes for a second, offers me a sad smile, then nods.

  “Hey Ruben, thanks for being here,” she murmurs.

  Before she can look to the last person, the dude on my right gets up and rushes out.

  Calmly Laurie stands. “Sorry everyone. Please, just give me a moment, okay?” She smiles and walks out.

  Looking around the group and not knowing what to do. But feeling—not for the first time—

  like it’s all a lie. That none of this crap is going to ever help me. I’m always going to be damaged and just like Laurie, I’ll be looking for someone to save me for the rest of my life. Glancing around at everyone, I do the same as the other guy. Standing, I grab my jacket, throwing it on as I move to the exit. Once I’m outside, I breathe, leaning against the wall. Fresh air enters my lungs and I exhale, trying to regain my composure.

  “Ruben?” The angelic voice makes me close my eyes, hoping I haven’t just been caught running away. I open them and look to my right. The entrance to the community center is only a few feet away. “I came outside after that guy, but he’s gone. You’re leaving, too?” Laurie asks even though it’s obvious.

  “Just needed some fresh air,” I lie.

  “Can I ask you a favor?” she ask biting her lip. I nod. “Can you hang around? There’s a coffee room out back. Stay, please, at the end of the hour I’ll come find you. Of course, if you don’t want to stay, then go. There’s no pressure,” she tells me, then slips in through the emergency exit I just exited closing the doors behind her.

  I don’t move. Just breathing seems to scar my lungs. My minds conflicted. I’m so used to the pain. Since I came out of rehab, since it took the edge off, it’s made me start to face the things I’ve avoided before. Even the consideration of trying to heal has never been an option for me.

  What if I get better?

  What if I try and succeed?

  I’m not sure if I know how to be whole anymore. I’ve lived broken for so long, I’m not sure I can live any other way. It’s been a worthless life for the last few years. If it weren’t for Danny, taking control of my company, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t still be a wealthy businessman either. I lack interest in that side of my life, but I’m trying. I’m still half the man I want
to be. I never really lived a full life until I made my way back to my hometown until Amanda came back into my world. I had two glorious months of living full and complete. Being whole. I know how it feels now. Knowing you have to live forever with that loss, not just of her, but of yourself, is a pretty big fucking hit. I’m so scared that if I change, if I heal, if I start leading a life worth living, I’ll forget Amanda and I’ll sully her memory.

  No. I need to remember the pain.

  Pushing off the wall, I walk away from my chance at absolution. I don’t deserve to live happily. I couldn’t save Amanda. She doesn’t get to be by my side. I only ever wanted to find my other half, the one who would make me a better man. I remember my mom telling me that there was one person who was our perfect fit. I lost mine. But my heart was torn in two in the process. One side is scared that this is all I have to look forward to for the rest of my days. The other half is telling me I’m a selfish prick for even thinking that way, and that I should be glad I got to have two months with my perfect person.

  Stopping to look up, my feet have automatically brought me to the nearest bar. Checking my watch, I see it’s opening time. I hear the doors unlock, then swing open. The man on the other side stands looking at me. “In or out?” he questions after I stare at him unmoving.

  “In,” I reply and enter the first bar I’ve been in for over twelve months.

  Chapter Three

  “Hey,” I greet Amber while closing the door with my foot. My hands full with grocery bags and the key I used to open the door. “A little help,” I mutter. She doesn’t move, and it’s not until I walk past her on my way to the kitchen that I realize she hasn’t heard me.

  Pulling her earphones out of her ears, she rushes to me. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  “Language,” I scold.

  She smirks and starts rifling through the paper bags, looking to see what she can inhale. At eighteen, she’s just about to go off to college with a full scholarship in medicine.

  “Ooo donuts,” she screeches, pulling her hand out, which is attached to some sugary goodness while her other hand delves in tagging another one.

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t spoil your dinner. It’s noodles,” I grumble.

  “Never.” She giggles then smirks, falling back onto the couch and shoving a whole donut into her mouth, before turning back to her book. She pops her earphones in and the iPod starts back up, I can hear the screaming rock from across the room.

  Smiling, I unpack the rest of the food. For me, money is still a problem, Amber only has that iPod as a gift from Sarah. I glance around the kitchen at the beige tiles and the battered brown worktops. The kitchen is really just an extension of our living room, separated by a breakfast bar. People do that on purpose now, have their kitchen and living area separated by just a countertop like I have. But usually, it’s a huge space, with a modern design and new appliances. My apartment was designed like this. The developers trying to fit as many apartments into as small a space as possible. I moved in here four years ago.

  After losing Larissa and Rocco, I pooled together what little money I could afford for their funerals, but it still wasn’t enough. I needed to use the rent money too. It was one too many times for the landlord, so needless to say, he kicked me out and I headed over to a shelter. Told him I’d be back for my things, but when I arrived back the next day, I found what remained of our belongings on the street. I was left with nothing. When I say nothing, I mean it in the literal sense. Anything worth something was stolen. I had the clothes I was wearing. And after rifling through what I was able to salvage—and carry in a bag on my back—I got a few clothes, a bag to put them in, a photo album and Rocco’s favorite teddy.

  The first shelter I went to pointed me in the direction of the community center. Somewhere that helps people get back on their feet, amongst other things. I was one of the people they helped. In a way, I still am. The bereavement course I run helps me as much as them. I moved from shelter to shelter for about a year. Through that time, I’d been cleaning the center. It paid nothing really, but I was used to nothing and was good at budgeting. As soon as I could, I found this place. It’s no palace, but I keep it clean and tidy, and when I have the money, warm. It only has one bedroom and one bathroom, but I survive. We survive.

  Amber came to the community center two years ago. She was sixteen, her mom had just died. Drugs. That life, the life of a drug addict, was threatening to take her over too. After she came to my class, I got to know her and spent some time with her outside of the community center. Not exactly the way they like things to run over there, but I was never able to keep myself emotionally distant from people, so I offered her my couch. It’s been hers ever since. Amber gave me something when she moved in here. Something I needed desperately, something I craved, even though I didn’t realize it back then. Amber gave me family again. Once I got her back into the local public school, she proved just how studious she was. Having good grades has gotten her to where she’s going, and I couldn’t be prouder. Now I have her for only another two months before she leaves, spreads her wings, and I’m once again on my own.

  I sit next to her, tucking my legs under my butt and switch on the cheap, small television. After assessing that, as per usual, there’s nothing worth watching, I pull an old magazine that I swiped from the community center out of my bag and flick it open.

  “You okay?” Amber mutters beside me.

  “What? Yeah. Why?” I reply, looking up at her.

  “Because you’ve had that open on the same page for the last fifteen minutes. I know you read slowly, but these pages just have photos of badly dressed celebs. There’s nothing worth fifteen minutes of time in there,” she tells me, pointing to the magazine with a smirk.

  “Oh…” I shake my head, “…I guess I was just thinking about someone.”

  “Who?” she immediately asks.

  I sigh. Amber was around the last time Ruben was, and she knows the full weight of him being back. “Ruben.”

  “What? Why would you be thinking about him? And after all this time,” Amber snaps, jumping up from her seat, sending her books flying.

  “Calm down. He’s gone again,” I tell her.

  “What?” she shrieks.

  “He came to the start of my new course today. But when I was doing the introductions, there was another guy who ran out. So I followed the guy, looked wherever I could inside then ran outside. When I did, Ruben was there, standing against the wall and looking freaked. He’d obviously escaped the meeting the minute I’d gone after the other guy. I knew he wasn’t about to go back in. I asked him to meet me in the coffee room once the session was over. I told him there was no pressure. When I went there after, he wasn’t there. Stupid really.” I sigh pulling my legs up and wrapping my arms around myself in a protective ball. “I knew he was a flight risk.” I laugh softly.

  “I can’t flipping believe this!” Amber complains starting to pace. “He basically used you as a leaning post for four months. You saved him from jail, stopped him from doing countless stupid things. You helped him at the drop of a hat. Then, the one time you call his best friend, knowing he needed someone else to step in, and he cut you off. You were a wreck after that. Do you even remember, Laurie?” Amber shouts, flinging her arms about in an eighteen-year-old girl way.

  I nod. I do remember. I remember feeling his pain as though it were my own. Feeling like I was falling. My own grief not enough, I was being dragged down by his too. He was the one I could never save, no matter how hard I tried. I gave more to him than anyone else. I’m not sure at what point I realized that my feelings ran deeper than they should. But Ruben was drowning, he couldn’t see anything but pain and destruction. No matter what I did, it wasn’t me that was supposed to heal him. Before him, I’d gone from all-encompassing pain and grief to dealing with things in a constructive way. Ruben Asher came crashing into my life, never offering me anything. I was supposed to be there to help him, and all I did was allow myself to
fall for someone unattainable. I ended up being pulled back into the pit of despair for a while.

  It wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I allowed myself to think I could be enough. He’ll never get over his ghosts. It’s taken me a long time to realize that. He made me face up to some of my own pain. Anguish and blame, that I had covered over for so long, but never fixed. He made me change how I viewed the course my life ran. How I helped people. After Ruben, I tried to stay detached from people. Like I’m supposed to. Danny and Anabel tried to keep in contact with me, but I cut them off. It was easier that way. I move through each day the same way now. If it weren’t for Amber, my life would be gray.

  “I remember,” I tell her.

  She comes to sit back next to me. “I’m sorry that I shouted. I just don’t want you to get so low again. He did that, even if he wasn’t aware. I’m leaving soon. That scares me enough.”

  “You’ll be fine,” I tell her wrapping my arm around her shoulders and pulling her close.

  “It’s not me I’m worried about Laurie.”

  I swallow and manage a small nod. “If we all have one person meant for us, then I’m pretty sure he was mine. Even if only from a distance. The problem is his person wasn’t, and never will be, me. So I know I can’t let myself fall down that rabbit hole again. But I won’t turn him away Amber. Maybe this time, if I’m able to help him, it might give me some closure,” I tell her on a squeeze.

  “Hmm. You need to do what’s best. Just do me a favor,” she says.

  “Anything honey,” I reply looking down at her worried face.

  “Just be careful,” she whispers.

  “I will.” My reply is solid, I just wish everything else was.