~Elli~
I open my eyes and I see the stars. Not the sky, just the old cheap plastic glow in the dark stars on my ceiling that dim with every passing moment. I feel at times those poor fading stars are a metaphor for me, slowly losing their light, only tethered to this world by a small sticky part that just refuses to unstick.
I grunt, I should probably get up. I roll over to face my fur baby and rub Dahlia behind her bat-like ears. My furry partner in crime is one of the only things truly keeping me in this world. My parents would probably miss me…and Jen of course. What it really comes down to is that I’m just not that desperate yet. I know my light is dimmed and trying to leave me but something about inflicting the pain I feel because of Garrett on my family and best friend just feels too cruel.
I drag myself out of bed and move toward the hallway, hearing Dahlia flop off the bed. The sound of her pads slapping the floor follows me through the house to the kitchen where she knows there is food to be had. Dahlia was my birthday present a year before Garrett died, he surprised me with a beautiful and fierce German Shepard puppy that had my heart from the instant I laid eyes on her. We absolutely fell in love with each other, and the bond has only strengthened now that it’s just us two.
I lean my hip up against the counter watching her hastily scarf her food and breathe deep, searching for the strength that I know is there to make it through another day. From beside me on the counter, my phone beeps with a message alert. Jen, my best friend in the world. Ugh, I wish that pain in my ass would be a pain in my ass another day, not today, I just don’t have the energy for her. I swipe up my phone and read, “Hey girl, spa day this weekend my treat, okay? Don’t you even try to bail; I will kick your sexy little ass clear to next Sunday.”
I chuckle, she’s pushy and blunt but even feeling as empty as I do, I can’t not smile at her efforts. I tap out a reply and try at least a little to sound like I care if I have a spa day or not. To be honest, I stopped giving a shit about pampering myself. I can’t remember the last time I paid any mention to my appearance. I just don’t really try anymore. I just don’t see the point.
I look across the kitchen into the living room where I can see myself in my full-length mirror. I wasn’t able to keep food down for a few months after I found Garrett so my normally plump curves have deflated a bit into a toned but smaller version of myself. My eyes cast up to my blonde hair that has lost its shine but grown to fall just under my shoulder blades. My eyes, those are what bother me the most. Though they are an arctic blue, they just seem…lifeless. They roll at the thought, I know firsthand what lifeless eyes look like- how morbid- and… mine only have a pinch more life in them than that.
I look away from the mirror and try my best to clear my thoughts. A blank slate for a new day, anything is possible and all that jazz. I shuffle to the back door to let Dahlia out now that she’s done scarfing her food, then sit back on a stool at the counter and run my fingers over my face. It’s a nasty little habit I’ve formed, having my face hidden makes me feel safe, then maybe people won’t notice me and I can stay in my hurt bubble and mope. I hear the telltale alert of my phone again, but when I go to check it I notice instead of my adorable yet annoying best friend it’s an email…
From: [email protected]
Subject: Sand
Hey Elli,
I don’t really know where to start after reading all that.
But I guess I can tell you my name is Raiden. I am a soldier in the United States Marines, stationed near Baghdad Iraq. It is a hot fucking disaster over here and if I had it my way I would be on a beach enjoying the only sand that I don’t loathe with the ocean coming right up to my chair.
You like the beach, Elli? I used to go all the time when I was stateside, there’s nothing like it.
What’s your dog’s name? What breed? I guess I’m askin’ you these questions to get your mind off of everything for a minute. Because honestly, all I could picture while reading your email was a broken woman. A broken woman spreading her cracked and bleeding pieces out on a table and poking at them.
Don’t. If there is anything I can say is, don’t poke at the pieces, Elli, they’ll just cut you deeper.
This is my third tour in this hell hole, and you said be safe if it’s an option…Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t but I have a damn good group of men around me and I do what I gotta do and come back to base.
I don’t know how you feel, Veteran’s Widow, but I know what it feels like to lose someone, to walk into it, see it firsthand… That’s something I wish you wouldn’t have gone through; I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But I know. I hope that helps because it’s all I can offer. You said you were “stupidly” following advice in writing to me. Well, Elli, I’m glad you did...
-Raiden
My lungs are burning with the breath I didn’t realize I was holding in. My eyes finish trailing over his name, Raiden. The name sounds so masculine to me, so strong and noble. I let my eyes close slowly and try to regain some kind of grip on myself. I haven’t talked to a man in two years, save for my dad and that’s few and far between. My phone feels like lead in my hand, the weight of his words taking away some of the weight that was sitting on my chest. I take my palm and rub it against my sternum, feeling how hot my skin is under the thin T-shirt I’m wearing.
I hear what I imagine his voice is, strong and deep, whispering to me, “Don’t poke at the pieces Elli, they’ll just cut you deeper.”
Is that what I’ve been doing? Laying it all out there and forcing myself through a personal hell comparable to the real thing?
Sick self-torture?
Would it be so bad to just let myself move on?
Would it help?
My phone still sits heavy in my hand, Raiden’s words still there on the screen, giving me strength I didn’t know I had.
What is happening right now? I lock the screen and set it gently on my tile countertop, breathing in and out, letting in everything I try not to let myself feel. What is it about his reply that is making me want to open up? Basic human interaction with someone who doesn’t know me, and doesn’t know my story is refreshing. It’s almost thrilling to be able to talk to someone and have them not pity me, he made me think about other things than my crushing guilt and sadness. Do I feel hopeful? Do I feel better? Will this email actually help me and now Jen will never drop it? Who knows. Sitting there and thinking it over, I feel some of those broken and cracked pieces inside me shift back, just a fraction, out of my heart as a smile ghosts my lips.
What a way to start my day.