Chapter One
I haven’t seen Kate in seven agonizing months since I left her in that hospital room. I never even bothered to get my things from our apartment. I took the coward’s way out and high-tailed it back to California, where I had started my life once before in the witness protection program. Instead of starting over this time, I’ve fallen into a downward spiral and can’t seem to escape from it.
My days and nights are all mixed up. I drink as soon as I wake up, no matter what time it is. I can’t remember when I was last sober. It’s like a permanent case of amnesia and the fog won’t lift. My best friend is Jack. We have a pretty good relationship. I talk to him, share all my problems, and he helps to numb my pain without saying anything. Once in a while, he’ll get a jab in during my prayers to the porcelain God. The burning sensation he provides on the way back up is horrible, but nothing a little Pepcid or Tums can’t handle.
I know I’ve failed Kate. I’ve contemplated going back to New York and begging for her forgiveness, but I can’t. Leaving her was by far the worst decision I’ve made in my entire life. I don’t deserve her, and frankly, I still haven’t gotten over the fact that she might be carrying Matteo’s child. I know I’m a dick for leaving her alone and pregnant, especially after I had just found her. I deserve what I get, and this private hell I live in isn’t nearly punishment enough.
How did we get here? We’ve been through so much during our time together. Meeting her in Florence as Katherine and watching as she met morphed from a caterpillar into a beautiful butterfly who broke out of her cocoon. She’s so strong and resilient and never once lost faith in me even though I’m the reason why she’s been tortured and raped. Nobody deserves what I’ve done to Kate, and I wasn’t even man enough to take care of her when she needed me most.
I attempt to take another swig from Mr. Daniels only to find out someone already emptied the bottle. I guess that was me. I throw the square container across the room causing it to shatter as it hits the wall. I don’t fucking care. The maid will be here sometime today to clean my shit up like she does every other day.
I stumble across the room in search of another bottle of the amber liquor. Much to my dismay, it looks as though I’ve drank my entire stash. Jesus. This means I’m going to have to sober up enough to get down to the liquor store without passing out on the sidewalk or getting arrested for drunk in public, which has already happened twice. Fuck, I’m a mess.
I take some unbalanced steps and make my way into the bathroom to take a piss. Last time I woke up soaked in urine. I hope to avoid doing that again. Once I’m finished relieving myself, I splash some water onto my face. It’s the first time I’ve looked in the mirror in countless days. I have a full beard, and I think there might be vomit living in the coarse hair. Otherwise it’s my last meal. Whatever, it’s fucking gross. My eyes are bloodshot, and my breath smells like shit. I think about brushing my teeth, but my hands are starting to shake indicating I need to get another drink fast.
I put some water on my hands and rub my face in attempt to get whatever is growing in my beard out. I need to look somewhat civilized so they don’t throw me out of the liquor store, and into the street. It’s strange how I can attempt to pull myself together for booze, but I can’t pull my ass out of this funk. Whatever. This is easier to deal with. I’m a fucking coward loser. Go ahead, shoot me. Put me out of my fucking misery.
I head out of the shitty hotel I’m staying in. It’s one of those lease by the month, hour, or however long you need it. The amount of homeless people and prostitutes that hang out here is astounding, but this is where I fit in. No one gives a shit about how I look or how much I drink. They leave me the hell alone with the cockroaches that skate across the floor when the lights are out.
I stagger down the sidewalk searching for the place that’s been fueling my addiction daily the past several months. I don’t even know what street I’m on. I just follow the buildings that look familiar. It’s amazing that I ever make it back to the hotel at all.
I stumble upon a hole in the wall Mexican takeout place, and order a carne asada burrito. I can’t remember the last time I ate something substantial besides Funions and Fritos with bean dip. My stomach is suddenly growling and tying itself in knots. If I’m not careful, the damn thing might jump outside of itself and devour every ounce of food in this restaurant without me.
I contemplate taking the burrito with me and eating it when I get back to the dump I call home, but my legs are tired of holding my weak body up. I sit down at the orange table with brown plastic chairs and force myself to eat here.
I’m shocked by how easily the food goes down. There’s something about the Mexican food in Southern California that fails to compare to any other place in America. It’s authentic and good here. I think about ordering another burrito, but decide against it when Mr. Daniels starts calling my name. I don’t know how he knows exactly what I need.
I grab a glass of water before leaving. I’m not sure when the last time I’ve had any liquid besides Jack, but my mouth is like a drought ridden desert. I need to get something to moisten it or my tongue is going to dry out and shrivel up. I swear as soon as the water hits my mouth, my tongue expands like a sponge or one of the gel like animals that grows to a hundred times its size when placed in water.
I leave the restaurant, and head down the street I’ve traveled hundreds of times before until I come across the jackpot at the end of the rainbow. By now, I’m pretty sober. It’s something I can’t deal with because I only loathe myself that much more. All I think about is Kate, Kate, Kate. Fuck she’s got some kind of mind ninja thing going on with me. I wish I could just forget her.
The man behind the counter is of Middle Eastern decent and doesn’t bother to ask what I want. He just reaches for a couple bottles of liquid gold.
“Give me two more.” The last thing I want is to sober up anytime soon and to have to make the trek again. The fact I’m fairly lucid now, allows me to think ahead somewhat.
I give him my debit card and in no time, I’m on my way. I open one of the brown paper bags and down a quarter of the first bottle like its water and I’m a parched nomad. To me, that’s exactly what it is. It warms my chest, and for the first time today, a smile erupts from my face. Numbness sets in, and I’m back to feeling no pain. Thank God.
By the time I get back to the hotel, half the bottle is gone. I can barely climb the steps and again I’m in the throes of a drunken stupor. Hot damn! I can go watch some television and drink until I pass out.
I get to the door of my room and pull the key out of my pocket. This place is such a piece of shit, they still use real keys, not the cards. Whatever. I struggle to get it in the lock but finally manage. As I open the door, I stumble back, not sure if what I’m seeing is real or a figment of my imagination. I wipe my eyes to try and clear the fuzziness.
“Bloody hell, mate. You look like fucking shit. Get your arse in here.” Jasper grabs me by the front of my shirt and drags my ass into the room, slamming the door.
“Whath are yuth doing here?” My speech is unrecognizable. I don’t even know what I’m saying.
“I would say the same about you, but it’s quite obvious what you’ve been up to. Give me that shit. You’re fucking pissed.” Jasper reaches for my precious commodities and I pull away falling against the wall.
I really hate it when he uses that British slang. I’m not pissed, I’m drunk. Why can’t he just say drunk?
“Yuth canth have ith.” One of the bottles falls to the floor and Jasper snags it right quick.
“You are a fucking mess. How on earth did I let this happen? I should’ve come to get your arse months ago.” Jasper easily takes all the bottles from me, heads to the sink, and pours them out.
“Yuth canth do that.” I try to stand, but my legs are boycotting and staging a mutiny. Fuckers. I don’t need them anyway.
“The fuck I can’t. Look what this crap has done to you. You’re a frickin wreck and you smell like shit. You’re going to get your arse sober and then we’re taking you home.” Jasper shakes out the rest of my new found best friend—the one who never fails me and eases my pain.
“No! I canth go!” My body slumps to the side and I can’t keep from falling onto the floor into a pile of worthless mush.
“Yes, you can and you have to. Kate needs you.” The bottles clank as Jasper throws them in the garbage.
Hearing Kate needs me shoots a dagger through my heart causing so much pain, I think it’s broken all over again. “I’m the lath thing the needs.” I attempt to close my eyes, but the room starts to spin, so I open them in hopes to stop any impending vomit sessions.
“Looking at you, I might say you’re right, but she’s getting ready to have that baby any day now, and he needs his dad.” Jasper drags me off the floor and takes me over to one of the two chairs by the window.
“Ith not mine. Yuth need tuth find Matty.” I hold on to the chair handles, trying not to fall over.
“Matty’s dead and you’re wrong. That baby is one hundred percent yours. The tests prove it, and to top it off, you’re having a boy. That Bertalucci name is going to live on after all.”
I must be dreaming or really drunk, because I could swear Jasper just told me I’m a dad and that Matteo is dead. This is definitely a dream. I attempt to close my eyes again, because I never want to wake up from this dream.
My head hits the back of the chair, but I just leave it. I don’t care if the world spins, I try to imagine myself holding my son with Kate leaning over us lovingly. It’s been a long time since I didn’t have a nightmare. This is fucking amazing.
Jasper starts shaking me. “Wake your pissed arse up. You need to get in the shower.”
I open my eyes and get a look at the Brit who continues to disturb my happy places. What’s his deal? Can’t he leave me alone?
Jasper lifts me from the chair, drapes one of my arms over his shoulder, and drags me into the bathroom and into the shower. He doesn’t bother taking off my clothes before turning the frigid water on.
“Ahhhh!” The water is like standing under Niagara Falls in the middle of winter. It’s colder than fuck and could be considered Chinese torture.
“Yeah, mate. You just stand there and let the water do its job. You need to sober up and I don’t want to smell that stench anymore. When was the last time you bathed?”
I don’t answer. There’s no point. It’s not going to do any good. Instead, I stand there shivering and trying desperately to hold on to the buzz that’s all too quickly fading away.
To be continued…