Chapter Four
Nash - February
Two months.
That’s how long it’s been since I’ve last seen her, heard her voice, saw her breathtaking smile.
The end of January and the beginning of February have gone by in a blur. Time doesn’t matter to me anymore; the days speed by. Time used to be something that I held onto, always making sure I use every minute of it by doing something worthwhile. Now, I don’t care about it. Now it just flies by, leaving its dark shadow behind.
It’s the same thing everyday: wake up, leave the house, aimlessly drive around, go to a bar with Kane, go to sleep. Nothing spectacular; nothing interesting. I don’t have the heart nor the mind to do anything because they’re both occupied with thoughts and memories of her.
I’ve gotten better. I used to think about her non-stop, everything triggering a memory of her. I would see her in every girl that walked by me. I think it’s my mind’s f *cked up way of telling me that it’s time; that she’s not coming back to me.
That it’s time to move on.
But how does someone move on when they thought they found the one?
The one who makes them feel good; who makes them a better person.
I’ve never been the relationship type of person. I never had girlfriends. I never wanted one; it was just a complication - something that would get in the way of my love for music. My high school years consisted of parties, alcohol, music, and random, faceless girls.
Every one of the girls I’ve slept with only wanted to f*ck me because I was the lead singer of a band. But I didn’t really care about that back then. Like I have said plenty of times: I f*cked them and moved on.
Now… now I want to give myself fully to someone. I want Adelaide to have my heart, my soul, my mind.
F*cked-up, right?
I don’t know what’s wrong with me, though. Kane says I’m - and I quote - “pu**y-whipped;” whatever the h*ll that means. He claims that she has “officially consumed me.”
I’m starting to think he’s right.
I don’t do much during the days. I know I should get a job; something to pass time. What? I don’t know. I didn’t go to college, so it’s not like I’m certified in any of that sh*t. Don’t get me wrong. I wanted to go. I still do, but I can’t afford it.
So what does a twenty-two year old with no college education do? The only thing I can think of that I’m actually good at is music.
Music has started to come back to me. I’ve picked up my guitar recently, strumming familiar rhythms and melodies. My fingers strum random chords, turning into new creations. Kane told me that it’s good having my head back into music; it’s something to distract me. The band hasn’t played anywhere since Kane and I left. They insist that I come back and start playing with them again, but I don’t think it’s the right time just yet.
Hudson has too many memories and too much pain.
My mother is always home. She doesn’t work, only using the money that her and my father saved up through the years - the money they never shared with their son. But I’ve gotten over it. What good does it do to reminisce all the horrid details? Don’t get me wrong; I’m still pissed at the f*cked up mess I went through. But it’s over; it’s in the past.
I’m living in the present, and so far, it’s not all that f*cked up.
But my future - my future - walked away from me. She walked straight out of my life, leaving me with nothing but questions, nothing but pain, and nothing but misery.
She’s the one who left. She’s the one who ran away from her problems. She’s the one who f*cked my life up when she walked into it.
She lied. She ran. And she quit.
If I ever saw her again, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive her.
***
“Nash?”
I stop mid-track at my mother’s voice. I haven’t seen her that much these past few weeks. We’ve only talked when we were leaving or just getting home. Usually, she would be passed out in her room when I walk in way past midnight.
My mother and I never had the mother-son bond that most families have. H*ll, we still don’t. She’s tried to talk to me, but I’ve avoided her. I don’t have anything to say to her. And I don’t want to hear anything she has to say.
When my father passed away, she was broken. She lost the one thing that kept her sanctioned. At the funeral, we sat at the front, a wide distance between us. I didn’t cry; she did. I didn’t comfort her; she cried even more. We didn’t talk much after that: not about my father, not about her, not about me.
I never understood how she still loved him after she constantly watched him beat the sh*t out of me, but she did; I could see it in her eyes. It was how I wanted someone to look at me, love beaming in their eyes. But no one ever did.
That is, until Adelaide.
I can still picture those sea green eyes sparkling up at me, a radiating smile crossing those beautiful, full lips. Those eyes captivated me, drew me in and swallowed me up; they were the first thing I noticed about her. And now, now they’re just a faint memory.
“Who else would it be?” I say, causing her to wince.
She’s sitting at the kitchen table, her hands clasped together. Looking over at the clock on the stove, I take note of the time: 12:45 at night. I came home earlier than usual, but Kane was too wasted and too engrossed in a new girl. So I decided to leave, not wanting another desperate girl to throw themselves at me.
“You know he loved you,” my mother says.
My brows scrunch, and I finally take note of my surroundings. Pictures are spread all over the table. Tears trail down her cheeks. The faint glow of the kitchen is the only light on in the house.
She continues before I have the chance to ask what the h*ll she means, “In a way, he did love and care about you; even if he didn’t show it.”
I stay planted in the kitchen doorway, not sure what to say or do. My body is stiff at the conversation she brought up. He didn’t love me. He didn’t care about me. He hardly acknowledged my existence.
So why the h*ll is she bringing him up?
“I remember this day. You were mad because you couldn’t get the chord right. You insisted on playing it over and over until you got it perfect,” tears are streaming down her face, and I just stand there, watching her break down. “You were always so determined.”
My mind drifts back to that day; I remember it well. It used to be my favorite day. I was seven. My father taught me one of the hardest chords, and, no matter what, I couldn’t master it. But we kept playing it, and I finally got it. It was then that I finally felt like someone my dad could be proud of.
And he was; he told me he was proud of me that day. But a few years later, after drowning himself in alcohol, that all changed. He told me that I was a disappointment; that I was a waste of space and money.
“You always said that you wanted to be just like him,” a flash of pain and regret paints her face. “That is, before he started drinking.”
Without thinking, I go over to her and take a seat on the other side of the table. I don’t want to be close to her. I don’t want to see those pictures. But I want something that I know I need; something that Adelaide taught me that is important.
I want answers.
“Why?” my voice comes out soft, sounding broken, pathetic.
My mother looks at me, dry tears staining her cheeks. I take a moment to look at her - really look at her. She used to be beautiful - her smile shining as bright as the sun, her eyes radiating with happiness, and her laughter filling the room. Age has changed her; he changed her. I haven’t heard that melodious laugh in years or seen a smile brighten her face. Now she looks worn down, broken.
“Your father was big on making sure everything was to his standard. That was a result from him being the son of a military father,” she says.
I didn’t know that much about my grandparents. They died long before I was born. I’ve heard stories about them, but my father nor mother liked talking about either of their parents.
She continues, “He tried his best to provide us with enough money to keep food on our table and keep you happy, considering I didn’t work. That was his ultimate goal, Nash; to make sure that you didn’t have the life he had. He didn’t want you to go through the childhood that he had for himself.”
My mind goes back to the earlier years.
When he wasn’t teaching me the guitar, he was always gone from the house. I still have vivid memories of him kissing my mother goodbye, ruffling up my hair - telling me to be a good boy - and then leaving through the front door. I couldn’t have been more than five or six years old.
He left early in the morning, about the same time I left for school. By the time I was home from school, the front door would creak open. Seeing him would ignite this f*cking uncontrollable happiness within me. I ran to him - arms up in the air - and he would always have his arms opened wide, ready to immerse me in a hug.
But then those days of him leaving stopped. He became confined to this d*mn house - drowning his sorrows with alcohol.
He stopped having his arms outstretched for me.
Instead, he hurt me.
All those years where that stupid motherf*cker was supposed to love me, but instead, he would beat me.
And as I look back, I still don’t understand. I don’t understand why he did it. I don’t understand why my mother didn’t do anything. I don’t understand why they would want their only child to fear coming home every day after school.
I just don’t understand.
“Your father did some things that I….” my mother’s voice cracks as more tears roll down her face. “I know you don’t want to hear these next words, but I need to say them.”
I stare past her at the clock on the wall, watching the hand tick every second. I don’t want to look at her. I know what she’s going to say, and she’s right; I don’t want to hear them.
They’re words - pointless, pathetic, useless words.
“I’m sorry, Nash. I’m sorry you went through that. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry that he hurt you. I’m sorry that we made you cry instead of laugh, like a normal childhood should have been. I’m so-”
I cut her off before she has the chance to say those two words again, “Stop.”
“Nash-”
“No. I don’t want to hear those f*cking words anymore,” she winces at my harsh tone.
I push back in the chair, standing up, anger radiating through me, “I went through h*ll during my childhood. Did you know that I was scared to come home. I was scared out of my f*cking mind to even breathe when that b*stard was around. I would constantly have the sh*t beaten out of me for no reason!
“And now - God knows how many years have passed - now you think it’s time to say sorry? What did you think? I’d just forgive you in an instant and we’d be one of those perfect f*cking families? Because we are far from that.”
Her eyes are wide, filling with more tears as the words finally hit home. I take a deep breath before sitting back down. I know I shouldn’t have lashed out on her. It wasn’t her who made my life h*ll; it was him. But I can’t help wondering why she never helped me; why she never loved me.
I look over at her, guilt overtaking the anger, “Why? Why did you let him do that to me; to us?”
“I loved him. I loved him too much to let him go. Love does crazy things to you, Nash. It overtakes you; loving that person becomes your whole life,” a faint smile graces her face as she zones out, probably remembering some old memory.
She continues shortly after, “It’s not that I didn’t love you. I did; I do, Nash. And I know I didn’t show it in the right ways or enough. It’s just - I was scared.”
I look at her in confusion. What would she be scared of? Of him?
“I wanted to tell someone; to get him help. I just couldn’t let him leave. I didn’t want anyone to take you from us. Social services would’ve ripped us apart; all three of us. And I couldn’t let that happen. I needed him; I needed you, even if it didn’t feel like it.”
Her words hit me in the gut, catching my breath. She needed me?
My mother smiles again, this time a little brighter, “I would come into your room at night, sometimes after he - after he hurt you. You would be sleeping, but you would be shaking, sometimes thrashing. I would lie with you in bed, brushing your hair, calming you down until you fell asleep. You never noticed. I never wanted to wake you up; You needed the few hours of peace, away from him.”
My mind is blank as I recall memories from my past. I don’t remember any of this.
“I would hum to you; your favorite song that I knew you loved,” she says, locking eyes with me.
Iris.
I remember hearing someone singing in my dreams; some soft, female voice running through my head. I always thought it was only my dreams, just a faint sound that was never near. I never thought it would be the one person who I believed didn’t love me.
She smiles, “I did it every night. And somehow, you fell asleep in my arms.”
I stare at my mother as the silence envelopes us. She’s staring down at a picture clasped in her hand, a picture of the two of us. I recognize the picture immediately. My father took it, before all h*ll broke loose.
It was raining that day, and all I wanted to do was to go outside. My mother told me that I would end up getting sick if I spent the day playing in the rain. After a h*ll of a lot of persuasion, all three of us eventually went out. My father captured the picture right as I splashed my mother with water, both of us laughing.
It was a faint memory, but it was still one of my favorites.
Maybe that’s the thing that Adelaide had tried telling me - that the good memories surpass the terrible ones.
And maybe it’s time; maybe it’s time to forgive.
Of course I’ll never forget; how can you forget something that haunted your dreams every night? But I can forgive for the past. Because let’s face it, it’s in the past. And who knows how many d*mn days we have left in life?
“I’ll never forget everything that you two put me through,” my voice is rough, breaking the silence. “I blame him for all the sh*t that I went through. I blame you for pushing me to abandon you two.”
She looks up as I start talking, her sad eyes shining with tears.
I continue before she has the chance to interrupt me, “But that was years ago. We’ve been through enough sh*t and pain to last a lifetime. What’s the point of adding more to it?”
Her eyes scrunch in confusion.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I… I forgive you.”
My mother takes a gasp of breath, her eyes widening in shock, “You forgive me? Why?”
I nod my head, “I met someone in Hudson. She was a stubborn person; always fighting battles inside her head and never going with what I knew she wanted. She taught me things - told me what she thought I should do. She told me to forgive you. So… I am.”
A smile forms on her face as she stares at me with surprise and something else… compassion?
Reaching over, she places her hand on mine, “Thank you, Nash. You don’t know how much that means to hear you say that. I’ve been hating myself for years because I thought I lost you for good. I promise you that I will make things right. I will fix this; fix us.”
I smile, faintly, at her words. I guess we’ll see where this goes.
Standing up, I mutter a goodnight as I make my way back to my room.
“Nash?”
I turn around at the sound of my mother’s voice.
“What happened to this girl?”
Something in my chest pulses as memories of those d*mn green eyes flood my brain, “She’s… she was just some random girl; a nobody. Someone who’s out of my life.”
She gives me a knowing look, raising her eyebrows, “She sure doesn’t sound like a nobody.”
I rub the back of my neck and look down at the floor, not wanting to talk about her.
“Let me tell you something, Nash,” I look back over at my mother. She’s gathering the pictures up, placing them in a box. “Everything that leaves, eventually finds their way back. God has a way of making things happen; just have faith and patience.”
I stare at my mother, her words replaying over and over in my head. Nodding my head, I walk back to my room.
After tugging my pants and shirt off, I throw on a pair of sweats and lie on my bed, face up. I stare at the ceiling, lost in thought.
Several minutes pass before I move again. I reach over to pick up my wallet; I’ve kept this d*mn thing close to me ever since I first read it. And what has it given me - heartache and pain. Things I don’t need in my life; especially since I’ve lived with it my whole life.
Pulling out the worn piece of paper, I unfold it and read over the words that I’ve become so familiar with; the words that I have memorized like verses in a song.
Her words used to mean everything to me.
But now… now, her words scream one thing: goodbye.
And maybe that’s a sign.
Maybe it’s for the best.
I fold the letter back. Getting out of my bed, I go over to the bucket underneath my desk. My fingers hover over the trashcan, the paper feeling heavy in my grasp. I close my eyes and let out a breath before releasing the piece of paper that was my only connection to her, that held my world.
Goodbye, Addy.
Hello, hello! Happy Wednesday!
Nash is back and it got a little dramatic - okay a whole lot dramatic - in this chapter. You got to learn a whole lot more about Nash's past. What did all of you think of it? And how about Nash throwing away Adelaide's note? Do you think he should have done it?
Hang in there, guys. There's still plenty ahead for you all. Thanks again for the love and support.
Ana