*I may edit this later but...
Opal POV
Rae was right. I was in no condition to go back to Magnolia to try and work today. If it had been up to me I wouldn't even have left my house today at all after my nightmare came true last night. I was such a wreck that Rae drove me straight to her house where I stayed the night. Laying in bed I literally watched the clock change every minute from eleven pm until three am when my eyes had finally swollen shut, giving me no other choice than to sleep.
As I started to wake I prayed that last night had been a dream. But, the face that stared back at me from the mirror assured me that every harsh word, every raw confession, had been real.
And painful.
I knew that at some point I would push him too far away from me, and this would be the outcome. I thought I had prepared myself, but this pain is like none other. I truly feel as lost as I did when Pops passed.
I leave Dr. Maxwell's office with an appointment to return next week, and in the meantime my homework list. Some how, I'm wishing I actually drank, because now would be a great time to get drunk and forget about the last eighteen hours. But as Chris would remind me I'd rather not have my stomach pumped so instead of pulling into a liquor store I swing through the next best place.
"Can I place a to go for the nachos and cinnamon and chocolate empanadas?" I ask the hostess at the front of the Mexican restaurant. I pay and take a seat to wait. I hadn't had to get an order of these since the night Chris brought me after Pops was admitted to the hospital.
I remember telling him that they were a guilty pleasure anytime I was having a rough day. It was because of him I hadn't had to order them in so long. Even today, I know it's my own fault why I'm here having to order them again.
Oh well, idiocy party of one.
I lean my head back against the wall behind me, closing my eyes for just a few moments before I hear my order called. I grab it up and continue the trip back home.
Once home I drop the to go bag on the coffee table and decide to get a bit more comfortable. I slip into a pair of bed pants before thumbing through my closet. Apparently I'm not heartbroken enough because I reach up on the top shelf to pull down Chris' Patriots hoodie. I start to tear up as I slip it on, pulling it up to my nose, realizing his scent is no longer there.
I pad down the hallway in my fluffy socks while pulling my hair high on top of my head. It's gotten much longer than I'm use to. I just haven't cared about keeping it trimmed lately.
Flopping onto the couch, my stomach growling loudly, reminding me I've skipped every meal today. I pull open the bag, pop open the nacho box and greedily take a bite, humming in gratification. My eyes flit between the television remote and my homework from Dr. Maxwell. I scoop up the remote for fear of becoming so emotional during the work that I'll just throw up the little food I've managed to eat.
I bypass about five different channels, each one boasting a romantic movie, before turning the television off completely, tossing the remote onto the sofa. Grabbing my cell from the pocket of my bed pants I scroll through a couple of stations on Spotify before finally just shuffling randomly. The first song is catchy, a nice beat to it. I dive back into my food for a few more bites.
The sweet smell of the empanadas pulls me in, and I realize I'm an adult and no one is here to tell me I can't have dessert until I finish my dinner. My first bite in and the song changes. It peaks my interest, sounding familiar. It's not until it reaches past the chorus that I recognize a handful of the words.
"I can see, four kids and no sleep. We'll have one on each knee, you and me," I sing softly, biting back tears.
The night I brought him home from the hospital. The night I fell asleep in his arms from crying, scared of losing him. The night he told me he loved me.
And here I am, almost ten months later, alone. Without him.
I look at the empanada in my hand. "For the first time ever, I don't think you're gonna fix this pain." I drop it back into the box.
I clean up, placing the leftovers in the fridge and busy myself with small cleaning tasks.
Yes, I'm avoiding. Let's not act like this is anything new with me. I could be a gold medalist at this point.
My phone dings, thankfully, giving me another activity to keep me busy.
Rae- how'd it go?
Me- it went
Rae- nachos and empanadas?
Dang she knows me well.
Me- Yup
Rae- avoiding something too?
Me- I'm fixing to be avoiding you if you keep it up.
Rae- need company?
Me- you don't have to come over.
Rae- I was gonna offer up G for the night if you needed an actual reason to not do whatever it is you've been asked to do.
Me- I love the little booger, but not tonight. I'm gonna make myself start on my homework...it just might be midnight before I do.
Rae- avoidance should be your middle name
Me- bite me
Rae- no thanks. you got rid of the guy for that job
Me- <<angry face>>
Rae- too soon? <<cheeky smiley face>>
Me- good night.
Rae- yep, too soon. Night, Ope.
I decide to soak in the tub, again avoiding. I don't even trust my music playlist, choosing to lay in silence.
I'm scared to focus on any specific part of the homework, yet I don't even know what I have to do for it. But, I know I'll be having to dig into some aspects that just straight up scare me, and I don't know that I can do it.
Correction. I can do it, I just don't have that comforter anymore for when it becomes too heavy for my heart.
Eleven o'clock. Time to face the music. I grab the harsh yellow paper off the coffee table, along with a pen and notepad. I climb into bed, under my covers, resting against the headboard. I set it all in my lap, take a deep breath through my nose, blowing out through my mouth with my eyes closed. I tap my fingers to my thumb, breathing slowly through each tap as I count.
After repetition to thirty I open my eyes, lifting Dr. Maxwell's paper to my eyes. The directions are rather simple for the first section: answer the questions in as much detail as I can.
Question 1: What would you tell your younger self? Think of ages through each part of your life: early childhood, preteen, teen, young adult.
Simple enough, I think to myself. Don't get attached to your mom and dad, I jot down on my own paper. That's about as clear as I think I can get for early childhood.
Age 10 doesn't really resonate with me, but 12 does. That's when I found the letter. The letter that solidified the fact that my father wasn't coming back. The year that I truly began to believe that I was worthless in my father's eyes. But what would I tell myself?
Don't define your worth on a man that walked away from you as a child. Simple, straight and to the point.
Nope, that's not enough. I'd probably tell my younger self to put the letter back in the drawer it was found in. You don't need the heartache it will inevitably bring.
Sixteen wasn't horrible, but I did start to rebel a touch, testing limits so to speak. Eighteen is when I lost my virginity to my boyfriend who was leaving for the Army. I'd tell her the five minutes wouldn't be worth the pain you'll experience two weeks later when another dumb letter finds it's way into your hands.
I decide to go one step further. I'd tell my twenty three year old self that the cute blonde across the club will only be a 'wham, bam, thank you ma'am,' and not worth the anger and self doubt you'll pour over yourself when you wake up alone in a hotel room.
I look back over my answers from each section. I had always felt like all of my problems began at four, and I suppose they did. But the feelings that I held on to came from the letter on my twelfth birthday. Eight years had passed at that point. As a kid it was all I could think about, the fact that he left me. But, it wasn't just me. My father had completely cut himself out of our family. He decided that he was worth more than the rest of us. That his happiness was more important than ours. And he just didn't care about the effect it would have on any of us.
His actions remind me of my own now. While mine are not quite as severe, I pushed Chris away because his happiness is more important to me than my own.
It's screwed up, I know.
My father believed his life was more important than mine. I believe Chris' life is more important than mine and I want him to have the best there is. And thanks to my father, I don't believe that's with me.
As much as I want to just change that thought process, it's not that simple or easy.
And by my assumption, the exact reason Rae made me that first appointment. And the reason why I will continue with the second.
This may have been the end of our story, but I don't want it to be the end of my story.
This is just a chapter.