Playboy

Chapter 12

My heartbreak is grief that comes in waves, grueling, stealing appetite and sleep alike. It is a shard in my guts that never leaves, though perhaps in time the edges will dull. It feels like death just the same as bereavement and in quiet moments it chokes the breath from my body and short circuits my mind. What was once whole is shattered; where once was peace is emptiness, echoes of a love I put my everything into. With each passing day you take another step away though I asked you to show some sign of caring, affection, of love. All you bring is anger, suspicion and an averted gaze. My only "crime" was to not be able to cope with your rage, with the words you allowed to spill unchecked. I have always done my best for you and, even now, still am. Inadequate as you find me, this is my best, it is all that is left of a once a proud and strong soul - fragments on the floor, scared that the next wind will blow them away.

Since your love turned to poison, my mind cycles through emotions faster than a kid flipping radio channels. I've gone from level to rocky - fighting a mixture of competing emotions, each of them vying for dominance. After the reboot of sleep I am calm, the day stretching ahead with possibilities - time to get jobs done, connect with friends, enjoy nature. Yet this coping is a thin veil over trauma and even the smallest of set backs change my emotional landscape. By evening the sadness wells up, uncertainty rushing to the fore, and I know it is time to sleep. How the crazy dreams stitch my head back together I haven't a clue, it's a new miracle every night.

Baby, you are a warrior, but even the men of war take off their armour once in a while. I see glimpses of the man underneath - but then you work to cover it up, hide your true self from my eyes. To see you hide when I share all that I am is a heartbreak, a wound in my soul. Connecting with you feels like journeying toward a mirage, will my desert ever end?

There was a knock on my door, the knock came quietly first and then there was silence. The knock was louder and faster this time, I stood from my bed and went to the door.  A voice came from the other side.

"Ma'am Ariel" I heard the familiar voice of my bodyguard.

I opened the door for him, "Come in."

He both sat across my wooden sofa.

"Mr. Alexander Browns has called the doctor for an emergency appointment tomorrow." His was more formal than usual.

I listened to him, silently.

His hair, dark and lustrous, had a sheen like fine hardwood. But that comparison isn't entirely fair, I suppose. The boy was perfection in coffee hues; his hair and eyes were the color of dark roasted beans but his skin was all latte. He was well built, his body tight black outfit highlighting his amazing muscles. I remembered him, he's something more than a guard for me in my memory.

"Ma'am" He broke my attempt to remember about him.

"Yes." I tried to pretend I was attentive to him.

"Do you know him?" He asked, his dark coffee eyes on me.

I coughed a bit to make my voice steady, "Yeah, he's a friend." I paused to think what to say next.

After long seconds I replied, "We have to visit the hospital tomorrow."

"Who is he?" He asked again, his wild eyes on me.

"A friend." I replied, loosing interest in the conversation.

The hospital hallway has as much personality as the interstate. It is a thoroughfare for personnel with patients as parcels. The dull beige tile leads onwards passed identical doorways edged in grey. The walls simply grow from the floor and stretch upward to the matching ceiling. It is a place of sickness, a place to be forgotten slowly after the initial shock of admittance. After that it's a slow slide to the morgue, sallow eyes tilted toward a sun that remains stubbornly on the wrong side of the dirty window pane.