Watching someone self-destruct is a lot easier and noticeable when you’re on the other side of it. When you’re not the one self-destructing. Denial is a real thing. Because no one admits fault to anything. Claiming they can take care of themselves and don’t need help. I used to put myself in other people’s shoes who were hurting. Love broken and unable to see light out of the hole love kicked them down into. I always said I’d be the one who’d thrive. Be resourceful. I’d build a homemade fucking ladder and climb my ass out of that hole. I’d find love and kick its ass, then move on. I wasn’t a dweller.
I was a motherfucking conquerer.
I was also a fraud.
Being all badass in my head was so much easier. It was easier to mentally tell myself to get out of bed. Stop calling into work, possibly shower. And I seriously fucking stunk. I was no strong hotshot who was indestructible. I was the fucking advocate for weak idiots who let a four-letter word hold them down and constantly jab the humiliation in their face.
But then again, I repeat to myself over and over that I wasn’t even in love. No way. I swear on it.
Love takes time. Takes patience. Takes work. Three things Chase and I never had. This tour would have ended and our time would have been up. We never had time to grow into something more than the small little fantasy world we created for ourselves. And even that was a fantasy.
I’ve been out of work for almost two weeks. I know Dex wants to strangle me, but I know he’ll get over it. Because as selfish as I am, I know something Kristen said is true. In some sort of way Dex does love me. And that makes me feel even worse for what I did. I ended up renting a car and driving seven hours up to New York, to my parents’ graves. I lay in the soft grass at the cemetery, trying to remember the last memory I had of my parents. I was a sophomore in high school and I had just been asked to prom. And when I got asked, that meant I needed a dress. It was the first dance I had been asked to and my mom was over the moon. Maybe even more than I was. So, we searched and searched and when we found the perfect dress, the worry on my mom’s face as she looked at the price tag killed me. She hid it well, and as I insisted we find something cheaper, she masked her worry with a smile and insisted we buy it.
The guilt the entire time that dress hung in my closet was almost unbearable. The guilt while I eavesdropped on my parents’ discussion when my dad said we couldn’t afford it. My mother’s pleas to let me keep the dress. She just wanted me to be happy. To feel beautiful. My dad looked into my mother’s eyes, and knowing he could never say no to her, he said okay. They would work it out and adjust funds to afford the dress. I watched my mother’s sweet smile spread across her face as she cupped my father’s cheek, offering him the most loving kiss. And at that moment, I felt the love my parents had for me. They loved each other like no other. And I hoped one day to make them proud, finding a love just like theirs.
I wore that dress the night of prom. We took photos at my parents’ house with my date, Justin, and then we all traveled to his house so we could take more with his. My mom and dad both kissed me on the cheek, my mom fighting off tears. My dad hugged me, telling me to have fun and to behave. I blushed and shooed them off, trying to look cool in front of my date.
As they walked to the car and my father helped my mother into her seat, I broke away from Justin and ran up to the car, giving my dad one last hug and turning to my mom, telling her thank you. And that I truly felt beautiful.
My parents died in a car accident on their way home that night. A drunk driver who had fallen asleep at the wheel. Reports confirmed my mom died at the hospital, my dad on impact. I wasn’t surprised my mom slowly slipped away shortly after hearing about my dad. It just made sense. She loved me, but she loved my dad more. And she needed to be with him. I was notified by my biology teacher and driven to the hospital by a police officer. I arrived three minutes after my mom passed.
I wipe away the tears I’ve shed at the memory, remembering the days after. The confusion. The pain. The anger at that damn dress I had to have. It was white and sparkly, and I felt beautiful in it. I remember tearing it to shreds. Yelling, screaming, sobbing if I just didn’t go to that dance. It was also the last time I had ever dressed in anything above my fancy ripped jeans and tanks.
I adjust the flowers I brought nicely on top of the green grass and press my fingers to my lips. I kiss my skin and brush the remanence alongside my parents’ name.
“I miss you both so much,” I whisper, the wind picking up, blowing my hair into my face. “I’m sorry I haven’t made you proud. Found what you two had. I just don’t think this world will ever be able to compare the love you two had. I thought one day I would.” I wipe more wetness from my cheeks. “But maybe you just set the expectations too high.”
The winds pick up more, the clouds rolling in quickly. It takes mere seconds for the sky to open up and the rain to pour down. It drenches me from head to toe and everywhere in between, making it impossible to distinguish which tears belong to the angry clouds and which are my own. I give my parents’ headstones one last glimpse and head home. I know I need to get my shit together. The world isn’t going to stop because of my pity party. Maybe this battle has been my own fault. Trying to find and compare a love that was just not out there. I need to get over it. Time heals all, and I got nothing but time.